A glimmer of light on the horizon

A brave band of chrome yellow straight out of my paintbox streaks the sky. So observed Ronald Blyth of winter light opening up a portend of change to come in  his opening lines of Next to Nature. I'd planned to be chubbing today not too far down the Stour valley from Bottengoms Farm, his home on the Suffolk/Essex border once the domicile of John Nash, painter of British  landscapes Instead I skulked around the lanes of North Norfolk in a stygian gloom, having obeyed the foreboding Weather App and stayed firmly rodless in Norfolk. No band of any hue. just dank, wind filled murk.

Yesterday I had  a portent of change in hues of silver, blue and fiery red. Only a river angler really sees those colours. Winter roach. I'd started on the mill pool above the Soay meadow, working out where  the dace wanted the maggots to be in that slacker glide at my feet, tripping along the crease

Chunky dace too, and game battlers in the faster weir water. Wild brownies too. But a snag claimed my prized Loafer made balsa bringing proceedings to an untimely halt.

Roach Straight had been obliterated by the evil Black Plague hordes and had become a virtual Cyanide Straight. Perhaps the roach had regained a tentative fin hold again? On the fringes of legality I hunkered down as discretely as I could, so much so a passer-by remarked on the stealth green-ness of my presence in my new Big Coat and a green bucket, the likes of which he'd never seen before. 

Rather than retackle the trotting rod I laid down a little trail of bait with a small 20grm cage feeder whilst I scanned up and down for tell-tile signs of fish as the roach often did roll on dusk here. 

At first it was the timid little grebes hugging the far margins, then a splashy small fish and then a larger  roll, a glimpse of red. The tip jagged as the the feeder sank, a fish on the drop. No netter and not even a quarter of the size I was after but that brilliant silver, metallic blue and the reddest of red eyes and fins. Not a hint of a cruel v-shaped beak mark to behold. 

Mr Indecision me

Tuesday and I had plans. Too many plans. Daytime chub making the most of the river beginning to drop. I wont bore The Loafer and you with my secret cheese paste recipes  but 4 balls in the fridge all ready to go. But what if... everything I own mostly chucked in the charabanc and drive past the Common  to check the tidal level and if maggots were required. Just in case. Can you see where I'm going with this? I'd probably already decided to sack the chub in. Tidal looked ok and the feeder boys were in the lower meadow leaving a nice bend by the pub. A decent pint measure of reds from not Angling Direct in Wrokkers and I was soon unlading the charabanc. Feeder boys had a horrid facer northerly, I didn't on the bend. Went to lock the charabanc, no key. Shit. Stop/start working so keys must be present inside. Searched everywhere. No avail.  In resignation hands in the hoody pouch pocket. (I never put them in there. Well, except the  last time this happened). Of course they were there.

Mixed some dark river groundbait with hemp juice and built up my line on the crease. Feed, trot, feed , trot. Hold back, slow down, run through tide pace. 35 minutes  One crushed maggot. Bored. Cold. Everything back in the charabanc as it had started to rain, Key in (the) right pocket. Pub. Pint and Scampi Fries. Frightfully gentile but oh so gammon ladies lunching. Frinton vibes. Pike above the door.

Past the Mill, slightly less frantic. Back to the bridge pool. Rain, lots of. Wet but determined. Cage feeder on the twisted loop. Awkward lob out under trailing branches. Three reds on a #14 B560. Two swings out, two fish. A dace and this fresher roach than yesterday's effort. Gonna  bag up here surely. 

The fish had different ideas. One nasty, ugly clack-clacky signal cray and that was it. One rod, one plan next time..

Black Cap

River has been up, and weather minging. Just enough of  a slack in the bridge pool for a few casts with a black cap feeder and reds/worm on the business end. Just the one fish, a pale floodwater roach.

Left after I dropped the maggots. Not sure if it will be buy more or try some day time chubbing tomorrow.

When in doubt the wumms come out.

