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 !!! 

Warwickshire Avon - The Untrodden Pt.6

With a busy day ahead after a rare lie-in I had a small window of opportunity to try and catch a chub or two from the untrodden. It was going to be an overcast day and almost 10 degrees lower than the day before which was nice and warm.

There was a threat of stormy weather or at least some rain later on as well so might as well make the most of the dry weather I suppose.  

But so far this summer has been pretty rubbish hasn't it, where there doesn't seem a week with two consecutive days of decent weather. The river was alive with fish and after the session I decided to come back and fish maggots to see what I could pick up. 

You can probably just make out the bits of bread over at the far side of the pool where after a good hour with only bleak and other maggot munchers providing interest, out of the blue an unmistakable wake of a good chub that took it off the surface, with quite a disturbance.

 

I didn't think it would take the piece of bread on the first cast but it did and under my polarised sunglasses it didn't mess around other like they can do sometimes, it had one mission and that was to get the bread.

Just under 4lb it was a nice summer chub and also gave a good fight because I was expecting it to be bigger when I teased it in to the net, still a nice chub. 

I managed another 3 chub with the first being the biggest so not a bad return for only a couple of hours of fishing, because the river is back to low and gin clear again which can make the conditions tough. Fishing bread on the surface is a great tactic because you can cover a lot of water to see where those wary chub are holding up.

The soon wise up to it though so it can be boom and bust, and when they are cautious the are REALLY cautious, and you'd be wasting your time trying to catch one. Anyway that was my lot, I'd a mates 50th birthday BBQ to go to. 

Warwickshire Avon - Caves and Cathisophobia

Anyone else up for escaping the modern world ? 

You see haven't you heard ? There’s a big tunnel on the Moon, and we can’t be 100% sure how it got there but it could be a handy place for humans to live, provided there are no aliens inside. 

Fishing on the moon ? why not.

The underground cave has been found in the Sea of Tranquility, the 500-mile wide basin where Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin became the first astronauts to walk on the Moon almost 55 years ago to the day.

For almost as long, scientists have suspected there are tunnels on the Moon, but had never discovered one with an opening, until now. 

It was found thanks to Nasa’s Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter, which surveyed the Moon and allowed scientists from the University of Trento in Italy to create a 3D model of the cave. Thought to be up to 80 metres long, 45 metres wide and between 130 and 170 metres below the surface, it stretches out beneath a pit around 100 metres wide in the Sea of Tranquility a dark region on the near side of the Moon which can be seen with the naked eye.

The most likely explanation for our observations is an empty lava tube. On Earth, lava tubes are the caves left behind by underground lava flows – earlier this year, scientists discovered evidence of humans living in one 7,000 years ago.

Lava tubes on the Moon are thought to have formed the same way and, in the future, could help humans colonise it. The Moon is hostile to human life and its surface is exposed to cosmic radiation that is up to 150 times more powerful than Earth.

The lunar surface is also vulnerable to frequent meteorite impacts and extreme temperatures, ranging from -173C to 127C. But previous research has suggested underground caves have an average temperature of around 17C, creating cosy conditions for astronauts.

I'd be happy with that most certainly, I don't really like it super hot like it was today !! Anyway how the heck is Ben now 15 scary really as I remember him as a toddler like it was yesterday playing in a ball pit in the playroom.

 

He is progressing as the months go by, however he is unlikely to live independently where he will definitely need lots of support going forward. 

But on the positive note, he couldn't be more happier and unlike many kids his age sheltered from the modern world.  

Anyway with Sam's best mate stopping over this weekend I had a small window of opportunity post a BBQ where hopefully I'd catch a barbel.

Some have been showing here like they usually do this part of the season and I fancy something to put a proper bend in the rod.

The day was very warm indeed reaching 31 degrees so I waited till the end of the day where I rocked up at 8.30pm for a couple of hours fishing.

Simple tactics of a PVA bag of mixed pellets and a boilie on the long hair. It was a very pleasant evening indeed especially when the temperature dropped when the sun disappeared from view, fingers and legs crossed for a barbel.

The fish had other ideas though because despite the relatively dark and sheltered swim where I've caught barbel before to 12lb 8oz nothing happened for an hour and a half, until the light levels had dropped considerably and the tip light was earning its pennies.

Out of the blue a decent bite where the tip jumped in to life and continued pulling round, where you would think there would be a barbel on the end because it was a characteristic bite, but no, the first pull of the rod this was a mediocre chub.

No match for the barbel rod thats for sure so I felt a bit sorry for it when it must have known there is no point trying to pull back because the outcome was inevitable. Still a fish is a fish is a fish so at least it wasn't a blank. Anyway it pulled the Dynamite hot-fish and glm boilie off the hair in the tussle so after rebaiting it went back out again hoping the next bite was from a barbel. 

