Warwickshire Avon – God Mouldy Knows

I was hoping a little rain recently and the fact that the weather had turned cold that the Chub may be feeding. A large handful of the green and furry festering cheese paste was quickly squashed in to a small plastic tub and it was back in the fridge before the Wife could get her hackles up.

Then the memories were starting to come back, the smell all too familiar….

Over a couple of weeks I kept on getting a whiff of something rather unpleasant but couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

The lingering ‘Stinking Bishop’ esk smell seemed to follow me wherever I went and really put a dent in my self confidence. I kept on looking over my shoulder expecting to see a corpse shadowing me.

I even avoided women, who’d have thought it….

Had I caught the same manky foot fungi as a good friend Daz ‘fat lad’ Harrigan….? , as the sleeping bag he borrowed I had to incinerate as the stench of mouldy Stilton was that bad. Nothing would shift the pungent odour, nothing I tell thee.

Then something twigged….

The highly visible movable lump under the skin on my shoulder looked like half a crab apple. I didn’t think much of it and was told by the GP to ‘leave it be’ till it something changed or it went aggressive….. 

However this sebaceous cyst was now painful to the touch, had doubled in size and the ‘smell’ leaking out of oneself turned out was festering puss trying to escape from the now bright red dome which was struggling to contain the pressure.

It had unfortunately turned rogue and something needed to be done.

I booked an appointment with the GP and as soon as he saw the predicament I was in he quickly summoned the nurse and I found myself in lock-down and non urgent appointments cancelled.

“This might hurt a bit” said the nurse with the sizeable lump squished between thumb and forefinger.

The pressure and pain was ever increasing but then I caught the sight of a scalpel and its freshly unpacked blade my pain threshold quickly went up a couple of notches as I knew the inevitable outcome was what was needed.

A sharp pain was felt, contents airborne, nurse covered….

The smell unforgettable, the relief instant.

Now back to my quest for a Warwickshire 5lber….Where are they ? God only knows it’s not like I haven’t given it a good go.

I’ve caught quite a few Chub now not far off my target (4lb 13oz) but thus far I’ve failed in my mission even after catching what seems like hundreds of fish. I had planned to switch rivers to one with crayfish in numbers but it means my usual ten minute drive to get bankside would change to nearly half an hour.

For someone with limited fishing time, it didn’t make sense especially when I know the Avon does contain fish of the target size. So this was the first of many winter sessions to try and complete my mission.

Simple roving tactics, rod with centrepin, waist bag and landing net. Plop and drop, 10 minutes in each swim, no bites, time to move on. Rig was a simple quick change bead and a hooklink fitted with a paste cage tied to a hair which would grip the paste and help retain it. There is nothing worse than wondering if the bait is on or not and questioning ones set-up. Even if the main lump of paste has departed there will still be paste stuck inside the cage.

Now despite the recent rain, the Avon is still pretty clear, a slight tinge of colour but as soon as the sun came out the bottom could be seen in many of the swims. The banks were largely deserted and those anglers I did bump in to were struggling. 

Find trees and snags and you will find Chub. Eventually after about 6 or 7 swims without even a tap I managed a greedy little chublet whose eyes were larger than its belly who was seeking sanctuary under a raft. Hmmm not what I'm after.

For the last half an hour I positioned a bait tight to an upstream snag whose access was made easier as the swim was quite elevated. 

A pluck, a tap and a wham !!! within ten minutes the rod wrapped over and fish was on. With some decent side strain applied and the rod bent to the butt this Chub was determined to get to his intended target and sadly after five or six attempts he managed it. 

Stuck solid in some tree roots, I left it go slack but nothing, the hook had parted and I could see the roots lifting as I try to free the rig. 

Eventually the inevitable happened and the hooklink broke.

The only saving grace was I don't think it was the monster I was after. The Avon really does change for the better when there is more colour, I really am finding it tough going, it doesn't help fishing times of the day where I know it going to be difficult but naturally the family life takes priority.

