Warwickshire Avon - Scorpios and Scoteography

You may think I get out fishing quite a bit looking at my blog, but the reality couldn't be further than the truth, especially at this time of year when the days are short. My sessions especially in the week are not much more than an hour or two where thankfully the weekends bring some relief, and allows an extended session or two.

These are rarely more than 3-4 hours which to be honest is often all I need, especially when sat behind motionless rods. I had to make this session count you see after work I had to get back for the Wife to go to Yoga and also had an errand that I'd been putting off that needed the box ticking. Not only that but with a 3 day rave weekend this coming Friday with some mates as a belated birthday celebration...

"are you not too old for that sh*t ?"

"well I don't feel old until I look in the mirror and wonder, what the f*ck happened"

...those fishing opportunities are dwindling this month I must admit !!! Especially with this horrible wet and damp weather we have been having of late, you can see why the banks are quiet of late. Look on the positives though at least the magic mushroom harvest is a fruitful one. 

Now born on November the 3rd I'm a Scorpio (October 23 - November 21), if you believe all that 💩, Scorpio derives its extraordinary courage from its psychic abilities, which is what makes this sign one of the most complicated, dynamic signs of the zodiac. 

Anyway other anglers find it easy to recognise Scorpio on the bank. He's the thickset bloke who turns up at your swim, looking as if he's been thrown out of the inner-city riot squad for brutality, and says:

 'Mornin'. I hope you don't think I'm being rude or anything, but I normally fish this stretch. I'd have been here earlier but for a row with the bus conductor. Bloody cheek. Telling me I couldn't take my tackle on board. Still, he'll be all right once they've taken the stitches out. 'Now then. My stretch, right? I'm sure you wouldn't mind moving further down. Nice gear you've got there. Must have cost a bob or two. Shame if anything were to happen to it. Know what I mean, John?'

 Life for Scorpio is a constant battle. And there's only one winner: him. He's always right, even when he's wrong. (He's always right especially when he's wrong.) He'll argue with anybody, and if there's nobody around he'll argue with himself. If everyone else is using maggots, he'll use worm and blame his lack of success on the swim, the weather, the cack-handed pillocks fishing either side of him... anything but his own bloody-mindedness.

At the weigh-in, he's the first to raise objections about the winner's catch, even though his own 2 oz 3 dms of gudgeon comes nowhere near it. When the winner's claim is finally upheld, he still won't give up. 'See you in the pub car park later, John,' he mutters darkly....

...breathing on his knuckleduster.

Scorpio takes everything to excess. Sitting at a shallow and silted-up stretch of canal, he'll sling in a half-hundredweight of groundbait for a four-hour match. 

Souring the swim for the next fortnight unless the ducks can clear it first. Not that the ducks get much encouragement at his swim, nor any form of animal life for that matter. 

Dogs he dissuades firmly, though perhaps only temporarily, with a swift clout from the landing net handle. Ducks he dissuades permanently with a swift 'ping!' from his catapult. Go nicely with orange sauce, ducks do.

It's a brave bailiff who books him for fishing without a ticket. And a suicidal one who attempts to confiscate his tackle. 'Here, John. Better take the rod rest first,' says Scorpio. Knotting it expertly around the bailiff's neck. He's always ready to give advice, asked for or not. He's also very scathing about other anglers' catches, while praising his own efforts to the skies.

'Call that a pike?' he snarls, looking disparagingly at a twenty-five pounder. 'I caught one of twenty inches last week.'

'But lots of people catch pike of twenty inches.'

'Between the eyes?'

Anyway switched off yet ? I was back for a session down at the 'banker' because I needed to make my short amount of fishing time pay. So I'd finished work slightly early (mouse jiggler enabled) Mick Newey Available  and hot footed it through the rotting pak choi to the swim to try and nick a bite before dusk and slightly beyond. 

The Warwickshite Avon, sorry Warwickshire Avon has been all over the shop of late and finally (fingers crossed) settling down to some more stable conditions, but at least I was in with a chance of banking something from the stretch of convenience. 

Well as you can see from the picture it didn't take long to catch a chub, a nice one too. 10 minutes or so after the stinky cheesepaste went out on the Depth Bombs a couple of tentative plucks and a fish was on. It immediately tried to get under my feet but after getting it out in to the main flow after a bit of a battle it was soon in the net.

4lb 9 ounces on the scales and in mint condition a really lovely chub indeed and the banker produced again where the rest of the river looked almost unfishable unless I had my barbel gear. And that was that, no more bites and curfew called the end of play.