Seasons First Night
By Dick Dowing
By Dick Dowing
Here is a story , hopefully to wet the appetite for first night. Not maybe the initial dream of a long awaited session. There is a romance to that lone assault to the river. Here though I try to encompass some of the camaraderie and feeling generated between good mates who have come together as a direct result of this site and Andy Frances. I have learnt so much in the last year or so, further it has given me a new confidence and outlook which enhances my angling pleasure to the N’th degree.
All characters in this film are fictitious, any resemblance to any person dead or alive is coincidence.
Saturday, June 15th, 2002. I am snapped from a very real world , I hear a lorry reversing , beep beep beep. My stitched eyes crack open to see the alarm clock flashing, errrr no lorry then ! A few minuets pass, reality invades my warm attitude, but for once its good. Not work today, no jobs or mundane, just sort my gear out. I’m going fishing tonight, at last the days have folded away. Instead of just mouth watering at the river I can wet a line. A wonderful excited feeling opens in my stomach. As I sweep back the sheet, don my shredies and a pair of shorts, I’m amused how the alarm ever went off, I seem to have watched every second skip by this long night, and well into day light, it‘s 9-30 am. It was only really dark about four hours, seemed for ever, like a tropical prison camp. Ah this baggy tee shirt completes the ensemble. I catch myself in the mirror as I stand, and am shocked this ten year old is forty something. Standing also reminds me. But inside I’m 10.
A slight morning breeze has pushed the sweaty muggy night away outside. The suns well up doing its best to turn this freshness to another heady muggy day. I feel the call of a mug of tea definitely needed, mind racing, over all I need to do today, hectic in my mind but knowing nicely casual in time.
In the kitchen I flick on the kettle, and crossed legged wait for the boil. I like to leave my tea brewing while I attend the more pressing issue, which is urgently crossing my legs and gut. Ablutions over, feeling pounds lighter I take my Barbel mug of tea into the garden for a smoke. Long closed season, tea every morning in this mug willing the days away, now it’s here. I grab my open pad on the way out, my list, prepared painstakingly for weeks almost. As I open the back door I skip down the list, tackle shop stands out. I wander to my garden seat scanning the list, satisfied, I chuck it down, all is in order, I’ll enjoy probably my favourite feeling, the morning sun on my face, how can anyone begin to describe that feeling. Surprisingly hot too. If the recent pattern is followed it will cloud over and go muggy mid afternoon, maybe even another thunderstorm. We had an splendid one two days ago, really freshened everything up. The plants have taken on a spurt of that glowing green and more important the river has stepped up and pushing nicely through. I can’t wait, there's Barbel in the air.
Well this wont do lets make a move, no sod it it’s nice out here, I’ll have another smoke, I have 14 hours to prepare before I finally dip my rod and sate that thirst, almost a feeling of lust. Totally awake now I go in to check my mail, bills, I don’t care, chuck em on the table. Flick on the P C and catch up with the Barbel world over another mug of tea. Loads of excited bunnies up and down the country, yearning to wet a line. I can’t help smiling.
Upwards and onwards, lets get the tackle shop out the way. I have all I need really, but it’s part of the ritual. I laugh to find I have lost my list, losing the list which was written to remind me, irony there somewhere. Ah it’s still in the garden, made me jump though, panic set on a feeling of urgency.
The cars sitting there, it looks quite shiny in the sun, rain washed a few days ago. I open up and am smacked by a balloon of heat blasting free through the opening door. Jeeeees I sit in tentatively, gently acclimatising my naked shorted thighs to the scorching seat. Crank her up and open every available draft hole, sun roof and all, lets get rolling with a bit of draft.
15 minuets later, encountering every fool on the road I swing onto the tackle shop forecourt. I wonder why it’s busy today ! I walk in, I’m greeted by that chemical flavour, smell which hangs sweetly in the air. Huddles of burly anglers privately disusing their ploys. They all hide their eyes from gaze, very secret, we are not here, you can’t see us. As the intrusion settles, the excited ploys increase in volume, private but tell the world how good they are. Their wanted impression of, see how good a mate of the tackle shop guys I am. Cute I think, each to his own.
