Avon Chub & Barbel — The Dead Man's Shoes Angling Association

There's nothing more exasperating than fishing a stretch of river where the 'Dead Man's Shoes Angling Association' running the far bank have easy access to the swims you'd dearly love to fish but can't because of near bank day ticket impossibilities such as vertical banks or dense thickets of club rush between. At least if a fella was occupying one then you'd be able to confirm if it was indeed the honey pot you thought or a lemon instead, but you never see anyone in 'em. 

This is such a venue. Beautiful is what it is. But testing. There's a shoal of proper roach who I witnessed one moonlit winter night of last season priming in my swim around dusk but who I couldn't fish for not having taken along bread and a suitable rod to fish it with. Stuck with a barbel rod fishing a huge chunk of meat on the deck there was no chance of them having it and they knew it — driving me crazy in their frolicking; spitting in my eye with their gay abandon.

Never seen them since.

Like the far bank club of absentees and their time worn but ever vacant pegs, they were winding me up...

Martin has other reasons to be here. Him hooking but losing a '14lb barbel with my name on it' the same evening, he's the dog who lost a big fat bone and really thinks it'll still be there next time around. I'm the same breed of mutt because they were there once before and so they'll be there again. 

But when?

Martin explains his loss...

We started off in the same two pegs, naturally. Martin in his weirpool, me in my glide. My roach weren't there once again but he did lose a barbel early on to a hook-pull with the fish on its way upstream under little pressure. He wasn't about to shift swim but I was offski — downstream in search of those elusive redfins of mine. 

The river takes a long approach to a smooth bend running deep against the far bank the whole way but with a great big area of shallow water no more than a foot deep nearside with rushes flanking the main channel all the way down. The river looks very roachy there but I wasn't equipped for paddling, no-one in the DMSAA had yet given up their shoes, so I couldn't walk around and fish it off their comfy bank. Next time I'm borrowing Martin's waders and getting to their alluring swims the only way possible, if they'll fit.

Once upon a time a roach swim...

Next port of call was a big pool on a corner where before I've done rather badly despite it looking the part. It probably does contain a few roach but pools are not what they prefer and the bites I've had before were just a little too twangy to be from them. Nevertheless, you have to try because you never know, do you?

First cast the tip was still for quite some time, then it twitched and hooped around as a chub made off with the disc 'o' bread bait. It became weeded in a raft I couldn't see, only feel, but the pressure unravelled the spade-end knot leaving my next-to-last fine-wire Kamasan B560, the Rolls Royce of roach hooks, lodged in its lip. I must have tied it badly earlier on — so I got out my reading glasses and did the job properly with the precious last-example-in-the-packet under close scrutiny!

An alluring gap in the rushes through which roach might easily pass...

About half an hour later I was glad of it. After receiving a few jangly bites that weren't going anywhere and certainly were not from roach I decided to move around the corner for a single trial cast into the approach run to a shallow riffle. I do this a lot when roach fishing — take the rod and bait to a likely lie, cast in, see if bites are forthcoming and if they are don't strike them, then decide if they're from roach or not.

It's a great way to find them out, but what I hadn't bargained for was chub!

Of course I didn't have to strike at the huge bite and he was hooked before I got to the rod. This was troublesome though. I'd cast through a gap in the vegetation but just a little too far downstream than I really should have so now the fish, who'd made off downstream too, was a long way down and with thick stands of club rush between me and him.

A dense stand of rushes through which troublesome chub might not...

To create good angles I'd no choice but follow on and shorten the line ten yards downstream. Now fighting the dogged fish across the rushes, to keep him out I had to hold the rod by the end of the butt at full arms length and attempt to tease him back upstream to the gap and the waiting net. Twenty minutes later after numerous weedings and successful unweedings on a vertical line (always works!) he was slowly but finally approaching safety, when I looked around for the net only to find I'd left it behind at the pool...

Ah well, a chinning out then!

Troublesome chub...

I don't think I ever had so much trouble with a three-pound chub and though I was sure that the same swim held more to catch, wasn't wanting to test the 2lb tackle again even with a net to assist. Of course wearing dead mans shoes it would have been a doddle, but you know what, they'd probably blister at my heels with their ill fit... 

Taking the easier option I returned to the open water of the pool where I found what might well have been roach bites in a certain conjunction of slack and moving water, but I thought a little too off-beat in their trembliness to be so. Sure enough, when one was finally hooked it was only a small dace. Nevertheless, these bites were at least hopeful, so casting again to the same spot, I sat back down when 'bang!' the rod lurched over and once again, a chub was on.

B560 still lodged in the scissors. The proof of the matter!

