Warwickshire Avon - Emergencies and Embouchements

Well what a brilliant weekend just gone I must admit, well saying that not for my good friend Simon who had to call an ambulance for himself on the hard shoulder just past Bristol on the way down to Minehead, when he had blurred vision. A suspected TIA (Transient Ischaemic Attack) which came out of the blue and put the kibosh on his weekend before it even started. 

It's known as a mini stroke apparently and certainly a wake-up call to alter his lifestyle which to be honest has been rather full on for years. A stressful high pressure job having to fly and travel here there and everywhere, lack of sleep, often grab and go food, too much booze etc etc, your body will eventually tell you about it. 

Anyway for those other 12 that made it, Friday night kicked off with Greg Wilson spinning classic disco tracks, warming up the crowd for an impressive lineup with Mighty Dub Katz (Fatboy Slim) 

The History of Rave set, featuring Sasha GiGi, Adelphi Music Factory, and Arielle Free, were plundering out those banging nostalgic beats. Then Later, Eats Everything turned up the energy with rave anthems, while Special Request dived into deep techno, then Todd Edwards closed the night, with his signature beats.

As Saturday night approached, Sarah Story’s lineup, including Eliza Rose and Melle Brown, kept the audience dancing. Utah Saints (they were awesome), Conducta, and Ewan McVicar followed, building anticipation for Fatboy Slim’s headlining set, which captivated the crowd as always, this being the 3rd year #Allbacktominehead

Sunday, well during the day Fatboy Slim, his Uncle, and his son Woody who shared the decks playing all manner of classics from dance, to rock and jazz, and as night fell, Todd Terry (superb) and Groove Armada closed out the event with iconic Ibiza anthems. 

To close Fatboy Slim returned for an unexpected final set, creating an electrifying end to another brilliant weekend. A weekend where the outside world is forgotten, albeit briefly which is perfect big family of old ravers like me. A couple of the gigs reminded me of those old clubbing days, where ever you were in the venue you could feel the bass through your feet. 🆒

October and the start of November has been rather busy for me I must admit, that Selador dance gig in Glasgow, a family holiday in Northumberland, a lads holiday in Spain and the FatBoy Slim weekender I could do with a rest myself now and that's where the fishing comes in.

I'll hopefully rack up some sessions now, well I need to really, as I've rather neglected the fishing as it has had to put on the back burner really. But then if life doesn't get in the way of fishing sometimes, maybe you need to do more with your life, those years are ticking by for a 52 year old like me, those diary entries are a much needed welcome change from the humdrum.

Anyway with a couple of hours to fish I ventured down to a convenient stretch of the Warwickshire Avon where I'd fish in to dusk. The river is low and gin clear and what I didn't expect was after seeing if there were any chub willing to take bread off the top, that a few drifts down of some freebies one literally launched itself out of the water to grab the prize first before the other fish (I assume).

Wow !! I didn't expect that. So I removed the small bomb from the running clip and set a piece of bread on its way down the shallow reed riddled river that was motoring through.

A chub nailed it straight away and went off on a mad run when it realised it was hook. In-fact it took me through two sets of reeds before I managed to get it in open water. Once that was done its game was up but such a cracking battle on light gear I really do love catching chub on balanced tackle. A nice chunky fish of 4lb 8 ounces was most welcome when I know the Avon is fishing hard from others.

Sadly, after failing to hook up to another Chub that took it off the top soon after I went on the rove and fished two more swims in to dusk and a tad beyond without even a nibble. Very odd indeed, anyway I'm back on it now, lets catch some fish !!

The River Leam - Old Boys and Ololygmancy

Well another birthday ticked off where the 3rd of November I turned the grand old age of 52. To be honest I didn't want much of a celebration so a slap up Sunday roast and a rather good fireworks display in Stratford-Upon-Avon with a few bottle of bitter, was most welcome indeed.

This weekend it's 3 nights of partying and to me these are the sort of things you need to do to keep you young and I couldn't care less about the finger pointers. The problem is the fishing of late has been rather curtailed especially when it gets dark early these days. 

Work if I'm honest has been a bit of a pain after coming back of holiday, rush CAD jobs, 3D prints that needed to be fitted to prototype vehicles YESTERDAY !! when will I get to go fishing ? Well luckily a syndicate stretch of the River Leam is not far away so after work had finished, as short drive later I rocked up at the river with fellow blogger and Artificial Flight Youtuber George Burton already in resident in the pump pool. 