I have only come in for a few bits, as always I end up awkwardly carrying an arm full to the till. At least they have got the hooks in I like, they never seem to have them, so I got a shed load. Another thirty quid is swiped from my card. But I’m all set up now, these bits should last a few weeks......... Some hope ! Oh but I’m enjoying today, the care is not long lived. The drive home too has not taken long either, but urgency is building, I want to get there early, I need to pack the bag.
As I bundle in the door the phones wailing off the hook. The urgency meets my gruff response, un prepared, hurried, “ Ello “ “Ah hello mate “ as I realise its Ian. In dignified tone , trying to hide excitement we chatter on about tonight's session. A few minuets into the chat, all attempts to quell enthusiasm, gone. Ian says “ I'll take the BBQ then “ I say “yep we joked about it, but it’s a long wait till midnight and a bit of a social, I reckon it will pretty cool, the lads will like it too “ Is Goose coming ? “ I don’t know, he never got back to me, he usually just turns up though, if not lost. I think Grahams coming, and Jon said he would too“. Ian says “ great, I’ll upset Sharon now and empty the freezer, don’t bother getting anything I’ve got loads off gear, after my barby was rained off Thursday “ I say,“ have you got chicken quarters, I love those with garlic butter and stuff drizzled over“ “ Nope, I used them up, sounds good though “ he says. I reply “ I will sort it “
Good byes and catch you latter, over I rest the burning phone back on the shelf, noticing on the phone read out we talked for half an hour. Time flies talking Barbel ! It’s all quiet now but noise is racing through my mind. I’m thinking of all my good friends up and down the country, preparing. Lee and Steve to assault the Trent, Lee will be booming the world to rights, Steve ever attentive but occasionally hand clasped to forehead, AWESOME. Dave down the scrap yard. Rayo in headless chicken mode, whirlwind, always ten too the dozen. Steve and big Mike, I wonder where they will be, Taxiing probably they will wait till Monday. Bob too, ever patient Bob wont venture out till Monday, when most are back at work, but he'll be full of the B Avons charm. Andy T, he always seems to work on milestone nights, a painful wait for him. Keith will check their Ouse out for him no doubt. Andy F and Clare, they will be at it somewhere, I smile wickedly now. Then those who can’t get out bless em, Neil tied to wifey, Lyn ti ed to home, will they get these doubles this year ? No reason why not, especially if they take up offers they always get ! Be nice to get Trog on some fish too. Must be hard for them though, very frustrating, when I am as lucky as I am. Oh Paul as well he cant get out much with 80 miles to his paradise. I guess Liam will do something. I wander then in my mind into how fantastic it is, through the web site I know all these, and more wonderful like minded, well not so like minded in some cases, people, from all the rivers that flow. Humble me can source advice or a day on any river in the country, amazing.
I have got my bag out now, all the kit is in and ticked off the list. Just bait from the freezer, a towel, must not forget that. I hate ganky wet hands. And chicken quarters, they can stay in the fridge till I leave. A few more lads spring to mind, Chris on his bit, tucking away in his jungle swim, Seven god knows where, he sure looks like he‘s been there and back ? Nice bloke really must get to fish with him this year. I wonder what Simons up too. Ok that's all sussed rods are strung and set in my rodbag, landing net in, all set, and only 12-30. John, tadpoles or giant minnows. I cant be bothered to eat I’m all excited, I’ll stroll down my local, have a pint of cool cider and a sandwich. That should stop me shaking.
