“Make the most of your last weekend on the rivers,” says Martin Bowler, who reveals a barbel session to remember!
15lb 2oz barbel signals a comeback for the species after otters all but wiped them out on Wiltshire waterway
IN THE 1990s the Bristol Avon was a magnet to barbel anglers, when stretches at Lacock, Limpley Stoke, Avoncliffe and Chippenham Weir drew them from far and wide.
This diminutive river ran clear in summer, when its barbel could be seen gliding enticingly across the gravel beds. Add the bonus of a setting in the wonderful South West and, for a while, the Avon rivalled its more famous Hampshire namesake as the go-to barbel destination.
I moved to Wiltshire around the turn of the century, not for the fishing but for love, and as well as gaining a wonderful wife I discovered some superb opportunities to wet a line on my doorstep. Provided the water was warm I could almost guarantee a double-figure barbel at any point in the season.
If the Bristol Avon barbel had an Achilles heel it was the size of its fish, but they were growing steadily, although still some way behind those in the Great Ouse I’d left behind me. Unfortunately the potential of this equally small river was never realised. As otters ravaged the Ouse, a time bomb was ticking closer to my new home – and eventually it blew up. The Avon was stripped of its stock as otters flooded in from God knows where. There was no point in fishing it any more.
I did what I could to be outspoken, including ending up on the BBC in a heated debate! But there was no point. My fellow anglers condemned me for raising the issue at all, scared of their own shadow.
I mourned the loss of the barbel, but opportunities for
good fishing were available elsewhere, so I left the naysayers and ‘Cuddly Furry Tarka’ brigade to the debacle, only glimpsing the ravaged Bristol Avon as I made my way to other venues.
It’s now over 20 years since I first enjoyed the fishing in my new home county. A long time ago I accepted that the halcyon days would never return, but nature rarely leaves a complete void and I began to hear stories
of the occasional barbel being caught once again.
These fish were born with otters already in the river and can no longer be classed as lambs to the slaughter. So when a report of a big fish reached me last winter I knew there was a good chance it would provide me with an angling opportunity I never expected.
I made the effort to walk it last autumn to look for likely winter holding areas – places where the river widens a little and the pace of the current slows. Add cover and more depth and I could narrow down my search.
Two trips during high water in December confirmed my suspicions, as the lead landed on firm hard gravel in 10ft of water. If the big barbel were anywhere it would be here.
Those initial two trips hadn’t seen a single knock on my rodtip, but my confidence remained high. The long cold spell that we endured saw the river chilled by frost and snow and although unwelcome at the time, these conditions would guarantee the fish I’d targeted would be ravenous once the weather turned milder. I kept my eye on river levels and temperatures, ready to strike if the mercury rose and the colour remained.
Every season the river is perfect for a couple of days, and when I woke with low pressure and a warm wind blowing I knew this was my window of opportunity. The Avon was still high, but dropping, and the colour had yet to drop out. The thermometer gave a water temperature of 44ºF and I knew the barbel would be feeding.
That morning I needed to work, but by early afternoon I was loading the van in a state of high excitement for a short journey to the river. It was just like the good old days, the big difference being that this time there wasn’t a single angler to be seen. I walked downstream along a deserted bank, something that would have been impossible when the Avon was in its barbel pomp. There was no sign of past pressure either, and I knew that if a big barbel was here then it would be hungry and ready to be caught.
Despite all the swim options open to me I had only one destination – where the river opened slightly. Here the depth increased, and downstream a series of fallen bushes created an extremely appealing raft just off the main flow.
As soon as I’d unloaded the tackle, in went four lumps of
“Its white belly flag of surrender was my cue”
Sticky Krill paste with a boost of garlic essential oil to begin the scent trail.
I could afford a bold approach, as with no recent angling pressure I doubted my quarry would be suspicious. So I rigged up a 2.25lb test curve rod and a reel loaded with 18lb mono. That, along with a Tungsten Loaded hooklength, would be strong enough to check any initial downstream rush.
A size 5 hook with a hair loop and a 4oz lead clipped on to a run ring completed the rig, which I baited with a Krill
Dumbell and paste wrap.
My cast was a mere underarm flick, but I was careful to maintain space between bait and lead to ensure I was fishing properly. I then kept the rig on a taut line until I felt it hit the bottom with a confidencebuilding thud.
I could now sit back, knowing that I’d ticked every box in my quest. If experience counted for anything then I’d get a bite. That sounds cocky, I know, but it’s a wonderful mindset to have and one that I rarely achieve. Today, though, was a time for positive thinking.
I could write about how difficult a time I had of it, but that would be a big and unnecessary fib. Twenty minutes later the rod swept round and down, and I grabbed the butt.
The barbel wanted to head downstream but I had no intention of letting it, and held firm while the rod soaked up its lunges. I was confident the tackle would be up to it but the hookhold was more questionable – I just hoped the barb had taken hold in a rubbery white lip.
Eventually the surges ceased and the fish boiled on the surface, gradually being sapped of its energy. Then its white belly flag of surrender gave me my cue to bully the barbel up to the spreader block, and my net swallowed up its huge frame.
I never felt that I would catch such a barbel from the Avon again. My river best from the halcyon days was 15lb 2oz and now, years later, I had matched that weight to the ounce.
It was the best moment of the winter, and as I cradled its magnificent silvery floodwater flank that fish gave me hope, at last, for the future.