A Gobio Gathering

Saturday saw the gathering of the Gobio Society; the venue was The Old Mill, Aldermaston on the marvellous river Kennet. It was Steve’s 50th birthday celebrations; he wanted very dearly to catch a gudgeon to mark the occasion.

 

I arrived early, just on 8:30 and soon after the fishery opened. Nigel was there already set up in a little weir pool he’d had some success years previous. There was room for me to sneak a rod in so after a chinwag I set up a perch rod and began fishing a worm in a deep hole just before a fallen tree.

No perch were forthcoming so it was time for me to have a wander. I ambled downstream a way, trying my luck in various likely looking dips and glides, but nothing wanted to snatch my trotted worm. I returned to base camp, set up the gudgeon rod and returned to see if I could tempt anything at all.

I began just left of two thick trees, a corner where the water swung round under said trees and opened out into a fairly substantial pool with a relatively uniform depth of around 18 inches. I started to catch quite quickly, mostly small roach and perch, but then a small gudgeon was caught at the end of the run where the water shallows up, the target species, I was thrilled.

 

As with all small stream fishing it didn’t take too long for the bites to dry up. I wandered on and fished the point, an outcrop where by the side stream was joined by another. It was a lovely glide and threw up many small dace, but after half an hour of catching similar 6 inch dace one after the other it was time to get on the move again.

On the way back to Nigel I noticed a deep slack between those two trees I’d been fishing near before. I plumbed the depth and sent two red maggots down to case the place. No sooner had the float settled, it was under and sliding off to the right. I struck and to my utter amazement up came a wriggly gudgeon. I repeated the process and caught another, much bigger specimen. I’d found their lair.

Each one was a glittery, pearlescent wonder, some touching 2oz too. I was in my element. I shared the location with Nigel who joined me and caught one himself. Some minnows also joined the party, along with the obligatory perch, some of which were more than capable of feasting upon some of the gudgeon we were catching. It was delightful fishing.

Around lunchtime and back at base Nigel had a roaring take on luncheon meat and hooked what he swore was a barbell, but unfortunately it was gone as quickly as it came It did wonders for the enthusiasm levels though, and soon we were flinging meat baits out into the weir pool in the hope that old Boris was still lurking.

As it happened I fell asleep for a while, a much needed lunchtime nap to recharge the batteries. I woke to find Nigel back off on his travels in search of something to angle for. I trotted the weir pool and caught some more perch and dace. I also tried the canal type section behind us, and caught more small roach and perch and minnows.

 

 

Sometime after 3pm the man of the moment, Steve, and his band of merry men arrived from their lunchtime gathering in the local brew house. After the meetings and greetings we all angled together and caught some more fish, Nigel even caught what at first looked like a huge gudgeon, but which turned out to be a baby barbel.

I took Steve over to my gudgeon hole, I knew he wanted to catch one on his birthday, and it didn’t take him long to catch that fish. He went on to catch 5 in the short space of time I had left. At 5pm I had to depart so bid a fond farewell to everyone as I set off towards the car. Next stop FLE Top Lake and a rendezvous with some big carp.

A Spot of Kennetting...

I am in no way, shape or form a river angler, I have fished with experts that leave me behind when it comes to the skill involved in reading the river, knowing where and when to cast and when to expect some action. Now that’s not to say I don’t like fishing rivers, quite the opposite, I think rivers are the most beautiful places to fish, their inhabitants glorious and the ever changing nature of a river means the angler has to keep on his toes to keep up. All I’m saying is that I’m very raw and in need of much more in the way of experience to be able to call myself a competent river angler.

A while back, fellow Gobio Society member Steve asked if I’d like a day’s fishing on the Kennet before the end of the season. He said there would be the chance of gudgeon, and certainly chevin if conditions favoured, so the date was set and things were readied for the big day. We had been corresponding via email for a few weeks, and a few days leading up to the trip I asked what time he’d like to meet. He gave me the honour of choosing the time, although 8am seemed to sound quite hilarious to Steve, saying that ‘The only thing his eyes see at that time on a Sunday are his eyelids’. So we settled on 9:30, halfway through the day but at least it would mean I got a little longer with Jess that morning.