Lower Itchen Fishery – Twaddle and Trollops

My first visit to the Lower Itchen Fisher nearly a year ago was a successful one, well in my eyes anyway as I’m not sure all the accompanying party enjoyed it as much as I did. It was the first chalk stream I’d fished after all and it was all a bit of a novelty.

Countless ‘ladies of the stream’ were caught from one particular swim whilst long trotting sweetcorn cumulating in a 1.8oz PB grayling which really made the trip for me. Thinking back, maybe if I stuck it out, the bigger fish would likely be sat at the tail of the swim, and maybe a specimen 2lber would have been mine, hidden amongst the sheer quantity of fish which really was something I’d not tire of.

There was so much to go out though so I’d only have regretted my decision if I set my stall out so many a swim was explored and some decent fish caught.

Heck I even enjoyed the tussle with the brownies that gave a decent scrap on light tackle, don’t get many of them in the Warwickshire Avon now do you.

Now a friend of mine, an infrequent fluff chucker, really detests the Grayling, seeing it more of a pest, a nuisance, a pain in the proverbials. Even liking them to that unwanted prostitute hanging around on the street corners, all short skirts, proud plumage and easy pickings.

I gave him the Paddington Bear stare…..

I found them great sport personally with plenty of character. But then I’m a coarse fisherman due to my locality and maybe If I was chucking flies around in game rivers maybe I’d come to the same conclusion.

With a friend of mine Simon in tow who like me before the last trip was an Itchen virgin, however for this trip I was in a much better position to fish this lovely river.

So I kinda set out a plan before I went….

 Trotting for grayling and obvious brownies in the morning and early afternoon. The fish are found in the upper reaches of the stretch where there are shallow glides and gravel bottoms. Tactics well, simple trotting of caster or sweetcorn which worked well last time with a little an often amount of feed to hopefully keep the fish interested.

Size 12 Guru QM1

Late afternoon I’d be Roach bound in the mid to lower deeper areas where it changes to deeper pools and bends and coarse fish in residence. Trotting again with hemp and caster as feed and either bread flake or caster on the hook. Now I know Roach and big ones particularly are not that easy to come by here these days, certainly not as prolific as some would make out and possibly the downstream areas beyond Gaters Mill would be the better bet but I was hoping regular feeding and some decent bait something of interest would turn up.

Last but not least ‘we’d’ sit it out with a big bait in the Weir pool for an hour in to dark to see if there was a decent Chub or Barbel hanging around. PVA bag of what was remaining for loose feed.

Simon had no choice but to follow my lead you see….

I had the car keys and access to the camp stove, the pork sausages and buttered baps. His resident host ‘worm’ needs to fed otherwise it can get very nasty indeed.

Unpredictable, uncontainable….it needs to be contained.

So the weather predictors got it wrong, yet again. There was meant to be the odd shower, nothing of note and yet, it pissed down all day.

From 9.30am till 4.00pm it was constant, it became heavier as the day went on so one had to rely again on the Poncho I’ve grown to love. It makes a horrible day bearable.

The middle of the stretch was far clearer than a remembered from last time and in hindsight I should have known it would be tough going.

Still, starting at the top we worked ourselves down trying a few swims and yeap, as expected it didn’t take long to get the first Grayling.

First of the Day

Simon a Grayling landed his first one soon after and sweetcorn seemed the bait of choice. One particular swim was fantastic, a stupidly long trot with the float sinking at the tail end. Grayling after Grayling with the odd Brownie getting in on the act.

It’s full of them this river and fun on light tackle.

My father-in-law an occasional fly fisherman was in horror when I showed him the pics of holding the trout, not a done thing apparently, an unwritten rule for his club anyway. Rainbows, not a problem bosh them over the head.

The quantity of fish in certain swims is staggering and stumble on one of those swims you could probably stick it out all day.

Simon used a closed face reel, me a centrepin and I realise now I should trot the Avon more often particularly in the summer with thick streamer weed and cagey Barbel. It’s a great way to fish.

I managed 1 tangle all day, Simon umpteenth but then he took part in about 3 or 4 conference calls during the day and even two in the car, I think his mind was elsewhere.

