THIS WEEK’S MISSION
I DON’T know how many times I have sat at a drive-through ordering a cappuccino in a city centre, and suddenly caught a glimpse of a waterway, before drifting off into Steve’s World... wondering what’s in there, does it even hold fish, what type of fish, how deep, before a beep of a car horn reminds me that I’ve held up ten cars while I’ve been daydreaming.
This time I decided to ditch the Sausage and Egg McMuffin, and opt for a pint of reds and whites, and actually get out there and see for myself what lives there.
BODY found in river! River pollution at record levels! Thousands of tons of sewage pumped into the river!
If you had read these kind of headlines, I don’t suppose you would be getting up at 4am to go and fish it, especially if it’s in the middle of Dewsbury.
Luckily for us anglers, these are horror headlines, rare stuff. Well, most of them are. You still find an occasional bed doddy. And you will have to wade over a sofa or two!
I am, of course, talking about the Calder, a stretch of river that people used to travel miles to fish in the 1960s, filling nets on the famous warm water parts, fed by the power station.
The likes of Benny Ashurst used to enjoy many a good day taking full advantage of the warm water fed from Elland VENUE: The River Calder, as it runs through Dewsbury town centre, is controlled by Mirfield AC, a club steeped in history, and their book represents good value. More details online at www.mirfieldac.co.uk or keep an eye on Anglers Mail for up-to-date venue reports. WEATHER: autumn is well upon us now, and although there are still leaves on the trees, early starts are still chilly. A short session was planned, as by 11am the heavens were going to open, with rain and wind. Temperature 9 degrees C. NW 15-20 mph. 995 mbar.
power station, making it a ‘fish factory’, in even the coldest conditions.
Since then, industry took over, and the conditions of our rivers took a back seat, and anything that could be thrown in them probably was. The fish population and invertebrate population faded, and in turn so did the anglers; it became a bit of a ghost town.
I’ve got to be honest, I had forgot about this particular stretch, until my mate Allan Kayeeda told me that it had been fishing its head off, and I ought to give it a second look.
I didn’t need asking twice. The thought of running a stick float down a river for anything is enough to get me off my fat backside, but the thought of walking past KFC in my waders, and risking getting my foot ■
Not a chalkstream in sight.
■ My old mucker, PC Dean, turned up and emptied it, as usual.