Tipping the balance

Enthused by Monday's  chub session I ditched the pike rods at the last moment reasoning that though the river was running clear the overcast conditions were maybe enough to entice the Bure chub to wake up early given it's reputedly a 'night only' water these days.

Baited 4 swims with white gold, starting off with this top of the stretch swim, unusually accessible  in the low conditions. Flake on a wide gape size 6. Indications from the off. Seemingly smaller fish though crays do infest this stretch, a few more definite pulls but time ticking, marked this swim down for a trotting recce.

Indications straight away next swim some 50 yards down Cyanide Straight then one nailed on chub bite missed. Given the interest in this swim decided to carry on and bingo, powerful fish on which surged for the nearest snags, jagging heavily away. Disaster, hook pinged out. The passing Noddy Train passengers must have heard my despairing shout. Chub here can top seven pounds and that had been no chublet. No point crying over spilt milk. Two swims with plenty of activity and one less so but still bites without going SAS pellet and boilies. Have some faith and persevere.

Loafer and I are off to pastures new Tuesday to recce: rod and no Sherpa required bare minimum panning for silver and bronze. I have just the roving vest for it. Might be a bit noisy if Uncle Sam's boys and gals are up and at it.

Sabotage

The Loafer had found some roach topping at dusk and primed a few areas and after sending me  (honest) the wrong way at the bridge (his hundred yards are often half  a mile) I found him wielding his latest rod, a 15 foot Cadence 

with  a chub already in the bag, 

but no roach or dace. We pondered on the effect of the cormorants possibly keeping them tucked away, even in these perfect trotting conditions. So much so that I soon jacked in  the trotting and managed to miss one nailed on chub bite on flake, had a pull round after lifting the rod to let the flake swing in which was on briefly then a decent chub that was properly on  but shed the hook just as I was thinking where to net it. This after a period of finding it hard to cast as far as I wanted. We'd been talking about getting old and Loafer mentioned threading the line through the gap in the tip ring and not the eye itself. We checked my quiver tip and lo and behold the exact same thing. How bizarre, then it dawned on me that during my last loaf squashing debacle down on the Stour the Loafer had re-rigged my rod....

Loafer had one similar sized chub trotting flake but nothing on maggot till I started to get roach  twitches on flake, a couple of fish topped and he had a small roach, all on dusk. We could hear the bastard cormorants laughing at us..

Solstice all tied up

Just a half hour yesterday at Noddy Bridge, mainly because I'd whittled  down the 4lb Maxima on my pin  enough for the double  blood knot  to be a pain for the first few yards of the trot but I managed a dace and a chublet to mark the shortest day.

A long way to come

Last home game of the year so a trip down to Devil Dog Land with 3 of the BureBoi tribe yesterday with a stop off at the old town.

Local tide table deployed. It might have done but ebbing hard  by 1.30pm 

The Jobserve Community Stadium is lack lustre even after a mere 70 odd miles. Pint required.

Must have been even more lack lustre for the travelling Newport County faithful, their team firmly rooted to the bottom of the EFL pyramid. After a recount I guess they bought 60 odd.

Apart from s brief second half rally seeing their wonder kid scoring from way inside his own half they had little to cheer about with some fantastic wing play from the U's delivering an emphatic 4-1 win and 5 points off the play- off spots. Happy days.

An absolute shower of shite.

A bit like Engerland Baz Bollocks  (Spot on Jim Maxwell) today was an absolute shower of shite. I'd done my back in yesterday taking an innocuous walk up the drive  and it wasn't a lot better today so I painfully unloaded the feeder paraphernalia in favour of the 'light' chub gear. Long drive down to Chocolate Box Cottage-cum-Devil Dog land on the border defining Stour. Looked in good nick, so I took the only logical decision to put an hour free ticket on the dash of the Charabanc and walk in to town to spend considerably more than I  would save by coming back to buy an up to 4 hour ticket as opposed to an all day one. Enjoyed my pint of Crouch Vale and  'spicy my arse' dried Haba beans though.

The session started well with a pull in the second swim 

and I even good naturedly ignored the doggy antics in my next baited swim..

Giving Fido a wide berth I opted for the 'One before the Banker' swim and  a definite tap, tap, pull which I missed having only pricked the chub. Cue the welcome arrival of The Loafer to act as

Ghillie and Lens Man. Having shown me a promising crease after the twats with no sense had done their usual open the sluices for no reason afternoon duties he set about documenting the most inept hour of 'angling' he has ever witnessed (since last time).

Can't add to that..

I'll get a man in

Commander in Chief has got a man in to plaster a damp wall. He was supposed to come to day, but artisan lime plaster craftsmen being what they are today turned in to tomorrow so I had a spare hour or so to check out the Aquarium. The fish have been pushed in by the increased flow and to evade the Black Plague. Fish from the first drop in (a good 11 feet or so down) and mostly dace, nice ones too. I did lose a very good roach to a hook pull so swore a little bit. Grass not yet trampled so I guess not many prospectors panning for gold yet. 

Now I know that they are back in the lock I'll be back with more selective baits.

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
.