Warwickshire Avon - Swadish & Swingometers

Right then. Fishing. Remember that?

It’s taken a bit of a back seat of late, truth be told. Not because I’ve lost interest oh no, far from it but because the Warwickshire Avon resembles more of a mid-range mineral water these days than a river. Low, gin clear, and quieter than a vegan at a hog roast. Not exactly barbel-friendly is it? Those crafty old lumps don’t get to twenty pounds by being reckless in daylight.

Still, if the river won’t provide therapy, then there’s always techno. (well not quite)

So off I went to Glasgow last weekend, where the beats were deep, the bass was heavier than the 2 12" Cerwin Vega's complete with huge amplifier in the Metro GTI when I was 21. The venue was intimate enough to see the DJ's ear hairs vibrate with each drop. Selador Records, Dave Parry and Dave Seaman at the Radisson Red’s Skyline Bar, with Rodriguez Jr providing a live set essentially a rave in a greenhouse, suspended several storeys up, with a soundsystem capable of rearranging your pancreas.

Nine hours of 50hz-fuelled ecstasy (the frequency, not the pill this is Glasgow, not Gatecrasher 1999) and by Sunday morning, my tinnitus usually dormant unless I accidentally touch the oven with wet hands had returned like a long-lost mate offering to crash on the sofa for a few nights.

"Mick are you not too old for this?" I hear you ask. (Sam says it all the time)

Well, when I’m nodding along in sync with the sub-bass while ordering a pint of beer and Googling “Can earplugs still be cool?”, I think the answer is maybe. But I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much. And food well, the calories were flowing freer than the Avon is right now. The culinary highlight came courtesy of Swadish by Ajay Kumar, a tasting menu so exquisite I briefly considered taking up food blogging and hanging up the rods. 

Lamb pepper roast, black spices, coconut, Rumali roti, and preserved lemon like a balti that got a first-class degree. If you ever wondered what finesse tastes like, it’s that dish. It was one of those meals where as a foodie you can’t help but take a picture before tucking in, despite looking like a berk in front of strangers.

Anyway, back to reality. (Via the superb Bon Accord Whisky bar !!)

Midway through digesting both the lamb and my Glasgow hangover, an email popped up from one of my blog readers (you know who you are the one who still uses Comic Sans in emails). 

Two twenty-pound barbel caught on the Warwickshire Avon. Two. Twenty. One of them from a stretch I know more intimately than my kettle’s limescale situation. 

Now Glasgow is a city with plenty to do with some great free museums only tainted like many cities are these days with the scurge of the Uber eat kamikaze masked up riders and out of place menacing street corner frequenters.

Now, I’m not saying it was he who peddles the pinkies spreading Chinese whispers, but there’s only one way to separate fact from Facebook fiction: grab a rod, lob out a bait, and sit in the gloom looking slightly suspicious to any trespassing dog walkers, thankfully despite the horrendous wind the plane took off from Glasgow airport fine, and oddly it was one of the smoothest flights I've had for a while.  

 
A smash and grab session was hastily arranged. Rods on the Jimny, bait (stinky, homemade, and illegal in three EU countries) in the bucket, flask brewed, and off to the river I went like a barbel-obsessed bat out of hell. The plan: bait and wait. Dusk till done.

And honestly? It was glorious.

Not because I caught anything of note spoiler alert, I didn’t but because sitting on the Avon’s banks, in the half-light, with clouds creeping over the fields and owls hooting like rave MCs on a comedown, was exactly what I needed to realign the chakras after a weekend of hedonism.

 
So yes, the river might be low, the fish might be shy, and my ears might still be ringing like a fire drill in a biscuit tin but you can’t beat the peace of a quiet riverbank.

…unless, of course, someone’s genuinely had two twenties.

In which case, I’m fishing every evening until my bivvy grows moss and my missus files a missing persons report. Joke, that is not me at all but my PB of 12lb and 14 ounces is easily beatable on the Warwickshire Avon with the fish that seem to be swimming about there at the moment. 

Anyway nothing much to report for the first go for a big Bertha !! I baited one swim came back to it after 45 minutes with nothing bigger than a 8 ounce perch milling around and a load of bait fish, and then decided to go all out in the main swim. 

Almost 2 hours fished in to dusk and a tad beyond to only a couple of chub snatches and pulls but it was a nice swim I've not really fished this way before having targeted others species before and I can see why a big fish would like it here given the challenging summer conditions. Some depth but also some extra oxygen from the oxygenated water.