Field testing

Looking at my newly built Torrixes got too much for me to bear. Two of them had reels fitted and were slung in the quiver. Despite the rain earlier in the day the river was still very low, lower than it had been two days earlier, but only the usual angler in his usual swim when I arrived. Unbelievable on a Saturday evening. I took my time tackling up the new rods and had two baits in the water by eight thirty. Although I built them for stillwater fishing I know some people rate them as barbel rods and I'd have a good chance to put a bend in them with a fish on the end.

I should really have rigged them up with braid for a fair comparison with my Chimeras, but my spare reels were loaded with mono and I'm lazy. They cast the three ounce leads well enough. The tips deflect more than the Chimeras do. I didn't chance a bigger lead. I suspect that the mono may have accounted for the slightly spongy feeling on the cast. The real test would be playing a fish or two.

There was a slight chill in the brisk westerly, a hint of autumn on its way, the sky clear. It was only half an hour in when the upstream rod started bouncing rapidly. This was caused by a cheeky little chub of two or three pounds. Not the most arduous test fro the new rod. The next bite, to the same rod, was far more positive. The baitrunner spinning slow and steady. The rod took on more of a curve. Again, it could have been the mono, but things felt springy. The fish wasn't big, in fact it was the third visit to my net for The Kinky One.

Hello again

Ten minutes after recasting the rod was away again. A slightly bigger fish that I slipped back fifteen yards downstream where the margin was slighlt deeper. Where I had set up the margin was so shallow that I had to paddle out to net fish with the pole at full stretch. The barbel hadn't powered off, it sat in the edge either resting or bemused.

I'm fairly sure that this fish was a recapture as it had some raw marks near it's tail. I've had a few fish in this size range bearing these marks, and I'm pretty sure they are the same few fish. Earlier in the season I had put these marks down to spawning injuries. I'd have expected them to have healed by now. So I'm not sure what the cause might be. The fish are feeding well enough and filling out though.

Mystery marks

Another ten minute break and the 'runner was turning again. Another pea-in-a-pod fish that I unhooked in the net and pushed out into deeper water. The next fish took half an hour to take the bait. I think this might have been because I had run out of tied up pellet bags. With more tied up I'd wound in and rebaited. The bite came quickly after that. I weighed this one at a shade over seven pounds to keep my guessing eye in. With the fish in the sling I carried it to the deeper spot.

I was a little surprised to see the second barbel of the night was still where I'd left it. Lying quietly fanning it's gills. This isn't unusual. Quite a few times I've slipped a fish into shallow water and it has stayed there for some time. They come to no harm, so long as they can maintain their balance and remain upright, and eventually waddle off. The fish I was releasing was a real live wire and thrashed its way out of the sling. As it regained its freedom it brushed against the other fish. This must have stimulated something in it's fishy brain and it swam off following it's boisterous shoalmate. It was quite a sight watching the the pair of them swimming over the shallows heading upstream and slowly fading from view.

As I was playing each fish I looked up at the curve the rod was taking on. More tippy than the Chimeras, and I feel a little lighter in test curve - despite what it says on the tin. I'll be doing some comparative deflection tests in due course. The rods are definitely lighter in weight than the Chimeras and I think will be perfect for their intended purpose of hurling method feeders towards the bream.

At five to eleven, under a starry, but mild and mistless, sky I wound in the downstream rod which had remained undisturbed by fish. There was something on the end in addition to the boilie. Whatever it was was small. I expected an eeel, but it turned out to be a barbel of a pound, maybe less! Over my shoulder a band of cloud was moving in. I thought I might need the brolly, but it soon blew over without depositing anything wet on me.

Small and greedy!

That was it for the night. I stopped on until twelve thirty when the flask ran dry. Bites having dried up I guessed there'd been a feeding spell and it was over.

