I’d been looking forward to fishing with Chris for a long while. We’d conversed for a while, but that fishing trip was proving elusive for some reason. That was until he invited me to fish as a guest on his club’s stretch of the Hampshire Avon at Somerley. I’d only ever fished the Avon once, and drew a blank, but thought it was the most seductive river I’d ever cast into, so the decision was a very easy one.
The trip was planned for New Year’s Eve, and we were to be accompanied by mutual friend Steve Frapwell and Chris’s good friend Neil. The forecast was for a frosty one with temperatures of below zero the night previous. Some friends of mine fished the day before on a more local river, and experienced temps of minus 4 on arrival, but the photos they captured were outstanding.
I’d been feeling rather unwell the day before the trip, a chesty cough that was quite painful, but to avoid everyone telling me I should be in bed for the day, not out fishing in silly conditions and silly o’clock, I told nobody of my ailments. The night was an uncomfortable one, and sleep was in chunks, but as ever I woke ten minutes before the alarm and was dressed, loaded and leaving the house by 6am. I drove to Chris’s house around 10 miles away to then transfer to his car for the rest of the journey.
We arrived at Ringwood tackle shops to get tickets and bait. I bought some hooks, a couple of plummets and a couple of pints of red maggots. There we met the others, exchanged pleasantries and headed for the river. It was frosty, although not as cold as the day previous at around -1. It was still dark but lightening all the time. Didn’t feel great but the fact I was fishing helped a lot, plus it was the long awaited trip with Chris, so for the most part the illness took a back seat.
We exited the car near some ponds; I was dropped off to fish the side streams and tributaries which suited the tackle I was using. Steve was then taken to a swim on the main river which had good form for good bags of chub and whilst Chris and Neil ventured forth to perch heaven armed with their drop shot gear. Alone I set up the Sabina, attached my new Speedia and looked forward to trotting the side streams for whatever might bite on such a cold morning.
I trotted with single and double red maggot, I trotted the tiny tributary to my right, I trotted the bigger stream to my left, I worked my way all the way to the main river too, but still I couldn’t get my float to go under. I did catch some nice scenes along the way, one which stood out being a small weir half way along the side stream where I had a lay around with the long exposure.
I found a lovely spot on the main river, a deep drop off close to the bank that just had to hold fish. I plumbed the depth and found 5 feet right at my feet and a slack with gentle flowing water just beyond. I sat and trickled half a dozen maggots in every few seconds, then after twenty minutes made the first cast. I half expected the float to shoot away soon after it settling, but half an hour passed without a single sniff. Cold and fishless I headed back to the drop off point for a morning cuppa with the others.
Steve was angling; building up the chub swim and in doing so never joined us for tea. Neil and Chris waited patiently whilst I searched for dry kindling for the Kelly Kettle, but although most of the frost had started to thaw, it meant that everything, and I mean everything, was damp. With that idea out of the window Chris fetched his gas stove and started to boil a kettle. When I saw the tea bags I reached for the tea pot, added 4 heaped spoonfuls of ‘proper’ tea and we all enjoyed a nice hot drink which warmed our souls nicely.
The drop shotting had been slow for the boys, but after tea, cake and mince pies they were fired up and ready for more. As they left base camp I returned to the start and decided to try the same runs, only this time with a touch more confidence and a fire in my belly. It made one hell of a difference too.
I began in the tiny tributary, probably three feet across at its widest, but first trot through the float dipped around twenty yards down and the first fish, a beautiful dace, skipped towards me like a charm of solid silver encrusted with jewels. It was a perfect fish, sparkling in the first rays of winter sunlight. It was my first fish from the Avon, and although rather small, that little fish meant a lot.
After releasing the dace I hooked 2 more red maggots made another cast. Same spot same thing happened and another wonderful dace came splashing towards me. There turned out to be 2 shoals, one at 15 yards and one at around 20. But I found it very odd that only a couple of hours previous I ran the same float through a dozen times without a touch. Now they were coming one a chuck. I even caught a marvellous minnow, probably the most beautiful minnow I’d ever seen.
