I had a couple of mates staying over last Wednesday night, and the next morning we grabbed a few hours fishing. John, who has started fishing again, and in a big way, has now bought himself an ABU spinning rod, travel version of course
. Kev, who has never fished in his entire life came along for the ride, and to take the pics.
We only had a couple of spare hours before commitments elsewhere would rob us of fishing time and so we decided, well John decided actually, that lure fishing was the order of the day. The Avon at Bretford, where I seem to spend all my fishing time just recently, was the venue, pike and perch the target species and avoiding too much tackle loss in the tight and tricky swims, paramount.
Setting off...
The river looked very good, with plenty of fresh water from the recent heavy rains. Of course I hooked up in a tree, low to the water second cast, and because my little jointed plug was just too pretty to lose, and the tree looked a do-able clamber I went after it. I managed to get right down to the end of the trailing bough hanging over the water fairly rapidly and easily, but then as I released the lure from its snarl up, and the branch snapped away from the bough a little too easily for comfort, I saw that I was scaling crack willow, called so, for its propensity to crack under mild stress. I thought I'd get a dunking as I made my way back up the bough, small branches coming away in the hand under stress testing. But, I eventually made dry land without hazard and returned to fishing. I was lucky to get to the lure without trouble - one wrong move in such a blythe and trusting state of ignorance could have been disastrous. Alone, and burdened with heavy winter gear, such adventures up a crack willow could just prove fatal.
Up a Crack Willow
We moved swim by swim up the river, but without much luck until we crossed the road and began to fish the pools above the bridge. Then second or third cast, my little floating and diving plug, which was performing very well in the quite heavy flow, suddenly stopped in its tracks and I was into to a good fish. I suspected a pike, but John who was downstream and had a good view of the swirling fight, thought chub. If it was then it was a big one.
The fish fought doggedly, and strongly, but in an unspectacular fashion and eventually came to the net. A pike, and not nearly as big as the fight had me believe it to be. My first Avon pike nevertheless, and a very welcome fish indeed.
A hard fighting little pike
We fished all the rest of the likely swims upriver until we came to the end of the beat and then retired from the fray. Kev, who had nothing to do, was of course frozen stiff, but the two roving anglers in the fishing party didn't seem to notice the cold at all. I thought it was quite mild after the weather of late.
John at Bretford Bridge
. Kev, who has never fished in his entire life came along for the ride, and to take the pics.
We only had a couple of spare hours before commitments elsewhere would rob us of fishing time and so we decided, well John decided actually, that lure fishing was the order of the day. The Avon at Bretford, where I seem to spend all my fishing time just recently, was the venue, pike and perch the target species and avoiding too much tackle loss in the tight and tricky swims, paramount.
Setting off...
The river looked very good, with plenty of fresh water from the recent heavy rains. Of course I hooked up in a tree, low to the water second cast, and because my little jointed plug was just too pretty to lose, and the tree looked a do-able clamber I went after it. I managed to get right down to the end of the trailing bough hanging over the water fairly rapidly and easily, but then as I released the lure from its snarl up, and the branch snapped away from the bough a little too easily for comfort, I saw that I was scaling crack willow, called so, for its propensity to crack under mild stress. I thought I'd get a dunking as I made my way back up the bough, small branches coming away in the hand under stress testing. But, I eventually made dry land without hazard and returned to fishing. I was lucky to get to the lure without trouble - one wrong move in such a blythe and trusting state of ignorance could have been disastrous. Alone, and burdened with heavy winter gear, such adventures up a crack willow could just prove fatal.
Up a Crack Willow
We moved swim by swim up the river, but without much luck until we crossed the road and began to fish the pools above the bridge. Then second or third cast, my little floating and diving plug, which was performing very well in the quite heavy flow, suddenly stopped in its tracks and I was into to a good fish. I suspected a pike, but John who was downstream and had a good view of the swirling fight, thought chub. If it was then it was a big one.
The fish fought doggedly, and strongly, but in an unspectacular fashion and eventually came to the net. A pike, and not nearly as big as the fight had me believe it to be. My first Avon pike nevertheless, and a very welcome fish indeed.
A hard fighting little pike
We fished all the rest of the likely swims upriver until we came to the end of the beat and then retired from the fray. Kev, who had nothing to do, was of course frozen stiff, but the two roving anglers in the fishing party didn't seem to notice the cold at all. I thought it was quite mild after the weather of late.
John at Bretford Bridge
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