Breeep breeep.... breeep breeep. “ Hello Graham, I’m just walking back from the pub, and ready too rock and roll “ He says “Yes, been a long time coming, what time are you going ? †“I want to get there about 2-30, bait up sort out, then Reeelaaax “ “ I’ll be there about 6, it’s too hot for me “ he says. I say “Just in time for the Barby ! “ Grahams laughing, I smile he thinks I’m joking, I wont tell him. “ Alright mate see you there..... Bye “
I’m coming in the door, amazed at how enthusiastic this guy, who's been around the block a bit, seen it all and still cant sleep for fishing. Every session is still like a teenagers first date to him ! I love it. I wonder if this day fisher has got a proper torch yet ? I wonder how many night jobs we will get him out on this season ? Oh, “this season“ sounds soooo good after this long, long wait.
That’s perfect timing 2-00 pm I’ll just slide the gear in the car, and I’m off, stuff from the fridge and freezer, nothing forgotten, I am finally away. The car’s toasting inside again, but it has clouded over now. Hazy bright and warm, perfect. Every idiot is on the road again, don’t they know I’m on a fishing mission, get out my way I’m coming through. It’s uncanny I’m sure it’s a conspiracy. I’m hustling through the traffic, faint smell of my baits beginning to warm, widows open, free and I’m happy. Let me tell you where I'm going. Its a private stretch of the Kennet, the farm belongs to a past girlfriends Dad, she’s long since married. I always got on with them, and have fished it on and off for years. Been off for a long time, but having sussed it closed season and see it as a place to concentrate on this season. There's not a great head of fish. I have seen a few on the shallows, unusual for my usual haunts, and got really excited. I have seen at least 4 different, all on the big side of double and two fish that I’m frightened to guess. But I’m talking 16, 17, 18 God knows, I won't guess beyond that, but they are huge. ****, that lorry nearly had me then, out the way you plebe. I laugh, perhaps I should do an Andy T and phone the how's my driving number on the tailgate. That’s better, I’m cheered up again, stupid grin in fact. Yep so, the water is about a mile long, both banks with a weir at the head. There's a few smaller fish up there in the run off. It then shallows up for 200 yards then starts meandering into tighter and tighter bends into some woods. That's where we will try tonight. The fields are dry enough so we can park right up near the water. I had a horrible thought then, but I have got my keys for the gate ! Wow this is the life, and Barbel in the air.
Psychic or what, I just turned into the farm and Ian’s swinging in from the other way. Competition for the biggest, stupidest grin going on through our windscreens, punctuated with much shouting. Ah ha good to see you, hand shake, nay a hug, can’t wait for midnight can you? Fly on the wall would not believe we’d only met there two days before as a wind up to our pre-bait. Nothing elaborate. A steady trickle of closed season pellets, and latterly a few boilies as well, in more and more specific areas. Just right to see them on it. As I unlock the gate I can see Jon coming up the track, similar banter ensues. We all wiz through to the water, leave the lock dummied on the gate for whoever else to come. Graham, probably Goose, and maybe a surprise guest. Which often happens when word gets out.
Ian “ Bit dryer than Thursday then Dick†“ Oh man, that was wicked, Jon, you should have seen us up here in the rain “ It has done wonders to the river, it’s only up a couple of inches, but pushing nicely and a sexy colour. Jon is whizzing, getting his jalopy emptied. We all follow suite. Jon then sees the barby, looks a little bemused, then I see realisation of our mental ways being normal, sweep across his face. “I’d have brought some beers if I’d have known†I tell him “Ohhh no beer, me and fishing don’t mix, but you are welcome to it“. Ian says “ you want some grub you'd better go get some “ Bless him he likes a beer, no more said Jon’s doing a sortie to the Offy.
