TWO FOR ONE IN TROUBLED WATERS
When the British climate does its worst, the very act of going fishing can seem like folly. Regardless, Dom Garnett has been out after pike...
I’VE said it before in these pages, but there is something about fishing that inspires optimism in us all. Yes, it’s often based on the flimsiest of hunches, but there’s always a chink of hope.
Sometimes, though, you sense we need our brains testing. Such was the case last week on the Hampshire Avon, on which I had already booked a few days off and was resolved to fish, come hell or high water.
Well, I got the latter. You know it’s going to be a slog when the fields are lakes and waders are needed to get beyond the car park. I’d tried and completely failed on barbel the day before, with just an eel to show for my madness. With confidence low, I’d hoped pike might be more reliable.
Despite surprising water clarity I couldn’t buy a bite on lures. I did suss out some tempting slacks, however, that looked ripe for an afternoon return with bait. Even so, after a lot of pretty bleak hours, confidence was low.
It’s the little details that brighten up the roughest days, I guess. Like the overly tame horse that took my apple core, or the flock of goldfinches who shared the same tree I used as shelter.
Even with evasive action and waders, I got a soaking from the elements. My hopes were slowly drowning, but I kept moving and pinning my hopes on any little slack water or snag going.
The moment of truth arrived with a mass of reeds that formed a sort of island in mid flow. It looked rather shallow and an awkward cast, but I had nothing to lose, so out went a joey mackerel. Meanwhile, the near margin also seemed worth hedging a bet on. I tend to be a one-rod man for my river piking, but times were getting desperate.
I’ll never forget the bite that finally arrived. To keep as much line out of the flow as possible, I’d stood my rod on its end and poked the butt into the mud, after casting to that reedy island. The current had made the line tighter than I intended – I’d assumed the bob on the float was just a bit of extra current when, suddenly, the whole rod heaved over!
The fish fought bigger than its six or so pounds, providing a couple of lovely searing runs. Nor was the drama over, because just as it came to the net I saw the margin rod pull away.
After another lively battle, I ended up with not one but two pike in the same net, along with a welcome lesson in not giving up.