Marsh chub

Been thinking a lot about a stretch of my 'new' river.  Bang between a sprawling estate, a massive health and science park and a busy trunk road. It's free for a start.  I selected a parking spot where I'd have at least a chance of watching the local populace jack the charabanc up on bricks. A grey overcast day, perfect for wily old chub but not for leaving the big coat in the boot. Which of course I did 

High flood bank and  extensive marginal growth, finding waderless spots a premium. Settled on a pair of bends as far up as I could walk and  fed some white gold in a few likely spots. Flake on a size 6 wide gape, first swim only one tremor. Second swim missed 2 bites in quick succession. Third, lost a chub as I was contemplating where to net it. Annoying but at least hardly a barren fish less desert. Dropped down a bend on to this longer straight and  after a good scrap the chub did what chub do best, transferred the hook to a reed stem. I did swear a lot.

Next cast  and bingo, No way was I going to loose this one and in the onion bag it went. Lovely thick set fish and well received by passers by. I was so chuffed  I even forgave their dog for trying to snaffle my cheese roll.

The big coat and thoughts of a stripped down charabanc had me hurrying back with plans to warm up and drive the short distance to the park stretch  for some short rod trotting but I had a urge to drive back to the village stretch below the next mill. Someone was in my intended spot so I set down a respectful distance above and set about some stick and pin work with the usual pair of red grubs in a size 16 wide  gape spade end. Gudgeon, roach, chublets and a minnow were the rewards for finding the sweet spot, dace too including this very gravid fish.

Last trot and much sturdier resistance in the strong pull and I would of sworn it was a chub if I lost it unseen. Once I saw it was a roach I was determined to net it. A battled scared warrior with cormorant and or otter damage. I  had wondered if my lost chub from the previous session here was a roach as I'd seen vivid red fins as the hook pulled and that was bigger than this.

Oh and I found another bodged rod chucked in a bush. This time a rather gaudy NGT drop shot rod.

The early bird

The early bird catches the bigger rudd. On Monday anyway. I'd headed up to the away town stretch hoping for some Fen Gold but things conspired for a later start and though the tip rattled and jagged round, often on the drop the corn/worm and feeder only produced not or barely netters. Rudd of course, roach and a solitary skimmer and silver bream, both bait size. The one big rudd I contacted with snapped the hooklink.  These are the best from what would have been a fair netfull if I'd kept them all. Nice, but not as big as I had hoped for.

Plenty of predator action and  the small silver bream I had liphooked on a circle hook and legered down the edge near where I was swinging fish in didn't last too long as this plump Fen Tiger had the baitrunner fizzing. Put up a nice scrap on the lighter rod (1.5lb tc) much to the delight of the passers by. Are you going to eat it etc. A smaller roach came back with distinct signs of zander attention though I didn't hear any indication from the non-fizzing baitrunner.

I was bookended by two blokes who had travelled nearly as far as me, Epping and Sawbridgeworth. They had caught a much better stamp of rudd to nearly 2lb early doors but then had similar to me. An absolute nightmare of a journey home with diversions and tailbacks made worse by a timescale imposed by heavy Facebook traffic about a new-fangled angling club app that was supposed to make re-joining dead easy but had lured many members into joining for the current season instead. The pub, once I'd got there was full to more than overflowing with bewildered old buggers like me waving their phones with the folding card holders about in despair, or more often than not the floral covered tablets of their accompanying wives as the old buggers  can't use a 'pooter' or one of them smart thingies. Smugly turned out that I'd done my early bird application properly, even with a sideways mug shot. If only I could download and listen to one of The  Loafers excellent podcasts. Find Backwaters-A Podcast for Real Anglers where ever you download yours from. Unless you are a linear listening Luddite like me.

Gonks

Rain petering out so rod out of the boot for  a quick trot. Dace, roach, chublets (one better chub lost) and a whole nest of gudgeon. Good for the soul.

Another cracking away day

Bring yer wellies was the Loafer's instruction. As we walked down The Tunnel it became clear why. The river was spread over a fair bit of Essex and Suffolk and still spilling over the bank behind us onto the flood plain the whole day. Kept most of the dog walkers and ramblers away.

