FOUR CHUB OUT OF EIGHT AIN’T BAD!
Constantly feeding a small shoal with maggots makes the fish lose all caution
THE river is running cold and clear, stripped of weed by the late autumn chill. There isn’t a sign of a fish, let alone a bite.
Waiting for dusk on such a bright, brittle day is one option, but I much prefer to make the fish come to me.
Maggots will prompt a feeding response almost everywhere – all the Avons (Hampshire, Bristol and
Warwickshire) can suddenly come alive when a bucketful of grubs finds its way downstream.
So, as I stared down from the bridge into and through the flow, I wasn’t concerned at the apparent absence of fish, or that there was high pressure and not a breath of wind.
I had a gallon of maggots with me because I knew bigger baits would have given me as much of a chance during the daylight hours as legered ice cubes!
I was positive I had got it right today. I continued my walk, feeling confident but knowing it would be a long one. Way downstream was an overhanging tree and an adjacent weed bed and here, a couple of weeks earlier, I’d spotted the dark tails of chub poking out from under the vegetation.
With a 15-minute stroll to complete I kept the tackle light, just a 15ft Acolyte Plus rod and a landing net in one hand and my bucket of maggots in the other. A small rucksack would hold
everything else as I marched across pastureland, trying to avoid the cowpats.
It was a pleasant stroll but I was glad to arrive, not only to rest but to see if the fish were in the same place I had last seen them.
Dropping the tackle well back from the bank, I crept as close as I could to the river, standing on tiptoe and peering through polarising glasses to get the best view. For five minutes I held this position, only my eyes moving. But alas, there was no sign of life – serve me right for being so cocky!
Despondently I made my way back to the tackle, opened a bottle of water and weighed up the situation. Soon I was back by the river, but now with the bucket of maggots and a catapult. I couldn’t reach the top end of the snag so I began feeding the rear, not that I needed more than a single pouchful because as if by magic six chub swept out from beneath cover and, when I fed again, they became eight!
The crafty blighters had been there all along, hiding in the shadows. Suddenly my confidence went off the scale. I now knew to keep feeding them and then, when I thought I had given them enough, give them a little more. By this time they would be as confident as I was.
In between feeding I needed to re-rig the rod as I had come prepared for a downstream trot
with the classic Crystal Loafer.
In this swim I would need to flick the float upstream and draw it into a slack where the chub were greedily gorging on the maggots, and for this I chose a short Crystal Waggler with the cocking weight around the base and only a couple of small dropper shot down.
I slipped one of these on to the 4.4lb Float Fish mainline and added a size 18 Super Spade hook to nylon via a loop-to-loop knot.
Half-an hour had now passed, and the white lips frantically opening and closing told me everything I needed to know – but I held off with a hookbait for 10 minutes more, just to make sure.
The hard work was done and a bite was a mere formality – always a good place to be in the uncertain world of angling.
My only concern was landing the fish, so I took time to study the obstacles before impaling the first maggots on the hook.
Satisfied with what I saw, I fed again and immediately cast, landing the float well away from the shoal before drawing it back into the melee. Four chub circled directly underneath the waggler and a second later it buried.
I struck, and the rod bucked wonderfully as the fish tried to make good its mistake. It took 30 seconds for me to gain control, and as soon as I did I fed again with my left hand.
Whether you’re fishing with maggots or cheesepaste, a chub’s
greed will eventually overcome its caution, turning one bite into more from its shoal mates!
The moment I’d bundled the bronze beauty into the net I fed again, and continued to do so every minute until the fish was safe in a retaining tube. By the time I was ready to cast again the shoal had regrouped and was feeding with renewed vigour.
They weren’t big fish by any stretch, but they were fun, and on a day when a bite had seemed a difficult prospect I was pleased to get four of the eight chub in the shoal. Each cavernous mouth spewed maggots over the mat, telling me that while the feast of free offerings continued they weren’t about to leave the table.
So don’t accept that angling needs to be a struggle during the transition into winter. Just choose carefully what you fish for and how you do it – the rest is simple!
“Six chub swept out from beneath cover and, when I fed again, they became eight!”