David Craine – Seasonal Ramblings Of A Frustrated Piscator

O, what a to-do! Christmas is once more upon us and whilst I sit looking out of the window at the birds fluttering around the feeders in the garden, I think back over the last twelve months. In fact, my mind wanders further back to the latter end of 2023 and the days that the country was in the hands of the angry weather gods.

I must admit, the last months of 2023 had been what I would call the worst in the way of weather that I can remember for many a year. I hark back to 2023, as it is a year that sticks in my mind for its continuous weather cycles of rain, wind and storms, interspersed with odd days of sunshine and warmth that were so very welcome.

The earlier part of 2023 had not been great but, after a late season week fishing the flooded and highly coloured river Teme in October and managing a total of seven barbel up to about eight pounds and a solitary chublet in five three-hour afternoon (or evening) sessions, I was gaining some confidence for the latter end of the year. I do enjoy my forays fishing the Teme; they are always a delight as I never know what I may see or catch and the river and its countryside around are a continuing marvel.

Ruth arrived at my steeply banked Teme swim as I was landing this smaller specimen, so she obliged by taking a quick snap on my phone. I am the world’s worst at taking ‘selfies’ so a photo of a capture that is not on a mat or in a net is a rare event, as I mostly fish alone. Whilst on the Teme, in 2023 I also made friends with one of the river bank’s inhabitants who seemed to think I was his best new chum. He appeared on several occasions over a few days and seemed to have no fear at all.

The river Teme was enjoyable, as a new venue always is. I had caught a few fish despite the grim readings that it had been “devastated due to the attention from predators.“

I thought things were looking up. How wrong could I have been? On returning home on the seventh of October, I somehow managed to catch ‘flu which kept me away from the river Wharfe until the tenth of November; a whole month! I did manage a trip to the river Wharfe on the tenth where it was running about five feet in flood and rising, pushing rafts of rubbish, leaves, trees, branches and a dead sheep downstream. Poor conditions indeed and I only managed a small barbel to cheese paste which I thought was creditable,considering the problems the above were causing. Then the rain started in earnest, matched in volume by the high winds, not just for that day but for the next two months; the UK, as most will know, was hit by a string of named storms which had a devastating effect, causing damage to infrastructure and floods of epic proportions which effectively put a hold upon my (and most others’) angling forays. 

I had two charter-boat up-tiding trips cancelled and two trips to the Holderness coast chasing winter cod cancelled due to adverse weather conditions. A long anticipated visit to the river Ribble as a guest of our good friend and colleague Martin James was arranged and cancelled twice; once on New Year’s Day 2024. Then, our three-day break at Arnside in the southern Lake District was blown inside out; once again we were drenched with continual rain. My carefully selected and packed gear for chasing the flatfish in the river Kent estuary never left the boot of the car. I will say now that the above is small beer indeed compared to those unfortunate souls who had property flooded, businesses wrecked and their incomes ruined because of the weather. Much was made of the weather in the media and for once it was not overstated.

But this is about fishing, so I will continue to ramble on…

I managed to fit in one trip to a local pond on the day the first Ribble trip was cancelled, the eighth of December if I recall (must check my diary) and in the pouring rain I managed to winkle out a few carp to about six pounds which helped to make up for cancelled trips elsewhere. I had to go as a pint of red maggots that had been purchased with me hoping for a grayling from Ribble were wriggling around in the fridge and just calling out to be given a trip out.

Back to Arnside and Sod’s Law abounds… Wouldn’t you know it, after a week of rain and winds, on our day to return to the wilds of Yorkshire, the weather improved dramatically, although there were steely grey clouds in the distance over the Lake District that were forever threatening.

Sadly, time was of the essence and it was not possible to cast a line. I consoled myself with the knowledge that the estuary was really full of freshwater that had washed down from the southern Lake District and the fields for miles around as well. The fields were all waterlogged and looked more like lakes than meadows. There would be so much freshwater in the estuary that no self respecting flounder would hang around for me; they would all have floundered out to the deeper water I am sure.

So, we were homeward bound. Fast forward a day or two…to January 2024.

It was time to spend my Christmas gifts from my two sons. Every year they buy me a couple of club yearbooks and on the third of January I made the fifteen mile journey to purchase the first of the licences. I like to get in early as there is a £10 discount if this club ‘ticket’ is purchased before February 1.Clutching my prize, I returned home and sneaked a look at the weather reports. Friday the fourth of January was looking OK; a shower at about seven am, then winter sunshine, was forecast from about 9 am until 3 pm. This was too good an opportunity to miss, the forecast was good enough for me to take a flying visit to one of the stillwaters on the just purchased club ‘card’. I made a swift journey to the tackle shop, browsed and left clutching a half pint of red maggots and a few bits and pieces. 