Now he’s back we have already slid our gear to chosen swims. Even gullied Jon’s to his. It’s nice setting up slowly, only 7 & 1/2 hours to bewitching time. I’m just baiting up my swim now. Three pints of hemp droppered into deep a channel head 4 to 5 feet deep, which runs from here, downstream right along the bank next to gravely, streamery, shallows, which are 2 to 3 feet deep. There's over hanging bushes, banks under cut and all is well. About 25 yards downstream there's a huge raft, the living quarters, they will run up and down this channel happily, should get one or two if not more. Not a monster swim, but a first day, catch a few, confidence swim. That's the plan anyway, if I spook them they will drop back to the raft’s safety, regroup to work up to me again a little latter. OK hemp in, a few droppers of pellet, and one of boilies whole and crumbled. That should do it, same again in a couple of hours, bit lighter maybe. Just tear off a few bits of meat and scatter them lose down the swim too. Since I can't start till 12, I wont rove, just mug it out till I get a fish and take it from there. My gear is all laid out, no more to do I’ll go find the boys. Ian’s still baiting and sorting. I stop to look at his swim. He’s on the drop off to an undercut bank. About 4 foot deep where he will fish, sloping gradually to a hole at the tail of a crease where the bank is undercut and over hung with Raspberry bushes. Blackberry actually, but we call 'em raspberries. All on the outside of a sharp bend. “ Time for tea“ I ask, “ Na I’ve got a beer, bring the stuff over though we’ll get the barby fired up“ “ Yes Sir†I mused and off I marched. It’s still warm, but getting barmy and muggy now, insects buzz everywhere. Swallows flit the harvest, and clouds of Mozies drift the scene. Back at Ian’s car I find the silly sod has locked it. It’s only 30 yards, habit I guess. I fetch the keys give him some ribbing then off to fetch the barby, part 2. Struggling back Jon appears from the bushes on my right. I fain a scream and the fear I’m to be raped by a bush lurking pervy. He tells me he’s all set up, ready for the off, and helps lighten my load. We soon have plumes of waxy smelling smoke billowing into the still, muggy air. Wafts gently across the river, competing and winning convincingly over the Mozies. I steam up the kettle, while the less dignified suck on tubes of lager. All they need is Crocodile Dundee hats with corks to complete the scene. They already have the burps and sweat. We sat around on our designer fishing chairs and chatted our dreams. I hear an engine, ah saved, another gentleman to rescue my from my sentence with lager louts. Graham, excited as always rushed from car to kit, from kit to swim, dumped his gear, ever smiling ambled over to greet us. Special occasion again demands a hug. “A bit warmer than our close of season function†he says. “ I’m glad you're here, tea young sir “ His eyes flit around the camp and settle on the beer. Such a disappointment, another lager lout. The can hissed open as he complements the arrangements, BBQ and all. Disgusted I leave them too it to chuck in some more bait. Amazing, walking away from the fires heat, Mozies and midges more apparent. The riverside vegetation is in overdrive, stinging nettles 5 feet high, briars arch and fix to the ground stepped out from the mother bush. Fatal if you catch an ankle under them, not just tripped, but ripped. Peering along my swim I see ripples on the water, a huge tail waves from half way down the swim. Barbel, that's my immediate thought, with wishful thinking. Thinking on, I begin to doubt, maybe I did not see the pinky appendage and bronzy Barbel flank, probably a stupid carp, maybe a pike, even Bream. But at least a movement, I watch on for 15 minuets, nothing comes. I re-step the baiting dance, re-sing the Boris dance, and return to my buddies. Goose is in now, “ great to see you†we exchange. 120 miles he drives to meet us. I rib him about getting, or not getting lost. All good hearted banter ensues.
The Chickens now flavouring the air, hmmmm if only you could bottle that evocative smell. I brush on my master jollop, a Garlic butter oil and spice mix. Desired effect, smells fantastic. I get some mick taken out of me, smells like my spicy Barbel meat, famed throughout the land. Goose, at last a fellow gent imbibes in Tea with me. We chatter happily, one or other of the famous 5 slipping away occasionally to nurture precious swims, with lashings and lashings of custard, well pre-bait.
