Monkey murder

Please do not take my title literally, for this is not about me going out to massacre Macaques or crucify some Capuchins. It is instead my intent to blow away or strangle the metaphorical monkey which represents a barbel, which and currently resides upon my back.

I may of been griping a little to an acquaintance on the subject, when out of the blue he offered me the opportunity to go and fish his private bit of the river Wye. One rule I have lived by and will live by until my dying day, is never turn down the opportunity to fish a water that is referred to as private. Undoubtedly these types of private waters are always going to be jewels hidden away, protected from the masses where fish do not grow wary from the constant pressure of entire seasons of anglers wearing the ground to bare mud.

When asked, I don't think Andy even let me finish asking him if he fancied it, before saying, just organise it. So what seems like weeks ago I scanned the calender for a suitable date convenient for all three parties. As per normal river levels were watched all week and with every down pour the Wye rose and fell. If flood conditions were to occur the agreement had been made to call off this adventure and wait for another more favourable window. But two days before the weather fell calm and the river abated to the point were it's owner predicted perfect conditions.

I would love to say something along the lines of the Wye valley looked resplendent on our arrival but as with the rest of the Midlands it was shrouded in a thick layer of fog, and on our first view of the river the opposite bank was only just visible. Though for what we could see the river although clear and falling, still made our native Avon look very tame.

Even after falling on a prime looking spot when we first arrived, we headed down stream to investigate as much of the stretch before deciding where to fish and lucky we did, as a mile or so down we came across a beautiful sweeping bend where the flow pushed off to the far bank. This spot gave us four different speeds of water to fish; from a flick into slack water, a lob into slow water, a cast into pacey water then last of all a chuck into the torrent. The genius of this area was that being newbies to the Wye it would enable us to fish hassle free with our lines under minimum pressure from the powerful flow.

Unsure of what fish swam in front of us I went for a two rod set up. One barbel rod baited with a generous cube of spicy garlic luncheon meat intended to entice a hungry beard. The second rod I wanted to use to feel out what was around. So set up a light outfit with a maggot feeder set up to try and induce some smaller fish and get a feel for the populations. 

Both rods out, I sat back peering into the fog and waited. As I expected small taps on the maggot line came first and a couple of quick casts into the same pacey area was producing regular rattles. Then I got one big tap before my rod was practically pulled off the rests. Although trying to catch smaller fish first I had luckily been realistic and fished a 5lb line straight through because unbelievably I was attached to a barbel after only being fishing for ten minutes. 

The rod and a light set clutch were doing their parts in helping me coerce a small but energetic fish towards the bank. Then on the third of three savages lunges away from the bank my line parted leaving me very disappointed  That light outfit was put away instantly and a second barbel rod came off the bench.

Flapping a bit I scrounged some new high hook link material from Andy as I felt that all my tackle box had to offer was either too light or too heavy  Calmed and cast out again I looked up the tips and noticed the tip ring of my rod seemed a little askew. Not wanting to disturb the swim again so soon, I dropped the rod tip a little to inspect the problem. I knew the tip rig would sooner or later need replacing but looking closely at it I found it was hanging on by a thread, and was snapped clean off when another barbel hit me as I held the rod in my arms. That newfangled high tech hook link snapped like baby hair as I disengaged the free spool on the reel.

Now I was in a total state. Two lost fish, two snapped hook links and a busted rod tip all in the first half an hour. Luckily I had brought a spare heavier tip and after setting up again with an identical rig plus a braided hook link. I took a moment to calm down.

Confident in my gear I again recast onto the same spot and sat back. Sure enough wham, another bite smashed my rod over and this one was not getting away under any circumstances. When a dark lean fish of around six pounds hit the net my demons were exercised and probably one of the best barbel sessions of my life began.

I had a shoal in front of me and it was time to make some serious hay. Every cast of the maggot feeder produced some sort of reaction. If it wasn't a twang of the rod tip it was a liner or just the bait runner going into overdrive. Though they were averaging between 4-6lb every fish was lean mean and fighting fit which used the powerful current beyond my catch zone to their full advantage.

I think there is a good chance some of these fish that were battering us had quite possibly never seen a hook in their lives, as every one had  perfect barbels and huge perfect rubber lips.

As the frantic feeding went on the fish seemed to increase in size. Whether it was a case of the regular casts  depositing  more and more feed thus building the confidence of the more wary older fish, or simply the shoal was thinning out leaving the bigger fish I will never know . But the biggest fish of the day landed came towards the end of this frantic feeding spell and weighed a little over seven pounds.

