The River Arrow - Widgets and Witenagemots

Well after breaking a couple of landing net handles recently due to my abuse basically I've managed to get my Drennan twistlock handles back up and running again. I've tried and failed a few ways to get hold of the little widgets that are a key component of the locking mechanism after they broke again. Thankfully a WhatsApp message to Martyn from the Stratford-Upon-Avon Angling association at the start of the week to see if he could ask the Drennan rep, came up trumps !!! (Oh and thanks James for trying !! But sorted now)

"The spares have arrived you needed, 👍 No Charge"

Top man is Martyn, another couple of beers at Christmas coming your way !!!

Now Romney Marsh is one of the loneliest, most windswept regions of Britain. Here sheep have grazed for more than a thousand years and along the many drainage channels, creeks and inlets smugglers once brought their contraband ashore. 

But Romney Marsh is also an excellent place for the pike fisher. Here miles of water are home to some of the best pike in Britain. They grow fat on the teeming roach and rudd that breed prolifically throughout the waterways.

One bright winter's morning two friends cast their pike baits into a deep channel at the extreme end of the freshwater section just a few hundred yards from the more brackish water where there was a good chance of catching a flounder or a mullet. For the first hour the two big, bright pike floats bobbed about with not a sign of a fish. 

The two men lost interest as the icy wind gradually numbed them. They left their baits fishing and wandered off with their dogs at heel to try to warm up. 

Returning some ten minutes later they discovered that one rod had disappeared. At first they thought it might have been stolen, but that seemed unlikely in such a remote spot.

Then one of the fishermen spotted the missing pike float far away down the river. They gave chase, and having caught up with the float realised that somewhere down in the water beneath it was a pike that had hooked itself. But this was a wide river and there was no way to reach the float. 

Then, twenty yards upstream of the float, they saw the rod. There was only one thing to do. They shouted 'Fetch!' to the best of the two dogs and in an instant the big Labrador was powering through the water. 

When it reached the rod,the dog grabbed the cork handle and turned for the shore. It swam a few feet but was then unceremoniously tugged in the opposite direction. The pike was being played by the Labrador.

Now this was a dog that did not like to give up. It had swum much bigger, colder rivers than this and having been told to bring this curiously lively stick to its master it was intent on doing so, come what may. Thus began a twenty-minute battle between a determined Labrador and an equally determined pike. At the end of that time the Labrador managed to reach the bank. 

Luckily it was a bank that shelved gradually away and the Labrador, having backed out of the water, kept hold of the rod and continued to back up until the pike came bouncing on to the shore. The fish probably the only fish ever to be played and landed by a Labrador weighed eleven pounds.

The one slightly unfortunate result of the whole affair was that the dog developed a taste for fishing. Whenever its owner hooked a fish from then on, the Labrador would bark and howl until the fish had been landed or until he had been given the rod so he could land the fish. 

On quiet, expensive fisheries the noise of the fish-mad dog became such an embarrassment that the fisherman often had to leave his faithful friend at home. But in the remaining six years of its life the fishing Labrador managed to land several more pike as well as a number of trout, two eels and a three-pound chub.

Anyway not much to write home about on the fishing front when Sam and I went to the river Arrow. The only highlight was seeing a snake at close quarters that was actually chilling out on the first peg we fished. We spooked it and and it swam upstream but I've never seen one that close before. 

It was low and clear and the chub were just not interested, slow sinking bread, off the top, on the bottom, nada. In one swim 4 or 5 decent sized chub came up to look at the bread but were resistant to take it and then disappeared altogether. Even the banker swim didn't produce sadly and the weir, well it looked good for a bite, but sadly no takers. You cannot win them all !!! 

Warwickshire Avon - Bevy's and Bestiocracy

Now the freebie acid house glow-stick barbel rest didn't quite make it market sadly, you see it was meant to be attached to the Angling Times the 3rd of November (my birthday) 1994 when the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act introduced a number of changes to the law, most notably in the restriction and reduction of existing rights, clamping down on unlicensed rave parties. 

In the end three disgorgers were attached instead because sadly financially it just wouldn't work, and to be honest the backlash might have been too much. 

An opinion divider that's for sure !!!