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New reels required

The Torrix blanks are now completed rods. In the end I went with MNSG SiC rings (six plus tip, 30mm to 10mm, Rover Ringing pattern), NPS reel seat with stainless collars, keeper ring and just a rubber Fuji butt cap to finish the handle off - although this may change later as I'm not sure about it. I've kept the lettering to a minimum (DLST as shown, and 12/2.5 underneath at the rear of the reel seat), and added a discreet metallic tipping to the tyings on the handle.

Functional but smart

The rods look so good I simply can't put my cheap Aero Baitrunners on them. It's a pity the XTEAs have double handles and I do wish I hadn't been told about the Baitrunner D series...

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Now, then, forever

Driving across the flatlands I turned one of the many ninety degree bends and ran straight into a wave of overwhelming nostalgia. On my left was field of half-dried hay being turned in the late summer sun. The grass lying like a loosely thrown duvet over the ground. The next sharp bend turned right before I could change up a gear and there was a wheat field, motionless. The early evening light throwing the Naples Yellow ears into chequerplate relief.

Nostalgia for England is not Bob Cratchet in the snow or Heathcliff on the rain-lashed moor, it's Constable, Housman and larks ascending in the brief, nameless period of low sun and still air between summer and autumn. I don't remember which route I took to the river. I was lost somewhere in the past that was also the now.

The river was flowing peacefully when I arrived to fish a spot EH had shown me on Tuesday. It had the vibe and I wanted to try it out. After struggling through the vegetation I took my time getting set up. A quick lead around and I knew it would be snaggy. Big rocks in the margins and cobbles on the river bed. With the flow pushing through under the rod ends I droppered out some pellets. I was trying a different rod for this. I was hoping that the nine footer would double as a rod for tight swims. It was a bit lacking for the dropper. Back to the drawing board - or I should say the blank pile.

Even while I was baiting up the mallards arrived. Not my friends from downriver, a more bolshy bunch. I chucked a couple of broken boilies in and the ducks dived for them. Bang went that idea. With the baits in place I sat down for the inevitable PVA bag tying session. The warm evening made this a piece of cake. Although not hot I was able to sit out in shirtsleeve order until gone eight. By which time the rod tips had already started twitching to the attentions of chub. I didn't expect any real action until the light had gone.

The swim was a comfortable one, and as I was sat a few feet above the waterline, fishing close in, I was able to keep the rods low. This positioned the tips at eye level, preventing neck ache, and the isotopes glowed brightly against the silhouette of the opposite bank as dusk turned to night proper. When the bite came I wasn't expecting it.

The downstream reel buzzed wildly and I found myself playing the fish before I knew what was going on. The marginal boulders made for a tense, interesting fight. I managed to clamber down to the water's edge and with the fish beaten drew it safely over the rocky jumble into the net. A fish of six or seven pounds was unhooked in the river and swam slowly back over the ledge to deeper water.

More taps and twitches were coming to both rods. It was almost an hour later when the upstream rod slack-lined repeatedly. This was no barbel, no chub either, but an eel. It was flicked off the hook into the water.

A clear blue evening sky heralded a starry night. And a starry night would mean a drop in air temperature that would allow a river mist to form. I was surveying the river for mist - a killer of sport - which was light and sparse, when I glanced upstream and saw the moon's orangey glow through the leaves of an ash, I think it was an ash, on the far bank. Not quite a half moon, not quite a crescent. A Samuel Palmer moment and the nostalgia swirled round me. The polythene wrapped silage bales opposite seemed as timeless as standing stones.

By eleven thirty the mist was thickening. For the first time this season my toes were feeling chilly. I tidied my gear away without interruption, climbed the grassy bank and loaded the car.

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One good turn

I haven't read any of his work, so don't blame me if you don't like it, but Simon Crump is an angler who sends me e-mails saying nice things about this blog. So here's a link to his new book on Amazon.

Neverland: the unreal Michael Jackson stories

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First blood

For a change, and a challenge, I thought it a good idea to fish a different stretch of river. It's often hard to leave the comfort zone when you've had a good session or two but then again you can try to ride your luck elsewhere.

