Bob Roberts’ diary

My monthly fishing diary...

Week one...

THERE was a pint of leftover maggots in the garage going to waste. It seemed rude not to put them to good use, but where to go? I recalled a shop open-day when Nick Speed told me he’d been catching lots of grayling from the upper Don above Sheffield and that I should give it a try. You don’t need much gear for a trip like this, basically a rod, landing net, bait apron and a pair of waders. The rest – a few hooks, shots, floats and so on, easily fits into a spare bait box. The weather was pretty gloomy, on the chilly side and drizzling. One of those days when it hardly gets light and adopting a mobile approach means leaving the brolly at home. There’s a certain inevitability that at some point there will be damp maggots crawling out of my bait apron pouch. Lousy weather for photographs, too, but no matter, a few bites would soon raise my spirits. Street parking can be a bit iffy so close to Sheffield but there was a free space not 20 yards from the river. Result. I jumped out, opened the boot and what I thought had been my jacket when I threw it in turned out to be a pair of salopettes. Oh dear! My options were simple, turn around and go home or fish without a coat. Well, there was no way I was giving up this parking spot so cold and wet it would be! The river here is ideal ‘pocket water’. Much of it is boiling and shallow but here and there were slightly deeper spots, some no bigger than a dinner table but plenty big enough to hold fish. Walking downstream from the first weir I came across a lovely glide. The river was up a bit and carrying a good tinge of colour but beggars can’t be choosers so when the float buried on the third run through I couldn’t have been more pleased. It was at this point I realised the camera remote control wasn’t working. Presumably flat batteries. A problem to sort out later, but for now I would have to make use of the in-built timer. Ever tried getting action shots using a timer? Or trophy shots of a wriggling grayling? In low light? But the fish played ball and I did at least get a few grainy shots. After a couple of hours catching wild brownies and grayling to 8oz or so I wandered downstream and discovered a second weir below which the water was decidedly more angry, tumbling over boulders, but it was possible to pick out ‘pockets’ where the fish were lying. In fact, I’d go as far as to say ‘pocket fishing’ makes fish location easy. On a lake, or a wide river like the Trent, the fish can be anywhere but here you can pinpoint them with great accuracy. Another water to add to my list of many delightful places I shall return to.

Week two...

It doesn’t take a genius to work out that a magazine diary column is compiled some time ahead of the cover date. Any diary looks back at what happened in the month before the contributor’s deadline but when Christmas publishing schedules enter the mix everything goes haywire so I apologise for what appears a delay in this report. Something very special happened this week. On December 31 I caught several carp on floating crust and then did it again on January 2. In 60 years of angling I have never done that in the middle of winter. Certainly not in consecutive months covering consecutive years! I had gone to Anglers Paradise for the New Year’s Eve party intending to cram in a few hours less-than-serious fishing. I had minimal tackle with me. A quivertip rod, a barbel rod and a loaf of thick sliced

bread. It was a something of a gamble to take no other baits but match results indicate bread scores very well on carp waters in winter. Indeed one successful pair of local club anglers are nicknamed ‘The Warburton Brothers’ thanks to their consistent success using nothing but popped-up bread. I was spoiled for choice as to where to fish because there are so many lakes on offer, but in the end I chose to fish the dayticket complex at Anglers Eldorado where I had the whole place to myself. On the quivertip I rigged up a hair-rigged offering of punched crusts a foot off the bottom. The other rod was set up with a centrepin reel presenting a similar set-up beneath a quill float in the margins. I couldn’t buy a bite but fish were showing away to my left in the deepest part of the lake so I upped sticks and moved to them. It wasn’t long before I picked up a fish on the tip rod. Not huge, but a bite is a bite in the depths of winter. I was seeing a fair bit of surface activity causing me to think the fish were well off bottom, so I increased the hooklink to 5ft, in effect ‘zigging’ crust high up in the water. Five minutes later the rod was away. The fish were definitely off bottom. Then I heard a slurp. You know how it is, you reel in, change the hookbait and chuck away the used bait. Well, bread floats and that noise was definitely something taking a piece. Then it dawned on me. Not one of the discarded pellets of punched crust was visible. Had they all sunk or had they been eaten? I started feeding bits of floating crust and it wasn’t too long before I had fish on the surface, gently slurping down free offerings. Alas, I had no appropriate floater gear with me so I shoved the float and shots up the line and hair-rigged a chunk of crust. Casting was far from easy with the ’pin, but I managed to get it just far enough and bingo, up came a pair of lips and I was into a cracking fish. It was the first of half a dozen, the best an absolutely cracking ziplinear. What a way to end the year! I’ll skip New Year’s Day when I caught on the Easy Access Lake but not from the surface. It was back to Eldorado the next day and this time I was feeding floating bread from the off. It took a while to get them going but by late afternoon the surface was alive and I filled my boots. Again, the prettiest fish was a linear but I lost a huge common on my final cast. Meanwhile, not a single bite came to a bottom bait or pop-up. Makes you think, though? Who on earth feeds floaters in winter?

