Wild Flowers - St George's Day Thoughts

I had an hour or so spare while Frankie was working and as there was water nearby I was drawn inexorably towards it as all fishermen everywhere always are. We are the men you see standing suspiciously on bridges staring myopically into the sun glazed water looking hard for the sign of movement; a drifting fish, a lazy glide or weed fronds waving in the current. 

Finchale Abbey lies on the River Wear not far from Durham and very near the Frankland Prison which holds the infamous Soham Murderer Ian Huntly, but I gave that man little or no thought as I drove towards the water. 

Set right on the banks of Durham's famous river, the Priory oversees a small woodland area which, on the morning I found it, was carpeted with a large array of wild flowers, carpets, chinks and surprises of petal'd packages to be found all over the small wooded area - and it wasn't really Spring yet - not this far North anyway.   

On the drive through the North East we had been struck by the huge beds of dandelion that lined the roadsides and fields. Not just the scattering of these ubiquitous plants that one normally sees around St George's Day, but almost acres of them, which will soon be scattering their unwanted seeds miles and miles, if this chilly Easterly wind keeps up for much longer, and upsetting gardeners everywhere. 

In the woods, the first flowers I came across were the anemones, barely opening their petals in the lackadaisical sun. Nestling against the trunks of oak and beech their bright green leaves and ever so slightly pink flowers brought a smile to my face, they just look so cheerful when they open up and I love seeing these little flowers scattered among the trees. And, of course, they only open up fully in direct sunlight and the sun always cheers us up. 

Anyone who reads my blogs regularly will know I love wild garlic, the scent often reaches the nose before the sight meets the eyes, but not only do their almost plastic spear-like leaves and spiked white flowers look good, they taste good too. I was chatting to another walker I discovered on the bridge trying hopelessly to capture a photograph of the wheeling, acrobatic house martins that effortlessly fed on the spring ephemera launching off the idling river. He is a chef and was extolling the virtues of wild garlic until he discovered I shared his enthusiasm, so we shared a few recipes and ideas and talked about the abundance of bird life and flaura before heading our separate ways. 

Discovering beds of wild garlic is always a delight for me, Spring is near, Summer just around the corner and longer days filled with walks and warmth beckon. Whilst I enjoy all the Seasons, there is certainly a promise given with Spring that lifts the heart.

I came across comfrey, cow- parsley, tiny dog violets nestling like lilac gems in the grass and footpaths and lady smock peering through the undergrowth. Wild cherry blossom drooped from the trees and smiling daisies spotted the lawns around the Abbey. Everywhere I turned there was colour splashed around as if by accident - as if God's paint palette had been thrown across the countryside

River Kennet

It's not often one gets a chance to fish a chalk stream to catch as many brown trout as you want. In fact, more brown trout than you want. I once read that a definition of hell would be a fishing venue where you caught fish all day long. 

A beautiful specimen........

The Kennet most certainly is not hell - it's a magical, meandering, pretty little river with miles of inlets, side streams and cascade pools to explore and we turned up to be greeted with bacon rolls and champagne lovingly prepared by our host Phil Sharnock under whose kind auspices we were invited today. 

Sparkling sunlight...

It was crisply autumnal, golden leaves glimmered in the low morning sun which reflected cleanly off the clear chalk stream water in beams of crystal light.  The trees were hanging on to the last of their russet and rufus leaves, the grass sparkled with a light frost and our breathe whisped around our mouthfuls of hot buttie as we swapped our thoughts about the day to come, spitting bread crumbs around us in a champagne spray of enthusiasm. 

We all had different plans; fly fishing for trout and grayling, feeder fishing for chub and roach, but I wanted to have a go at my preferred quarry in the winter - the pike.  I had brought along a couple of deadbait rods with some sprats, mackerel and smelt and I walked with my gear to the back of the estate, towards the old part of the river. 

Magical, meandering, pretty...

There were pike in the system but as the sun began its year end quickened journey to its highest point, they were proving hard to locate, the leaves ceased to crunch beneath my feet, beginning to whisper as the frost melted away before I saw any sign of a striking fish. But then it happened - a fish I thought to be around five pounds or so struck on the surface, scattering fry in its wake. I cast out the float fished sprat into the area and gradually drew it back towards me in short pulls, allowing the sprat to rise and sink enticingly as it moved.

Nothing. 

I cast again to the right this time thinking the fish may have turned and suddenly the float bobbed, moved sideways and began to sink away as if it had a life of its own. I leaned into the fish which certainly was not a jack and it powered away with a strong surge. It fought well for a few minutes then gave up completely until the net was seen then it started to fight again, but it was on the bank soon enough. 