It’s starting to darken now 10-30, I’m getting shaky, I look at Graham and see he’s the same. The lager louts look relaxed, the food is good, we’ve done enough to feed a third world country. I concede, I need to relax and peel out a tube from the cool box. But I sneak away to my swim for a look and to subtly open the beer. I hear some cheers go up as the can hisses open, I thought far from mick take ears. Studying the swim for a few minuets I here steps behind me. Light getting gloomy now, but I can still see the firry eyes of my excited companions coming through the darkening trees and undergrowth to suss my swim. We then, in force check out all the selected swims, finally getting back too base camp Kennet about 11-15. I realise its getting dark, the white of the barby coals now emit that red glow. A few choice bits, raised on highest grille, far from the heat still scent the air. I munch a sausage and chuck a few twigs on to light our faces, which now glow in the dancing hypnotic light. I sit in our semicircle around the fire to finish my beer. This is the life and not long to go now. Much huddled banter and excitement ensues, the next half hour eases by. Graham stands, taking up his seat, says, in true adventurer style “ I’m going out now, I may be gone some time†Goose recognising historic quotes says “ Yep, once more into the breach dear friends†Jon and Ian play Mum, tidy the few bits into a rubbish sack, take up thy chairs and also walk. I amble of, stopping somewhere subtle for a call of nature. A stark contrast from the winter chill we left the other side of closed season. I had pulled on some trousers earlier, the stingers etc too much, but I’m still in a Tee shirt, fantastic. I step back onto the path and I hear a scurrying, trusty headlamp light I catch sight of a young Hedgehog lolling off down the path, brisling with spins and little furry baggy trousers, tufting over his scampering back legs. My smile is dented as I think of all my bait, did I cover all up, will there be giggling fat rats rolling around to fat to get up. No fear, all is well as I step into the little opening of my swim, home form home, mine for the next few hours. Above the tree canopy opens above the river, the Bats are well, there is half a dozen flicking in and out of the sky backlight, then lost among the canopy. So silent, but you can sense the leathery dryness of their wings flapping with clumsy accuracy. I put my chair down neatly in the reserved spot, everything laid out close to hand around. 11-55 pm, I note as I bring the neatly stored hook to hand, for the first bait of the season. My fingers in excitement don't seem as nimble as I remember, or is it the excited shaking. Still shaking after all these years !
A pellet is looped on the hair, I mould some milk boilie mix and ground pellet paste nicely around the pellet, ends up 19mm round, perfect. Midnight and in she goes. I hold the rod settle back and focus on the two beta lights, hovering in the darkness somewhere out upon on my quiver tip. No sudden lunge, I fidget to find a smoke for relaxations sake, to hopefully bring the man, too this taught watch spring of agitated boy. I feel a tink, the tip, from its inch deflection of the current, eases gently to 3 inch’s, then jogs back strait. All the tense muscles relax, this cant be good for me, a leaf unseen in the velvet soft black water had tripped my line, then let go. I’m going to put the rod in the rest, I’m too pent up, hands are trebling, the leaf nearly caused a strike which would have torn the bumper of a bus. I’m trying to relax two minuets on and I have a sharp jank, about 4 inches, the rod vibrates in the rest. My hand, without conscious effort is holding the handle in an instant. My brain catches up, no, no, it’s a bat bite. I watch as the culprit carries on his exotic acrobatics, and smile nervously. Oh too much, too much tension I’m a gibbering wreck. Again I release the inner spring gently, and sigh. I’m wondering how the others are doing, but there is no way I’m going to see, I’ve waited to long for this and I love it. Ah, a pluck, hand to rod again, now that was fishy, no bat, no crayfish, bump, bump BANG. The rod plunges over, whilst the auto pilot in my hand lifts the rod into a heavy curve. All in one motion, inner spring released, aching heart, quenched I’m in. I can feel the power move off down stream, I balance the pull to slow her. She starts to falter, my clutch is slipping a few dainty clicks. The rod bucks violently as she redoubles her effort with a ballistic acceleration. I‘m cupping the