After an hour or so I left the tributary in search of something different, perhaps something bigger, but the dace had already made the day a terrific one so it was time to go for a wander and see what else I could find. The main carrier that culminated eventually at the main river was said to have trout in it, the possibility of a grayling and maybe even a chub, so as long as the cold hadn’t put them off too much, the potential was quite good.
By now the sun was beginning to break through. I felt lethargic, but not overly ill, the excitement of the angling keeping my mind occupied. I found some nice stretches and trotted them, but the first few seemed devoid of any fish, and after the bumper catch of dace I was soon longing for something else. It came just before lunch time, a shallow gravel run which spilled into a deep glide for some 25 yards before shallowing up again.
First trot through and my float buried just before the end of the deep spot. The fish held well in the flow and kited back and forth across the stream. I thought it might be one of the trout, but as the fish got closer there was too little splashing for it to be one of those. Instead a stunning sail broke surface as it neared the net, and my first Avon grayling was safely netted. One of my favourite winter fish it was a perfect addition to the day’s captures, and I couldn’t have been happier.
If the smile upon my face wasn’t already wide enough, the next trot through produced another bite at the same spot, only this time it felt at first as though I’d snagged the bottom. It never moved for a few seconds, then slowly pulled the rod tip over a few times and then kited across the current and started upstream towards me. I couldn’t fathom out quite what it was, it felt heavy, but never felt the urge to charge off, and with a 2lb hook-link and size 18 hook, I did happen to play it quite gingerly with as little pressure as I could get away with. I feared that any sudden burst could break me so kept on my guard at every split second.
I finally caught sight of the fish, a chub with those tell tale black edgings to its fins. I was ecstatic, yet at the same time quite vulnerable as I knew I still had a battle on my hands to land this fish. It never looked huge, perhaps 3-4lbs, but I so dearly wanted to land it. Thankfully after a bit of to and fro it kited across to my side of the stream and into the awaiting net. I was overjoyed. I set up my new bulb activated shutter release kit and took a few pictures before releasing the fish. Although I had scales in my bag that went to 4lbs, I never did weight it, it was in the net a while whilst I set up the camera, so just wanted a few quick snaps and to release it without too much fuss. I estimated the fish was closer to 3 than 4, but it mattered very little under the circumstances.
Managing to keep quiet and noise to a minimum I wondered if the swim held any more willing fish. It was a small section, but who knows, so I continued to trot. Half a dozen biteless trots later the float dipped and I hooked something which was on for a second or two but off just as quickly. The next trot produced a similar bite at the same distance but this one stayed on. Again it was a heavy lump that held, but didn’t dash around too much; making me think that perhaps another chub was hooked. It was, and chub number two was banked. This one had been in the wars, slightly smaller than the last one this one had quite obviously been attacked by a pike or similar and still bore the scars, although the fish seemed quite healthy, posed nicely for the camera and swam off strongly.
Just as I was returning this fish Chris and Neil came by on their way back to the cars for lunch. Chris had some gammon which he cut into steaks, fried off and served them up in crusty baguettes. To accompany this delicious meal I foraged the nearby trees and bushes and now found plenty of dry kindling, the Kelly Kettle was soon roaring and a pot of tea washed our baguettes down very well indeed. New had come that Steve’s swim had produced the goods, with a number of 5lb chub and a new pb of almost 6 and a half pounds, so hats off to him for such a catch on such a difficult day. But alas the perch were proving elusive.
After lunch I revisited the swim I’d caught the chub from, but drew a blank. I fished the river down towards the main Avon, but never found another fish. With this I retraced my footsteps and leapfrogged myself fishing a few hundred yards below where I’d found success. A bush on the far bank covered with ivy looked good, there was a deep hole under it and a trot 10 yards before and ten yards after looked a promising one. I fed the swim for 5 minutes before casting then made my first attempt. The float sailed past the bush, just where I thought it would go down, and eventually did dip a good 5 yards past. The splishy splashy fight caused me to think I might be attached to my first trout of the day, which was confirmed when the saw brown spots coming towards the outstretched net. The stunning little brownie was released back to its icy home and soon after watching it disappear among the gravelly riverbed, my hook was re-baited.
