“The not-so magnificent Severn proved tough, but did we care?”
OF ALL the adventures to befall an angler, few can beat mucking about in a boat for a day.
If you’re mostly a bank fisher, there’s a genuine sense of freedom and novelty. It’s even better when the invite comes from a friend who owns a boat and knows what they’re doing.
John Deprieelle had been threatening a shared trip to the Severn for months but, with us both being working dads, it had escaped us. And so, with time running out on the season, it was a case of ‘now or never’.
On the face of it, a boat is a wonderful way to explore so many bits of river or lake you can’t access from the bank. It’s an open invitation to try out unfamiliar methods and pirate impressions. However, the one thing I don’t envy boat-heads is the amount of faff. We were both up at three in the morning, just to get all the gubbins sorted for a dawn launch.
Once you’re away, though, what a glorious sense of anticipation! While we’d be happy with any predatory fish, top of my wish list was a zander. Being a Devonian, the chances of catching one in my home county are about as likely as seeing Elvis rise from the grave to eat a pastie.
I had all my best jigs and drop shot rigs neatly lined up. John even had a fish-finder pinging up depths and baitfish shoals. Unfortunately, we also had a bitter easterly wind and water of an unholy clarity. Apparently, this makes zander fishing hard.
Soon enough, a change of plan was needed. Perhaps the pike would feed better, given the conditions? That certainly proved the case with some initial trolling efforts using fat, steep-diving plugs. At last, John was into a lively fish! I was delighted, before I remembered our side bet of a quid for the most and best fish of the day.
Minutes later, he hooked another. This time it was a much bigger one, judging by his sudden absence of frivolity and the look of agony, moments later, when it shed the hook. Never mind, I told him, this was surely a sign that we’d have a decent day?
Wrong! The fish hadn’t read the script and it was bitterly tough thereon in. My plugs found more snags than fish and it was only by slowing right down and trying soft plastics that I beat the dreaded blank with a pike of my own.
As for the zander, they tormented us. Even an extended into-dark stint with deadbaits didn’t register so much as a tickle. But what a wonderful way to finish the season, nonetheless. The not-so magnificent Severn proved tough, but any trip that involves wall-to-wall tasteless jokes, a stop at the pub and a good rove along the river has to be cherished. The zander will just have to wait till next time.