Unusually I had settled into my swim 

and was fishing well before the Loafer had set up his long trotting rod. Fishing shorter than last time in this swim, two chances came and went before one of the horrible black plague surfaced in the swim and off took to a volley of fecks. Didn't put the chub off this time and even I couldn't miss the next vicious stab round of the quiver tip. A lovely plump chub in the onion bag.

Several moves later we were back in the original swim and after dismantling Mandelson and Mountbatten and the scourge of VAR the Loafer got a bit of his mojo back and retackled his totting gear and was soon rewarded with his first chub of the day, way down the trot with a big lump of Wharby Orange.

I caught up with him again a bit further down, another chub on. Mind the stinking black death he said. One less of the ravening horde. Dreadful things.

Another cracking day Loafer. I'd commented on the general composty nature of his van earlier in the car park. Check this out.

He generously handed me a decent wrap to eat on the way home from the bowels of the van. Wrapped up and everyhing. Half way through ramming it greedily in my cakehole I detected a familiar whiff. A real live muck heap stinking brandling.....   

                                                                                            

Diversion

Something possessed me to get the pike rods out yesterday. Which I haven't done for ages. Up past our stretch and some nice looking bends.  4 buzzards wheeling and mewing over that copse. Kestrel food sharing courtship behaviour too on the floodplain behind me. Very mild and no wind. Gloomy though.

 

Standard lowland river tactics for me, one deadbait down the margin to twitch back and one upstream across to twitch back diagonally then move down. Both under a float. Popped up one sardine, and one on the bottom. Given the evidence in the otter middens I feared crayfish trouble but thankfully none. Second lift and twitch on the upstream rod sparked a pike into action. Not big by any means but good to break in the new pike rods now I have moved the broomsticks on.

Some more pikey doors opened for me today for when the non-tidals are in the fields and I sense my enthusiasm for them returning. Chub tomorrow however.

Back end beckons

One day of no rain forecast for Saturday so headed back to The Pastons to see if I could find the roach. First trot and the float buried. It's pacey here and the fish felt a bit better than it was but still a lovely roach. I was sitting by an otter midden and the discarded clacky claw seemed apt to add a touch of red to match the eyes and fins.

That was it, tried  holding back, running through at current speed and dragging and under shotted float to no avail. Moved up twice and found a few smaller roach but my trip ended when a passing Bruno knocked my big green bucket with bait, floats, shot, scissors etc. into the river. Luckily the camera strap got caught in my chair and my camera didn't follow. Bruno didn't need to be on a lead apparently as it had good 'recall'.

Pissed around Monday doing 'things I should be doing on my day off'. One thing I probably wasn't expected to do was have a pint in the Goat. Very nice it was too.

Which only served to hastened the soaking I got as soon as I got the gear out of the charabanc up on the Church stretch. No bites but some useful local gen on pike and better roach. Home to get everything dry again  

Much better forecast for Tuesday so packed some scaled down kit including the new 10 foot rod on Aconite Meadow and the even more diminutive Brook way past Newmarket. Certainly  more water on than last time but not a raging torrent  and Bruno's noisy bredren only barked for 10 solid minutes  before buggering off. Took a a little while to find the right zone for a few hungry dace to home in on the double reds. A longer trot and  the strike met much firmer resistance. Chub on and every trick and dodge it knew failed and I bought it back above the net once I saw those slobbering chops to let it drift in. Must of coughed up a full handful of red maggots. Not a bad chub at all. 

Off to the Brook, and a never ending stream of curious half term kids and I was able to catch nearly on demand for all of them. Apart from a tiny pale chub and a tiny roach in the first spot it was bank to bank dace, teasing the float down the edge of the faster water. Smaller ones in the slacker inside of the bend.  None really needed netting but lovely fresh fish all of them. Many sandpaper rough  or pigeon chested and plump. The backend is certainly only just round the corner. Did loose one unseen better fish. Perch or chub?

Here are the best of  bunch all from a six/seven yard trot.

Fantastic afternoon with the sound of fast running water, the chatter of birds and excited kids and the sweet smell of oxygenated water. The 10 footer stood up well for the tight surroundings, the old 3.2 lb Floatfish is getting stripped straight off the reel. Shite. 