Well 9:30 came and went and I found myself driving round and round trying to find our meeting point. After a few phones calls we met up and I followed Steve to the venue. It was 10:30 by now and after the cars were parked I had a blindfold tied on so to keep the location a secret. With the blindfold removed the first thing I saw was the most glorious stretch of river, looking just like the bit Chris Yates fished in APFA when Bob poached a chub from right under his nose. It might well have been in fact. The swim was called Chub Straight.



I put the wizard together, attached the reel and started setting up for trotting when Steve asked if I’d be ‘laying on’. I’d heard the term before but didn’t know what it involved. He explained that you fish as you would with trotting gear but over shot the float and fish a couple of feet over depth, Flick out into the main flow and let the current bring it all round in a straight line. A couple of casts later and I had it, the line gong from my top ring to my float and then down to the shot and ultimately the bait. Steve went on to tell me it’s a good method for fishing when it is as cold as it was (1 degree all day with a scattering of light snow falling) allowing you to rest the rod on the reeds, watch the float and keep your hand in your pockets. It certainly worked for me.



We fished there for an hour or so, both laying on and trotting, with bread and paste but nothing wanted to bite. So we wound in and trudged our way through the boggy terrain to the next spot. This spot was a known chub hotspot called Chub Corner. Steve put me in the banker swim and went to fish a little way upstream. I attached a large flake of bread and cast out into the flow feeling for it to swing around and settle, but it didn’t settle. It seemed the flow was much stronger, so I’d have to add more shot or gently tease the bait through the swim searching out any fish; this seemed the best option for me.



I think it was the third cast; I let the float work its way down through the swim letting line peel from the spool very slowly hoping that the fluttering action of the bread might cause a winterised chub to suddenly wake up and get hungry. The float dipped, at first I thought it might be turbulence, but it stayed under. I lifted the rod and felt a lunge...”Chub Ahoy!!” Steve wound in and arrived in the swim just as I netted the fish, a wonderful brassy chub of around 3lbs. We took a few quick snaps, released the superb fish back into the river and danced a little celebratory jig, just to warm ourselves up.



That fish was amazing, I really wanted to catch a chub as I’d not had one all winter, and time was running out with just a couple of weekends before the end of the season. With that fish, the rewarmed blood flow and confidence singing I really thought I’d catch another next cast. But we fished on for another good hour with no more bites. Steve returned to my swim and suggested we move on and try another spot, Chub Bend.

Chub bend was another classic looking area that screamed Chevin, it was just below Chub Hole. It was a sweeping bend, just large enough for two anglers and was crying out for a lump of flake to be worked through it. And work those flakes we did, but half an hour passed and numb fingers tips were all we had to show for it. We moved down into Chub Hole but that too was devoid of hungry chub. We knew it would be a difficult day, it was snowing after all, and just a tad above freezing, but it was great to be out on the riverbank, and what a splendid riverbank it was.



Next stop was Chub Bridge, a low bridge we could actually fish from and land any fish we caught easily. It gave us a nice opportunity for a drink from the flask, munch on a sandwich and a have a natter for a bit. Steve fished on with flake as did I at first but then switched to maggot, just to see if I could catch anything else that might be down there. We sat on the bridge for half an hour but after no action we moved on for the last time to Chub Snags. There we had a couple of casts each but I already had an eye on my watch knowing I had the best part of an hour’s journey home and needed to be back for Jess’s bath time.



Blindfolded I made my way back to the cars, thanked Steve for providing a cracking day’s fishing and after promising to repay the favour of a guest ticket we bade each other farewell and safe journeys....