My youth came back to me in a flood - Hythe Canal in 1973 - a frosty, foggy day and my first deadbait caught fish on a sprat bought that morning from the fishmongers. They're often overlooked due to their diminutive size, but my wife had bought these recently and they shimmered in the low sun as they were cast across the stream. I've had a couple more on that bait since that day in '73 but not many. It was good to get another, and a nice double too. 

I did catch some trout in the afternoon after a tasty chilli lunch and more wine, ending a wonderfully bright, successful day with a wistful moon and a sudden chill in the air as Winter reminded us of its proximity. 

Another trout....

Many thanks to Phil for the day, to Sue his wonderful wife for the chilli and to John for the lift and good company. Some men love their fishing so much that they can talk about it for hours without it seeming at all boring - John is one such enthusiast and he made the journey both ways seem short. Great company, good fishing and a bright autumn day - now that is heaven. 

Pretty brown trout...

The River Tay

A Typical Tay Brownie...

The pretty town of Kenmore lies at the eastern end of Loch Tay in the heart of the Highlands and we arrived here just as summer was ending with a late, warm flourish as if to give us a final reminder of how lucky we have been with the weather this year. Temperatures soared all over the country, but in Scotland that just makes early September just a little more special.

it was a mild, still morning as I drove through the village at 6 am towards the river which runs out of this end of the loch towards Pitlochry further east.  The baker was parked outside the hotel, but apart from a lone dog walker, the village seemed sleepy and slow. The sky was a pale pink in the east as the sun began its gentle ascent into the Scottish air and I struggled to see the fishing line in the early light as I threaded it through the rod rings, but within five minutes or so I had squeezed myself into the chest waders like too much sausage meat in too little skin - but they do still fit after all these years - just, and they don't leak either - and was headed towards the river Tay and a few brown trout, I hoped.  

It was a calm day, but the river is wild and fast in places so I carefully eased my way from the bank and, as always in these times, my main concern regarding the inevitability of my falling in was the welfare of my iPhone - a sad indictment of how these small items of technology have become absolutely indispensable - in fact as I sit here writing this blog on my iPad, my laptop is loading up some Show Of Hands CDs we bought at the Folk Festival last weekend in order to add them to my iPod and my iPhone is buzzing next to me as my e-mails start to come through - and I'm in the heart of the Scottish Highlands using Paul's dongle to connect. 

My father won't have understood a word of that last sentence!

Technology.....

For an hour or so I tottered around the river striving to remain upright, casting across the river and allowing the flies to drift to pretty much no avail. Time for a rethink.

I sat on the bank and re-tied my leader with brown chameleon, which was much finer and darker than my previous line, tied on two smaller flies - a nymph on the point and a pennell on the dropper. I wobbled and slid my way back out into the flow and cast diagonally into the centre of the river and on this first cast I hooked a trout of about 10 inches in length - I love it when a change makes a difference - it makes me believe I am thinking like a real fishermen....

I had three more in the next 40 minutes, one fish slightly larger and two smaller, on both the point fly and the dropper - this latter fish giving a startling, splashy take that almost caused me to topple over backwards - so the re-tie was a useful exercise in the end. It was time to drive back to home made bread and a bacon and egg breakfast in a wonderful house looking down on the placid loch and with two dogs trying to stare me into submission of my sandwich....

Early morning stillness...

Broadlands Fish Kills

I have fished on the Norfolk Broads a few times over the years, but I am not a regular up there. It is however, an area steeped in fishing history and as such one would believe that the Broadlands Authority would have the interest of the anglers of the area at heart, especially as they are a major financial contributor within the economy, both local and tourism.

But fish are being killed and the evidence points to the recent dredging that is still being carried out. Mike Hastings is a friend of mine who lives in the area - check out his blog to find out how we can fight against this incompetence.

His blog is HERE

Pixie Dust

It's been a dour start to the year, especially after the wonderful catch on Boxing Day. I'd had a couple of morning sessions in January with nothing to show at all and I was conscious that the season was running out. As it turned out, we had some pretty extreme weather leading up to the end of the Season during which the rivers were totally unfishable, and to cap it all, the EA in their supreme incompetence emptied the river for the last two weeks of the Season as well.

However, this morning dawned grey, but exceptionally mild yet again, with air temperatures up to 12c, but with water temperatures around 7 1/2c. It was a still day without a breath of a breeze and a little drizzle later in the morning did nothing to dampen the softness of the day. I walked the long walk to my favorite spot, armed with rods and deadbaits not knowing that this was to be my penultimate morning on the river before seasons end.

I started at the far end again planning to walk back towards the car, and put one bait out amongst the overhanging trees, the other on the far bank. Within minutes the float in the trees was dancing it's dance and I immediately lifted into the fish, even before the float moved off. I like to strike as quickly as possible in every case. If I miss the fish, then fine - it was a small one anyway! But I hate having to deal with deeply hooked pike, not because it's difficult, it actually isn't very often, but because it's unnecessary. That's also one reason I like to fish with floats where practical, it's much easier to see what's going on.