I'd checked the weather forecast on the BBC website and rain was predicted to arrive after dark. I put the brolly in, just in case they were right. As I got out of the car on arriving at the river to meet a customer at five the rain arrived. Just a light shower that soon passed. After doing the dodgy deal I got back in the car and set off to look at another stretch I had yet to fish. Half a mile along the road the rain came back. Heavier and more persistent this time. Knowing that a walk would be involved I carried on to the stretch I'd walked on Sunday. I could fish closer to the car there.

Getting the gear out of the car I realised that I had no PVA bags of pellets tied up, and trying to tie them under a brolly would be almost impossible. I left the rucksack and rods in the rain and jumped in the back of the car with my pellet bucket. I spent fifteen minutes or so making up pellet bags and eating my butties before trotting (more like limping!) off upstream.

The rain eased as I walked past the only other angler on the bank. I dropped my tackle by the first swim I fancied, but I was compelled to have a look at the next swim along. There was definitely something about it. Maybe the flow patterns appealed subconsciously. The gear was moved and carried gingerly down the bank.

The first task was to cast a lead around to get a feel for the swim. Then I droppered out some pellets upstream and about a third of the way across the river. Some more pellets were thrown downstream (I forgot my catty) about a rod length out. An 8mm crab Pellet-O went upstream and an Oyster and Mussel boilie downstream. By six thirty I was settled in with the brolly up - rather pointlessly as it turned out. The high bank at my back made it difficult to get the brolly angled to get any real shelter from the light rain, especially with the upstream wind that was blowing. Still, it wasn't cold and the rain was more of a drizzle.

Even with the rain there were swallows wheeling around and twittering. They will be feeding up ready for their long journey south. There was certainly a good hatch of some sort of flies on the river so they should be well fuelled.

It wasn't long before something showed an interest in the pellet. The rod shook and the line fell slack, but there was nothing attached when I wound down. Then there was a really sharp chub knock on the boilie rod. I thought I might be in with a chance of a fish of some description.

As the light was starting to fade, early with the heavy cloud cover, there was another shake of the pellet rod and this time the line fell slack, and slacker, eventually moving downstream and into the wind. That had to be a hooked fish. Sure enough there was a fish kicking when I got a tight line. Eel. Fortunately lip-hooked and not wrapped up the line it was easily flicked from the hook.

Half an hour later the boilie rod started dancing and a feisty chub of some four pounds was netted. That would do me for a first session on the stretch. I hadn't blanked. I'd fish until ten come what may. I'd seen enough of the stretch to want to return.

At half nine I started to tidy the gear away. I'd put the rods on my short sticks with the alarms attached. While I was sorting the gear out I switched the alarms on. There not being anyone around to disturb should one go off. The rucksack, chair and bucket were carried up the bank and I was stood watching the rods for the final few minutes when the tip of the pellet rod tapped. I was watching it for further movement when the other alarm sounded out a one-toner. The rod was pivoted round on the rest and the butt off the deck!

I grabbed the rod and applied finger pressure to the spool as the fish continued taking line against the baitrunner. I flicked the 'runner off and started to make some impression. Not being too sure what the river bed was like in front of me I leaned into the fish and it came upstream. When it passed me and carried on upstream I was beginning to wonder what it might be. As I stopped its powerful run out to mid-river it rolled over on the surface and soon after was in the net. Nice! I staked the net and scrabbled up the bank for the scales - the sling was in my quiver still by the rods.

A starter for ten

The fish looked a 'nine', but felt heavier. The Avon's needle removed any doubt by spinning round more than 360 degrees. Back in the net for a rest while I sorted the camera out. There was more of that damp stuff falling now, so I threw my towel over the camera while I carried the fish up the bank. A few snaps then back to the water. As soon as the mesh was submerged the barbel was trying to swim away. I dropped the net cord and helped her over it. Away she went, swimming strongly out of the beam of my head torch. I finished packing the rods and net away. I ate a Nutrigrain bar before trudging back to the car damp, but satisfied that a combination of instinct and watercraft had put a fish on the bank.