Unexpected gale, rain then hail. Thermals required. Nearly didn't go but compromised with a spin then worms plan. Took the long walk up to the perch pool for a recce. Looks really fishy up here but no chub that anyone knows about (ripe for seeding with chublets) and I'm sure this is where occasionally seen at dusk roach guy (ugh, that word, why did I type it? was heading with his bag of bread the other day. Anyway, I was armed with the ultra light rod and a tub of lobs for just in case to the pool where I'd had a few trouty nips at the maggots when batting back. Spinning, like swingtipping is something I try for a bit then remember why I don't do it. Wobbling deadbaits at least has a sit and wait now and then option but by the time you've packed traces, cool bag, rod rest, the bigger net you might as well go the  whole two pike rods hog and miss out on the perch and trout. This little feller looked ok in the water and did attract a couple of taps but I wasn't feeling it.

Not a big pool but certainly looks the dogz. 

Out with the tip road and rolling the lobs around with a drop shot weight as I'd forgotten the SSG's 

Wasn't sure if the taps were fish or crays, but a twang round and fish on. No acrobatics but felt trouty and it was. Nothing like the fat as butter fish from last week, this one bore few spots and had been in the wars a bit. However a fish is a fish and if they pull the string then job more or less done. Fecken gumby troot the Loafer declared. I  do think fly fishing is mostly to introduce some level of skill as they will eat anything as it goes past in most cases.

 

A nasty sharp wintery shower seemingly out of nowhere sent me back down the muddy path to  the charabanc early. The levels had risen in the hour I'd been on the pool and I had some wumms left.

Had  to check the next pool below the next mill to earn my season ticket corn, dusk falling as quickly as the temperature and more water coming down now under the bridge so quivertipping on the edge of the eddy with a heavier drop shot weight.

Taps, then pulls, some from the dreaded crays and as the local corvids began to arrive noisily to find their roosts in the Great Wood and the tawnies began to call the strike met firm resistance twice.This freshly minted roach. 

And when I saw the first flash of red fins on this my knees turned to jelly before a spiky dorsal broke the surface. 1lb 15oz of fantastic Bure perch.

Gotta have a brace shot. Happy days..

Sharp frost this morning so out with a book to find a pub with a log fire after a brisk (ish) walk
.

Storm Claudia? Damp squib perhaps

We have had, like most of the country some serious rain courtesy of Storm Claudia but the land must be so dry the Upper Wensum was just a bit fresher but that's all. A lot the summer weed has gone but the banks are still over grown and a lot of woody debris waiting for  a proper flush through.  Tried the ponded section above the mill, slap bang in the town stretch, a roach first trot then a run of small but lovely coloured wild browns but bites soon dried up. More of a groundbait and and build up bites section perhaps.

Walked down to check below the road bridge and looked bob on for some dace. There were dace (tiny minnows as well)  and roach too. 

Check this three trots, three fish result. Proper roach them. Only a short foray but walking back to the charabanc did see some better glides to fish from from the opposite bank another day. 

SIze of that

Hoped to recce the perch pool with a few worms under a Loafer hand crafted bobber but  every man and a few dogs were whipping most of the river into a lure induced maelstrom. Found a bend with a bit more depth and a reasonable small landing net full of ok roach and dace, most of which were unceremoniously dumped back in to land this absolute fat as butter unit of  a brownie. It just didn't know when to give up. 5lb 2oz on the Korum digitals.