Errrrr nope, because literally two minutes later groundhog dog because I was playing another chub of similar stamp that even though I was fishing with a long hair was determined to swap stories with the mate of his.

Hmmm best laid plans and all that !!!

Third time lucky ?

Well know, because fifteen minutes later another chub of similar stamp that this time caused some swim carnage, so much so there was no more bites after that, so sadly I left with the tail between my legs with another barbel session ticked off with nothing to show for it. So a change of venue is needed, Buffalo Si to the rescue ?, let's hope so because he's been catching barbel, I haven't and he's put me on to some spots. 

Warwickshire Avon - The Untrodden Pt.5

Arthur Ransome, best known for children's stories like Swallows and Amazons, is probably the only really stylish angling writer of the twentieth century. His book Rod and Line has little in it that will help you catch more or bigger fish, but Ransome can be relied on to get right to the heart of what makes fishing so appealing and he usually does it by describing nothing more than a day catching gudgeon, or watching the anglers on some remote Russian river ply their rods. Ransome was himself a very keen angler, though disarmingly modest about his abilities.

Only once did he land a carp and it was an experience so shattering that he wrote about it at length. Catching just one carp may sound like a pretty poor show, but until modern tackle and techniques began to develop in the 1950s, carp were considered almost uncatchable. 

They were seen as huge, mysterious fish, the inscrutable inhabitants of deep, long-forgotten lakes. They would rarely take a bait and if by chance one was hooked its speed, power and cunning almost always meant the fisherman's tackle was smashed before he realised what had hit him.

Ransome said that even the salmon could not match the carp's appalling pace and anyone who has caught both would probably agree with him. The difficulties of catching carp when Ransome was writing in the early 1900s can be judged by the fact that the British record stood at about twenty pounds at that time. Carp commonly grow to twice that size or more.

When Ransome hooked his carp he was using a multiplier and rod combination on which he'd caught numerous large salmon. Yet when he hooked his carp with the same tackle he admitted he simply could not keep in touch with it. More by luck than judgement he managed to land the fish and was astonished to discover after what he considered an epic battle, that it was really quite a small specimen.

On that same day Ransome had a bizarre and quite unforgettable encounter with another carp. He hooked the fish late in the afternoon and realised immediately that fish rather than angler was in control of events. 

As soon as it was hooked the carp set off at a blistering pace for the far side of the lake. It was so quick that Ransome could not give it line in time and the cast snapped like cotton. Then there occurred one of the strangest events of Ransome's long angling career.

His line had snapped a foot or so above his float and while considering how or even whether he should tackle up again he kept an eye on the lost float, which lay flat on the water and still well out towards the middle of the pond. 

As he watched, he saw the float begin to move. It sailed directly towards Rancome's feet. When it came to within six feet of the edge of the lake the float stopped, there was a mighty swirl and a great bronze flank was seen to shoot off towards deeper water. Using his net Ransome retrieved his float, which still had its hook and weights attached.

As he remarked later, it was as though the fish had returned his tackle as if to say: 'Not a bad first attempt. Do try again."

However as an engineer to try again never worked with me when it came to art, my brain just isn't programmed to be artistic and Sam is the same. This effort he came home recently with and at least you could work out what is was. Anyway to the fishing, I wanted some revenge from the chub that Sam lost down at the untrodden but being a busy man this week, my fishing time is very limited indeed, however I decided to set the alarm for 5.00am and have few hours before work.

To be fair I wanted to bring the deeper here as well to see how deep the pool was because I'm sure it could hold some fish. The pool itself was as the deepest 10ft and in the main between 7-8ft. So it carries some reasonable depth that's for sure.

The fish though seemed to be in the shallower half of the pool and I'm not sure what they were because prior to casting the deeper those bits of bread on the surface didn't have much interest apart from some small fish initially. Then a good hour eventually a huge wake where a chub had taken it off the top from a competing duck.

Could it have been a carp though ? Sam reckons "it looks like an area where a carp would live" whatever it was though despite managing a freebee, never came back for more. 

So sadly I blanked before curfew called time, however on a positive note I dropped in to the swim I made the other day which was alive with fish because where I secured a couple of SSG shots on the line and the bread hit the bottom it was getting mullered by the peckers !!!

Next time I'll bring some maggots I think just to see what I can pick up. Encouraging signs for sure, because this area was affected by the pollution incident a year ago. Anyway better get off to work, got tax to pay for those sofa dwellers. 

