David Craine – An Annual Adventure To The River Teme

As with most of my diary entries, my annual trip to the beautiful river Teme seems quite bare of detail. However, this year, as the TPR publishing date is October 16, I thought why not make a piece that reflects my mid-September Teme foray? With that in mind I composed a better, more detailed series of diary entries to refresh my mind. Here goes…

Saturday, September 14

Having fished the Teme before, I was well aware that it is not the easiest river to tackle, being quite a small river in the scheme of things, with fairly high, steep inaccessible banks along much of its length and epic bankside undergrowth of jungle proportions, all of which make access to likely looking swims sometimes very difficult.

The scaley inhabitants of the Teme are not the easiest to tempt. Why? Well it is well documented that the river has suffered from predation by otters in the past, so maybe the stock levels are low. Does water quality play a part, or maybe the impact of previous angling? After all, the Teme was well publicised as a Mecca for barbel anglers once, or is it just that my own angling skills need honing? Probably the latter, but I am happy enough with my fumblings along the banks with maybe the odd fish to show for my efforts.

We reached the cottage on Saturday the 14th, arriving early and being allowed access. My wife spent the first few hours sorting the accommodation to her satisfaction whilst I had more important matters to attend to, knowing that there was an easily accessed swim in front of the cottage. I had prebaited that swim as soon as we arrived. An hour later I donned my wellingtons and took a rod, reel, rest and some essentials retired to the river bank. There was a nice overhanging willow on the opposite bank and the diced Plumrose had been fed just upstream of the tree; I was hopeful that maybe a resident chub would take an interest. Using simple tactics of a free-running Arlesey bomb, I baited with a chunk of said Plumrose and cast to a spot under the branches but just upstream. I set the rod in the rest and sat back in anticipation of a few chub ‘knocks’ on the rod tip.

I had just made myself comfortable when a commotion from upstream caused me to look up. I could hear the sound of branches being snapped, various bangs and scrapes, and suddenly somebody shouted:

“I’ve lost my >>>X#&££@/## <<< paddle…”

This was followed by loud laughter from a second person. I saw a canoe paddle floating downstream in front of me, then heard a lot of loud swearing and somebody shout “Grab hold of me.” Then they appeared…

The boarders seemed oblivious to my presence but as soon as I had become aware of them I had quickly wound in my line. As they floated past me, splashing and spinning in the current,I thought that maybe this week was not going to be so satisfactory after all. Resigning myself to the swim being now upset for the time being, I gathered together my gear and retired to the cottage; so much for being too quick off the mark!

I decided to make use of the rest of the day by taking a recce upstream. Slipping on a jacket to protect my arms from thorns, I grabbed my trusty walking pole and, donning my wellingtons, set off upstream to the top of the private length that comes with the cottage. Passing the shattered weir that the boarders must have bypassed by some sort of portage on the opposite bank, I took to the roadway. I made my way along, and over, a stream then back into the field which forms the riverbank. 

I feel here that a description of the weir is needed. The cottage is a former watermill, now sadly long gone. The river powered the mill but over time the mill became unused and fell into disrepair, so the weir was no longer needed. The water authority, back in the 1960s, decided in their infinite wisdom that weirs caused flooding so this weir was removed,along with many others. I would say that trashed, rather removed, is a more accurate description; I am told that explosives removed it; I do not really know but the mess that was left does not inspire.

Before the damage…

After the removal of the weir…

It is hard to reconcile the two pictures as being the same place but, yes, they are.

Back to my exploration. Walking along the field I looked for a couple of swims that I had noted on previous visits but it seemed that nature had taken its course and they had now vanished. After a couple of hundred yards the far field’sborder hedge became impassable so, with no further evidence of access to the river, I retraced my steps slowly back. Looking carefully, I did notice that access was possible where the undergrowth was a tad less impossible. Making a note of the location for later exploration, I made my way back downstream, past the weir and into the cottage garden.

This was better; there were a two or three swims that I had used before and looked as though they had received a bit of use. They were behind the cottage and would not require anything other than a twenty yard stroll from the cottage door, indeed one of them was the swim I had attempted earlier.

Walking further on, past the cottage length onto the adjacent club length, there were a couple of steeply sloping areas cleared of vegetation that led down to accessible swims. This was no surprise as these areas were near a small car park that the club had created. Further along though it was apparent that only the more intrepid of anglers had challenged the terrain. I noticed a couple of accessible swims that would need my trusty dog spike and rope and perhaps a bit of ‘gardening’ to them. I also saw an area that, with a bit of effort, would also provide me a steep access to what maybe was previously undisturbed water. I also had an idea that I could perhaps get down to the river and make my way along the river’s edge in shallower water to other, as yet unseen, areas. This was only an option in the present low water conditions.

