Improve Your Coarse Fishing (UK)
Bob Roberts’ diary
My monthly fishing diary...
BOY oh boy, it’s been a grim month. Rain, snow, frosts, strong winds and even an occasional glimpse of the sun. Typical winter weather, I guess. With the exception of my trip to Westerly Lake, every single bite, every fish and every meagre bit of success has been the result of sheer bloody-minded doggedness and determination. It’s been tough, but nothing was tougher than being laid up in bed with a dose of man flu...
Week one...
The River Ancholme runs in a dead straight line due North across the flat plains of south Humberside for 20 miles or more before it is pumped out into the tidal River Trent. As venues go it is pretty uninspiring on the eye. You could be in the Fens by one of countless drains, delves and dykes. If you were brought up on the Hampshire Avon you might not even recognise it as a river at all but, don’t be fooled, the Ancholme has a surprisingly good head of fish and miles of it are available on a cheap Scunthorpe Amalgamated Anglers book or even a day ticket. Known for its prolific head of roach that keep the match fraternity happy, there are bream shoals, some cracking tench and the obligatory predators which run to specimen size if you can track them down. With the effects of rain, snow and ice playing havoc with all my regular haunts, I jumped at the chance to spend a few hours with old Skoylesey throwing bits of rubber around. We weren’t targeting anything of real consequence, just happy to be out in the fresh air roaming about with minimal gear. He’d fished the place a few times recently and regular lures proved to be a waste of time whereas plastics and soft rubbers worked across the bottom were at least provoking an occasional bite. As expected it was pretty tough. Brian had warned we might get just three plucks between us in the whole session and his assessment was spot on. The first fell to him and he played what looked to be a double-figure pike for a few minutes before the hook pulled out, just as I was framing up an action shot with his camera. Typical! The second fell to me and I quickly chinned out a small ‘jack’. Then with dusk approaching Brian was in again, only for the hook to pull for a second time. Sod’s Law, eh? The stretch we fished was close to the town of Brigg and fairly busy with both match and lure anglers. It left me wondering about the other 20 miles that probably never see another angler, certainly during the week. Might have to nip back if the Trent remains out of sorts for much longer.
Week two...
When Shaun Leighton won a day’s perch fishing with Brian Skoyles in a charity auction, I doubt it ever entered his head that I would turn up as well. Brian did invite me but I didn’t confirm so it was a complete surprise to both of them when I drove into the car park at Westerly Lake on the outskirts of York. Not wishing to steal Brian’s thunder in any way, I had decided to fish for roach rather than perch and basically take a few pictures as and when required, so we fished in more or less adjacent swims. To say the ‘old feller’ did a superb job would be an understatement. Fishing under tutelage with Brian’s own gear, Shaun had a pb perch in the net within the first hour. Indeed, during the course of the day he had several more that would also have beaten his previous best, and he banked a pb carp for good measure. Meanwhile, I set about the delicate business of catching roach on pole gear after weeks of horrid weather when breaking the ice before starting has been a regular occurrence on stillwaters. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect so I adopted a cautious approach from the outset, trickling in half a dozen maggots each put-in at nine metres. I figured I could achieve perfect presentation at that distance while retaining the option to go further out should it prove necessary. I needn’t have worried too much. The float dipped on the first bung and I whipped out a small roach. More followed, though I was having to wait for bites, but soon the bite frequency was picking up as was the size of fish and I duly stepped up the feed to suit. It was nice fishing although I wasn’t exactly bagging. When my float started getting held up on the drop it was clear these fish were coming off bottom to intercept my feed, so I came up with them. This is a crucial point when roach fishing and will determine how your session works out. It’s all about reading the bites and responding accordingly. Doesn’t matter that it’s winter, shallow up when they tell you to. Increase the feed if it appears they want more. Go for a lighter rig where necessary. There’s a degree of intuition involved so you need to concentrate and listen to what the fish are telling you. Feeding is the key. Too little and the fish lose interest. Too much and you get daft bites at all levels. It’s all about finding the perfect balance and woe betide if you haven’t already set up a shallow rig because you could be on for a red letter day in spite of