Anyway, I didn't miss the fish - it was nicely hooked in the front of the mouth. It weighed fifteen pounds on the button and as I finished weighing it and was ready to put it back, the alarm on the other rod blipped and the float fell flat on the water - I was in again! I quicly put the fifteen pounder in the weigh sling and lowered it into the water whilst picking up the rod and lifting into the fish. The first fish fell to smelt, probably my most used and therefore most effective deadbait. But this fish had taken sardine. I like sardine. They are cheap, easily obtainable and smelly. But I've not caught much on them. Strange but no matter how much I use them, other baits like mackerel and smelt seem to be more efficient at putting fish on the bank. I have loads of confidence in them though, I just know they've got to work!

This one did!

The fish put up a powerful fight, using its' weight against the rod. This was Lumby's other rod the P1, and its 2 3/4 test curve coped really well with the weight of the fish and the powerful surges it displayed. But it slipped into the net eventually - the biggest fish I have ever landed for myself. I couldn't lift it easily either, so I didn't. Instead I left it in the net, in the water, leaned over the bank and unhooked the fish in the water. The capaciousness of the net allowed it to fold over the fish's head which kept it quiet. meanwhile, I phoned Franc and asked her very nicely to walk down to take the photographs. She very kindly did so and I have my first brace picture after 19 years.

Oh, the weight? Well, the fish took the scales to 26.04 and I was very happy with that. Another personal best. I praised Lumby's rod on the P & P Forum as the first fish on the P1 was a twenty and the third fish on the BB350 was a twenty. In fact, so far I have only caught doubles on both of them. they do seem to have turned my fortunes around. I received many nice comments about the fish and a bit of mickey taking about the fact that it's twice thirteen pounds.

Dave Lumb reckons he sprinkles his rods with pixie dust.

I believe him!

Beating the Boxing Day Blues

Frankie was flying off to Madeira this morning with her friend Jo for a week, so in keeping with tradition, I decided to walk down to the river with just a lure rod and one bait rod.

It was mild with a still, quiet atmosphere as I trudged the long walk to my favorite, out of the way stretch. No mist to speak of, but overcast and placid. It was Boxing Day and I hoped that this far down, the river would be peaceful without too many dog walkers or children.

I started at the far end, putting out the deadbait rod whilst I cast lures around trying to drum up some interest. I intended to slowly make my way back to the car fishing different areas as I went. After an hour or so casting under interesting trees and bushes I hadn't had a touch on lures or the deadbait so I started to move back towards the car.

As I got towards the middle of this stretch I put the bait at the back of the river, where I had seen a fish strike back in September, and continued to lure fish. On checking the float in between casts, I saw it bob and dance before steadily moving off. I picked up the rod and lifted into the fish, which had taken a smelt, and, after a short but spirited tussle managed to get the obvious double into my small landing net. I really wasn’t geared up for catching fish, so you can see what mind set I had when I set out this morning! all I had was the lure bag, smaller net (with telescopic pole to navigate the steep banks) scales and no pike tube. It was to get worse!

Anyway I managed to get the fish onto the bank and weighed it in the net. At 14 pounds six ounces it was my biggest UK river fish believe it or not. After more than 14 years of fishing this river, I had finally caught a decent pike!

After carefully photographing and releasing the fish, I put on another smelt and cast the bait back out to the same place and carried on lure fishing. After half an hour or so I again moved the bait this time to the tree stump on the far bank and twenty minutes later I was in again. This fish weighed nearly 11 pounds and so was my second biggest fish from this river. I was having quite a good day. I put a half mackerel back over by the stump and continued lure fishing, but the pike float bobbed again within minutes and soon I was into another fish which ripped away on the strike, before I could gradually coax it back. It felt like another good fish, and it went on another short but very powerful run. When I finally saw it on the surface, I thought it might be a 20 and then panicked about landing it! My smaller net was seemingly inadequate for this fish! However, I managed to get its head in and then as most of its body followed I quickly lifted it onto the grassy bank.

It was another personal best! My biggest pike and biggest fish from the river. My second twenty pound fish in 3 months! I was very pleased as the pictures show. I could not measure the fish and had to weigh her in the net, but to have three doubles from the river in one day including one twenty was too much. I sat down finished off my coffee and had a couple of smokes trying hard not to smile inanely at the scenery.
I caught nothing on the lure rod all morning, but maybe I enticed the pike to feed or maybe it was just a good day for feeding pike – who knows?

And I christened my Lumby BB350 rod too.

Fat, Fit and Fiesty

I thought I would have an early morning piking trip along this top part of the local river. Franc and I had a walk along here a few evenings ago and I saw some fry jumping near an overhanging bush, so I thought I would investigate.