Pockets of Winter

The trip started way before the morning of departure. All week I’d been hatching plans, gathering information about the fishery, tidying up tackle and I even restored a cane rod for the occasion. New line was wound onto empty spools; weather reports were checked and checked again, those thermal long johns were located and extra thick socks were purchased. It was certainly “Wrap up warm” time, almost as if autumn was only a few days long and made way for winter’s savage onslaught way ahead of schedule.

A few days previous there was rain, lots of it, mostly overnight. Saturday was to be dry but cold, I wondered how the rain and drop in temperatures would affect the fishing, but with grayling, chub and perch to angle for I felt sure of at least a little action. Even if nothing wanted to play, it would still be an enjoyable day spent with a gang of traditional piscators, tea would be flowing, cake was sure to be handed around and a lack of good chat was never going to be an option.

The morning came, five am the alarm sounded. It was dark, I peered through the window and was met with rain falling, droplets peppered the glass. I quietly got dressed so not to wake the baby and carried out my ablutions, left the house and headed for my parents’ home and the tackle shed. Once there I made a flask of coffee, some cheese and pickle sandwiches, loaded tackle and bait into the boot of the car and with the sat nav pointed in the right direction I headed to Newbury and a rendezvous with the creatures of the Kennet.

When I left it was reading seven degrees outside on the car's thermometer. A built up area near the sea was always going to be reading higher, almost lulling me into a false sense of security. I reached the motorway and as I headed through areas of a more rural nature I watched the temperature drop as low as three, but still I feared not. During the last few miles things changed quite considerably with some spots dropping as low as zero, it was as if there were little pockets of winter dotted around the landscape. I arrived at the venue to minus one and a heavy frost.

Mark and Jeff were already there when I pulled into the car park at a little after seven. We all shook hands and spoke about the prospects for the day. A few others arrived and after greeting old friends and acquainting myself with new ones I decided to head off in search of fish. The fishery was a real maze of streams, ditches and pools that twisted and turned, I found myself lost on a few occasions but eventually got my bearings back and returned to the hut for a coffee and a quick scratch of the head whilst contemplating the plan of action.

With maggots, worms and bread at my disposal I really didn’t know what species to angle for, but in order to keep my options open I decided on trotting bread-flake through as many glides as possible in the hope of snaring a chub, roach or grayling. With my newly renovated rod and delmatic loaded with three pound line I headed off full of anticipation for that first cast. It was as if I didn’t want to make it until I found the perfect spot, for to reach the end of the glide without a bite would have tainted the occasion somewhat.



I found the perfect spot son enough, a sweeping bend that had a classic wooden platform to cast from and an overhang on the far bank that just had to have a large chub living under it. I baited my size six hook with a fairly large flake and cast my float into the flow mending the line all the time to stay in control. As the float neared the overhang my heart beat quickened, I expected it to dart under at any second, but it wasn’t to be, eventually it came across the shallower area where the water became more turbulent and I wound in for another go.

I fished on there trying various depths for around fifteen minutes and headed on to the next spot biteless. Thirty or so yards further downstream there was an equally promising glide which narrowed between brambles and opened out again the other side. I had to stand close to the water to keep the float in sight but the first trot through produced a dip in the float which I struck at but wasn’t sure if it was the bottom or a fish, either way I came back bait and fishless but without any sign of weed so attached another flake and ran through once more.



This time the float dipped in the same spot, just through the narrowing, but as I struck the rod tip jagged round and a fish was hooked. A few seconds later and what was obviously a decent sized fish managed to shed the hook. Three more trots through resulted in just one more missed bite, but this came much further downstream so a change of position was needed. From my new vantage point I continued to work the stream watching the float tip and willing it to go away. It did disappear on the third trot and immediately the hooked fish leapt clear of the water, trout on!



