THIS IS WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT!
Forget monster specimens, summer fishing is all about sheer enjoyment
THE river is much like the seasons – constantly on the move – and today my loafer float was being taken on a journey down the Avon.
I held it back momentarily along the crease line before once more letting it go with the flow. As it reached a ripple signifying underwater rocks the tip dithered, then it was gone.
My bait, a red shrimp that I had taken care to mount on a treble hook so as not to damage the shell and antennae, was crushed to a pulp by a snapping beak.
I struck, and the hook lodged firmly in the mouth of a modestsized salmon.
The outcome of the battle was never really in doubt, but it was fun to play a fish that seemed to spend more time jumping out into the misty morning air than surging through the water.
It had fallen to a classic tactic that I find very rewarding, but for me this signified the end of another salmon season. This one had been shorter than ever, but with summer well and truly into its stride it was time for my angling adventures, just like the river, to move on.
My next mission was to the Wye in pursuit of barbel. Rain high in the Welsh mountains had reached this English beat, and under a Colosseum of limestone the river pushing through the valley was brown and dirty. I was pleased to see the coloured water and extra flow, which I knew would appeal to my quarry.
I introduced plenty of pellets via a feeder, with a fluoro wafter as a hookbait – not a subtle approach, and nor did it need to be under these conditions.
A peregrine falcon far above me would have witnessed the rod-tip being dragged round many times, and each strike in response resulted in a fish.
Barbel lack the explosive energy of a salmon, where you feel you’ve grabbed a tiger by the tail, but the drag on my reel was still put to the test in a rather more dogged manner.
This natural Wye Valley stadium was magnificent even under cloud cover, and I reflected that fishing is indeed the best thing in the world to do.
For a lot of my summer fishing size isn’t relevant – I save that for the earlier part of the year. So I wasn’t disappointed at what I caught, because sometimes the environment and the experience make up for everything. I crossed back over the Severn Bridge happy and wanting more of this summer idyll.
In the middle of a deluge I set up on a tiny local gravel pit
shielded from the wind and prying eyes, and when the rain abated the wild flowers around me shone in their coating of droplets. I’d walked the banks earlier but only now did I have time to appreciate the true beauty of the lake. Rushing
“Why not free yourself from daily woes and create your own idyll?”
through the countryside is just no substitute for sitting still, and my fishing gave me the added bonus of a glimpse into the aquatic world.
For me, specimen hunting is only part of the story. I couldn’t do without being a pleasure angler too, enjoying whatever comes my way. Today, tiny rudd and diminutive tench enjoyed my feed of hemp, caster and salt. There was no chance of a big fish, but no matter – I was fishing with child-like enthusiasm, free from the burdens and stresses that a big-fish hunt often involves. Tomorrow there’d be time enough for that.
I never seem to be able to settle, there’s that much to do and too little time to do it. I awoke early the next day with articles to write, knowing I could then free up my afternoon. It seemed to me that I had been neglecting carp, so a local Redmire-like lake would hopefully scratch that itch.
I grabbed two rods, already rigged-up helicopter-style, determined to make the most of the time lost sleep had afforded me.
In a lake set in a valley and surrounded by trees a very silty bottom didn’t come as a surprise. My tactics reflected that, including a leadcore leader with putty on the end to hide it from the fish. A ready-tied Ronnie Rig and a criticallybalanced Sticky Krill pop-up completed the set-up and I was ready to scatter bait in several margin spots and await puffs of silt. I needed to be patient, and only make a cast when the right carp appeared.
True to form, an hour later I was tempted by double-figure fish, but today I had a ruthless streak. How fickle is that? Only the day before I didn’t care, but aren’t all anglers this irrational?
A further four hours went by before I spotted two larger commons on their own. One was thickset and golden while the other was long, lean and much darker, almost matching the silt – a hero and a villain of the carp world!
I didn’t care which of the two I caught, as long as I could watch a boilie being sucked up in only two feet of water.
My adventure ended as I’d hoped – the curve shank hook spun round on the swivel and lodged in the long common’s bottom lip. I grabbed the rod before the carp could build a head of steam, which was just as well because a 20-pounder allowed to run would have got to the snags no matter what I did after that point.
I hoped the carp wasn’t thinking straight, because even now a well-timed kite to the left or right would spell disaster.
For a few swashbuckling minutes the carp and I were the only things in the world that mattered. A beautiful fish ended a wonderful day and I headed for home convinced that I was the happiest man alive.
Why not free yourself from daily woes and create your own summer idyll by a lake or river? Don’t overthink it, just go!