Trying to change the world or something….

The middle and lower reaches were tough going, the water levels were rising and the debris and rubbish coming down was making trotting or even ledgering frustrating. So it was back the top to catch more Grayling and Trout.

I must have had >50 Grayling, nearly ten trout and plenty lost too. Nothing of size, trout wise and the best Grayling was a PB equalling 1lb 8oz.

1lb 8oz

There was more fly anglers here than last time, a club meet up I think. I had one cast over my swim when he didn’t realise I was long trotting.

 “what, you can see that far ?” “Wow”

And another fishing about 10 foot away from where I was picking up most of the fish from in the most productive of swims. Sweetcorn under a float was clearly the order of the day as their results from what I witnessed were mediocre indeed. Maybe the rain didn’t help I’m not sure.

The most productive swim.

So back at the car decided to drive down to the weir and fish in to dusk. Again with lots of rubbish coming down I could only keep the rod in for ten minutes before having to retrieve it and remove the thick weed. A few taps and pulls but nothing that developed in to a bite.

Another enjoyable day despite the weather but I think I might somewhere other than the Lower Itchen next year, maybe even a different river altogether.

Warwickshire Avon – Psychoshadmacology

So these Zander, anyone worked them out yet?

As someone who spends a large amount of time fishing for them I’m sure they are on a timed release of a psychoactive drug. The problem is their feeding time and habits vary day by day, and there doesn’t seem a pattern emerging despite the hours I’ve put in.

On the cut where I know there are fish just laying up, all of a sudden something will trigger them off

….and they go the full on Tasmanian.

Maybe one of the pack farts or something, God only knows.

It’s a little like someone I know who despite bad experiences after necking bucket loads of cheap alcohol still enjoys the Gin Craze, she goes from nice to nasty in a click of one’s fingers…

Proper mentalists….

In this area of the Avon I’ve not properly explored I managed to catch a schoolie that had properly nailed the rather large lure meant for Pike, it was veritable gob stopper but despite that it was determined to give it a good going over and manage to ingest both rather large treble hooks.

So after being a bit disheartened trying my best to catch a good Barbel I wanted to explore the upper reaches of the river to see if I could snare a larger specimen. There are some nice hiding areas here you see, so I was hoping drop a lure in the right place might trigger a Tracie Andrews reaction and hook a nice Zander or for some sport, a rod bending Pike.

First swim where I’d caught Zander before, not a jot. Second, same again, the third, bugger all. The fourth, eventually a fish, a small greedy Jack.

The weir had to have some fish in residence and sure enough after some searching out with the lure a half decent Pike shot from the margins but probably saw my ugly mug and went back where he came.

A surface popping lure had a couple of surfacing fish but swopping back to a shallower diver eventually I hooked in to a decent fish. My 7ft Korum snapper jig rod has some decent backbone to it and despite giving the clutch a workout it was landed. 

Not the biggest at 6 or 7lb but welcome all the same.

Now further upstream, three swims later ‘Bang’ something’s properly nailed the shad, fighting harder this one but eventually in the net.

That’s a bit better, 7lb 8oz’s.

3 or 4 swims further up, not a sausage but it weird up there, devoid of any life for some reason. There must be some fish around though, as I’ve had Zander right at the top of the stretch.

So back where I came from, nothing in the weir so decided to go past the bridge to some potential Perch swims I’ve been told about.

I bumped in to Sean who I’d spotted crossing the meadow who had similar ideas and was trying for a Zander or whatever came along.

After a quick natter and two swims without a Perch I walked downstream to an oxygenated area that must hold a few fish. Sure enough a greedy Jack nailed the small shad.

With half an hour left, I fish a peg with a large overhanging tree which gives an area of still water downstream of it.

Didn’t take long either for a fish, another Pike of around 5 or 6 lb.

Not the biggest of fish but considering the conditions not a bad result. This type of session suits me a roving angler too. Small rod, bag and landing net that’s all you need.

Sean this robin took a liking to your car :)