The next fish I hooked into was certainly a much bigger fish which knew exactly what to do. Two small twangs of the rod tip indicated an imminent bite, and my hand hovered over the rod for a moment before in the blink of an eye the carbon bent double and the reel sang loudly. This one ploughed off into the current at an unbelievably rate before I could get a handle on it. It took line and I gained line before it went on a second mental run diagonally down stream into the flow. Straight away I could feel the line grating up through the rod. What it had dived under god only knows but it was big and solid. Several different angles couldn't get this fish back under the snag and before long it went totally solid. After slackening off and setting the rod down I again tensioned up to the solid weight and reluctantly pulled for the break. I did free the hook hold to find a straightened hook and every bit of the last twenty feet of my line shredded by the hidden snag.

The action after this abated and this was seemed to coincide with the lifting fog. It was about this time when my feet began to itch and I took a wander to peruse possible other swims. That water I found though held little appeal. Shallow turbulent and powerful seemed the theme for a good mile down stream. On a hot day with a pair of waders I would of been half way out rolling meat along the deep run the opposite side. But this was late October and the chances of that were zero.

It was now early afternoon and after a chat with Andy we made the decision the hold fast, knowing there was certainly fish in front of us, and chill out for a few hours until the sun sank below the woods lining the other bank.

The sun grew warm and I for one grew lethargic warming myself after half a day spent in the damp dank valley air. The sun got so bright in fact that everything stopped feeding altogether. Even super light rigs failed to rise even a moment of entertainment from a minnow.

As beautiful as it was watching the wildlife enjoying the warm October sun I for one could not help but think of how much of a contrast there was between am and pm. We waited and waited for the fish to switch on again as night crept in. We even stuck it out into dark! But our chance was gone. The fish had melted away never to be seen again and even the witching hour failed to produce anything.

In retrospect we should of upped sticks and moved to another area upstream where the fish would of been unwise to our rouses. Looking back now I honestly think we may have put too much pressure on the ones in our swim. But hey what can you do, there was always a chance that those fish may of moved back in over the baited area at dusk and probably did during the night to mop up long after we left. As for the Wye, this was a magnificent first proper session on this amazing river and one I won't forget in a hurry. I for one can't wait to come back in the future.

The Lake #8 Which bites best

Bites! They are whole reason we go fishing. I know sometimes we say otherwise. Like when we roll out that old line 'It's just nice to be out in the countryside', which we all know is code for I blanked, but where I blanked sure looked nice. Given a choice I feel sure any angler if they were truly honest might admit that they would take a single bite rather than have a morning fishing in the pond located in the back right corner of the garden of Eden. The other thing we cannot deny is that when we are out enjoying the countryside we are surrounded by a plethora of fishing gear, that we probably sweated like a hog in august just to get to the bank, and if we were just out to enjoy the vistas we may just be minus all that.

Bites though when we get them are wondrous thing,s which we have given as many names as we have thought of ways of getting them. Nods, dips, runs, tugs, pulls, twitch, bangs, jerks, whatever you want to call them they are essentially the moment that establishes a link between us and our quarry and also the thing we desire most.

Now I for one believe there is no such thing as a bad bite. It is just not possible. Fair enough there are bites from things you don't really want to catch, but as they nearly always end in a wriggle they can't be bad.

For me perspective plays a large part. By this I mean where and how you got the bite. On commercial lakes stuffed to the reeds with starving carp a float that spends as much time under the water as it does above expected, but on a half frozen river in the depths on winter a single slow pull from a wild chub is an exciting surprise.

Some bites have now become cold and heartless. I myself spend so much time sitting behind electronic bite alarms that I sometimes ignore and forget old methods that have put many smiles upon my face, and whilst under the digital spell of the bite alarm it was precisely when this occurred to me.

What is my all time top five favourite bites? I thought it over for a while  and here they are in reverse order.

5.  The almost secret swirl of a surface feeding carp as it engulfs your bait.   

4. The 2ft twitch from a barbel in a warm witching hour.

3. The hoop of a big chub on a freezing river.

2. The sliding away of a big bulbous pike float on a chilly autumn day

1. The lift float bite from a tench on a misty lake on a summer morning

Just writing all five has me yearning to do them all and as my number one is aptly convenient right now I could not resist no matter what the consequences.

