Just One Big Chub

Saturday was a dawn start, it was near perfect fishing conditions with a water temperature of 52 degrees F, the water had dropped a couple of feet from the previous day and it still had some colour. Light levels were low and would remain so through the day, the clouds hung low over the countryside with a light misty rain. I must say the high water of the previous two days had made it dangerous to traverse the bank, which was quite treacherous, in fact down right dangerous. The depth of water close in was around five feet, and not the place fall in, with a muddy bank it would be very hard to crawl out. If this happened I would have to drift and swim downstream to a low area of bank.

Having lowered the rod I use for baiting up. I fixed a rope to a nearby tree, then abseiled myself and my bucket of hemp down the high bank where I put in 20 droppers of hemp some twenty feet from the outer edge of the big slack. Unlike some anglers who reckon we should only fish the faster water, I don't reckon so, yes, you will catch in the fast water. From my experience over many years of angling on dozens of venues, I have often caught my share of barbel from slack water swim. Having said that I also have blank sessions. I find barbel will often feed avidly in slack areas; providing the bottom isn't strewn with rubbish, and the water is deep enough with some cover to make the fish feel safe. Then they will feed sometime during the day or night. Remember fish are not spread around like currents in a pudding and fish don’t feed twenty four hours a day. Often it’s just a short spell, then nothing for a while.

Having baited my swim I lowered myself down the bank several times with my seat, bait bag, rods and rucksack to where I had a nice shelf I could fish from in safety. After sorted everything out, I threw in several pieces of sausage meat paste. It was time for a brew and leave the swim alone for an hour. With a bit of slithering I pulled myself up the bank then made my way to the car park about a thousand yards. Putting the kettle, I set about making some porridge while listening to the rugby. An hour later feeling warm and content I was ready to catch a few fish.

Back in my swim and having cast out two rods, one baited with sausage paste the other with cheese paste, I put a small dough bobbins on the line between reel and butt ring that sat back to wait for some action. At 11 o’clock not a sign of a bite, it was time for a brew. Winding in my rods I found both baits untouched, not even a sign from small fish. Back at my car I soon had a mug of tea and some biscuits, twenty minutes later it was time to get back to the rods. Sadly nothing happened but I got to see a kingfisher zipping up and down river quite frequently, also I watch a dab chick known as a little grebe hunting for food. The rain now increased in intensity I was thankful for my umbrella. 2 o’clock in the afternoon it was time for lunch of beef sandwiches with home made game soup. Once again I hauled myself up the muddy bank, having done so I reckon it looked as if the front of me had been painted with liquid mud. Lunch over I made my way back to my swim, if nothing else I was getting plenty of exercise.

A Big Chub

Having baited and cast out my two rods, I sat and feeding small pieces of bread flake alongside the fallen beech tree, hoping some roach might come on and feed around dusk. An hour later with no sign of a bite on my other rods, I retrieved one then cut off the size 4 hook to replace it with a size 12. I removed all the LG shot replacing then with one SSG about fifteen inches from the hook. After casting out I added a tiny bit of flake as a dough bobbin. Within ten minutes the bobbin dropped back. Striking I found nothing, but it was certainly a bite. Rebaiting I cast to the same spot close to the submerged branches.

This time I held the rod watching the bow in the line like a hawk. “Could that have been a good roach” I said to myself. Five minutes later the bow in the line tightened striking I found myself connected to a good fish, the rod hooped over as the clutch on my 1953 Mitchell 300 grudgingly gave some line, making the reel sound like a coffee grinder. This is caused by the roller that Len Arbery had fitted in the 1960’s and it still works perfectly. Soon there was a boil in the water, I could see it was caused a good chub, no a very big chub.

Sliding the net in the water I slowly pulled the fish towards the waiting net, then it dived; I didn’t have to worry, it dived into the mesh of the net. It was mine. Zeroing the scales I slipped the fish from net into the large plastic bag then hoisted the bag on the hook of the scales watching the needle go round to 6-4-0 then drop back giving me a reading of 6-2-0 “Yes” I said to myself that will do nicely. Time for a brew to celebrate.

Back in my swim, conditions were now quite horrid, the wind increased in strength often gusting to around 25 miles per hour, with heavy rain. I fished on until 8 o'clock without a sign of a bite. I decided to go home. I’d given it my best shot. Yes fish are strange creatures.

Lost Chub

Today Sunday I was on my stretch of the River Ribble to find the river had come up about three feet overnight, it was the colour of brown Windsor soup. After walking the two beats I checked my mink traps in the wood but fond nothing, but I was able to shoot a crow and a grey squirrel. Back in the cabin I put the kettle on for a brew, soon I was making tea for three other anglers who had turned up to fish for salmon. Saying “You should have been on the river yesterday morning David had two fish”. After some banter the anglers headed off for home and I pulled a rod from the rack, I was going to try for a chub.

I was lucky to find a quiet area of water about three feet deep over a sandy silty bottom with the occasional big rock. Pinching on 3 LG shot fifteen inches from a size 2 barbless hook I baited with a golf ball size chunk of sausage meat. Casting out I let the bait roll downstream a few yards then stopped the line which caused the bait to swing inwards then settle on the bottom. After about ten minute I felt a slight pluck on the line, but nothing happened for a couple of minutes. Then slowly the rod tip pulled round until it couldn’t go round anymore. I thought “Leaves and rubbish” I then lifted the rod to retrieve the tackle to clean off the leaves and other rubbish. As I lifted the rod I felt a heavy weight, and then realised I had a fish as it shook its head. Then it was gone. Two hours later with the rain sheeting down I headed back to the cabin. An hour later I am back home. Another weekend gone. But rest assured I will be back on the river tomorrow.