Warwickshire Avon - The Untrodden Pt.4

Sam was disappointed when I got home after the fishing the Arrow on my tod as he really wanted to tag along as well. He woke up at 7.00am all ready to go to find an empty bed !!! So two fishing sessions in one day as after dinner we decided to pay a visit to the new stretch where hopefully some chub were up for biting...

This turned out to be one of those sessions we would rather forget however !!!! 🙈

In chronological order

1. The first cast of the bread no takers but the weight wasn't holding bottom however on the retrieve the rig got snagged up in a bush sadly leading to a break.
2. Then out of the blue after feeding some surface bread we got a big chub feeding off the top in the pool swim, the swans turned up so we had to wait until they went before getting the bread out.
3. As Sam was chilling waiting for them to go, he squashed the bread to almost a pancake.
4. The first cast of the bread a decent chub took it straight away causing a huge wake and I was in to a decent fish, after a few seconds Sam wanted the rod, where despite his best efforts the chub did him over by swimming in to some thick cover to our left. He really was gutted !!!
5. The hooked pulled and we were now hooked up to the bush instead, where trying to untangle it using the landing net handle led to a failure of the threaded connection, where it just snapped and remained in the net. (To be fair I'd already araldite'd it once before due to its naff design) 
6. With that swim scuppered we had no way to land anymore fish as the swim was far too elevated, so we had to fish the peg I created the other day where we must have disturbed an ants nest that were trying to get in to every orifice !! Luckily the chublets were queuing up the river was alive with fish. 
7. The dry grass was long and Sam's wellies were getting full of bits and pieces that was annoying the hell out of him, so he had to take them off every 15 minutes to clean them out, his socks cleary showing the aftermath. 

In the end we both agreed to end the session early, and to be honest we laughed about it, because it was a catalogue of errors I must admit. So another landing net handle destined for the bin, I'll have to stick with my NGT offering, to be honest seem more robust that any I'd had over the years 👀

Sam hated the bits in his wellies so much he won't be returning apparently 😆, I sure will though I'm sure there are some gems to be had. 

Good to see the river alive with fish though, the bread getting mullered before it even hit the bottom. A maggot approach I'm sure you'd build up a nice bag of fish I'd imagine, I might even try it sometime. Unlike Sam I like it here though, especially when you enter the field and head down to the water the road noise is minimal.

So one of the trips out I'm sure we will recall again during the forthcoming sessions, 'the evening when everything went wrong' 

The River Arrow - Interlopers and Infundibuliforms

I wouldn't say I sneaked out the house, but I felt a bit guilty when I closed the door at just gone 6.00am to head down to the river Arrow. There was no way Sam would get up at that time, but he was up for going again and was a little peed off when I came in to our bedroom to see I wasn't there.

I could have twiddled my thumbs for an hour I suppose but last time here Sam did most of the fishing and I hardly got a look in !!!

Armed with some lobworms I fancied to see if they would tempt anything other than Chub that we've been catching using our standard breadflake approach. Perch being the obvious culprit to take the humble worm, but maybe even a long extinct barbel if there was one still lurking on this stretch.

The river was low and gin clear in places but small rivers like this often have deeper areas and obviously lots of cover where the fish can get some sanctuary. 

I started at the downstream pegs and worked my way up where I'd finish up in one of the deeper swims above the weir that is much wider and slower. The lobworm was getting interest straight away in most swims but the bites were just coming from the chub.

Not the bigger ones that reside on this stretch but a next year or two group down. 2-3 lbers but in lovely condition like most of the chub are on this stretch. I thought I'd have a perch or two, but they were suspicions in their absence even though I'd spotted a decent fish here the other day that was almost by my feet. 

I caught a 3lb 6oz trout here back in March and I was always wondering since that capture if there were still some milling about. But no it was chub all the way for this short session, I'm sure when there is a little more colour in the water that would help, or maybe I'll try an evening in to dusk instead.

I do love catching chub though and I finished off on 7 of them so plenty of bites. Even the weir didn't produce a bite on the lobworm which I was surprised about. 

For the part of the session I gave a swim above the weir a go but not even a bite up there when downstream I was getting little indications on the tip there was small fish nibbling at the worm. I'm a rather impatient angler though as I'm sure if I move the bait around the swims a bit I'd have managed to get a bite.

I got home to Sam having a moan 😝 but then he had a right to do so. I promised to take him later anyway, unless he changes his mind that is. !!! So a little disappointed with this trip but I'm sure the conditions didn't help. There is a match on here tomorrow so hopefully they will fair better than I did.  

Warwickshire Avon - Ghosts and Ghawazees

JHR Bazeley was a keen fisherman who wrote several books about his favourite sport and though they are all out of print and largely forgotten now they include an account of a most strange day's grayling fishing high up in the Yorkshire Dales. Bazeley left Leeds early one morning in December and by the time he arrived at his favourite stream it was just getting light. Snow still lay on the ground and he relished the crisp, clean air after the fog of Leeds.

