“I’M BACK ON THE RIVERS I LOVE”
Nothing beats catching barbel on the small rivers I grew up fishing
GIVEN the tidal wave of huge barbel coming out of the River Trent you might well think that it’s pointless to try for a personal best anywhere else.
Like nearly every other barbel addict, I have been lured to its banks. But despite some success I can’t really claim to enjoy the tactics, only the results.
I was brought up on much smaller rivers where bivvies, bedchairs and a technique akin to uptide fishing for cod didn’t
get a look-in. Instead it was all about lowering a rig down under my feet and waiting for the rod to wrench round in my hands.
So why, if I think like that, don’t I stay closer to home and fish for barbel in the way I always used to?
The honest and easy answer is that I specialise in big fish and, after the otter apocalypse, these have been in short supply.
How can I return to the Bristol Avon, when putting in 10 times more effort than a decade ago would bring me only a tenth the number of fish, and smaller ones at that? This is why my lighter barbel rods gathered dust and only ‘broomsticks’ were loaded into my van. Until now…
On my forays to the Trent I would try to block out favoured haunts as I drove past them, allowing myself the occasional sigh from a fond memory or a curse for
the critters that had dashed my hopes. I told myself things would never be the same again, but as the years went by I finally asked myself the $64,000 question. Had any barbel survived and, if so, had they wised up to the otters?
It turned out my friend Tim Norman was having similar thoughts and so, cajoled by each other’s optimism, we decided to put a plan into action.
We agreed that conditions had to be perfect, when warm rain had swelled the river and water the colour of cocoa would force the fish to feed.
Two weeks later we were trudging over flooded fields towards a raging river. Had the barbel’s habits changed due to predation? We both agreed that the fish would feel safest with snags to retreat to, so we found a raft each where the flow was deflected.
Given the conditions, my terminal tackle wasn’t that dissimilar to that I used on the Trent, but all the creature comforts had been left behind and the bait was lowered in under the rod tip.
My end tackle consisted of 15lb Syncro XT line, a 2ft 6ins hooklength of Tungsten Loaded and a 3oz lead supported a sturdy size 6 Continental Boilie hook... unbeatable in high water. A knotless knot provided the hair and a large shot 2ins from the eye would ensure the point would strike home.
Bait was a Sticky Krill boilie wrapped in paste and boosted with liquid and powdered liver. A handful of free offerings was spiced up in the same way. Tim was fishing in a similar manner, and with darkness closing in we hoped to relive the glory days.
Holding the rod and feeling the line in my fingers I could feel the flow rate quicken as a slug of floodwater barged its way through the bush above me. Time went by quickly as I imagined a barbel within touching distance of the bait, its whiskers twitching across the gravel bottom.
My trance-like state was broken by Tim’s broad grin as he steered a dirty great big chub into the landing net. It wasn’t what we’d come for, but at 6lb 10oz nobody was going to
“We were left giggling like two kids on Christmas Day! ”
turn that fish down! I hadn’t been certain my camera would be needed, but now I had every reason to get it out and celebrate with my friend.
It was a while before our rods went back out but when they did we were full of hope. An hour later it was my turn. It had been far too long since I’d felt the yank of a barbel, but some things you never forget.
Shocked, I staggered to my feet and focused on the force heading downstream. What an adrenaline rush! This fish was fighting for all it was worth.
Eventually I got it up in the water but the surface explosions that followed made me seriously doubt whether I’d win the tussle. I was so relieved when Tim wielded the net that swallowed up a 13lb 12oz brute of a barbel.
I was ecstatic, but its size played only a tiny part in my joy. This was everything that was good about barbel fishing, and it was wonderful to experience it again.
By now it was getting late and, with me needing an early start the next morning, I was happy enough to leave.
Tim, however, wanted one last cast and I agreed to pack up before sitting with him for 20 minutes. He only needed five. The rod hooped over, and in a manner I’ve never witnessed before the barbel was so shocked it immediately hit the surface and headed straight into the landing net. We were left giggling like two kids on Christmas Day! This barbel was shorter but fatter than mine and the scales recorded 14lb 3oz. What an evening!
I’m not daft enough to give up on the Trent, and I do enjoy my visits, but I also like variety.
Perhaps now that I’ve accepted things will never be quite the same again on the barbel front I can have the best of both worlds!