So on a summer Sunday morning I walked down to the misty quiet lake with little more than a rod and chair and after gently throwing in a little bait I sat and waited for fate to come my way.

There is no better sight

Hello

Here we go

Hold fast

Not yet

It's going

Strike, Jim!

The purity of the lift bite is amazing and what makes it stand out above all other bites is the amount of time it takes to develop. From the first hint that a fish is close by, then the rings that emanate from the float as your bait gets mouthed. Then when slowly the float rises before sliding away and you strike. Every aspect of it can be enjoyed and savoured before you connect with the powerful fish.

I had no thought that I would employ this tactic on the lake, but time on the bank has taught me otherwise and I have the cold aloofness of the bite indicator to thank for that. As whilst I have waited and used my ears to keep track of them, my eyes have been free to peer into the clear water and decipher closer goings on deep within the weed only feet from the bank.

After watching and savouring that wonderful bite I landed what for me, so far, has been the capture of this folly. It was not a giant and I did not have to wait 48hrs to catch it. But the capture this tench means probably more to than any of the other fish I have caught on the lake so far and maybe ever will.

Now strangely as I warm in the intermittent sun, I dream of autumn days pike fishing and frosty January mornings filled with the reek of cheese paste, when just one single amazing bite will do.

Beauty and the beasties.

This past weekend I took my second step into  the commercial  perch fishing scene and quite honestly I can't make up my mind if it was a success or not!

Like many before me I have already started looking at your average £7 a day carp puddle with squinted eyes. My ears are open listening for those sacred words whenever I am in the tackle shop, hoping to hear one of the match men that hang around on a Saturday utter something about a whopping perch.

Then the other day whilst talking to a acquaintance of mine, who likes to spend his weekend wearing matching Preston innovations gear,  he mentioned that during some of the winter matches on a water he had fished, bonus perch up to four pounds had topped up several winning bags of blade roach. This was more than enough information for me plan a trip over to this popular venue.

The  only time I could spare this weekend was Saturday afternoon and with cloudy skies on the horizon and showers expected it seemed the perfect conditions. When I arrived at the featureless fishery with it's distinct slabbed swims I did stop for a moment with my hand on the car boot and ask myself, did I want to do this as it looked busy. But I had made the effort to drive there and if I backed out now I was too far to get to another lake in time. So I stuck with and headed towards the tip off pool.

When I got there I did not really have much choice of swims as thirty of the thirty three were occupied by serious men sitting on fishing boxes that would have given a transformer a chubby, throwing method feeders at the islands. The few free swims that were left as the did not give a clear cast to the island so were ignored but they did however appeal to me. Reed lined corners of which one had a all the scum of the lake collected in it and that what I went for.

After baiting up with a few handfuls of chopped worm and red maggots I sat back to watch the soap opera around the lake. I don't think one of the other anglers knew I was there dressed in green keeping off the sky line, whilst they all yelled to each other at the top of their voices.

Holy crap! I thought my luck was in when my float bobbed a couple of times before slipping away. There was that pause for a fleeting moment when the hooked fish computes the resistance and you have no idea what it is for a moment. But then the reel went into overdrive as a carp headed out into the lake. It did not take to long to subdue a pale and rather deformed near double, and neither did the next five or six. By now my presence in the corner had been acknowledged, as it would seem I had caught seven more carp than anyone else this afternoon.

By the third visit I thought I had sprouted a extra leg as I seemed to be the new attraction of the fishery. 'Wot you gettin em on mate?' was the standard question and they all seemed agog when I told them worms. I get the feeling that they thought I was using some new hightech bait developed in a laboratory by Japanese scientists that cost fifty quid a bag instead of the much maligned worm.

The cue of minging carp attracted by my dirty clouds of chopped worm sinking through the water seemed endless and they did not get better looking. Most looked like they had taken a swift right from Mike Tyson as they were stocked into the lake and one was the spitting image of Pete Burns. For those of you who don't get that reference follow this link http://igossip.com/gossip/Britsn_giggles_pete_burns_plastic_surgery_15_Minutes_Of_Fame/1349209

I thought the string of damaged fish would never end until I hooked and landed  this...

What a stunner!

I don't understand for the life of me how this was even in the same lake as the other fish I had caught. The only explanation must be that it had only just been introduced because it was perfect. Golden flanks slight red tinge to it's tail and it's mouth looked untouched by hook. I felt bad putting it back in the lake knowing what will undoubtedly happen to it. It would of been far better off if I would have tucked in my top and drove it down the nearest bit of canal.