Brimming with confidence having caught 5 species I fished on wondering what else I could catch. Maybe a perch, maybe a roach, I was beginning to think anything could happen. The float dipped, the rod arched, and at first I thought the bottom had gobbled up my hook. Then the bottom started moving, but very reluctantly. Initially I thought barbel, then came to my senses and remembered Chris saying that they were few and far between these days, especially among the side streams.
After what seemed like an age, the brute started to come towards me, it swung out into the flow and headed towards the ivy bush, whose fronds reached the surface of the water leaving me to wonder just how deeply they reached and whether or not it posed a problem. Luckily the fish passed beneath and out the other side into the clear. It continued upstream and when it got parallel with me I saw it for the first time. A chub, huge, well huge for me, ever so long and quite angry looking. It swung towards my own bank, teased the awaiting net then plunged deeper and back out into the middle, this battle was far from over.
Three times I had her near the net, and three times she laughed and flicked her tail in disgust. The fourth time I sunk the net deeper and got a really firm grip on the handle. As she came close it was as though she held there wondering where the net was, but before she could realise I lifted as hard and as quickly as I could and scooped up my prize safely within the mesh. It looked amazing, awesome and all the other superlatives you associate with an incredible looking fish.
I secured the net among the margins by driving a stick through the gap and looked up to just in time to see Chris and Neil a few hundred yards downstream heading back to the cars. I shouted out and soon enough there were helping out with weighing and photographing the great fish. It weighed 5lb 1oz and happened to be my last fish of the day, and what a fish to end on. The remainder was spent wandering around, casting a few times and trying to make out my float tip in the fading light.
The temperature was dropping rapidly, and with the fish catching over I began feeling tired, washed out and cold inside. The drive home was one of jubilation, the day was amazing, Chris and I had so much to talk about, he even missed his turn near home. But I was glad to return home, to enjoy a hot bath and to settle down for the night warm and cosy. I can’t thank Chris enough for inviting me, although we didn’t actually get to fish together very much, his company was superb, and that went for Neil and Steve too. I’m already looking forward to the next time.
The trip was planned for New Year’s Eve, and we were to be accompanied by mutual friend Steve Frapwell and Chris’s good friend Neil. The forecast was for a frosty one with temperatures of below zero the night previous. Some friends of mine fished the day before on a more local river, and experienced temps of minus 4 on arrival, but the photos they captured were outstanding.
I’d been feeling rather unwell the day before the trip, a chesty cough that was quite painful, but to avoid everyone telling me I should be in bed for the day, not out fishing in silly conditions and silly o’clock, I told nobody of my ailments. The night was an uncomfortable one, and sleep was in chunks, but as ever I woke ten minutes before the alarm and was dressed, loaded and leaving the house by 6am. I drove to Chris’s house around 10 miles away to then transfer to his car for the rest of the journey.
We arrived at Ringwood tackle shops to get tickets and bait. I bought some hooks, a couple of plummets and a couple of pints of red maggots. There we met the others, exchanged pleasantries and headed for the river. It was frosty, although not as cold as the day previous at around -1. It was still dark but lightening all the time. Didn’t feel great but the fact I was fishing helped a lot, plus it was the long awaited trip with Chris, so for the most part the illness took a back seat.
We exited the car near some ponds; I was dropped off to fish the side streams and tributaries which suited the tackle I was using. Steve was then taken to a swim on the main river which had good form for good bags of chub and whilst Chris and Neil ventured forth to perch heaven armed with their drop shot gear. Alone I set up the Sabina, attached my new Speedia and looked forward to trotting the side streams for whatever might bite on such a cold morning.
I trotted with single and double red maggot, I trotted the tiny tributary to my right, I trotted the bigger stream to my left, I worked my way all the way to the main river too, but still I couldn’t get my float to go under. I did catch some nice scenes along the way, one which stood out being a small weir half way along the side stream where I had a lay around with the long exposure.
