‘As I wandered along the bank, I heard the keening of a buzzard from across the river. The woods here have a couple of pairs of buzzards and they were always a welcome sight. I scanned the treetops and was rewarded suddenly, not by a buzzard but by a pair of red kites, their whistling call being quite obvious’
In these cold January days of 2025, I have been looking out of the windows at the wind blowing the trees, the persistent rain, the mist and the frost. These are days when it is difficult to summon up the enthusiasm to grab a bag of tackle, rod and bait and actually make my way to a flooded river or a heavily coloured pond. Casting my mind back to an autumn trip to the river with a colleague, I scanned through my diaries and photos and managed a smile as I pulled together the ‘bits’ to complete this account of a visit in 2023…
Myself and an angling friend, Graham, had a 2 pm to 8.30 pm stint on the river yesterday. It was a lovely day to be out with blue skies and sunshine but a tad on the cold side. I had no illusions that we would catch due to the state of the river. Ihad spoken to a colleague who had visited the river the previous day, and who had had a resounding blank. The river had been carrying a little extra coloured water to its normal summer levels and debris was flowing downstream. Hearing this, I had considered that maybe a session after the large pike that inhabit this stretch might be a good idea, then I thought‘river coloured…probably not the best conditions for pike…’, so decided to maybe target chub and even a wayward Barbel could put in an appearance. These decisions were made before we set off, so on arrival I was happy enough to see that there might well be a chance of either species. The colour was dropping away and the river seemed to be at about normal summer levels.
A thirty mile drive saw us arrive at about 1.30 pm and there were two cars parked up, which indicated that there should be a good selection of swims available. We donned our warm clothing as we were expecting a temperature drop as soon as the sun dipped. Gathering up our tackles we set off down the footpath to the river. We soon arrived and I saw that only one angler was to be seen. A quick word with him did nothing to increase my confidence; he had been biteless for four hours.
I am not one to always drop on the same swim, instead liking to find a comfortable swim as a base, and then, as and when I fancy, have a rove up and down the bank searching out and trying different swims. I was really targetting chub on this day, although any species would be welcome. My friend Graham however is, if anything, very predictable and always drops into the same swim. In fact the very same swim to which I had directed him on his first visit to this stretch a few years ago. It is a deepish stretch with a back eddy that starts about mid-river and comes back toward the bank, so you have faster downstream water two rod lengths out and slower deeper water closer in, flowing backward and upstream. In the present conditions I thought it was a decent enough place to maybe catch a barbel in the slower deeper water. I am not sure if that was in Graham’s mind. However, I left him to it and chose a spot a 100 yards downstream. This was a swim with a deep glide but no slow water; it had a uniform flow and some overhanging bankside vegetation downstream, a likely place to maybe tempt a chub.
I set up and baited the downstream area under the bushes with some smallish spam pieces and a few halibut pellets, then set off to have a rove downstream, leaving the free offerings to do their best (and also my mate, to it). I took a handful of small spam chunks and a few pellets in order to bait up a further swim should I find one suitable for a clumsy angler such as me to fish. As I walked, I became distracted by the splendidly colourful displays made by the autumn hues of the bankside trees.
Trees are I think a cheerful indicator of the season. If you never had access to a calendar or even did not know what month or even year it was, you could tell the season from the trees; they speak without voices, although in these times of meteorological change I suspect that even the trees and to an extent all other green things are a little confused.
As I wandered along the bank, I heard the keening of a buzzard from across the river. The woods here have a couple of pairs of buzzards and they were always a welcome sight. I scanned the treetops and was rewarded suddenly, not by a buzzard but by a pair of red kites, their whistling call being quite obvious, although when I saw them they stopped calling and just soared in their unique and graceful way above me.
Continuing along the track, I spied a few likely swims to maybe check out later. One in particular took my eye, sited down a steepish bank. I scrambled halfway down and a few samples of bait were introduced. As I did so, I was also rewarded by the electric blue flash of the resident kingfisher, speeding up and downstream on its eternal quest for food.
As I returned to my chosen swim, I glanced to the water below the overhanging bushes and saw a lonely white duckand quite a stranger, as I had never seen one before on this stretch of water.
Realising that I had been distracted and had spent much more time watching the wildlife than I had intended, I slithered down the bank to my chosen spot, where my gear was still awaiting setting up. I assembled the cane, an un-named carp rod and coupled it to my Ray Walton ‘pin. ‘What?’ I hear you purists thinking. Well, think away, good sirs; I find the Ray Walton ‘pin as good a piece of engineering as any other, save for the masterpieces made by Lezek Delag (whose creations are very hard to surpass). The Walton ‘pin also aids me in accurately placing baits in places that my wobbly and un-trained Wallis cast copy could never do. My bentwood landing net was placed handily on some bankside clumps of grass, the rod rest secured and I only then made myself comfortable.
I decided on plasticine as a weight since the water slowed somewhat as it approached the overhanging bushes. The plasticine would trundle around and hopefully take the bait to where I wanted it to be, below the branches. Baiting up with a thumb-sized piece of Spam, I flicked the bait out, allowing the current to work its magic. The bait was swung slowly around in an arc, ending up where I had intended, which was a good sign straight away.
Now the trap was set, it was just a case of a waiting game. Who would be the first to weaken; would it be me, itching to try another swim, or would it be a wily chub, itching to sample my Spam hookbait? I settled down, comfortable with my own company, plus the company of the avian varieties above my head and in the surrounding trees.