Getting home, I then prepared my tackles for the next day. For some reason my mind was leaning toward fibre glass; I do not know why but I have always had a bit of an affection for Sportex rods. I have a few of these, one is an eleven foot six inch early, general purpose rod with brass ferrules, the other is a ten foot ‘Avon’ style rod with reinforced brass ferrules. Both have their original Sportex decals and these would be my choice, coupled with a pair of ever reliable Mitchell 300s; I now have a small collection and like to rotate their use, as I do not have reels to simply look at. They are all tools, just as my rods are. I slipped my ever faithful vintage Speedia ‘pin into my bag as a spare. I like to use a ‘pin and the Speedia is one of my favourites. No doubt it would get an ‘airing’ during the day at some point.

At 7.45 am on the fourth the alarm woke me from a deep sleep. I fumbled around, switched it off and lay there in bed, warm and comfortable. Slowly my eyes closed again and a warm cosy feeling surrounded me. Suddenly a sharp voice inside my head said:

“Get up. Time to go fishing!“

I wrenched myself awake, got up and, after a slosh of cold water and a quick brushing of teeth, I dressed and went downstairs. Ruth had laid out my breakfast the evening before; bread for toasting with marmalade or marmite for each slice, the kettle was filled and waiting to be switched on, my flask was prepped and awaiting its fill of hot coffee. I sat munching toast and checked the weather forecast again. You could not believe it, but the forecast was now for showers all day. Never mind, I have a brolly and I cannot waste a half pint of red maggots. The gear was loaded in the car, all the time dodging the heavy raindrops that refused to leave me alone. I set off up the road into a wall of thick fog. And so my first piscatorial adventure of 2024 was started; not in the most welcoming of conditions but nevertheless I was on my way.

Driving to the venue, about three miles from my front door, I had to keep the speed down when crossing a high moorland ‘pass’ between Greater Manchester and Yorkshire. The fog was still thick and swirling but as I descended the hill toward Littleborough the fog lifted as if by magic and, looking far to the south-west, I could see in the distance the outlines of Manchester’s ‘skyscrapers’ and, wait a moment, there appear to be rays of sunshine. This buoyed my hopes and, feeling a bit more positive, I gripped the steering wheel and made my way north westward, away from the distant city towers. The raindrops were still beating a tattoo on the windscreen as I made my way across yet another moor-top.

Seventeen miles later, pulling into the parking area, the weather had not changed at all. Looking down toward the ‘pond’, the rain was sheeting across the surface and a breeze was making ripples on the water. The surrounding trees were stark and the grey clouds above reflected their sombre mood onto the water; it looked, well, a bit drab and unwelcoming if the truth be told. I briefly wondered, would any other lost souls appear at the water’s edge on this most drear of days? 

Being in a bowl between two steep hills and with a surround of woodland, the breeze always swirls around from different directions, one minute the left, later the right, sometimes straight in your face, but it never seems to come from behind you. Sometimes it causes small whirlpool patterns on the surface where it cannot make its mind up which way to blow. Whatever the cause, it is a puzzling place to fish as you cannot with any certainty say from where the wind will feature. A walk around the pond would help me decide…

Walking the bank and passing the wooden platforms that had been put in to stop them from collapsing, I reflected that this was a pretty venue when the sun was shining, when the reed beds were full of life and the trees were in their summer clothes. As with so many other waters, the winter months tend to keep many anglers indoors, awaiting more clement weather. Today was no exception. I wondered what it was that encouraged some to venture out on the less than welcoming days to sit by a pond or river, hoping that they would tempt even a small silver fish to take their carefully presented baits.Whatever the reason, I was there and happy to be so.

I finally decided on a spot in one corner that would do as well as anywhere. There are bankside reed beds but they have mostly died back leaving the swim looking rather colourless in the subdued daylight and the rain is easing a little, but still I think the brolly is needed. I cannot be comfortable in the rain when fishing a static swim. Roving, or ‘swim hopping’, is a different prospect but today I feel that a static approach will suit not just myself but also any shy watery inhabitants that should take a fancy to my red maggots. Plus…I can hunker down under the brolly, out of the worst of the rain and cool breezes.

My fishing base is set up and two spots have been baited with a few small sprinkles of maggots each. I choose to fish ‘laying on’ as I don’t think that fish will feed up in the water in today’s conditions so, after plumbing, the float is set to depth and bait presented…with no interest at all. I try both areas that have been baited up and give them both a half-hour or so but no, again there was no interest at all. Enough of that; a change of approach is needed.

After about forty-five minutes the rain almost stops and the wind seems to have dropped away, but still the sky is an ominous grey. However, the change is making things much more comfortable. The ripples on the surface have vanished and it is almost mirror like now. I decide that option two should be explored. My ledger set up is assembled, again using a trusty Mitchell 300, coupled with the glass Sportex Avon and, with a very untraditional feeder loaded with red maggots, a cast to the deeper water away to the right is made. I still leave the float rod out, just in case any interest is shown. The cast is made and my home made bobbin is set to indicate, hopefully, the shiest of bites by the pond’s inhabitants; hanging just below the Mitchell, it will show either drop back bites or ‘runs.’