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Sitting by a river throwing in pellets*

Although England managed to bat for longer than I thought they would the collapse still arrived before I'd finished whipping all my rods. Nonetheless, despite the day turning cloudy and threatening rain, I stuffed an early tea down my neck, left the brolly at home and headed for the river.

First stop was to look at a new-to-me length and have a walk. Even with the overcast I worked up quite a sweat. Then headed off to visit my feathery friends. It wasn't long after I'd set out my stall that they arrived, milling around in the edge waiting for the pellets they knew were coming. They were the only companions I had as the river was deserted. It looked as if the stretch had seen a bit of stick over the weekend though, with trampled grass in a few places.

With the baits out I sat back to relax with a brew. I was idly watching the rod tips when I heard rustling and a quiet 'peeping' sound in the grass to my right. The feathery horde wasn't satisfied and wanted more. There are two missing from the brood since I first made their acquaintance but the remainder are almost fully grown now. Even so, mum still keeps a watchful eye out for them.

Beware - ducks!

It took me by surprise when the downstream rod sprang into life. It only felt like a small fish but was proving difficult to get under control. When I saw the boilie hanging from a pectoral I knew why - it was foulhooked. With the river low and, more importantly, clear it was vividly coloured. Bright coral fins and deeply brassy scales. A fish for the future.

Dusk still lingers with hatches of flies coming off the river, but the long shadows come earlier. Summer is showing signs of drawing to a close now. Swallows were flying high, far above the wood on the far bank, leaves now turned dark shades of green with hints of autumnal browns in places.

I had pulled the upstream rod out of a snag, fraying the hooklink, and was tying up a second spare one after recasting when that rod was away. A decent fish by the feel of it. A well filled out none pounder as it turned out. Fifteen minutes later the same rod jagged down a few times and I lifted into a fish that felt equally good. Then it fell off. I'm still not convinced by the S5 hooks in smaller sizes for barbel fishing.

Half an hour went by when a sharp take to the downstream rod stopped suddenly, then the tip jabbed again. I expected an eel, so a small chub was a pleasant surprise. A fresh bait was attached to the hair and recast. Barely had I sat down again and the same rod was in action again. No chub this one. Immediately I picked up the rod and bent into the fish it took line. Always a good sign.

Sure enough, it was a cracker. Another solid and chunky fish. The bigger fish have lost their early season flabbiness and with the clear water are looking good.

Throw pellets out, wind barbel in...

When I was returning the fish I noticed that it had a slightly deformed barbel. I'll have to check back through my photos to see if it's a fish I've caught before. [Yes I have and at the same weight. Which is odd as it's on the web at over a pound heavier... Must buy some new scales!]

A closer look

There were some strange noises coming from the far bank woods after dark. The first was a rather loud bark. Just one. Then later there were sounds of things crashing through the undergrowth. This didn't sound like deer, which can sometimes crack a twig or two. Maybe badgers, they can be less than subtle at times. One thing I doubt was causing the noise was the big black cat that I have heard is prowling the valley. It's strange how talk of big cats sometimes spooks you. Last time out I packed up early because I couldn't get the animal out of my mind and kept looking over my shoulder! This time it didn't bother me. Even though I'd had an unexpected feline encounter as I approached the river.

Coming down the bank I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of something stalking in the long grass by the river. It's long tail twitching in anticipation. How amazing that I had only heard of the 'panther' a few days before and there I was, face to tail with..

...a small white kitten that bounded off in fear as soon as it became aware of me!

I was too lazy to fill any more pva bags of pellets, so when the last one was used up I started to tidy the gear away at eleven thirty. Five minutes into this process the upstream rod was off again! Just a small one, but nice to finish the session off. Why low and clear conditions put people off I really don't know. Barbel can be caught, and in daylight too. Okay, the biggest fish of the session came after dark, but I'd had a couple before the headtorch was required. Still, I'm not grumbling.

* With apologies to John Gierach

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