Winter on the Avon...

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.

A Hamble Ramble...

Every once in a while a few of us Wallyboys get together for a day's angling. This was our Christmas get together held on the local river Hamble, home to a great variety of species. It's not a big river at this particular section, you could probably jump across most of it should you feel inclined. Our day though was more about the gathering, the camaraderie, and the tea.

Yet More Stripes...

I had the day to do pretty much what I liked. Just a couple of days before Christmas, and with most things done already, presents bought and wrapped etc... I was free between dropping Jessica at Nursery at 7:30 and picking her up again at 4pm. So, as you can imagine, I had the rods in the car. 


I left the Nursery and headed for Asda, there were a couple of things I had to take care of, as well as purchase some English Mustard to accompany the Game Pie I had for lunch. A quick stop at the tackle shop and soon I was on my way with a pint of finest extra wriggly maggots. 


After my recent success angling for perch, including a 3lber on each of my last two trips, I couldn’t see myself angling for anything else so my bonnet was pointed in the direction of my favourite perch pool in the hope that nobody else had the same idea. 

Spikey Miracles....

What is it about big perch that makes them so very impressive? Perhaps it’s the fact that you just don’t see many of them. Take carp for example, spread all over the interweb, sprawled across the covers of magazines, big carp are everywhere. Apart from a few exceptions, the old good lookers, big carp don’t really float my boat, or cause me to say “Wow” very often. Big roach are very beautiful, and when over 2lbs, a dream fish and a target I’m yet to achieve, they are a much sought after specimen indeed, but even big roach don’t have that same impressiveness as a big perch. Big rudd, with their ruby red fins and 24 carat flanks, do come very close, but for me still don’t have the same wow factor a big perch has.

Perhaps it’s because as youngsters we caught so many finger sized perchlings, etching the fact that ‘no perch is bigger than your hand’ in your mind forever. Believe in something long enough and nobody will tell you different, but then one day you see a fish of a pound lying in the bottom of your net, how can this be? All reasoning is blown away, the things you always thought you knew to be true are shattered instantly, just like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy!

I think it’s a male thing too; we all wanted to be that tough boy at school, the one everyone respected and wanted to be around. Nothing scared him, nothing fazed him, he had his crew around him, and even if he didn’t, he could take care of himself anyhow. I think perch have the same characteristic, frightened of nothing, bold, respected with a do anything I want go anywhere I like attitude, and nobody can stop me. If we really think about it, if we could be a fish, we’d all want to be a big perch.

Fallon's Angler...

Having finished reading this, I thought it fitting, after enjoying it so much, to do a little review.


“A Melody of Piscatorial Prose”, sounds lovely doesn’t it, and it really is. The line-up of contributors screamed class, chapters from well know angling lyricists which could only mean one thing, that a veritable masterpiece was on its way, and it couldn’t come soon enough. I had made so many images in my mind, there was so much optimism and I was thrilled when it finally dropped through the letterbox. Upon opening the large brown envelope I certainly wasn’t disappointed.

A Return to Paradise

The haunting sound of the owls and green woodpeckers, although eerie, gave me a warm feeling of belonging; it was as though after my long absence the creatures of the pool welcomed me back with open arms. I had a battle on my hands trying to keep the Kelly Kettle burning as soon after lighting it the rains came making the kindling damp, but with much persistence on my part, along with lots of huffing and puffing, the shower passed and soon enough I was enjoying a steaming pot of tea.

Rich Crimp's Memorial Social

Rich Crimp was my friend, I guess thinking about it we only knew each other for 3 years or so, fished together around a dozen times and lived the best part of 70 miles apart, but you didn’t have to live in Rich’s pocket to be a good friend. Always available on the phone for a chinwag, perhaps you had something to get off your chest, perhaps just to chew the fat, whatever you needed, he was always there.

He had a way of making you feel at ease, perhaps he’d be telling you to stop being a silly bugger (or words to that description), he wasn’t one to mince his words, shot from the hip so to speak, but it was always sound advice, one of his traits I really miss. He was a great wordsmith too, his scribblings being enjoyed by everyone who took the time to read them, with each new posting being eagerly anticipated.

An excellent angler too was the Cap’n, a thinking angler who loved the Thames with a passion I’d never seen before. He knew his roots, and stood by them through thick and thin, seeking not to educate but to open the eyes of those who only saw the Thames as a once dirty river. They say all anglers have a book in them; well Richard’s would have been epic.

Surface Magic..

When the wife asked if I fancied going fishing after work today, I thought intensely for all of half a second, swerved past Dad’s to collect a rod and couldn’t wait till 4pm. The plan was to visit Carron Row, wander around with my bucket of dog biscuits and hope the carp were hungry.

I set the rod up in the car park, just a size 4 hook and with my unhooking mat under my arm and camera over my shoulder I set off in search of ripples. I stood on the causeway and spotted some rings of water leaving the bank practically under my feet. I stepped back, looked closer and spotted a carp just under the surface between the fallen reeds.

With two mixers on the hook I gently lowered the hook-bait into position and only had to wait a few seconds for the take. As it rolled on the surface I clocked a wonderfully coloured flank with irregular scaling, it lunged off away from the causeway but I soon gained control and before long had her ready for the net.