As the light drew in it only got worse - the carp seemed insatiable. I did consider moving to one of the vacant spots, but every angler that left did the same thing and dumped any remaining bait in front of their peg before they left, which I knew would only serve to attract more carp onto it and maybe away from me.

By dusk I had landed no less than seventeen carp all 8 -12lb, and that's when it hit me. I had not got a single bite which I thought could of been from a perch. But I had just easily landed over a 100lb of carp in just over five hours on a bait most of the other anglers on refused to believe I was using. Maybe I should look into one of those qualifying matches for Fish 'O' Mania because 25k would be very nice and I would not look that much of a Muppet dressed in camo hiding behind a bush whilst all those match men sit three foot in the air in gaudy colours would I ?

1-2-3 and it's over for the rivers.

As any of my facebook friends will already know, last week I suffered a bereavement. My favourite rod bit the proverbial dust in the worst possible way, meaning it did not break as all rods should deserve to, under the pressure of some unexpected leviathan; instead it went quietly and unnoticed until I spotted the already rather diminished and only remaining quiver tip shattered beyond repair.

With the appropriate amount of sulking and mourning observed I pondered whether, with only days of the fishing season remaining I should replace it, or wait until autumn to do so. Having given up smoking earlier this year I felt a little reward for my efforts would be justified considering my small financial gains.

I have for ages been denying myself a new rod purchase, as frankly I did not need one. Up until now. For a good long time I have been tempted by one these http://www.anglingdirect.co.uk/store/masterline-rovex-john-wilson-avon-quiver-deluxe-length-ft-11-13ft from Angling direct. So after checking the price against my local tackle emporium and finding they wanted a hefty £30 more for an older version I made my purchase.

Wow! I think is the only way to describe the service. Hand picked and checked over before being sent out this rod was in my hands in, I s*** you not, 22 hrs. I was like a kid in a candy shop unable to wait to open it and I was not disappointed because it really looked nice.

On my way home Friday I stopped off to get me ears lowered  before going home for a shower and a shave. I had a date with a brand spanking new bit of carbon this weekend and the only thing I needed was a bend, and what better place than my favourite chub hole on the Upper Warks Avon to get one.

Late in the afternoon Saturday I arrived at a calm river as the sun's probing light became obscured by intermittent cloud. The river although clear looked like spring was having its effect and small fish dimpled the margins.

As well as treating myself to the new rod I also invested in a kilo of dendrobenas to use over the coming three days. So my first action before casting out was to chop up an entire bait tub worth and bait dropper it in mixed with a generous helping of  red maggots just on the edge of  a crease emanating off my own bank.

Finally I made my first cast with the new rod before settling it lovingly on the rest where upon I began to ponder the white tip... 

I have never owned a rod with the entire quiver tip section painted white before. Though instantly I understand the advantages of why it should WHAM! the tip arched round as a chub found my two half's of a lob worm in the mess of chop in the crease. Unusually for me I had brought a keep net along, and once I had the culprit in hand, I made my way upstream to put out the net to keep this character from returning back to the shoal I hoped to continue plundering.

On the way to stake out the net I came across a distressing but surprisingly familiar site lying amongst the dead reeds. I have in my angling life seen absolutely loads of dead sheep in rivers all over the country which can only lead to one conclusion. Sheep can't swim very well.

Although it did not smell I did make a mental note not to put anything that may have been in contact with river water in my mouth, as I did not fancy a mild dose of anthrax screwing up my weekend.

Not long after this Andy dropped by for a chat in the now falling light and around the same time I began to get some bites that were very un chub like. The slight taps and savage rattles seemed more like roach or like something desperate to have a go at the bait, but unwilling to leave the shadows. After three strikes into nothing I finally connected with a perfect pound perch.

Although they kept moving in and out of the swim I constantly got harassed by this determined shoal who were intent and quite successful may I say at nabbing as many of my worms without getting hooked as possible. I did land one more but all to soon the sun set and it was time for a few pictures.

Another perfect Warwickshire Avon chub

Pristine perch that I seriously doubt have ever been landed before

My next plan was to head to a totally different section of the Avon for Sunday's jaunt, but with a appointment for Sunday lunch with Jacky's mother, going too far seemed senseless. So I refilled my worm tub and headed back to the swim I had left less than twelve hours before to take advantage of all that worm I lobbed in.