It was drizzling and overcast for the first couple of hours, but I started with a slider jerkbait going on to try the Sossy Perch, but the first fish, a very nice Perch of around two pounds or so came to a shad soft plastic in firetiger. It took on the drop and from the area where I saw the fish swirling the other evening. A nice fish, and very welcome at that hour of the morning.

I walked right back along to the lock without so much as a knock, trying various lures, spoons and plugs, until I was actually standing on the weir bridge. I cast up river with a Shakespeare Big S and had a savage take, but the fish came off. I thought it might have been a jack, because it felt ‘toothy’ but on the next cast it hit the lure again. My 'toothy' jack turned itself into a lovely Chub of three pounds; a fat, fit and fiesty fighter that capped off my early morning jaunt very nicely, thank you. So not a bad morning in all, but no Pike, which is a little strange for such a jack infested river.

From Little Acorns

In 1989, just as my first marriage was coming to an end, and my fishing and music career were about to be curtailed, I found a very small drain that was to produce a couple of personal bests and several nice double figure pike. All of the above events were unknown to me in 1989, which is probably just as well other wise I might just have done something really stupid. (as if throwing away a perfectly good marriage wasn’t stupid enough) But that’s just water under the bridge now, if you’ll excuse the pun.

Ray and I had found this little stream in a part of Kent, near the coast and if I forget to give it a name, I’m sure you will forgive me for the oversight. It was scarcely 10 feet wide and in some places only 18 inches or so deep. In the summer it was barely fishable, with thick blanket weed on the bottom and chick weed on the top. Oh, and did I say it was gin clear?

But in the winter we discovered it was fishable and contained pike, (actually I think Ray discovered it) and whilst giving it our second go with lures Ray caught a fat fifteen and three quarter pounder. I caught a four pounder!

But in January of 1990, I fished for two hours on a hundred yard stretch of the water to catch 9 fish - three of which were doubles - on Tobys and Kuusamo Professors. Now, none of these fish were larger than 11 and a half pounds but, of course, at the time I knew that there were larger fish to be caught, because I had seen at least one in Ray’s arms.

Over the years as my fishing moved away from this part of Kent, I managed to get down for the odd session, taking a few more fish up to 8 or 9 pounds or so, and one more low double, but I never really fished it hard. This season though I wanted to spend just a little more time here and my fourth short session took place on Wednesday 15th February.

I had completed the hour and a half drive in the rain and howling wind to arrive at the venue at first light. As I emerged from the Jeep, the rain stopped, but the wind just kept on trying to flatten everything in sight.

I climbed over the bridge to find the water high from the rain, and the wind was pushing hard in the direction of the flow. Hiding behind the big oak trees that lined this side of the stretch, I managed to avoid most of the wind, but a 2 oz bomb was required to keep the float legered joey mackerel static on the bottom. On the other rod I decided to trot along the flow with a smelt, off the bottom.

On my second leap frog, the trotted float stopped midstream just hanging in the water and I thought it had snagged on some weed. As I was about to lift the rod to free the bait, the float bobbed!

Isn’t there just something about that moment? Like your first kiss or the first time you see a great movie. For me, it’s even better when you make your own floats; it’s an evocative moment, full of anticipation, hope and satisfaction.

It was a five pounder!

Still it didn’t matter; a fish is a fish is a fish. As I was returning this one, the pencil float on my other rod, stood firmly to attention. Isn’t there just something about that moment - when your pencil stands firmly to attention..? Well, never mind.

Anyway, slipping back the five pounder I watched the float carefully, but it didn’t move again, not a twitch. I leapfrogged this rod a little further upstream as I re-set up the trotting rod. Within five minutes the pencil ducked beneath the surface hanging there in the flow. It seemed the fish were taking the bait, but not moving off with it at all. I gave it a couple of seconds and then leaned into the fish, which, I’m ashamed to say, did not fight at all, really. She hung in the flow, just a rod length out, putting a nice bend in the rod, but I handed her out relatively easily.

She was 37 1/2 inches long with a girth of 18 inches. Fat? I’ll say so. And at 16.04 she was also a personal best. Now, I know what you’re thinking: '16 pounds is that all?' But after 17 years and hundreds of Pike, the biggest were always, and I mean ALWAYS 13 pounds something. Last year in Scotland, 12 fish in a morning, biggest – 13.06. Bassenthwaite, biggest 13.08 and so it goes on. But finally, a sixteen pounder and from this delightful little stream in difficult conditions and after travelling 72 miles in the dark, with a wind and rain storm trying to put me off.

Life doesn’t get much better than this does it?

Oh, and it was on a home made float, with a home made lead and a home made trace.

Perfect!