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.