Returning to the cottage I formed a plan and after a swift and early tea I grabbed said dog spike and a small folding saw and made my way downstream once more. I had purchased the club permit for the lower length and intended to use it in the following week.

An hour’s work gave me two usable swims that would be comfortable enough with just the one rod and the minimal of tackles. Happy with my work I returned to the cottage. I now had a few different areas of the river to fish, two within a short walk of the cottage and two a few hundred yards further afield. A bit more work would give me yet more choice. The afternoon was moving toward dusk and the itch to wet a line was too much for me so, taking just a rod, net and a few odds and ends in my basket along with a bait bag, I made my way to the river, this time going downstream to one of the areas I had noted.

Slipping and sliding down the bank and holding tightly onto my rope, which was attached to a spike screwed into the top of the incline, I made myself a comfortable perch. After baiting up across the river with a couple of pouch-fulls of diced Plumrose, I sat back for ten minutes to allow the free morsels to do their work.

My tackle for the evening was simplicity itself, a ten-foot Mark IV Carp Avon rod, a very free running centrepin reel, ten pound main-line with a sliding Arlesey bomb stopped by a small bead above a swivel. Attached to the swivel was about two feet of fluorocarbon line of 8lb breaking strain and a very sharp, size eight, barbless hook. I slowly and quietly set up my tackles. There was no room for a rod rest so I would hold the rod whilst sitting or, rather, leaning on the steeply sloping bank behind me. My basket was hung on an overhanging branch nearby, along with my bait bucket. The branch also doubled up as a rod rest when I needed both hands to bait up.

The evening was very still and very peaceful, the lonely bark of a dog in the distance being the only sound to accompany the musical notes of the river, dancing its way over the shallows above my position. Eventually I made a cast over the nearside shelf into the deeper water toward the far bank where the Plumrose had been scattered. Further across and downstream there was a nice overhanging tree which afforded cover for any of the river’s inhabitants and I was hoping they may venture out to intercept my offerings. I slowly let the current roll the bomb downstream toward the target area, hoping that there would be no more disturbances such as had occurred in the afternoon.

My position was a tad cramped but not uncomfortable, leaning on the bank behind me while holding the rod and feeling for bites with my index finger. The noises of the evening had a soporific effect and I felt myself slowly dozing off but not for long, suddenly I felt the telltale tugging of a fish taking a bit of interest in the bait. These taps and tuggings on the rod tip were taking a lot of ignoring; I was tense and expecting a good bite indication any moment but it was not to be. The taps and tugs stopped so I slowly wound in to find the chunk of Plumrose had been well nibbled and was nothing like the bait that had been cast in. I then remembered a tip given to me by our friend Martin James when fishing his lovely river Ribble. Have one bait on the hook and a further identical bait below the first; chub will nibble at the first bait and when it is either nibbled away or becomes detached, they come back to the second bait with renewed confidence and will take it quite positively.

Following Martin’s advice and after catapulting in a few more free offerings, I recast again letting the bait slowly roll to where I hoped the chub or indeed maybe even a barbel might be awaiting an evening snack.

Settling back again, suddenly and without warning the rod-tip tap tapped twice. I was alerted to what was to follow; a few more taps were registered then a quiet spell and then suddenly without warning the rod tip whacked around and I was attached to a feisty river Teme chub. I was sure it was a chub;there was not the insistent, powerful boring away that a barbel would make. However, the fish still did warrant careful handling in the snaggy water. I slowly played the fish upstream toward me. I could feel the line pinging on the rock shelf in front and below me but luckily the line held, and after a few nerve tingling minutes the fish was brought to net; not a monster, maybe two and half to three pounds in weight but very welcome on my first, proper, undisturbed foray on the river Teme.

I thanked the river gods for presenting me with this specimen and in the same breath thanked Martin for his suggestion. The chub was unhooked and after a rest in the net released back into the river. It was now dark and I was in two minds, should I continue or leave it until tomorrow? No, I now had a feeling that tonight might have a further treat in store for me so I catapulted in a further pouch-full of Plumrose, sat (leaned) back on the steep slope behind me and then telephoned my wife to let her know I would be at least another hour. Darkness had fallen and I was joined by some small bats that insisted on making dives toward the rod tip and sometimes catching the line as they did so, giving me many false taps which may or may not have been chub nibbles.

In the next hour I had no need to change any of my tackles;the rig I had constructed seemed to be perfect for the job. I had checked the line and there was no damage and about twenty minutes later I almost had the rod ripped from my grasp when a feisty and determined barbel chose to take my bait. I would like to say it was carefully planned on my part but in fact it was taken on exactly the same rig and tactics as the chub.