Week three..

Sometimes I fish like a World Champion. Sometimes I fish like a novice. Except novices can sometimes get lucky. I spent some time today fishing like a novice who’s all out of luck, but sometime soon that will change, you just see. With no significant rain falling in a while the Trent was running crystal clear. Decent enough chub conditions, although I would have liked for it to have been a bit colder. Unfortunately the sun shone brightly from a clear blue sky and it was patently obvious that I should have waited, turned up in mid-afternoon and fished on into darkness. Like a fool I was up with the larks and arrived early. Two hours and five swims later I hadn’t even had so much as the slightest flicker of interest. Things were looking dire. Fortunately, I had a banker swim up my sleeve. One I don’t fish often, usually it’s reserved for when I want a guest to catch, or if I’m desperate and today I was pretty desperate. Things didn’t improve when I snagged up on my first cast, losing the lot. Second cast I snagged again but only lost a hook. There wasn’t to be a third cast. Clearly a snag had been deposited on the hotspot. My choices were to move upstream and try to draw fish out of the snag – unlikely to happen in the conditions; or move 20 yards downstream of the snag and try to sneak a fish from the back of the shoal. I chose the latter and scaled down to a smaller hook and lighter hooklink. Ten minutes later I had a violent pull from a fish that I was certain had hooked itself. It hadn’t, and I lifted into fresh air. Air that was now blue. Second cast and I had a series of rattles and bangs from a curious fish. I hate these bites because you are never quite sure when to strike and, true to form, I missed again. Frustrating. I was clearly ring rusty. Third cast and the phone rang. My bank manager wanted to set up an appointment and, of course, you’ve guessed it. That’s when the tip went round. Distracted, I struck wildly and broke off on the strike. Damn that lighter hooklink! Of course, that was it. Fish spooked, activity stopped, but as I’d had no bites elsewhere I decided to sit things out for as long as it took. My patience was well and truly tested but eventually the rod went over and the bite was unmissable. One in the net for the Bobster! No more bites followed. I tried several other normally reliable swims to no avail. By now I was three-quarters of a mile from the car so I dumped the gear and went

“My patience was tested but eventually the rod hooped over”

back to fetch it. The walk gave me an opportunity to think things through. There was no point in flogging a dead horse. It was time to switch to another stretch, one with a different character, offering more cover to the fish. It seemed like a good idea but a lost feeder on the first cast had me cursing again. Four swims later I finally had another chance. In truth, I was half nodding, my interest had waned but the rod hooped round and I was into a good fish in a desperate hook and hold situation. Unfortunately I was still on that scaled down hooklink, which cost me for a second time. It felt a very good fish. Why, oh why, did I not just think, ‘We’re getting towards feeding time, it’s time to step up my end tackle’? So obvious in retrospect but that didn’t stop me from packing up in a tantrum. Now was the perfect time to catch a few fish but my head was in bits. What a frustrating day it had been. A typical pulling-your-hair-out chub session. And that’s why I do it. Chub are far more challenging than barbel and a day like this is what makes them special to me. I’ll be back and next time they had better watch out as I intend to be in the World Champion groove.

Week four..

“Have you tried the Aire and Calder Canal?” Asked Colin Finney, who runs the tackle shop in Knottingley. “The roach fishing lately has been unbelievable!” Apparently the lowest winning weight in a series of small knock-up matches was in excess of 30lb with a top catch exceeding 45lb – all roach. I had to investigate. I knew I was in the right area because anglers were lining the banks when I arrived and this was on a freezing cold, grey and gloomy midweek morning. I’d not seen a fishery this busy since the summer so I squeezed in where I could and set about taking the place apart. The most successful baits had been breadpunch, hemp and on the very best days, tares. I ignored all the advice and opted for casters. After all, I wanted to sort out some better quality roach which by all accounts run to well over a pound. And what roach worth its salt doesn’t love a fresh caster? The answer to that is the roach here. I struggled, by which I mean really struggled. It took me two and a half hours to catch just seven roach, but every one was a netter. Looking left and right and listening to the gossip I seemed to be doing no worse than the rest. The fish simply weren’t feeding. Either that, or they had moved somewhere else. As the day wore on the guy to my right caught a few on punch, around 20 fish in total, but of a much smaller stamp. I turned down his kind offer of a slice of bread. I was still looking for quality rather than quantity and pinning my hopes of a late run of bigger fish, but it wasn’t to be. I’ll be back, though. I don’t give up easily.