The Piscatorial Raconteurs & Friends – Winter; A Season Of Mystery, Hope & Imagination

December

Early December, here at least, is rarely a time of frost nowadays. The ground is soft and sticky beneath my feet and the water swollen. Tame swirls and pockmarks of infant fish in the margins belie a maelstrom in the main channel. Upstream in the village, drainpipes echo, pavements slosh, and kerbsides funnel into culverts while onward to my little stretch. Looking at the river today, it seems impossible to imagine forty years have passed since Phil caught his roach by dangling a little, crimson-tipped float over this wire fence.

Winter will be here soon though, for sure; a real winter. David has moved his sheep to higher ground, partly to avoid flash flooding but primarily to be closer to the farm buildings where he can see over them as the snow arrives. Only a couple of horses, dressed in heavy coats, are left to wander the meadow. Well, both the horses and me…

Early morning visits will be met with a blanket of frost, easier but more dangerous to traverse, and the only movement to the eye will be steam rising between the banks. January will see cat ice in the margins and a time for the resident creatures simply to survive the falling temperatures, ticking off the days as they pass.

Each dawn, the opening of eyes sees another day closer to spring. There will be slim pickings for my young kites and kingfishers. 

For the angler, however, who likes to fish year-round, the bleak winter presents both challenge and opportunity. I don’t have to thumb too far through my albums to find faded photos of chub laid in snow, of days when we had to break ice to empty our nets or light fires to warm our hands before my father collected us. So, tactics are refined, clothing in many layers, sessions short and logistics well planned to ensure a welcoming bar is not too far away.

Beneath the inflated water in front of me, I can just make out a churn created by the sunken tree that was newly fallen all those years ago. The deflected water created the run from which Phil caught his fish in 1980 and then behind which I caught my roach a year later, in the slack it created. Winter can be a fine season for a big roach. 

I slosh across the field and make plans for a return. Somewhere, in that cold winter water, my dreams are holding station in a steady flow.

Tengisgol, Winter 2024

Keeping An Eye On Proceedings

December’s Miscellany

R.B.Traditional – Moonshine – ‘Leaves rustled under foot as I headed along the path up toward the orchards, the detail of their form as easy to see as it would be in daylight. The first frosts were still to arrive in these parts, apple trees stood laden, branches drooping earthwards under the heavy weight of the fruit‘ continue reading

Carl Hier – Claw & Order ‘Every species of animal and plant depends on the services provided by other species to survive and whilst media headlines deal with extreme weather events and natural disasters, other concerns relate to controls of non-native species‘ continue reading

David Craine – The Twirly, ‘‘There were certainly quite a few older books there in various states of use, some with worn covers, some hardbacks with no dustcovers at all. They were all about shooting and fishing, just as he had mentioned his interests at our earlier meeting‘ continue reading

This Editions Features & Articles

Guest Articles

Paul Huxtable, Ruth Craine, Knight Heron, Daniel Taylor & David Goulder

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Ruth Craine’s Travelog – Around And About Eardiston ‘A short walk from the town, away from the hustle and bustle is a nice quiet stretch of the River Severn. Just visible in the distance a boat is making its way along the river, having just left the canal basin in the town‘ continue reading

Paul Huxtable – Remembers The Ponds In The Park ‘Our enthusiasm was dented somewhat and school soon intervened to drastically reduce our freedom. A new grammar school it was for me and happily I soon discovered that a few classmates were budding anglers; this helped to keep the flame alive through the autumn months’ continue reading

Danny Taylor – For Winter Comes Tonight ‘We all have our favourite seasons, spring and summer for most I would wager, but each season offers its delights. Odd maybe but I await with relish the coming autumn and winter months. The gold of autumn is fading and the dark season is upon us. As the cold and nights draw in, a narrow boaters currency is fuel’ continue reading

Knight Heron – The Lost Folk Of The East Angles: Vol 1 ‘Referred to in some early contemporary accounts simply as The Dromblers, due no doubt to their close relationship with the great bittern, they were a diminutive folk of fen and mire. But for my purpose here I shall refer to them by their later, common name…The Rudlingtons of Norfolk’ continue reading

David Goulder – The January Man ‘The man of new October takes the reins. And early frost is on his shoulder. The poor November man sees fire and wind And mist and rain and Winter air.
December man looks through the snow
To let eleven brothers know They’re all a little older‘ continue reading

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The Raconteurs Articles

Martin James MBE, David Craine, Carl Hier, Paul Adams, R.B.Traditional, Pallenpool & Earthing The Current

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Paul Adams – Piking Etcetera ‘In a channel only 15 yards wide, casting is a gentle swing of our cane rods, two or three pulls of line from the centerpin allowing the opposite bank to be approached. The bait hitting the still water set up a ripple that jostled the float; the rod was sat on a pair of hazel rests and the remaining slack in the line was tensioned’ continue reading

Carl Hier – Loaves & Fishes, A Homage To The Most Humble Of Angling Baits ‘Seconds pass like minutes as the fish appears to closely examine the floating morsel, with a level of scrutiny usually reserved for laboratory scientists. The crust passes its inspection and the carp’s mouth opens wide, simultaneously taking in a gulp of air and the piece of floating bread. An audible ‘gloop’ sound is heard as the bread is sucked downward into the gaping mouth‘ continue reading

Martin James MBE – Cold Weather Fishing In Times Gone By – But Still Good Today ‘Once off the train I reckon we must have walked twelve hundred yards or more downriver, pushing our way through thick snow and ice, often stumbling over, before eventually arriving at a well-known roach swim in the area of Nettlestead, near Wateringbury. Despite lots of ice on the river, our swim had a margin of lilies stretching about six feet out from the bank covered in ice‘ continue reading

Pallenpool – The Quietly Beating Heart Of A Winter’s Pool ‘At the head of this field a two way dilemma awaits, one path routes back to the cottage via an old copse most of which was planted with beech in the 1900’s by the estate gardener’s. Their elegantly twisted forms reveal and transform slowly as their leaves fall, beneath, the hummus becomes richly pleated and coloured‘ continue reading

Earthing The Current – A Seasonal Ghost Story, The Keeper ‘The smooth glide ahead looks perfect and after just three or four casts he finds himself into another weightier fish. ‘This is a grayling…’ he asserts to himself. ‘Oh…a good one too!’ and he starts to tighten his shoulders, fearing it might not stay attached. He has not hooked a grayling this big for some years continue reading

R.B.Traditional – A Winter’s Chavender ‘The recent cold snap had focused my mind upon chub; I’d thought about them whilst at work, whilst I readied tackle in the evenings and dreamt about them. Yes, not all my dreams are about Felicity Kendal wearing dungarees‘ continue reading

David Craine – The Seasonal Ramblings Of A Frustrated Piscator ‘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‘ continue reading