Warwickshire Avon - Full Moons and Furunculoids

Angling is one of the few pastimes in which you can leave home all day, all night, even a whole weekend, for an unspecified destination and no questions asked. So you may as well make the most of it with a spot of nightfishing. The right gear is essential. A sturdy and waterproof skew-whiff Bivi's, big enough for four. Groundsheet, Scotch, gin, vodka, mixers. Ghetto blaster. Mistress Maria and Boris the mongrel. That's it: all the essentials.

Get to the waterside as dusk is falling. Pitch skew-whiff bivi, lay groundsheet. Blow up airbed, arrange sleeping bag. Arrange scotch, gin, vodka, mixers and ghetto blaster near to hand. Arrange Mistress Maria likewise. Bait? Fishing tackle? What do you think this is? Some kind of foolish outing? No, nightfishing, this is. Fishing tackle! What next? Now, where were we? Scotch, gin, vodka, mixers.

Don't despair. 'Bottoms up'. There will be the odd genuine nightfisher about. Crouched shivering over his rod, eyes fixed on the bite indicator or on the luminous float; spartan tent behind him holding nothing but a sleeping bag (single), packet of butties and thermos of Bovril. Give him a treat. Let the ghetto blaster liven up the night with some good old dose of repetitive beats, a spot of deep house followed by the techno.

When she's got enough gin and vodka down her, having gone steady on the mixers, she might fancy a jog along the bank; hurdling the genuine nightfisher's rods when she can see them; falling flat on her shock absorbers when she can't. After that, the pair of you might fancy a spot of skinnydipping, just the thing for sobering up and wiggling toes and brushing the fins of any meandering chevin and patrolling barbel. That or a game of football, I've certainly seen that before !! !!! 

Anyway the genuine nightfishers, being the selfish and mean- minded spoilsports that they are, might attempt to cut short the skinnydipping by casting a few pike spoons in your general direction. Or perhaps take more drastic action such as burning your tent down. Make the most of the warmth from the blaze: as you left your clothes in there, you'll finish up with your ardour decidedly cooled.

That could be a problem next morning. Arriving home and having to explain to the wife. The tent going up in flames? Sheer accident. Could happen to anybody. But how come you're starkers? And why is that pike wobbler dangling from your bum?

The above a not uncommon occurrence if you're a member of the BAA (Birmingham Angling Association) 😜, it goes with the territory, but thankfully for this session in to dark I'd be up at the upper reaches of one of my syndicate stretches. 

As per usual I'll travel light, rock up at dusk and fish an hour and a bit in to dark, where I know I'll be on ones tod with no one in earshot. 

I'd not fished this area in to dusk and beyond so I wondered if I was missing a trick. The weather is mild and the water temperature half decent so would a winter barbel be biting ?

Now a slight change of tactics for this trip, you see rather than a large chunk of meat I'd have a Hot Fish boilie on a short hair, a plug of pungent paste in the lead and some meat and pellet freebies in a PVA bag. 

I eagerly got to the river and set ones stall out  and was happy to report within 10 minutes the first pull happened, obviously  a chub but at least some fish were moving.

Then the full moon appeared right in-front of my face telling me what the heck are you doing. You see if I look back on my blog I have never done any good whatsoever when there is one. 

And the moon was right again because apart from chub pulls and also crayfish nibbles I think the barbel didn't show before I left an hour and a half in to dark. Even that thick cover I thought the barbel may well be taking sanctuary under might have been another one of my red herrings. A blank !!!!. Before the light went the water clarity and colour looked perfect for chub, I know what I'm doing tomorrow, now where is that bread I wonder.