the wintry weather. By the two-hour mark I had fish competing in the top half of the water and it was a bite a chuck on a tiny 0.10 float with spread out No.11 Stotz and a very fine wire size 20 hook (Gamakatsu Black). The fish were running 3oz-12oz and it was now time to see if I could draw them in closer. At eight metres I could feed them by hand rather than faff around with a catapult. All I had to do was to feed slightly shorter in stages, just a little bit at a time encouraging the fish to come closer. It worked a treat giving me better control and I wasn’t missing bites when I fed. Now I was really motoring, enjoying spells when each drop produced a 7oz-8oz roach. Proper one a bung stuff. Carnage! However, I’m sure there comes a point we all reach when enough’s enough. We’ve solved the problems, won the game, beaten every level and a new challenge is required. Anticipating this I eased off and concentrated on trickling in maggots just a couple of feet from the bank to my right. After half an hour I went in and I didn’t have to wait long before the float buried. It was a clonking roach. Then another followed, and another and then a good perch. The short line was slower, but a different kind of fun. If only I’d had some casters. When Geoff, the fishery owner, walked round and asked what I’d caught I suggested a 30lb-40lb. I was hopelessly wrong! In the interests of fish care we simply swam the fish up to the mouth of the net, scooped a selection into a landing net head for a catch picture and released the rest. What you see here (left) is no more than a third of what I’d caught. It was an amazing day all round and one Shaun will remember for a long time. I certainly will.
“I didn’t have to wait long for the tip to start dancing a jig”
Week three...
The Trent was finally back to fishable levels, slightly high but carrying a nice tinge of winter colour. Too cold for any realistic chance of a daytime barbel but it would be rude not to investigate whether a chub or three might like to come out to play. The banks were slick with mud and decidedly treacherous but I mostly managed to stay on my feet and, because I was wrapped up properly, it was rather pleasant to be sitting by the river, snowflakes fluttering down intermittently. These were proper snowflakes, too. The feathery, ice crystal sort not the overly sensitive, easily offended student types! I love days like this although the fishing was rather puzzling. Once again, I was the only angler on either bank. Where is everyone? Presumably practicing for the closed season which is racing towards us at high speed. Anyway, arriving late morning, I walked half a mile up river with the intention of having half an hour here and there in various swims on my way back to the car. First cast fell a little short of the crease I was targeting. The second was spot on and I didn’t have to wait long for the tip to start dancing a jig. A full-
blooded pull met with a thump and fish number one was on its way to the net. It was nothing special but the Trent appears to have a decent population of shoal chub that gleam like newly minted coins and are seldom fished for. Perhaps we’ll see more big chub in the years ahead because it’s easy to be fooled by the leviathans that get caught accidentally by barbel anglers on boilies. In reality those monsters are needles in haystacks, almost as rare as unicorns on the middle river. But there’s hope for the future at this rate. In next to no time I caught a couple of chub and a big skimmer. The next swim gave me another chub within five minutes. From then on, I couldn’t raise a bite in any swim. The river appeared to be dead. Birds were active when I started but now they were nowhere to be seen. The world was deathly quiet and stayed that way until dusk when birds were arriving from all directions to roost in a row of bushes on my left. The tip jerked over and I was in again. Coincidence? Unlikely. I think there’s more to this nature lark than we’ll ever understand.
Week four...
Confidence brimming, I headed back to the Trent with one rod and a bag of bread having checked the river levels online before setting out. It showed the river a couple of inches up and that would be perfect for the area I had in mind. So how come when I get there the water is chocolate brown and bowling through? I didn’t even get out of the car. I turned straight round and headed home, but not before dropping off in the Retford Angling Centre for a couple of hours to swap tales with Al and Crock while generally putting the world to rights. Sometimes a few hours gassing can be a useful alternative to fishing, but not when the closed season is looming at a rate of knots. And if it hadn’t been a tough enough month already I was struck down with a nasty bout of this man flu that’s going around. It was off to bed for me for a couple of days with dreams of falling levels, clearing water and all manner of fish biting. But not this side of my deadline. Guess they are going to have to wait until next month.