X marks the spot

Proper rain not due till later. I loaded up the charabanc and headed a quarter of the distance travelled yesterday up the third river valley in my locale. Diminutive in it's upper reaches, thus less likely to flood for long until nears it's bigger sister in the city limits and eventually to the chagrin of  'Careful Wilson' as  described in his Where to Fish in Norfolk and Suffolk takes over the bigger sister's mantle all the way to Breydon Water and the North Sea.

Chastened by my master class in incompetence yesterday I stopped off to pick up a 10' pellet waggler rod to use in tight spots  in future. The river was up but not boiling so plan A below the charming red brick bridge in the chubbier part of the small stretch with a lump of flake on a wide gape 6 and 2SSG on the link. Primed 3 spots with white gold, then  back to the first swim . Missed two pulls and one that didn't develop. Dropped down to this pearler of a swim. Go on, X marks the spot.

First drop in, rattily bite. Dace perhaps? Back out on the X marked spot and rattle, rattle. jag. A decent chub using the current, in the onion bag and up the muddy slope, narrowly avoiding a dunking. A short, fat and fresh fish, this time with no cormorant damage. Lovely ole job.

No knocks in the third swim or back at the first and the rain had set in so I beat a hasty retreat to the adjacent pub for a bit of a treat. Steak, chips and a pint of Edith Cavell. 

Pocket water fishing

Met up with the Loafer way up the A11 in the land twixt Suffolk, Cambridgeshire and Essex. When the gloom lifted slightly the land had an almost Dales like feel, with villages tucked in steep valleys with spate channels running through them. I came most unprepared with a cobbled together 13 footer and as a consequence only caught in fits and starts. Mostly trees and brambles. The fish were in perfect nick, with a rudd/roach brace and the loveliest dace, one or two bearing the sandpaper rough skin and swelling bellies that denotes spawning not far away.

The 'wider' main river

The tributary. 

The Loafer, wielding 'local knowledge' and a 10 foot Lobkin imagined cut down and waders smashed it as per. Chub, roach but mostly dace, the second venue in particular a fish a trot in the bottle green pools and bends, a good 8 feet below the bank in places. Fantastic fishing. If you can hack standing to fish, which I struggle with. Worth the drive when other rivers are in the fields. You can never beat a days fishing with a lifelong fishing mate and always good to knock a self-appointed angling guru off their pedestal. The 5G Theorist: 30 minutes of flat earth shit one wag had it. Cracking day as always Loafer.

ist

New horizon.

Yesterday was bitterly cold.  I looked at Spoons but the river was low, clear and no fish to be seen. Up to Chicken Town. 15 minutes in Bog Shed Door Blue Swing but the cold got the better of my extremities. There were some brownies under Chicken Town Bridge (decent ones too), that chased the loose fed reds but even if the thought of getting my hands wet was unthought-of actively targeting out of season troot was beyond even my pale. A pint and a Blue Light discounted loaded pulled pork fries made the trip bearable.

The 'Man' owed me two and a half hours and as my last job today was a stones throw from a free  stretch on another river (and the dash temp said 8C) the rod stashed in the boot came out no sooner than the out of office went on.

Hoping for dace but not disappointed with these two chub on trotted reds. And the 'Man' still owes me an hour. And look, no gloves required. And got some snowdrops in.

 

Using my loaf (ish).

Rain forecast for Sunday afternoon so unusually I packed an umbrella and headed for the top of the top stretch and worked a 25grm cage feeder with liquid white and alternated flake and three reds. Bites but none hit. Found a few fish for the waggler another day. Didn't rain either.

Minging Monday saw me back on the Pastons stretch and I went trotted flake in the clear water. Bites , but I guessed they were small fish. Double reds proved it. Fish, but no challenge though I haven't had a dace for a while up here.

Hands getting painful, and  a nasty cold wet mizzle. Might as well try the glide before the charabanc.

Looking up the Pastons, the pop of the pollards providing colour in the bleakness.

Downstream was the glide looking as grim and dour as it felt.   

Fair pace, but a steady pace. Bite on reds and the next two trots produced these two beauties, before a massive tangle and freezing fingers forced me off to the charabanc, heater full on. I'll try again, a few yards up stream to get a longer trot in the slightly deeper scour. Small things can make a big difference.