There's no breathless account of this tussle apart from saying it was clearly a good fish I didn't want to lose. Coming up in the water I was sure she was a five-pounder with that bulldog-head big chub have, so took my time teasing her into the net. On the bank I had the feeling she'd miss the specimen mark by ounces for she was lean in the frame after the rigours of recent spawning exertions, and I was right. She was a half-pound under. Wished I'd caught her in March !

What I failed to notice on unhooking because the fish lay on its right flank on the bank and for the picture I simply picked it up and hit the shutter button — lodged in the scissors of the right lip was my next-to-last B560!

It was the same fish I'd hooked and lost...

I retired from the pool just before dusk and made my way back to my original swim but stopped off at the weir first just to see how Martin had fared with the 14 pounder with his name on it. 

He managed to get half a sentence out about his only capture thus far but right when he stated the species his left-hander began to tremble and buck in the rest. 

This was no bream though...

The fish held fast in the current and at first he couldn't say whether or not it actually was, but after a time was pretty certain it wasn't the one inscribed on its golden flank with the illuminated legend ~ 

'Sole Property of Martin Roberts Esquire'

Martin banked the fish without my assistance as netsman. Two-thirds of the size of the fish he was hoping for, it was nevertheless the first barbel he'd banked in the many hours spent in this swim and more than made up for earlier losses. I can't remember the exact weight of the lovely thing but I think just under nine pounds.

There was a little light left but it was 10:30 by the time of release so we wound our evening up there and then, ambled back down the bank to the fishery gate, stopping along the way to chat with an angler expertly short trotting an extremely luminous orange pellet waggler downstream and catching chub by it. 

I could watch such an angler fishing for a whole evening without wanting to wet a line myself, but our hours on the bank were all used up in doing it ourselves. And though we'd once again failed somewhat in our target fish missions, we'd had such a really great time not achieving them that it really didn't matter a jot because we were bound to agree as mutts of similar breed...

'They were there once before and they'll be there again...'

'Next time!'

Robyn Moult — A Breath of Fresh Air

I don't quite know how I came across Robyn Moult, but was searching for something or another and was arrested mid-way by the sight of a woman in a bikini holding up a great big carp. There's loads of cheesy pictures out there of girls fishing in bikinis (or less!) and they might catch the eye but never have any substance to them because they never catch the fish, however this one looked interesting because it seemed real. So I took a closer look...

Sure enough the picture was genuine. Robyn was a proper angler and the bikini not a stunt but actually legitimate fishing apparel — the fish was caught during hot weather on a carp fishing holiday in France with her husband and sons.

It's not every day you come across a carp fishing article that's not some hackneyed tripe but this piece by Robyn hit all the right buttons. Genuinely enthusiastic about the sport, what she had to say about carp fishing made for an interesting and entertaining read because Robyn's no tackle tart, but someone who experiments, improvises, thinks things through and does things 'her way,' not 'the way.'

"It’s a great sport and hopefully I’ve proved that it doesn’t always have to be expensive. Using a bit of inventiveness and intuition has allowed me to grow to love this hobby, without it breaking the bank. "

Quite literally putting the 'tight' back into 'lines,' Robyn is not only a breath of fresh air, but an angler after my own heart.

FEMALE INTUITION: CATCHING CARP MY WAY

Avon Roach — It's a Jungle Out There!

It was a crazy scheme. Insane really considering what we both suspected we'd find out there in the wilderness. Nevertheless, enthusiasm got the better and us thinking that low, clear water would afford the best chance of spotting fish over clean gravels in country so remote and inaccessible that the populations hardly ever see an angler's bait, off we trotted armed with very little gear, and even less idea...

Over the stile and into the woods it looked bad. And, it just got worse and worse and worse until we finally exited the woods and made our way into the meadow where worse became worst. Nettles up to  your neck, cow parsley over your head and at the fertile soil of the river bank a continuous unbroken strip of the tallest, toughest and most impenetrable vegetation of all.

It was why came to be fair. Because we knew no-one else had. Now it was abundantly clear only a madman would...

Having to strike a new path almost the whole way we reached the top of the stretch about an hour after setting off from the car park — about a 3/4 mile walk so you can calculate our average speed without even thinking! It was, to make matters worse, really hot and humid in the trapped air between the stalks and we were sweating our guts out!

Tramping a slot across the bankside strip of most rampant growth we came to the edge of the water and peered over. It looked fabulous — to a naturalist that is. It was beautiful to us too, but to anglers the sight of thick cabbages over shallows and lilies lining the banks ten feet deep is not good. Can't fish in that!

Plan 1 — choose a nice spot and fish how you wanted was abandoned at first sight. Plan 2 — beat a peg out wherever possible and fish however you could — was put into operation.

It's over there somewhere!