I found a lovely spot on the main river, a deep drop off close to the bank that just had to hold fish. I plumbed the depth and found 5 feet right at my feet and a slack with gentle flowing water just beyond. I sat and trickled half a dozen maggots in every few seconds, then after twenty minutes made the first cast. I half expected the float to shoot away soon after it settling, but half an hour passed without a single sniff. Cold and fishless I headed back to the drop off point for a morning cuppa with the others.
Steve was angling; building up the chub swim and in doing so never joined us for tea. Neil and Chris waited patiently whilst I searched for dry kindling for the Kelly Kettle, but although most of the frost had started to thaw, it meant that everything, and I mean everything, was damp. With that idea out of the window Chris fetched his gas stove and started to boil a kettle. When I saw the tea bags I reached for the tea pot, added 4 heaped spoonfuls of ‘proper’ tea and we all enjoyed a nice hot drink which warmed our souls nicely.
The drop shotting had been slow for the boys, but after tea, cake and mince pies they were fired up and ready for more. As they left base camp I returned to the start and decided to try the same runs, only this time with a touch more confidence and a fire in my belly. It made one hell of a difference too.
I began in the tiny tributary, probably three feet across at its widest, but first trot through the float dipped around twenty yards down and the first fish, a beautiful dace, skipped towards me like a charm of solid silver encrusted with jewels. It was a perfect fish, sparkling in the first rays of winter sunlight. It was my first fish from the Avon, and although rather small, that little fish meant a lot.
After releasing the dace I hooked 2 more red maggots made another cast. Same spot same thing happened and another wonderful dace came splashing towards me. There turned out to be 2 shoals, one at 15 yards and one at around 20. But I found it very odd that only a couple of hours previous I ran the same float through a dozen times without a touch. Now they were coming one a chuck. I even caught a marvellous minnow, probably the most beautiful minnow I’d ever seen.
After an hour or so I left the tributary in search of something different, perhaps something bigger, but the dace had already made the day a terrific one so it was time to go for a wander and see what else I could find. The main carrier that culminated eventually at the main river was said to have trout in it, the possibility of a grayling and maybe even a chub, so as long as the cold hadn’t put them off too much, the potential was quite good.
By now the sun was beginning to break through. I felt lethargic, but not overly ill, the excitement of the angling keeping my mind occupied. I found some nice stretches and trotted them, but the first few seemed devoid of any fish, and after the bumper catch of dace I was soon longing for something else. It came just before lunch time, a shallow gravel run which spilled into a deep glide for some 25 yards before shallowing up again.
First trot through and my float buried just before the end of the deep spot. The fish held well in the flow and kited back and forth across the stream. I thought it might be one of the trout, but as the fish got closer there was too little splashing for it to be one of those. Instead a stunning sail broke surface as it neared the net, and my first Avon grayling was safely netted. One of my favourite winter fish it was a perfect addition to the day’s captures, and I couldn’t have been happier.
If the smile upon my face wasn’t already wide enough, the next trot through produced another bite at the same spot, only this time it felt at first as though I’d snagged the bottom. It never moved for a few seconds, then slowly pulled the rod tip over a few times and then kited across the current and started upstream towards me. I couldn’t fathom out quite what it was, it felt heavy, but never felt the urge to charge off, and with a 2lb hook-link and size 18 hook, I did happen to play it quite gingerly with as little pressure as I could get away with. I feared that any sudden burst could break me so kept on my guard at every split second.
I finally caught sight of the fish, a chub with those tell tale black edgings to its fins. I was ecstatic, yet at the same time quite vulnerable as I knew I still had a battle on my hands to land this fish. It never looked huge, perhaps 3-4lbs, but I so dearly wanted to land it. Thankfully after a bit of to and fro it kited across to my side of the stream and into the awaiting net. I was overjoyed. I set up my new bulb activated shutter release kit and took a few pictures before releasing the fish. Although I had scales in my bag that went to 4lbs, I never did weight it, it was in the net a while whilst I set up the camera, so just wanted a few quick snaps and to release it without too much fuss. I estimated the fish was closer to 3 than 4, but it mattered very little under the circumstances.