The battle was spectacular, at first I wished it was a big roach or a chub, but I was engaged in a serious fight and once the net was slipped under my prize I just had to reach for the camera and get a quick snap. It was a lovely fish, really nicely coloured and was a fish that would make the day of any fly fisherman. It certainly made my morning a tad brighter and cast any thoughts of numb finger tips aside. With all the commotion the swim went understandably quiet and three more trots produced nothing.



This seemed to be the order of the day. More swims were fished and more trout were caught. All hard fighting and all very pretty, having differing patterns colourings they were a joy to angle for. I made my way back to the hut for the lunchtime gathering where we ate various cakes made by the anglers, drunk tea and chatted about the mornings activities and what to expect in the afternoon session.


The Fisherman's Hut

During lunch I had my eye on a pool close by just downstream of the bridge near the hut. Probably overlooked due to its location but a stream begging to have a nice flake run through it. After three trots I watched as the float dipped and upon striking a trout did a somersault in the air before crashing back into the water and shedding the hook. No more bites came from this spot so I wandered off to explore more of the river and its tributaries.


Piscators

One area I headed to was a small stream with slack areas where I was told there might be a few decent perch hiding. I fished into an area with no flow, leaves and other debris came swirling through off the main stream every so often and through the clear water I could see everything. My worms wriggled around an inch off the bottom and small roach, bream and minnows came into view but never troubled my hook-bait. Trout also came to this slack but no perch, I stayed for half an hour or so and headed off to discover more of the main stream.



Various other sections were fished and more trout were caught. Apart from one minnow that I hooked fair and square in the mouth I caught trout, over twenty of them. All hard fighting and all very pretty, but the roach and chub I angled for eluded me. There was one small perch caught and a handful of chub to nearly five pounds to Merlot. A couple of pike were also caught along with a few grayling. Everyone enjoyed themselves immensely and by four pm anglers started to bid farewell and make their way to their respective homes.

I packed up around four thirty, bid my friends farewell and started the hour long journey back to a warm house and a hot meal. Unfortunately I didn’t use my camera nearly enough, but Mark and the Professor kindly sent me some of their pictures of the day to use on my report.

Next weekend I return to still water, Redmire Pool for two days. Gudgeon by day and carp through the night, that’s the plan anyway.

Midwinter 2011

Midwinter, at least that’s what the calendar said, but the conditions outside and the forecast for the few days ahead were that of an unsettled mixture of clear and cloudy, calm and windy, dry and wet. However, I was going fishing with great friend and all round legendary angler Martin James. The Kennet was the venue and chub and barbel were the target with the option of some pike fishing on the last day.

I arrived at the river around 11am on Tuesday, met Martin and after hand shakes and Christmas niceties it was down to business. He told me of his captures the days leading up to my arrival and also of his losses. The plan was to try for chub and barbell on Tuesday evening, Wednesday afternoon and evening and hit the Lodden Thursday for some piking. Our first job was to walk the river; both banks looking for spots to fish and introducing bait to the areas we’d be laying our traps. It was quite a walk and I must admit it was heavy going in my full winter attire. Martin however, led the way and showed no signs of fatigue even being well into his seventies!! We completed our tour, found a couple of swims we were happy with and retired for a lunch of Hot Pot made by Martin’s wife. During lunch we spoke of many things, the old days, new days, things Martin got up to, things I got up to, there was certainly no lack of conversation.

Kennet Days

A special couple of day’s I’d been longing for were finally here. I drove to Newbury, around 50 minutes and waited in the pub for Martin James, angling legend, BBC radio and TV presenter, author, world famous angler, I was actually going to fish with him!!!

At around 4pm Martin entered with his very close friend and accomplished Barbel angler David Foster. With Martin on standby doing pictures for a magazine feature, David was to be my guide for the trip and the plan was to help me catch my first river Barbel. As soon as we all sat down and looked through the menu, Martin and I were at it talking about fishing’s past, Dick Walker, Jack Hilton and all manner of other Carping history. We hit the ground running and could see straight away that this was going to be a session of adventure and lots of chit chat. We had a meal and left at 6pm for the river.