Baz Peck decided to try a couple of possible swims up from the railway bridge while I went downstream a little way and attempted to find one down there. I failed and had to resort to prior knowledge gained in wintertime, beating a path to a place where I knew the bank had a gentle slope to the water rather than a vertical 4 foot drop.

Well, almost nothing could be seen of that bank but it felt familiar underfoot, a nice comfortable niche was soon made and fishing commenced at last. Bait was bread because from prior experiences of  wintertime fishing along the stretch at our disposal today, having never caught a single roach or dace who are by far the predominant species further downstream, I believed that chub and large ones too, were the the predominant species here because that's all I'd ever caught then.

Those experiences were clearly flawed because roach were what I caught now and when I managed to locate a small promontory upstream and fished off it awhile, the story was the same there. Roach and more roach.

It was good to see them even though they were the average stamp and no more. The larger fish are very hard to find in these middle stretches of the Warwickshire Avon. I've plugged away at it every summer and winter for years but never yet had a single fish above a pound, but Baz fishing during the winter of 2011 managed to locate a shoal, took a number at that watershed weight and topped his catch with a two-pounder. They are there, but this particular area is so densely packed with small fish that it's almost impossible to wade through them all.

The top half of this fishery holds curious populations. Down in the millrace there's one of the best dace fishing spots in the entire country and through the season large numbers are easily possible with big weights late February and March. Dace are found throughout but dominate that particular area whilst roach come into their own further upstream where 20lb catches are feasible. Amongst them are lots of small chub with large fish relatively rare.

So far as anyone knows it holds no perch whatsoever and no bream either because none have ever been seen on the bank but with plenty of deep slow water you'd think both would be commonplace but they seem entirely absent. It does have its carp and is supposed to hold barbel too but as far as I know none have ever been caught. Eels, occasional gudgeon and pike pretty much round the thing off.

When I finally stumbled across Baz by following his tracks back down through the nettles, frightened a basking adder on the way who zipped off into the overgrowth in alarm, the story was the same. Small roach, a few chublets but nothing exactly exciting. Pitching upstream of him a little way I then fished faster shallower water than I had thus far hoping that it would improve matters. Just a few feet deep it seemed to offer a chance of something better just out of difference.

Looking upstream toward the shallowest water in miles

First cast the bread settled, the tip twitched and slowly inched down — the perfect roach bite. A fish was on and it felt a really good one but it got stuck in trailing weed. Then I saw the big broad back, silver flanks and impressive length of what would be easily the largest roach I'd ever hooked here. All I had to do now was bank it!

It came out of the weed under sustained pressure and with racing heart and trembling legs I readied the net. It was easily over a pound, well over half a pound more and possibly that two!

Quite how it turned into a 2lb chub I don't quite know... There's never usually any confusion but I swear, viewed in clear water beneath the weeds it looked just like a giant roach in every respect. I suppose refraction warped its apparent shape and the sun gave it a silvery glint. A beautiful perfect uncaught fish it was, though not what I wanted in my net with the adrenalin rush I'd hoped to sustain through the after-catch rituals, in rapid decay!

Then the real roach began to show but as usual, they were the usual. A disk of bread might be a small but powerful magnet to roach but casting one into these shoals and hoping for a specimen seems like attracting a very small needle in a vast haystack. Possible, but unlikely. I don't know what's to be done except abandon ledgering bread altogether here and begin a serious campaign of trotting through a constant downpour of hemp and maggots. That might be best — feed the small fish off over the first hours and give the specimens a chance to show in the last...

At least the day had shown the bones of the river and I now knew things that aren't easily appreciated in winter — the subtleties of its various deeps, shallows and pace. All useful stuff to any angler and often the kind of knowledge that leads to future success so as with all reconnaissance, never was it wasted time.

All we had to do now was get back to civilisation!

And that truly was a waste of time when it should have taken ten minutes but took three-quarters of an hour!

Triple Crown — Three British Records in One Year!

Yes, I've held two British records for some time, possibly three, but without knowing it...

The penny dropped yesterday. Whilst going through my photos I realised that I've caught probably the largest of their types ever documented in this country!

Of course they aren't pure breeds, you'd have heard all about that some time ago if they'd been, so there's no chance they might be ratified because the English don't do with bastards and mules and certainly don't keep records of them. However, the Irish take them very seriously indeed and their official body, the Irish Specimen Fish Committee, accept claims for both roach x bream and rudd x bream hybrids and ratify the largest as official national records. 

