I wasn't overly bothered about going fishing, but Sam had got his fishing mojo back and fancied a trip to the syndicate stretch in search of a chub or barbel, with the added bonus of perhaps catching a pike or zander. Naturally, this meant we were going fishing, and naturally, all the gear needed sorting out by me because, well, it always bloody is! After dinner, with everything packed and the Jimny fired up, we headed off to the river.
The jungle drums had been beating for a while, as Neil from the garage and Sean from the syndicate were already fishing a local water, trying for a barbel in the same area where I've had a couple recently. Always nice to know the fish are there, although whether they're actually interested in feeding is another matter entirely.
The skies were clear, which wasn't ideal, but there's no point sitting at home on the sofa moaning about the conditions. You can't catch anything without a bait in the water, after all, although I'm beginning to suspect you can't necessarily catch anything with one in the water either! We arrived around 6.30pm, with dusk at 7.20pm, and there's no need to rush on this stretch as we can fish well into darkness.
It's a lovely, big, open swim, so even with three rods out, we weren't exactly tripping over each other. Sam took the left-hand side, I set up on the right, and the sleeper rod went to my right with a roach deadbait on a Zandavan roll-over indicator. The swim has some decent depth and has produced my recent carp, along with barbel, chub and some nice bream over the years, so there was every reason to be optimistic. Whether the fish had received the invitation was another matter.
We settled in as dusk arrived, followed fairly quickly by the stars, and it was lovely to have some proper chill-out time with Sam. We chatted about all sorts, from UFOs to how would you catch a whale shark, tuna fishing and wow, another shooting star.
Basically, everything apart from anything remotely connected to what we were actually there to do! Still, these evenings are what it's all about, and there's something rather nice about sitting beside a river with your lad, putting the world to rights while waiting for a fish to come along and ruin the conversation. Unfortunately, the only things ruining the evening were the complete lack of bites and the growing suspicion that the local fish had all gone out for the night.
As the evening wore on, the chub remained conspicuous by their absence, and the roach deadbait attracted precisely zero interest. Not even a little knock to suggest a passing pike had considered having a look. The indicator sat there looking about as useful as a chocolate teapot, and I began to wonder whether I'd accidentally put the deadbait in the wrong river.
We persevered until an hour after dusk, but eventually even I was feeling the cold. It had been warm enough for shorts and a T-shirt during the day, but back at the car the temperature was down to eight degrees. Quite a drop, and one that reminded me that autumn doesn't give a toss about whether you've dressed appropriately or not.
It wasn't just us suffering either, as Sean and Neil had also blanked, which was reassuring in a slightly miserable sort of way. Meanwhile, syndicate member and 'Barbel under the Bridge Author' Ade Busby was fishing a match on the Middle Wye among 35 other anglers, and apparently there wasn't much happening there either. He eventually switched to the margins to catch a few perch, presumably just to make sure he'd actually been fishing rather than spending the afternoon practising his staring-at-a-float technique.
When that many anglers are struggling, you know things aren't quite right. We need water, and plenty of it, because the fish seem to have gone on strike, and judging by the lack of action, they're unlikely to be returning to work without a fairly substantial pay rise.
Still, there's always another plan, and this morning I've rigged up a maggot feeder rod, ready for when the maggot munchers decide not to put in an appearance.
I've been meaning to try this method properly for ages, so hopefully it'll produce a few chub or barbel when the time comes. Whether it will work remains to be seen, of course, but at least it'll give me something else to blame when nothing happens.
For now, the rods are sorted, the maggots are on standby, and Sam has had his fishing fix. We didn't catch a chub, a barbel, a pike or a zander, but we had a good evening together, which is the important bit. Although, if I'm honest, a fish or two wouldn't have gone amiss either!
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