‘Chub are scarce along these beats and so rarely caught that ‘having one on’ only to then lose it understandably played on my mind, returning me to the events repeatedly. I decided to check the line and see if good fortune had called’
Opening the gates to the meadow and the beginnings of another gloriously bright morning, I inadvertently disturb a ‘wisp’ of snipe – snipe have a penchant for zig-zagging in flight, especially when ruffled. It is a sight to stop one in their tracks and one cannot fail to notice their rounded bodies being disproportionately accompanied by a most wonderful elongated bill. For me it also marks the depths to which winter has travelled and reassuringly suggests spring is beginning its long awaited awakening – this is indeed worthy of a scribble into the diary.
I like to greet the day at dawn and seeing snipe is proof enough that if one rises and sets about the day early anything may surprise. Yesterday’s turnover of soil has released a marginal but noted warmth; as it rises from the uppermost layers of freshly ploughed earth, a fine mist haunts the acres. The last two days have seen clement temperatures and even now, so early in the year, the scene is being drafted for those seemingly endless days of summer.
Magic to be found in a Wood
The sun, now above the tree-tops, is unseasonably warm and the walk pleasant. Through the water meadows are large numbers of grey lag and pink footed geese, the noise from which precedes their whereabouts for miles. Redwings have also gathered in large numbers; I assume they are thinking about returning home. As I amble alongside the copse I also hear the throng of birdsong, chiffchaff, mistle and song thrush, wren, robin and a nuthatch. Their massed voices are heartening and, just as the snipe earlier, it is another welcome signpost in the year’s evolving and seasonal adjustment. There is something rather magical looking into a wood or copse when the feathered inhabitants are in full voice; collectively they leave very little to compare with. There is always something new to observe or hear and, as with the changing seasons, the wood becomes transfigured by many an occurrence as such familiar sights or sounds in winter can all but disappear in the following quarter.
With a couple of hours’ walking behind us it’s time for a well earned breakfast; the dogs must be equally as famished. After a homemade slice of sourdough with rather too many spoonful’s of jam I am ready to cast a line into the river and prospect along its way for roach. They have been elusive; there are several pitches familiar to me and two or three offer a vantage point with which to see them but since the snow and consequent run-off, I have not managed a glimpse of one.
There is another fish equally in hiding; the brown trout. There are some fabulous specimens throughout the upper reaches of the river, as well as cracking wildies which nudge the pound. They are handsome fish and can under normal conditions be seen throughout the year. Of late, they too have evaded my gaze. I have not even seen a customary jump or rise which, when fishing for roach, is an encouraging sign and memory to hold, albeit it makes for further consideration of one’s set-up. Fine tackles and large or energetic trout do not make the best of bedfellows and although it is not their season it is impossible to rule out their potential acquaintance.
February Sun & A River – Heavenly
With water levels dropping and the still apparent pushing through of flood-water, I hold a degree of hope. The receding high line is taking a fair amount of sediment and muddy deposits from the bank so, with this in mind and the potential of trout being present, I have opted for a sturdier set-up than would be considered for roach. I set off in the direction of the old pump-house which today is used as a monitoring station. There are a handful of casting opportunities before the bend in the river brings the station into view.
A first trot down the flow results in the float sailing past without a care or register. I reset the shot pattern increasing the tail – a second cast and within seconds there certainly is a register to the float as it slips away in the direction of the menacing hawthorns that splay out and below the river here. The strike reveals not a roach but the possibility of a chub and in the initial give and take it may just be… There is a run along the river’s bed and then the tell-tale requisite of any chub as he tries to snag me on any convenient obstacle. I am stuck fast and with a reluctant sigh, mumble ‘well that is that.’ I rest the cane and from the Barbour’s top pocket produce my smoking pouch. After tamping down the perfect pipe tobacco, I set it alight and puff away, ruminating under the wide brim of an old friend.
Chub are scarce along these beats and so rarely caught that ‘having one on’ only to then lose it understandably played on my mind, returning me to the events repeatedly. I decided to check the line and see if good fortune had called but of course all remained taught and on hold. Again I rested the cane; this time on the angular stems of last year’s agrimony. After a few minutes I summoned enough conviction to pull for the break. With cane in hand I naturally pray for a release and to my surprise the prayer is answered – the line is free-running. Surprisingly, no resistance is felt and so one would assume also, no chub. However, the sight of my float making its way towards me quicker than the Aerial’s retrieve suggests all may not yet be lost. I arc the cane up high and watch the tip-ring passing between me and the green oaks on the opposite bank. At the end of the arc’s purpose I feel the fish once again. Everything realigns and eventually I net an absolutely fin-perfect brown trout.
Most definitely not a chub or roach for that matter
The banks are heavy in wet Norfolk clay that occasionally holds my wellingtons sufficiently for my feet to part company with them. The walking, which we take for granted, was certainly proving not so – the next pitch can be espied and whilst making my way to it I am of course still in the realms of what earlier could have been.
Another worthy swim, another cast, again the float sails past and again there is not a hint of activity below the orange tip – third cast and almost immediately I strike – this is most definitely not the roach I am longing to see. I am certain the adversary is a trout as it leads me in erratic lunges every which way between the river’s margins. With a little persuasion, he turns back on his down-river travel and speeds past me. As he does, I reach for the bamboo net-handle and check his direction. A minute or two later another weighty and super conditioned brown trout is within the folds. I unhook and release the fish without any cause to leave the water. My wish is to return him post-haste – a quick photograph while he assures himself and away he goes.
Between here and the monitoring station my float once again remains stubbornly visible and so no roach materialise about which to write; they will be back. I would hope that the summer sees them in a fine fettle. It is now mid-day and the rest of the day is awaiting…
Writing & Images – Pallenpool, North Norfolk February 2024
You must be logged in to post a comment.