Absurdly, those hybrids caught in Northern Ireland are not eligible for British Rod Caught Fish Committee records because there aren't any such kept by them, but pure species from the same country are because it's part of the UK. So Northern Irish anglers can submit claims for any pure bred fish they catch to two national committees and half breeds to one. However, the UK record for roach was caught in Northern Ireland, but the official Irish record is half its weight and hails from Drumacritten Lake which is believe is in County Fermanagh, also in Northern Ireland...

There must be good reason for such an anomaly, but if there is I can't imagine what it might be.

I've always argued that the BRFC records shouldn't include Northern Irish fish because it makes no sense at all to set fish hailing from two entirely separate land masses against each other just because they're joined politically when they're divided by an entire sea!

It's an absurdity very nearly as ludicrous as my submission of a Coventry caught claim to the Irish list because Northern Irish captures are eligible under their rules, Northern Ireland is part of The Union, I'm British and Coventry is in England. Yet that is almost how it works the other way around, with an Irishman in border country able to take his boat onto Quivvy Lough, anchor up in the middle, cast into the UK, and claim a record standing here in Coventry!

Seriously though — I do think we should take hybrids just as seriously as the Irish do. We should at least have a record for our common roach x bream hybrids and rudd x bream too, even though they are far, far rarer captures here.

Rudd x bream hybrids are very tough, hard-fighting fish who'll test the skill of any angler. I know. I caught one last year and it had me at the very limits of my skill and my tackle groaning under the strain. Easily as powerful as the tench caught at the same place, same time, it was thought to be one for most of the fight. Only right at the last and nearing the net did I twig it wasn't. If only there were more of them here, I'm sure they'd attract a loyal following as a sport fish and perhaps get on the list...

That fish, my only specimen ever, almost certainly wasn't the largest ever caught in England at 2lb 13oz  8 drams but I cannot find a record for a bigger one, so I'm claiming the gong!

Err, hang on though — my claim is redundant before I even make it! The Irish have loads of them and their record is much larger than my capture, and given that it was caught in the River Lagan, County Antrim, which is in the UK...

Ah well. Only two records then!

But hold up, NO! They don't appear on the British list and it's an Irish record only.

I retain my crown!

Thing is none of them count. But, the fact remains that they are caught by anglers (whether they like it or not !) and if one is caught and recognised and there are no other contenders then official list or not, it is an indigenous species (well two combined...) and therefore a British record notwithstanding.

I do expect to keep my new records for silver bream x bream and silver bream x rudd, and especially the latter, for a lifetime. The Irish don't have them (so far as I know!) and they are rare fish here. Mostly because they aren't recognised for what they are, and how would anyone recognise a silver bream x rudd when the lake it came from is to most who fish there 'full of hybrids' who are actually pure-bred silvers?  

If anglers can't recognise a true silver bream for what it is then how the hell would they ever recognise their cross breeds?

The only reason I think this fish a rudd x silver bream is because I do know what a real silver is made of nowadays and therefore kind of recognise when it's in a mix with another species and cannot imagine it being anything else. It's got the right scale counts for a silver bream but silver bream are so called for very good reason — they're 'silver' and more so than any other coarse fish but their rival in silveriness, bleak — but this one one wasn't. 

It was golden-hued with purplish fins.

They can't mix with crucians or carp (who knows, they might!) therefore it's either a freak, or what I say it is — a British record silver bream x rudd at 13oz ...

As for silver bream x Bream, well I think I've caught a few of those now, one just the other morning, but I think this fish from Stratford-upon-Avon is the best and sets a new British standard at 2lb 14oz. There's no chance it isn't a record if it is one because there aren't any other contenders positively identified — but proving it is is difficult and quite tricky because I failed to take a proper mat shot and crucial detail such as that found in the anal fin is obscured by fingers. The eye is right and scale counts though difficult to make are still possible and good to go — certainly not a true bream and no sign of roach there I'd say.

And anyhow, even if the claim is thrown out (by whom?) then I have a back-up in the form of what certainly is a bona fide silver bream x bream hybrid of 14 oz caught very next cast and pictured above a true silver bream caught from the same shoal just five minutes later still.

The picture is the best possible illustration of the difference between a silver bream and one of it's mixtures in that there appears to be no difference whatsoever except that of size. But the hybrid just has too many scales.

Hang on, though...

Thinking it one thing I hadn't considered the alternative — that it might be a silver bream x roach instead in which case..........

It's a fourth British record in one year! Hoorah!!!

Shame they won't be taken seriously by the BRFC. But I will be submitting claims because hybrids are important fish requiring recognition and study.

Maybe I'll also submit to the Irish claiming them all as fish caught in Northern Ireland, because technically, they actually were. I don't think it'll wash — the Irish committee at least have the good sense when it comes to fish in recognising the geographical unity of a land mass over its political division and will allow the Irish Sea into the equation — but they'll find the irony amusing, I reckon.