It seems like a switch has been flicked as the bobbin, whichhad been set no more than a minute or so, it jerked upward,the rod tip took on a bend and a fish was on. Lifting into the fish it was apparent that it was of no great size at all but a fish is a fish and certainly my first of 2024 and I carefully brought it to the net. A small silvery coloured mirror carp lay there. Iunhooked it in the net, the barbless size fourteen hook releasing easily. I took a quick snap of the fish for posterity and it was returned to the water gently, none the worse for its adventure.

I baited up again and recast to the same area, set the rod and bobbin in the rest, and sat back expecting the same but no, the bobbin was stubbornly static. I was getting a tad cold so took this opportunity to pour a warming cup of coffee. As I did so, I was suddenly surprised to see a little robin taking a great interest in my bait box; I had left the lid off and the little chap was hopping around the box, not eighteen inches to my side, looking into the box with its shiny, beady, little eyes. 

I sat waiting for him to jump into the box and help himself, while at the same time slowly taking my phone from my pocket; I should really get a snap of this! He must have sensed me moving and flew off into the tree to my right but stayed there watching me. I managed to get my first snap then.

I put the coffee cup on the ground and threw a few grubs onto the platform in front of me, wondering if he would swoop down and grab one. Well, instead, he fluttered down and landed on the float rod, making the tip dance and creating small ripples on the water. He seemed to have no fear whilst visiting but suddenly the bobbin jerked upward again. It must have surprised him as he flew away out of sight. The tip of the rod pulled around again and there was another fish on, almost a carbon copy of the first; it was netted, unhooked and returned quickly.

Thinking that the ledger set up was the way forward now, I wound in the float and set the float rod to one side along the bank, resting on my canvas bait bucket. I picked up my coffee cup which was now lukewarm so it was emptied into the weeds to my side and refilled. As I did this, the little robin returned, flying down onto the float rod again, and seemed to be hopping up and down, examining it closely. I flicked a few grubs onto the bank underneath and it hopped down, collected a couple and fluttered back onto the rod.

I could have watched this little chap all day but I was suddenly brought back to the reason I was there by the bobbin jerking up again; yes, another small carp appeared. It was netted and released, and the bait was refreshed and cast in again. I must have had the fishing gods smiling down upon me, because the rod had barely been in the rest for five minutes when suddenly the bobbin jerked upward and I was once again connected with another little mirror carp. It put up a good fight before I eventually managed to net it. I had no idea of its weight, maybe a couple of pounds; it mattered not because I was pleased to have seen it.

The day continued in this fashion, a couple more small carp graced my landing net and the little robin continued to flutter around and pick up grubs as I flicked them to him. The rain had stopped but it was quite cool and overcast.

The day had not turned out too badly; I had manage to tempt a few little fish, the red maggots had made a tasty snack for a jolly, little, red robin and they also proved their effectiveness in tempting the pond’s inhabitants. Whilst the reported sunshine had not appeared for more than a few minutes at a time, at least now it was dry. As the time approached 2.15 pm, the fish suddenly seemed to have stopped feeding, the line bites stopped and the little bobbin bite indicator remained stubbornly static.

As a last resort I fitted the trusty Speedia to the float rod. I would have the last half-hour using a float once again, with the last of my wriggling, red maggots; just, maybe just, another little carp would come along to bid me a farewell. The little maggots were sprinkled on the outside edge of the dying reed bed, no more than six feet from the bank (if that), the float was flicked across to where I hoped a fish would be patrolling the margins. I sat watching the float intently and within a minute it trembled and slowly, so slowly, the float crept away parallel to the reeds; something had taken a last gasp interest in my maggots. For some reason I thought that a little perch was guilty of stealing my bait but no matter, whatever it was, it was welcome. I lifted the fibreglass rod and gently connected with the fish, for a moment it seemed that I was attached to a weed stem, as the rod just stayed in an arc, the tip staying in a gentle curve toward the water. Then, suddenly, the float vanished and the rod bent around in a pronounced curve, the fish took off across the pond, this was no little perch. I steered the fish back toward me slowly, the trusty Speedia doing its job, and soon I had the last fish of the day in the folds of the net. Yes, it was another little mirror carp, probably the twin of that which I had snapped earlier.

I quickly took a hurried snap of the little fish, admiring its stunning gold armour; nature had certainly made this little carp a very proud fish to be sporting such wonderful colours. It brightened up the day which was now turning a dull, sullen grey. Taking a couple of seconds to once again admire this little chap, I gently returned him to the water to hoover up the remains of the maggots.

There was now a creeping, but distinct, chill in the air so it was time for me to say my goodbyes to the little robin and the pond and make my way homeward. As I put my rods in their bags, put down the brolly, which was by now half way to drying, and generally tidied up, I remembered that there was still a small handful of red maggots wriggling around in the bottom of the bait box. The robin had retreated to the higher branches of a nearby tree but was watching me intently. I scattered the maggots onto the fishing platform then, with things packed, made my way back to the car.

Looking backwards, the little robin was once more on the platform, making the most of the free meal I had left him. I smiled to myself and thought…not a bad first trip of 2024. 

And now I am poised, what will 2025 bring?

Writing & Images – David Craine, Lincolnshire 2024