He hadn't been there long but had already caught a nice roach and there was also other fish topping when we were having a natter. It had a couple of foot of visibility and was rather sluggish but the fish activity was encouraging.  

Dusk wasn't far off so I had to get moving so I settled in to a snag filled swim not far downstream where I'd scale down a little from my usual set-up where roach and chub were the target. Simple tactics with a small feeder full of liquidised bread and then a small piece of pinched bread on the size 12 hook. 

It's a lovely little river this and this stretch is surprisingly deep in places in-fact both swims George and I were fishing you had to count 1,2,3-------7 before the feeder hit the bottom.

Anyway it was looking good for a bite however my luck of late has been rather lacking however after only fifteen minutes or so after casting out, the 1oz tip jumped in to life where after a couple of small pulls a tentative bite developed and I struck in to a solid lump !!

This was not one of the nice roach that reside here but one of the chunky chub and sure enough after taking me all over the shop and trying to get in to every escape route thankfully I landed it. 

A nice one too going 3lb and 8 ounces on the scales with the trophy shot not really showing just how little light was left. It was definitely on the cusk of dusk and after putting it back in another swim I managed another one of about 2.5lb, so 2 chub in less than 45 minutes happy days.

George was being outwitted by the topping roach so he made and exit where I continued on for another half an hour or so with the torch illuminating the rod tip. One quick roach type bite that I missed and the odd rattle but when I left at 6.00pm the fish activity definitely lessened. Oh well at least I'm back on the score sheet, it's been a long time. 

Westward Ho! - Bull Huss and Birth-Rates

So a weeks holiday with the family in Westward Ho! North Devon to see my twin brother and his youngest daughter, the accommodation had a sea view  and was right in the heart of Westward Ho! so it would be rude to not do some sea fishing now would it. 

To be honest I fancied trying for a smoothhound so I packed the cheap beachcaster however not having much time to pack, I basically chucked in the usual sea fishing fair, so a lure rod as well as some LRF gear so fish some of the big rock pools that are here.

We usually stay in Instow or Appledore when were are down this neck of the woods, so it was nice to actually stay where my brother lives for once. The weather looked like it would be relatively mild for this time of year so hopefully I'd get a few fishing sessions in. I've caught bass on lures in this area but oddly I fancied a smoothhound🦈mainly to poke fun on their lack of teeth, what's all that about 🤣

Sadly Summerlands tackle is now closed in Westward Ho! it's a shame as it was a well stocked tackle shop and plenty of bait and I'd always had good service there. On a positive not the butchers a stone throws from here is superb, 

Sign of the times I suppose, I was surprised just how much coarse fishing gear they had, but still sea fishing was their mainstay. 

Now one of the myths of our island race is that we feel, periodically and irresistibly, the call of the sea. 

When we get back from a trip on a heaving boat, we realise that most of our ancestors must have walked here before the Channel was cut.

What we mistake for the call of the sea is the euphoria of ozone, winkles and Guinness which overcomes most of us during our week in Blackpool, that feeling of superhuman well-being which can be used either to boost the birthrate of the following spring or diverted towards the pursuit of the saltwater monsters. 

Most of our wives, with the kids already squawking for ice creams, buckets and spades, candy floss and a donkey ride, would much rather we got with the monsters.

The first thing to do is to get kitted out. Tartan shirt, windproof trousers, canvas jacket with kinky rope fastening, jaunty trawlerman's cap guaranteed to make anyone but a genuine jaunty trawlerman look a right burke, and a pair of bright yellow wellies with a spare just incase one of them leaks. 

Once the wife sees you in that lot you have no chance at all of getting to work on the birth-rate. 

You are now left with a choice of fishing from the beach or the pier, from the rocks, from a rowing boat or in company with a bunch of other yellow-wellied euphorics from a hired inshore fishing boat.

Anyway apart from the dangers from wind and tide, sea and storm, hook and weight, there are also dangers in sea fishing from the catch itself.

Sea fish are not at all keen on being caught and have their own special ways of showing it.

The angler learns very quickly, for instance, not to go 'Koochy, koochy, koo', to the pretty little whiting. 

The pretty little whiting has a set of teeth which turn the chin-chucking accompaniment into 'Koochy, koochy-aaaaaaaargh!!!' And anybody daft enough to try the same thing on a ling is known thereafter to his friends as Lefty.

