Warwickshire Avon - Flogillating and Floccinaucinihilipilification

Tell me honestly, are you, as an angler, satisfied with your lot at Christmas time ? Will you, on that festive morn, open the usual parcels of socks, boxers, horrible scented shaving soap, and embroidered handkerchiefs in garish colours ? 

Will you, with a set smile on your face, thank all and sundry, while mentally reproaching yourself for uncharitably assessing the value in terms of hooks, lures, and fishing lines ? 

It is time that non-angling relatives got their sense of values sorted out. Fair enough, I wear a tie, the same black one, like a strip of damp seaweed, at least twice times a year. 

I like to put a sock on each foot whenever possible, and for special occasions I try to see that they match. I don't like shaving soap, nor do the fish, and a handkerchief makes a rotten hand-towel. It's all a question of priorities. I can go fishing without my socks, but I am stuck unless I have a spool of line.

I have come to the conclusion that I have been a martyr for too long. I am prepared to believe in Santa Claus, but I am certain the old boy never went fishing. 

As far as tackle is concerned, he just hasn't a clue. So this year I am not leaving anything to chance, and I am starting straight away on my personal campaign. 

By now, most of my friends and relatives must have guessed that I do a spot of fishing. You can't keep that sort of thing a secret. It is not difficult, therefore, for me to introduce the subject of fishing tackle casually into everyday conversation. Since I have learned the warning signs that my family make when about to buy presents, I can rely on receiving my cue. 

Thus, when Sam earns five a quid for a chore or two , and asks rye, in the same breath. what sort of rum I'd like for Christmas cus "mummy asked me to ask you", I remark casually that I am giving up drink in order to put that rod on hold I wanted at the corner of the tackle shop. 

When I hear the unmistakeable sound of my Wife rubbing a couple of two pound coins together, I shall ask her if she would mind mending the holes in my landing-net. 

Now For the bigger game, I shall enlist the help of the local tackle-dealer Martyn . When I am out with my wife, I shall suddenly remember that I have to pop in for a pint of maggots. While we are there, he will ask me my opinion on the latest in fixed-spool reels. I shall rate it excellent value at twice the cost, and wish that I could but it, but I shall regret that my old reel will have to last another season. 

He will then sternly remind me that when he last overhauled it it showed serious signs of wear on the anti-flogillating sprocket, which, if it shattered, could have serious consequences. Whereupon I shall shrug, and leave the shop, confident that the reel is in the bag. 

Anyway, enough of that, need to get New Barbel Rod in the equation somewhere, anyway before all that, for this short morning session I was after Chub at one of the most convenient places I fish. I can be there is less than 10 minutes you see, that's actually leaving the house to being bankside so it's ideal.

I had the paste bombs I knocked up  and cheesepaste and that was it. To be honest having not been to the Avon for a while I didn't realise how clear it was till I got there. Lobworm might have been a better bet but with a roving approach and a link-ledger set-up the visible chunk of paste might have looked out of place if it were static but a moving bait hopefully would fair better.

Now this cheespaste I've knocked up appears to be the best I've ever managed to concoct, proper stinky stuff and the constancy is neigh on perfect. 

It took a while for the first bite, well after the sun and risen properly and the sky was blue. It was from a rather turbulent swim with a nice slack close in. The bait was moving around the swim nicely, it was moving slowly 360 degrees under the rod tip and went on repeat a few times till eventually there was an indication there was a chub in the swim.

An initial pluck and then a pull resulted in a confident bite on the rod and a fish was on. It carted off to the left to try and get to some snags but after getting it steered away from there it was trying to bury itself literally under my feet.

It was soon under control though and a nice Chub was in the net. I guessed at 4lb and it was, 4lb 2 ounces on the scales, showing some lovely bronze markings in the bright sun.

 I had the banks to myself so I fished as many swims as I could in the time I had but it was far tougher than I thought because judging by the lack of footprints it's been quiet here for a while.

A much smaller fish around 3.5lb came from a raft but maybe 8 or 9 swims fished it showed there was no point staying in the same spot.

Great to be back though, amazing what fresh air and a bit of sun can do for the soul, it's great to be back, it really is !!!!