Thankfully there wasn't the vitriol slingers of facebook and Instagram back then as it might have brought the internet down if it was a freebie (this my recreation), as not everyone like the joys of repetitive beats. 

I can only imagine if the face was changed to a dove ecstasy pill as originally planned, not quite the reading demographic, maybe a Werther's Original theme might have been better 😮🕊🕊🕊!!!! But angling needs to attract a younger crowd, it always has done because in modern times especially, there is so much that angling can offer the youngster. 

Anyway with the kids now on holiday Sam pestered me to take him fishing which is good, so after a busy day at work after making the dinner, Sam and I and his newly purchased monkey that weighs 4.5lb's were off to one of our favourite areas on the Warwickshire Avon to try and catch a chub off the top in challenging conditions.  

You see the river is back to low and being clear again which can often leave you wondering where the heck are the actual fish, because the river can seem devoid of fish in swims you can see what you'd be fishing for.

This stretch can often seem like jungle warfare but that is good, because it provides so much cover and escape routes for chun they like it down here because of that. From various vantage points trickling down some bits of bread on the surface if the chub have some confidence they will rise to take the bread off the surface, often nudging it a few times first before inhaling it out of sight.

Sam is now a dab hand at this technique and he was first on the rod to catch a fish from this diminutive waterway. It was the third swim that did the business for Sam which was a small'ish chub for this area but it gave him a right old battle but no match for angling skills.

It was really deep though despite being quite short in length, it will be a nice fish to catch in winter when it has put on some timber and proudly displaying its summer bronze colouring. Once you catch one fish this way often the swim goes dead so its best to keep on the move to try and find more fish.

We had exhausted the lower pegs so retraced our steps where it was my turn to try and catch a fish. Out of the blue.

"Dad, did you see that ?"

"What  ?"

"A big black creature just came from there and went straight in to the water"

"An otter ?"

"Well it could be, I've not seen one before have I"

So we went to the swim where he saw it where we tried for chub off the top for ten minutes but the creature was nowhere to be seen. We headed up to the swim above which has some cover at the far side where it was clear with the animal noises and rustlings coming from there that there was something in residence.

"Dad, look, over there quick"

Then we both couldn't believe our eyes, an otter popped out from the end of the cover by some reeds followed by another one, and then another. Three otters in residence 🤯 WOW!!! I've never seen that before despite seeing countless otters over the years, I've never seen three together. A mum and two fully grown pups, who knows, but those resident barbel will be watching their backs from now one that's for sure.

Dusk was still a good hour and a half away and they couldn't care less we were there. We headed downstream to see if we could get them on video, but they were nowhere to be seen after that. There has always been otters on this stretch in-fact this location was where I discovered one that had been hit by a car, mink too as well that take up residence on the island, but three, I really was amazed. 

Sam had seen his first 'wild' otter, and to see three at the same time, what an introduction. Anyway after two kingfishers flew by at a ridiculous pace we had a few swims left try and catch some more chub.

 After Sam lost 2 that buried themselves into the reeds for the inevitable , I managed a nice fish of 4lb and 9 ounces that fought like a demon. I thought I'd lose it on a couple of occasions but managed to land it after an epic battle.

We'd ran out of swims now and on the way back to the car tried two that we caught from before where Sam managed the smallest of the evening, that was slightly smaller than his first one. Quite an eventful few hours and those that say fishing is boring should live in our shoes, they might have a different outcome.  

Warwickshire Avon - The Untrodden Pt.7

A fanatical coarse fisherman had long wanted to buy a house by his favourite river, the Thames. At last the chance came and he bought a small cottage with a long garden running down to the river. He then bought a small boat and began to prepare for the opening of the coarse fishing season. He cleaned his rods and reels, sharpened his hooks, checked the meshes of his landing net and did everything possible to ensure that his life by the river started in the way he meant it to continue.

On his inaugural outing he decided to fish a few hundred yards above a weir. It was an area of the river known for its big pike and if there was one species this fisherman loved catching above all others it was pike. He'd caught his first pike a lively six-pounder when he was just ten, and now forty years later he wanted to celebrate the acquisition of his dream house by landing a pike over ten pounds.