The barbel bored off downstream sticking more or less to the deeper central part of the river. The rod arched around, bending through from tip to the cork of the handle. I could feel the fish shaking its head trying to dislodge the barbless hook to free itself but I was having none of it and hung on. The rod did its job; I slowly coaxed the fish back upstream until I was able to slide my laminated cane landing net underneath it. Job done, the fish was safely in the folds of the net. Even as I crouched down to release the hook, the hook came out of its own accord and the fish lay there in the light of my head torch, with golden flanks and fin perfect.

My first 2024 barbel from the Teme; I was silently hoping more would grace the net in the following days but knowing how fickle the river could be I might well have to be happy with this first example of about seven pounds. After resting the fish, it was gently released and swam away to no doubt sulk in the margins. A further chub of similar proportions to the first was taken shortly afterward and with that I had to call it a day. I still had a steep bank to climb in the dark, a rope to retrieve and a walk back to the cottage and all this in the pitch blackness of a moonless countryside night, accompanied only by the sounds of the nocturnal wildlife.

I was more than satisfied with my first ‘proper’ couple of hours fishing this lovely little river but could I keep it up?

Day two, Sunday the 15th

I had made it a rule for this week that my fishing would take place mainly early morning or evening, so as to be available for family matters during the day but my next trip would also be an early evening session. I had started to make notes re tactics and swims and wanted to expand upon them so accordingly I decided that a trip upstream might pay dividends, although I would need to prepare an access. Making an early start, I left the cottage at about 8 a.m. and walked the short distance to the stretch of river above the private cottage frontage and above the weir. I was wearing a stout thorn-proof wax jacket as the spot I had earmarked needed an entry cleared and, being a bit of a wimp, I hated to get scratched or pierced by thorns or splinters.

Choosing an entry was not too bad as there seemed to be a gap between the trees. However, there still was an amount of undergrowth to clear and the bank below was an unknown factor.

After making my way through the undergrowth I reached a tree where, after removing the odd branch, I managed to force my way around to its left and down another steep bank to river level. There was a jumble of rock and assorted bankside debris at water level; not having much room to manoeuvre, it would be a strictly one rod approach. Satisfied that I could now get access, I returned to the cottage and a pleasant day was spent doing family ‘things.’ However, the evening’s fishing was upon my mind. After another early tea I gathered my accoutrements and made my way back to the newly constructed swim.

Following yesterday’s timetable, I catapulted in a couple of pouch-fulls of diced Plumrose, then sat back and prepared the end tackles for a couple of hours of, hopefully, productive fishing. Once more the creel was hung from another handy branch. I cast in toward the downstream, far bank which was no more than a couple of rod lengths away. This time I had managed to position a rod rest between the roots of the tree and made myself comfortable.

The swim looked very inviting and my hopes were high but this time the river seemed somehow not to be unfriendly but sadly unwilling to co-operate either. I tried several different rigs, varying the hook-length and also choosing to free-line, but nothing could entice anything to take any notice of my baits. After an hour or so I decided that the river had won this evening and after scrambling back up the steep bank, retired to the cottage. There is always another day, I told myself.

Day three, Monday the 16th

Today I decided that an easy option should be taken; not to fish into darkness but instead use the afternoon and thus I decided to change my tactics. Today was a day to run a float down a very inviting looking, deeper section alongside some willows and below what once was the weir.

Taking a split cane Avon style rod of about eleven feet and my trusty Speedia, I attached a large cork ‘loafer’ float and beneath it a size ten hook with some breadflake as bait. Donning my waders, I carefully made my way across the river. It was very rocky and treacherous underfoot and I nearly came a cropper more than once. I managed to eventually reach a relatively level footing and fed some bread mash, mixed with flake, into the swim. It looked as though any moment a chub would appear from under the overhanging branches and take an interest in the bread…but it was not to be. I thought that maybe even a trout would eventually find the bread baited hook but no, I was once again thwarted.

I must have trotted that swim for over two hours without as much as an indication of interest in the bait and eventually losing interest myself, I made my way slowly back across the river and to the cottage. Should I try again this evening? I wondered. I decided against this as I did have the rest of the week ahead. Instead I decided that later in the evening I would pre-bait a couple of the steep swims lower down the stretch for another session tomorrow.

Day four, Tuesday the 17th

Today I had prepared myself for an afternoon of fishing maybe two of the prebaited swims on a lower stretch below the cottage. Knowing that they both involved a near vertical climb down, I chose to take a robust, carbon rod instead of my trusty cane Carp Avon (I had no desire to see my beloved cane rod in splinters after a possible fall or slip). The swims had been pre-baited, I had the afternoon to myself so what was there to lose? After preparing the tackle I made my way across the field and along the side of a further field. Eventually I identified the swims in amongst the undergrowth and made my way down using the dog spike and rope to assist.