Inadvertent waggler

No into dark sessions this week so the Dream Liner sized chub will have to wait. Monday very blustery so set about the Mill Pool with a fixed spool. Found some farm labourers hand size wiry dace and an acrobatic spotty but the wind was still a nightmare with the shorter 13 footer and the useless 3lb bs Drennan Floatfish and as the school busses began to arrive I moved down two meadows to the respite of the high bricked banking of the Noddy Bridge. Poplar leaves visible on the river bed, no daytime chub to be had here. Back on the 15 footer and pin,  it's usually the nursery pairs of eyes or the afore mentioned big hand sized wiry jobbies here but today I found some namby office worker hand sized and less wiry inbetweener dace  instead, despite having missed a rod ring above an already broken ring (I can't abide not having rods broken down and banded ready to go and I am clumsy. Very clumsy). The timid pair of skittery jittery little grebes I'd watched on Sunday had moved  up, drab little things in contrast to the darting brilliant azure and rich ochre kingfishers.

I'd intended to try the upper Yare today to try and tempt a few more modest chub out of their undercut sweet rush sanctuaries with a constant stream of mash but on the spur of the moment diverted to a stretch of the Bure I've been thinking about for a while with untapped (by me) roach and perch potential. I rounded the first fishable  bend behind the church vaguely hinted at by Bailey in an article (a bit like the rod rest lost by Miller on a bend  and rediscovered 30 years later on at least three different bends)  and saw several fish topping. Decision made. The neatly stacked logs from a  substantial fallen tree,  and as is often the case with tree pools a reasonable depth.

Roach from the off, pretty fish 

and dace too, one with the scale stripped flanks only a perch can produce. My hunch was right.  Several fish in, the battered chubber crafted by the Loafer lay flat. The top rubber had split, producing an inadvertent waggler. Note the respliced middle section and immaculate and complete ringing, courtesy of the excellent rod builder at Gorleston Tackle Centre, where my knackered other Greys 15 footer from yesterday is going tomorrow. 

A few from 45 minutes, with as many again missing the landing net.

Moved down a bit for the last half hour, fewer fish but this lovely perch  might have been putting them off. Some nice looking bends and a very perchy lock pool, camp sheathings and all to explore further next time. Happy days.

Time for a change

Out with the chub rod yesterday and into dark which is something I haven't done for a while. Wind dropped and weed not too bad now.

Bigger  (much bigger) chub on this stretch, the chublets have yet to catch up with them so trying something a bit different with bigger hookbaits, the occasional bag of pellets. 

Third spot and head torch on, twang and nothing developed, next cast tap and pull but missed it. Knowing what swims here could have been a 6 or a 7 but that's just an if. More importantly I enjoyed it, didn't loose anything in the dark and the bites were a confidence boost. Gonna give the pike a go again this winter as well which I've not been that fussed with for the last couple of winters

Washed up and washed out

Prep

Most of the day to make the most of, no rain forecast and fish reported in the town reaches. Long old trek and an hour had fallen off the clock. If all came to nowt always the pub. Water clear as gin with non existent flow and a nasty swirling wind. Over to the boats, 28 gramme cage feeder holding with virtually no bow in the line. Roach were there, but too big for the perch/zed rod, tiny perch down the edge which might have to do. Rain, lots and lots of unforecast rain, everything soaked in an instant, groundbait now soup. Too wet too pack up, still getting roach on an empty feeder but felt miserable and too wet to face the pub. Chicken soup from the flask was cold and these pies were the most disappointing thing I've ever eaten. Pickle my arse. Ate half of one, the rest in the bin.

Worst thing on these occasions is the mountain of wet stinking tackle to dry off back home.

Game of two halves

Two halves is a pint. I had one (a pint). Norwich went 4-4-2 after going 1 down and equalised. Second half went back to 5 at the back, conceded and took off  the striker . They lost. Good riddance. Unloaded the charabanc and walked the 10 paces to the river. One flattened maggot, Cold, bored, packed up.

Kept the bib and braces on, just in case as I planned to check if Storm Benjamin had dumped too much cold rain water into the non-tidal. Stopped on the bridge, fish rising and pike attacking. An intense feeding period with fish taking whatever was hatching all around the pool and a way downstream too.  A roach or dace on every trot. Hands got too cold to be able to bait the  #16 B560. Neoprene gloves and the big coat next time.