On 16 June, the opening day of the season, he got up at dawn, prepared sandwiches and a large flask of hot tea, checked his tackle one last time and walked proudly to the end of his garden. His new boat was bobbing happily in the current and he loaded his tackle aboard and set off. The weir was about half a mile downstream, but the river was running quickly and it took just ten minutes to reach the chosen spot.

He threw out his anchor, set up his best pike rod and cast a large sprat into an area of slack water just a little to the side of the main current. On his first cast the float vanished and a good pike was soon engaged in a fierce tussle at the end of the line. It was an eight-pounder, not quite the hoped-for double-figure fish but a good start nonetheless.

According to the newspaper reports that later appeared, it was at this point that everything started to go wrong. As the fisherman tried to unhook his pike, he slipped over backwards and was lucky not to have fallen into the river. The downside of the tumble was that the pike fell on the fisherman's face and sank its teeth into his nose. 

The fish's sharp teeth had only a slight hold on the skin, but in an unthinking reaction to the pain the fisherman yanked the fish away, leaving a nasty wound that immediately began to bleed. Trying to keep his temper despite the pain and the blood now dripping freely on to his shirt the fisherman gently returned the pike to the water and took stock of his situation.

As he stood dabbing his nose and wondering whether or not to call it a day he noticed that his home-made anchor a chunk of concrete with a steel ring through it - had come adrift and his boat was slipping rapidly downstream. 

The fisherman lunged for his oars, but one had already slipped overboard.

What on earth was he to do? 

The boat had picked up speed as the water began to race towards the weir and he suddenly realised that in a few moments his idyllic trip had turned into a nightmare.

If he couldn't stop the boat before it reached the weir he might even be killed. 

He tried using the remaining oar as a paddle but it had little effect against the power of the current. 

He glanced back to the security of the bank, but there was not a soul to be seen. He shouted for help, but no reply came. The few houses he passed seemed deserted and he began to panic. 

He tried to steer the boat away from the main current, but without success and then looking over his shoulder, he realised that the boat was now no more than a few hundred yards from the foaming waters of the weir. Just before the weir itself there was narrow wooden footbridge, but there was no way the fisherman could jump from the boat and reach it as he passed underneath.

Then he had an idea. It was a long shot but it might just work. He quickly attached his heaviest wire trace to his line, added four large treble hooks and a weight and sat down to wait for the boat to reach the bridge. He had just one chance but he was ready. At the moment the boat cleared the bridge the fisherman expertly cast his weight and hook back at it. The weight went high over the bridge and landed in the water on the upstream side. 

The fisherman, his boat still moving downstream, reeled in as fast as he could and as the weight and hooks were dragged back over the footbridge they caught in the bridge's wire superstructure. The fisherman turned side-on to the bridge and gradually allowed his rod to take the strain. 

The rod bent into a hoop and the line sang in the breeze, but the boat began to slow and the line held. If the fisherman had decided to try for pretty much any species other than pike that day, his tackle would not have been strong enough to hold the rowing boat in the current. 

But the pike tackle was powerful and the hooks held until someone crossing the bridge a little later noticed that the man standing in a boat in the middle of the river and apparently fishing for a footbridge was actually in serious trouble. The police were called and a motor launch rescued the fisherman just as his line finally gave way.🤯

Anyway, enough of that !!

Back to fishing, well the recently bought maggots needed reviving by the Jimny's demister because the fridge for some reason had gone really cold, just off freezing which meant the maggots were like Joe Biden on the campaign trail. 

To be fair it didn't take long for them to kick in to life and we were off to do some fishing !!! I left all my feeders all at home though and not only that but the back-up catapult was also left behind. Tw@t, so I could only really fish as far as I could chuck the maggots. 

I need not worry though the amount of fish really was an eyeopener really especially when the river is gin clear. I fished two swims and it really was a bite a chuck, predominantly chub, but also some small roach and dace to add to the mix. I fed some bread to see if any bigger chub were about but they were nowhere to be seen with the sun high and the skies blue. 

Bleak were plundering the pieces though and from time to time they were getting chased by perch. Anyway I stupidly forgot my sun cream and sun hat so decided to call the session early, but boy, a river alive with fish, so nice to see !!!