Managing to keep quiet and noise to a minimum I wondered if the swim held any more willing fish. It was a small section, but who knows, so I continued to trot. Half a dozen biteless trots later the float dipped and I hooked something which was on for a second or two but off just as quickly. The next trot produced a similar bite at the same distance but this one stayed on. Again it was a heavy lump that held, but didn’t dash around too much; making me think that perhaps another chub was hooked. It was, and chub number two was banked. This one had been in the wars, slightly smaller than the last one this one had quite obviously been attacked by a pike or similar and still bore the scars, although the fish seemed quite healthy, posed nicely for the camera and swam off strongly.
Just as I was returning this fish Chris and Neil came by on their way back to the cars for lunch. Chris had some gammon which he cut into steaks, fried off and served them up in crusty baguettes. To accompany this delicious meal I foraged the nearby trees and bushes and now found plenty of dry kindling, the Kelly Kettle was soon roaring and a pot of tea washed our baguettes down very well indeed. New had come that Steve’s swim had produced the goods, with a number of 5lb chub and a new pb of almost 6 and a half pounds, so hats off to him for such a catch on such a difficult day. But alas the perch were proving elusive.
After lunch I revisited the swim I’d caught the chub from, but drew a blank. I fished the river down towards the main Avon, but never found another fish. With this I retraced my footsteps and leapfrogged myself fishing a few hundred yards below where I’d found success. A bush on the far bank covered with ivy looked good, there was a deep hole under it and a trot 10 yards before and ten yards after looked a promising one. I fed the swim for 5 minutes before casting then made my first attempt. The float sailed past the bush, just where I thought it would go down, and eventually did dip a good 5 yards past. The splishy splashy fight caused me to think I might be attached to my first trout of the day, which was confirmed when the saw brown spots coming towards the outstretched net. The stunning little brownie was released back to its icy home and soon after watching it disappear among the gravelly riverbed, my hook was re-baited.
Brimming with confidence having caught 5 species I fished on wondering what else I could catch. Maybe a perch, maybe a roach, I was beginning to think anything could happen. The float dipped, the rod arched, and at first I thought the bottom had gobbled up my hook. Then the bottom started moving, but very reluctantly. Initially I thought barbel, then came to my senses and remembered Chris saying that they were few and far between these days, especially among the side streams.
After what seemed like an age, the brute started to come towards me, it swung out into the flow and headed towards the ivy bush, whose fronds reached the surface of the water leaving me to wonder just how deeply they reached and whether or not it posed a problem. Luckily the fish passed beneath and out the other side into the clear. It continued upstream and when it got parallel with me I saw it for the first time. A chub, huge, well huge for me, ever so long and quite angry looking. It swung towards my own bank, teased the awaiting net then plunged deeper and back out into the middle, this battle was far from over.
Three times I had her near the net, and three times she laughed and flicked her tail in disgust. The fourth time I sunk the net deeper and got a really firm grip on the handle. As she came close it was as though she held there wondering where the net was, but before she could realise I lifted as hard and as quickly as I could and scooped up my prize safely within the mesh. It looked amazing, awesome and all the other superlatives you associate with an incredible looking fish.
I secured the net among the margins by driving a stick through the gap and looked up to just in time to see Chris and Neil a few hundred yards downstream heading back to the cars. I shouted out and soon enough there were helping out with weighing and photographing the great fish. It weighed 5lb 1oz and happened to be my last fish of the day, and what a fish to end on. The remainder was spent wandering around, casting a few times and trying to make out my float tip in the fading light.
The temperature was dropping rapidly, and with the fish catching over I began feeling tired, washed out and cold inside. The drive home was one of jubilation, the day was amazing, Chris and I had so much to talk about, he even missed his turn near home. But I was glad to return home, to enjoy a hot bath and to settle down for the night warm and cosy. I can’t thank Chris enough for inviting me, although we didn’t actually get to fish together very much, his company was superb, and that went for Neil and Steve too. I’m already looking forward to the next time.
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