Warwickshire Avon - Trumps and Triskaidekaphobia

Ah, the eternal struggle of the angler’s soul a tale as old as time, or at least as old as my battered old tackle box. It’s a lament that echoes through the quiet waters and the silent forests, a cry for mojo, a plea for a little divine intervention to remind us why we willingly subject ourselves to the whims of weather, the fickle gods of fish, and the ever-present threat of bailiffs with a penchant for confiscating our hard-earned bait. 

Come on, fishing mojo, you need a kick up the backside, at least three times a week, was the norm last year. Three times! That’s right, three. 

Now, it’s more like a biannual pilgrimage, and even then, I’m dragging myself out of the door with the enthusiasm of a man heading for a root canal. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been a short-session disciple, a believer that less is more, but even I have to admit that even a short 3-4 hours on the bank beats the hell out of sitting at home wishing I was fishing.

Those trips to the Wye, now they’re a different kettle of roach. For some reason, those days seem to fly by faster than my patience on a cold winter’s morning.

Maybe it’s the solitude, that sweet, sweet solitude that every angler craves the kind where the only sounds are the gentle plop of a baited hook hitting the water, the distant call of a kingfisher passing wind like some high-pitched fart, and the occasional rustle of a leaf in the breeze. 

You could hear a pin drop, or in this case, a passing kingfisher’s wind, which is probably more audible than the background road noise that’s non-existent on these stretches. It’s like stepping into a different universe, one where the only law is that of the fish and the tranquil rhythm of the water.

Thankfully, the weather’s starting to improve, which is a blessed relief. The temperature’s dropping, rain’s falling at just the right intervals, adding a splash of colour to the water and a bit of life to the scene. The Warwickshire Avon, on the other hand, remains stubbornly clear. Clear water, clear mind 

I’m in no rush to dive in there just yet. No, I’ve got some maggots to drown, some hooks to bait, and a sneaky plan to sneak off to a weir that looks like it’s been waiting for me. 

That place is a magnet for bites last time I fished it, I managed to tempt a rather large bream and some nice roach as well, so what could I pick with a stickfloat and maggots ? only one way to find out (I plan to go the weekened !! ) But before that a quick smash and grab session for a barbel in the newly serviced and MOT'd Jimny that now 6 years old passed its 4th MOT with flying colours !!! Well ok an advisory on brake pads and discs, but then there is disk judder on occasion and it's done just shy of 50k miles. 

Anyway I arrived about an hour before dusk and had a nose at a couple of the swims and to be honest nothing really jumped out at me. There is definitely a bit of extra water on but boy it was still gin clear the problem is that the Warwickshire Avon doesn't fish that well when it's like this, well for the bigger fish anyway. So I set my stall out in a swim that has some depth. A pellet approach with some freebies I was fully expecting it to kick off at dusk...

...how wrong was I though, to cut a long story short, not even a pull from a chub which is amazing really as this swim is often a hotspot. Oh well !! I left with my tail between my legs and no trophy shot of a PB breaking barbel. On the positive though, there is that lovely autumnal nip in the air, the best fishing time is on the way my fishing friends. Tight Lines.