Soon there were the expected rattles and taps to the rod tip. Being a carp rod it is not as subtle as its brother, the Avon, but nevertheless it was giving strong indications of what was happening downstream from me, under the overhanging bush where my bait was laying in wait. I slowly removed the rod from the rest, taking the line between finger and thumb and sat, feeling for a more positive bite. The twitches continued and then without warning the rod tip slammed around to the right, and the line fell slack!
Oh well, it seemed that I had been outwitted this time but no matter, I am well experienced at the fine art of missing the first fish. Was it a barbel? Probably, given the sudden, savage take. However, all was not lost, I still had a second swim to try, which would give this swim time to rest. I throw in a few more morsel of Spam, hopefully to keep any fish which may have been spooked interested, gather up my angling paraphernalia and make my way downstream. It was a bit of a hike but soon I was back where I had prebaited earlier.
It was a bit of a struggle getting down the steep bank, all the more so in trying to do it quietly, but I managed in fine style. I made myself comfortable on a bit of level banking which had been hidden from view from above and looked around the swim in more detail, it was quite slow-running on this side of the river, maybe because upstream there were a few trees which had fallen into the river forcing the river to speed up on the opposite side. Those trees looked like a real haven for fish but the reality of fishing in and amongst them was altogether something which I thought impossible. It needed a good sort out, probably with heavy machinery to shift them.
Pondering on this, I scattered a few more Spam chunks into the swim, which was not unlike the first swim I had fished, baited up carefully and once more swung the small Spam cube bait out into the flow and let it trundle slowly downstream to join its companion free offerings. I settled down once moreand this time I was holding the rod, with the line once again just trapped between finger and thumb. At first all was quietwith no indications of interested parties at the other end of the line at all. I had made myself very comfortable, the weather was fairly warm, the river was slowly meandering along, birds chirruping in the trees, and the odd keening from kites upstream.
Slowly my senses were lulled in to that wonderful state of,well, not being quite asleep, but also not being quite awake. In that pleasant state I sat back, listening to the busy creatures that were living their lives all around me. I have no idea how long I was thus engaged, then...
Suddenly I was brought back to the world of the living by the line being twitched, and pulled from between my sleepy fingers. The rod tip was being slowly and gently pulled around, the line becoming taught! ‘Must not miss this one,’ I thought. It did not ‘feel’ like a chub as there had been no small tugs on the line, but then again it did not feel like a fish really. I wondered if a bit of rubbish, maybe a twig, or whatever, had tangled the line.
Keeping my fingers on the rim of the reel, I raised the rod slowly from its low position. Then it happened. The rod tip slammed around again as it had done before. This time there was no mistake made, the fish was on and it was no chub, it bored off downstream forcing its way under the overhanging branches.
I was sure it was a barbel, and after a spirited fight a decent sized fish was netted fairly easily. I love my barbel fishing but today I had my chub hat on, so after a quick snap on the mat it was rested in the landing net and returned.
Time was marching on, and although it was still daylight I was thinking that when darkness was upon us it would quickly become quite cold. I decided that a move back to my original swim would be a good idea, to be closer to the car once we had completed the day’s endeavours. I once more collected all the ‘stuff’ that I considered so necessary for a day’s fishing. I climbed the steep bank and tripped and stumbled my way back upstream.
Back in my first choice swim and before I wet a line, I decided to walk back upstream to see how Graham was faring. He had had a couple of chub but it had been quiet on the bites front for him. I told him of the barbel and showed him the mat photograph; he was suitably unimpressed. I consoled him by saying he had caught my target species. We chatted for a few minutes, then I ambled back to my rod.
I was by now getting into a routine of free offerings, cast in, sit down and wait which is exactly what I did. The sun was dipping down and all too soon it would be dark so, putting the rod into the rest, with the ratchet applied on the reel in case of a sudden bite, I prepared myself by getting out my small head-torch, put away what items were not needed, grabbed a leisurely bite to eat and slurped down a welcome cup of coffee from my flask. Suitably refreshed but without any interest shown in the bait, I wound in to discover that the luncheon meat had vanished from the hook, no wonder it had been a bit quiet on the bites front!
I rebaited, scattered a few more free offerings into the swim and once again swung the bait out, so it would roll into the area underneath the overhanging bushes. It had barely settled when the rod tip registered a couple of twitches, and then pulled around. “Fish on!” The rod did take on a bend but nothing like it had done with the barbel. However, a fish is a fish and this chap flew around the swim as if he was on steroids. Soon enough though he was in the net, after doing the usual chub tricks of trying his very best to get into various bankside snags. Here was my target species for the day; a chub, not huge but a good enough size for me to be very pleased; target achieved!
I decided to attempt a selfie photo and rested my phone upon my seat, pointing it in a vague direction of myself and the fish. I know not why I did this as I am the world’s worst at self-taken photos. As you can see in the above result my expression gives no clue as to me being pleased.
All I can say is that you should see the other few snaps that were taken at the same time. The above is a masterpiece in comparison.
Time was now getting on, the light was starting to fade and there was now a bit of chill in the air. I had not long re cast when a voice from the bank above me said “Shall we call time? It will soon be dark, and there is not much happening.”It was of course Graham. He had not had any more success and as I was now feeling the chill, I agreed it was time to go.We had had a lovely autumn afternoon on the river and there would be more days like this…
Writing & Images – David Craine, Lincolnshire Winter 2025
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