Careless conger fishermen can be recognised by the way they walk up to the bar, shout 'Four pints, please' and hold up two widely separated fingers. 

It is still common, even after centuries of sweeping up finger-ends littering the bottoms of boats, for a conger to be slung into a box along with the rest of the catch. Before long, someone prods around in the box for a mackerel to cut up as bait. As soon as his exploring fingers come within chomping distance of the uptight conger, he realises that his ambition of becoming a concert pianist has hit a snag.

Trouble with a conger starts as soon as it is hauled inboard. It twists and turns, bucks, somersaults, spins, loops, thrashes and writhes. All the time its mouth is snapping like the scissors of a demented barber. Half Nelsons, full Nelsons, Japanese strangleholds and Indian deathlocks are not recommended as a means of subduing it unless you are on the short list for a job as harem master.

The only sure way to deal with a big one is to gaff it with two gaffs-one at the head and one at the tail-bash it on the tail to keep it quiet, and then cut through its spinal cord, just behind the head, with a sharp knife. Yuck.

Be careful with the knife. Don't lunge. If ever you see a party of anglers trooping off a boat, carrying one of their number and singing

Hi Ho!

Hi Ho!

Old Fred has lost a toe.

you can lay even money that Fred was a lunger. The conger is then dropped in a bag, the trace cut, and the bag tied tightly at the neck. ('Rubbish! No need at all to cut the trace. Just unhook the conger as you would any other fish,' he said, prodding me with his stump.)

The poor old thing, gaffed, bashed, knifed and tied up in a sack, should now be past caring. But after lying quiet for a couple of hours, waiting for the string to work loose, many a conger has slipped out for a quick chomp at the nearest wellie.

The weever is a nice little thing. Covered in poisonous spines. One jab from these spines can put you straight into hospital. Every seaside hospital ward has one-the bloke who knew all about the weever, but who insisted on stamping on one with plimsolls or rope-soled sandals.

The skin of the lesser spotted dogfish was once used as sandpaper. Lots of anglers who never knew this interesting fact before are acquainted with it after trying to hold a spinning dog in their bare hands. Another interesting discovery can be the spines in front of the dorsal fins of the spur dog. Excellent for blood poisoning. Giving it to you, that is.

The torpedo ray isn't caught very often. When it is, it can be recognised by the electric shock it gives. 'That,' you can say knowingly to the bloke who has been thrown halfway across the boat by the charge, 'is a torpedo ray."

The thornback ray and common skate have neat little rows of thorns all the way down their tails. Which is why it it is not a pleasant experience to handle them. The tail of the stingray is even better equipped with a barbed and poisonous spear. Never attempt to hold its tail while you take the hook out: ask the chap next to you to do it.

A rare fishing trip for brother Chris !!

The poor old skate is the one to feel sorry for. The male skate has a pair of 'claspers' on its underside, like the two blades of a pair of shears. 

These claspers, when they come together, can do a neat pinking job on your hand, and many fishermen are in the habit of cutting them off as soon as the fish is caught. This is a bit anti-social, really, because the claspers are the sex organ of the male skate. I mean, how would they like it?

The claspers have given rise to a variation on the old hedgehog joke:

Question: How do skates make love?

Answer: Very, very carefully.

One jolly thing about all sea fish is that any bite, cut or jab from them is poisonous and liable to turn septic if not disinfected very quickly.

Anyone for fishing?

Well where do I start, a new species for me a bull huss that took a mackerel head, a couple of eels and also a dog fish which to be honest put up the better fight. The weather was generally mild and some really nice days where fishing took a back seat. Sam and I tried various rock pools with some LRF gear but they were not that productive so it was back to the bigger fish hunt.

No smoothhounds showed and I fish with crab bait one of the mornings. Certainly the choppier the sea more bites were forthcoming and one bite nearly pulled my rod in but I hooked in to nothing oddly. 

A few seals around but little or not bait fish were seen and also no bass strikes. I could have fished in to dark maybe that would have been the better option, but probably not wise considering the rock mark you're walking on. 

A rather enjoyable break with good company and good weather and plenty of chilled out liquid lunches and good food, it's certainly a nice part of the world down here, it feels like England of old and that's not a bad thing. My brother and his daughter enjoyed the roast dinner I made them from the accommodation and we met up plenty which is good. Anyway i'll be heading back down to Devon(ish) well Somerset anyway for a long weekender. Fatboy Slim, Utah Saints and Groove Armada amongst other knob twiddlers.