Having eaten a hearty breakfast in the local hotel, he walked the few miles to his favourite spot and began fishing. Within an hour he had nearly a dozen good grayling in his basket. And so it continued throughout the day. It seemed as if he could do no wrong.

With just a few days to go before Christmas he was lucky to get a room back at the hotel, but the fishing had been so prolific he could not bear to return to Leeds, which had originally been his plan. We

Next morning he set off for the river again and fished down the first pool.

Immediately he was overtaken by a curious feeling, a feeling that someone else had just fished the same spot, yet he knew this was highly unlikely as he'd reached the riverbank just as the sun came up.

A few moments later Bazeley landed a nice fish and decided to move further down the river. As he turned the next bend, where the stream rattled over golden pebbles, he saw a dark figure a few hundred yards ahead of him, kitted out in waders, rod over his shoulder and just leaving the pool to move downstream. 

Bazeley followed and fished the stream the old man had left. He did extremely well and caught several excellent grayling, but this was odd since the previous angler must have disturbed the water and in the general run of things he'd have been lucky to catch anything arriving so soon after someone else had left.

As Bazeley moved down to the next pitch, his bag already groaning under the weight of several fat grayling, he once again saw the old chap in front make a move. It was as if the old man, knowing the instant Bazeley made the decision to move, would each time make way for him.

This continued throughout the day but, judging by the superb sport Bazeley enjoyed the old man's presence was, if anything, having a beneficial effect on the water. However, it was decidedly odd because, try as he might to vary the amount of time he spent on each pool, Bazeley always seemed to be the same distance behind the old man when he moved.

Dusk came on and Bazeley decided enough was enough. He packed up and walked slowly along the twisting, overgrown lane towards the hotel. To his delight he saw the old man from the river walking in the same direction. Perhaps, concluded Bazeley he is staying in the same hotel and we will be able to talk fishing this evening. Bazeley hurried to catch up with the distant figure but failed. Then he saw the old man turn in at the door of the hotel and thought, 'Aha, I have him now!"

Moments later Bazeley was taking his boots off in the rod room. 'Where's the old man who's just come in?' he asked the landlord. 'Which one, sir?' came the reply.

"The old gentleman who just came in wearing thigh boots and carrying his tackle bags,' said Bazeley.

Bazeley was astonished at what came next.

'You must be mistaken, sir. You are the first fisherman we've had staying for more than three months.'

'But I saw him come in the door just a few minutes before me!' came Bazeley's astonished reply. He then gave a lengthy and detailed description of the fisherman whose steps he had dogged throughout the day.

The riverkeeper who had been standing nearby throughout the conversation spoke. 'Can you spare a moment?' he asked indicating that Bazeley and he should retire to a quiet corner of the dark sitting room.

When they'd settled down on an old sofa by the fire the keeper spoke.

'The old chap you saw. I think you did see him right enough. He used to come and fish here for grayling every winter and he was just about the only one mad enough to fish every day whatever the conditions. 

We could never stop him even in the worst snow and frost. He had many narrow escapes over the years, but they never slowed him down. 

Then one day he failed to come back. He'd slipped into that pool by the willows. It was weather very much as it is now and Christmas was just as nearly upon us. 

Deep snow made the going difficult and no other angler would have been crazy enough to go out, so there was no one around to try to save him. 

We found him a few days later tangled up in the roots of an old willow and now every Christmas Eve he is seen fishing his favourite pools again."

Anyway talking of pools, on to the fishing !!!

I wasn't feeling 100% for this short after work in to dusk session so fancied a bit of chill out sat behind a rod, after a quick dabble for chub off the top obviously. 

I was here the other day struggling to catch fish mainly because it was really shallow and gin clear and the fish were as cagey as anything. 

I did see a couple of barbel in one swim though so with the river slightly up and hopefully carrying a little more colour, I'd fish in to dusk where hopefully the odds were more in my favour.

For the first hour and a bit I roved around to try and catch a chub and the 3rd swim came up trumps with a small fish nailing the bread a good 30 yards down the run.

There was plenty of reeds in the swim and it must have tried to get in to every single one of them so I had to be a bit of a bully to get it out from them and getting itself snagged up.

There was a couple of anglers on this stretch and a natter with both of them and we actually arrived back at the cars the same time post dusk. One of them managed 6 chub and 1 barbel all from the same swim. I well not much to write home about because after the initial chub pulls and bangs eventually one hooked itself that was only around 2lb or so. Sadly no barbel for me, at least I know they are here though, so I'll give them  another go soon me thinks.