On the way across the meadow I walked a purposely large detour so as to avoid showing myself on the sky line and spooking anything in residence. On the way I spotted this. I have seem mole hills all over but nothing like this. The only explanation can be that this mole be heavily influenced by the loony tunes as this was some old school acme burrowing which lead to some nice fresh mole hills that I bagged for later use in conjunction with my worms.

It was a real 'get out and get some done' before the sun grew too bright to be fishing such clear water. This reverse session went exactly as I suspected it might - lots of interest straight away after more chopped worm was deposited.

Again I hadn't been cast out long when a bigger chub crashed the party and tore up the swim.

The new rod performed great in subduing this brute as it dived into every reed bed within reach and every time the rod had enough power to ether stop it or pull it out still on the hook.

Other than this four pound plus chub the only other interest I seemed to get diminished as the sun rose higher in the azure sky. It got to that point where I knew with the gin clear water clarity there was little chance of any more bites so I left my gear amongst the reeds and wandered off to have one last look into the depths. Then I walked away from the river for the off season with a nice fish and a smile on my face to finish it.

My third trip of the weekend could not be more of a opposite to the previous two, for it was my first foray in the seedy world of commercial perching. I knew it would be a shock even though I had timed it specifically to be on a Monday when the thronging hordes were hopefully back at work or at least signing on.

Even with the chosen lake as quiet as it was, I did get the distinct feeling I had swapped Crabtree for NASCAR. But there is a reason way I was here. Last year along with Andy I targeted a prolific section of canal where I personally bagged no less than twenty four perch over 2lb. Only problem was that my best was 2.8lb and for all the hours and money I put in driving the long miles to the canal I felt that I could  have probably done better going over to the dark side where three pound fish seem to have become very common, living neglected as the apex predator in the world of pellets and sweetcorn.

Only the day before I had heard along the grapevine that this small lake had no less than seventeen bivvies round it and all the residents having two rods nailed tight to one of two islands. Today however there was only me, Keith, and one hardcore carp angler leftover from the day before. So I opted to fish my third of the lake in quiet area under the breeze where I'd seen a few silvers topping.

It was not a good choice as for all my worms and effort I only had two slimy skimmers to my name as lunch approached. So I made the decision to move to the exact opposite swim right at the end of the lake where the wind was blowing and the scum was collecting.

I had been thinking that sooner or later my liberal depositing of chopped worm would attract the unwanted attention of one the many carp in the lake. And I was right as first cast in the new swim my float slid away and I struck into a solid lump which turned out to be foul hooked after my hook retuned with a few scales threaded onto it.

A few casts later  I hooked one for real and the new rod with it's Avon top performed beautifully subduing a nice looking common of 11lb in a very sporting manner. Even though I was pleased with the performance of the rod I did not look too impressed when it came to the piccy.

The day had been perfect in my opinion for the perch to feed and Keith had dug in and landed a few small ones for his efforts. I on the other hand thought I had missed my chance when the sun finally burnt of the hazy clouds and the sun illuminated the water.

Luckily for me me I noticed one of the few bits of fauna on the lake was casting a shadow over the water and intersected my baited area. If you're not catching, a change in any way can bring a bite even if it goes against all hard rules of fishing law. So with that in mind I drew my worm bait towards the shadow one turn of the reel handle at a time which pulled the worm off the bottom before it sank slowly. Once it got to close in I recast it and repeated the same process again.

On my forth go the float got just to the shadow before the it bobbed nervously then slid away. This time the fish felt the right size and then I saw that stripy flank and my blood began pumping. Of  all the fish bar the zander, big perch get me nervous when I am playing them. Bony mouths and erratic fights are a recipe for loss so undeniably I rushed this one to the net.

It wasn't three three I wanted or the four that I dreamed of, but at 2.10lb it was bigger than anything I caught on the cut last year and also validated my change of venue type on my very first outing.

I did stick around for another hour or so and did get a few more shy perchish bite but nothing came of them. 

But now I have seen for myself what is on offer on these pike and zander free waters where perch grow big at the top of the food chain I find myself thinking where else might hold an as yet uncaught monster...

Oh and as for the new rod... What can I say? Not only did it look good but it performed in every situation in which I put it. Yoking spring chub from dead reed beds, taming savage carp runs and being forgiving enough to land my first decent commercial perch. 

So the only thing left to say are that if you are considering a new quiver /avon I highly recommend the Masterline Rovex John Wilson Avon quiver deulux as it actually does everthing it says it does and probably a bit more too.