There was enough space at river level in the first swim and even a place to insert a bank stick. So, with location sorted, I prepared a bait and carefully cast into the pre-baited area downstream near the riverbed shelf. This was a similar swim to where I had taken the barbel two days ago, so hopes were high. The day was warm and overcast but I was not prepared for the downpour which followed.

After an hour without any sign of a bite and baits coming back untouched I decided to wait for a break in the weather and move to the second swim. This was managed without too much drama and I set up again.

So far I had used only diced Plumrose as bait and I now decided that maybe these fish had become accustomed to some more modern equivalent so a bait change was the order of the day. Halibut pellets and sweetcorn were tried over the next hour but again the fish did not co-operate and later, defeated, I returned to the cottage with nothing to show for my efforts. I reflected on my walk back, could I have done anything different? I doubted it myself although a better angler might well have teased a fish out whereas I had maybe not this time explored sufficient alternative methods.

After tea I decided to have an hour on a lower cottage swim – so much easier and quicker than a yomp over fields and down steep banks (although I must admit that that type of angling does rather appeal to me more). I made my way across the garden, through the wood and down the bank (yes, another steep bank but not too bad though).

Setting up shop I once again threw in some free offerings and prepared my tackles. This time I had included hempseed in the pre-baiting recipe and was hopeful. It did not take long for my baits to be picked out by two of the resident chub; the first was around the two to three pound mark, the second being slightly bigger.

All were taken on diced Plumrose and very welcome after the last two days of blanking. I spent a couple of hours there and at about 9.30 p.m., after taking probably six or seven chub from the swim, I decided to pull up stumps. I had regained a bit of self respect, having proved to myself that I could, on occasion, tempt the resident chub from the river. The next day was spoken for and I needed an early night.

Day five, Wednesday the 18th

…elsewhere all day!

Day six, Thursday the 19th

This would be my last day’s fishing so I had opted for an easy finish and decided that an evening session on the cottage length would be in order. I had once again prebaited a swim that had easy access and in fact I had placed a garden seat from the cottage to relax in, whilst awaiting the hoped for rod-wrenching bites. I set up shop after tea. There is nothing like being comfortable!

The area I had selected as being a probable ‘holding’ position was on the far bank, almost below where the rod tip was pointing in the above picture, to the left and below the yellow leaves on the tree. There is a spot where trees overhang the water and there is a sort of bay created by the willows. There is a deeper run there, in fact it is near to and downstream from where I had blanked when float fishing. However, today was something different. This required some accurate casting on my part and I was unsure if that could be achieved once darkness fell. However, nothing ventured is nothing gained. I opted for my simple Arlesey bomb rig, as described previously, using cubes of Plumrose as the chosen bait once again.

It was becoming obvious that the inhabitants of the Teme prefer a meaty diet. A reasonable and accurate cast put the bait just upstream of the target area and the lead was allowed to roll and take up position right where I estimated would be a good area to expect a bite or two. Almost immediately I started getting small taps on the rod tip which did not develop but eventually I managed to hook into a small chub with very visible damage to its tail fin.

This was the only ‘hittable’ bite I had until about 9.00 p.m., after darkness had fallen. I was sat comfortably and enjoying the warm evening air; all was very quiet apart from the gentle hoot of an owl invisible in the cover of the bankside trees overhead but a little way down the river. I was sat with cane in hand when suddenly the rod tip was slammed around without warning and a very feisty barbel was on. It gave a really good account of itself, initially ripping off a couple of yards of line and making the centrepin sing as my thumb scorched itself on the spool rim. The barbel was eventually netted after an epic struggle in keeping it out of the far bank willows. Not large, it was probably again seven pounds or so and similar to its companion earlier in the week, very welcome after a mixed week of short sessions. After the fish was rested and released I decided that the river had been given enough attention so I tidied around and returned to the cottage. The next day would be taken up by cleaning and packing away my tackles and loading the car for a homeward bound journey.

I was quite satisfied that both the first few hours and last few hours of my 2024 River Teme angling adventures had provided me with my desired species – the magnificent barbel. In between I had managed a few of its companions, the wily chub. None of the fish had been of specimen size but how could anybody be disappointed when your time upon the riverbank is spent in the company of such fine companions as nature provides?

Well there you have my diary entry for the 2024 visit to the wonderful river Teme. Not the best visit I have ever had as far as my catches are concerned but, for me, the surroundings and wildlife made the visit as rewarding as do any amount of fish I manage to catch. I have not included my sightings of kite, buzzard, kingfisher, jay, heron, kestrel and egrets. I also saw deer, fox, rabbits and stumbled upon badgers during the night as a happy addition.

Writing & Images – David Craine, September 2024