spool to aid the now complaining clutch to a stop, I’m winning, she is slowing. It felt like 20 yards of line were taken, but no harm done she only gained a couple. I felt her pivot back towards me, I’ m relaxing the pull a bit as she nods in the flow. I hold her there a few seconds, nodding and swaying in the flow. I raise the pressure gently. Like walking the dog she concedes and glides towards me, barley half pressure on the rod. A nervous time this, sudden lunges must be anticipated. Could this be a good fish ? My question is answered, just before level with me, still swimming deep she swings out into the flow and is making off upstream. Dogged and deep she ploughs off. I lift more resistance against her, the clutch clicks. I help the clutch , it’s just enough to halt her, relax, relax, excitement building again. Leave her there let her fight the current wear herself down. I whistle out to Ian, I’m sure she’s mine now. The message goes on down the river. I imagine pleased smiles, we have not blanked, but miffed smiles no one wants to leave their rods. Ah, she has realised she is going nowhere and has turned downstream and across the river. I keep some pressure on, retrieve the lost line. Any second I know a plunge will come, I can feel anger coming up the line. There it is she's off on a powerful run this time. I let the rod buckle down in my hand a bit, to soften the violent snatch. Then gently pile on some pressure to halt her once again. She faces me and starts that deep dog walk towards me again. OK time to take charge now, she is level this time again, I pile on more power, and lift her up off the bottom. She's shocked and goes with it, it seems an eternity from bottom to top. She breaks water as Ian and Jon appear vocally from the bushes. “You still in†breaking surface, in reflex she rolls and dives with a resounding splosh and lather. “ Yes mate, she's a good one “ We are joined in childlike excitement, in this dark vacuum, the world planets away. The opera repeats itself over, but I can feel her resigning now, at long last, the plunge a little half hearted is stopped. Up she comes in the water still with meaning to swim off upstream. I’m not having that and lean more pressure which brings her rolling once more to the surface. “lets have some light on the subject†I flick my headlamp on, she flinched a bit but lolls over on her side. I’m braced for another lunge, but all's well. I steer her towards the net. My stomach's on a razor edge, my arm fit too explode. I can see she is huge, I can here mutterings, “look at the size of it “ from Ian and Jon. Please, in the net please. “Where’s Graham and Goose“ I ask. “They are coming, I think they got lost“ Please in the net, please go. She does, strait in and quite professional, I feel proud. I gasp, realising I’d forgotten to breath in the latter fray. Calm man calm, she is there.
Trying to sound casual, my voice squeaks “right lets have a look at her“. Baitrunner flicked over, rod to rests. Jon holds her in the water in the net, while I find my scales and camera. I can see him lift the net, then relax it again. “ Dick, she’s big, she’s very bigâ€. Lost in my glory world all becomes a blur. Everyone is there, chattering, exclaiming. I hear voices, Graham's hand on my back, Gooses words, all indistinct in my mind. I’m ecstatic, simple tasks are confused, my hands numb, brain anaesthetised. I light a smoke to break the spell and eventually with Ian‘s help I’m sorted. Fully out the water she is vast and beautiful. Bronze and bright, her mouth, great rubbery lips, barbules protruding. The hook hold is firm, centre bottom lip, but no trouble to remove. I always feel a little sad at the unhooking, an insult to one so dignified. We slide her in the wet sling, scales zeroed to the weight. My Avons pull around unseen as I take the strain. Eyes to dial, pointer around to 9 o'clock. A shake sets in my hand, she is nowhere near off the ground yet. I relax the weight to settle. The pointer dashes back once twice around. A good fish indeed. I watch the dial this time, once right around, that's 8 lb lift some more. I never trust the little coloured windows which grade the weight ! Around goes the dial again, 9 o'clock 10, 11 o‘clock, back too zero. That's 16-00 lb, and more t o come. I check I’m not standing on the sling, no lift, lift. A beep invades my world. Beep beep, beep. The phone, someone's caught, somewhere, is it Mr Thatcher. “ let it ring I exclaim“ Ring it does, Beep, beep, beep beep. That's not the phone, it’s a lorry reversing. My stitched eyes crack open to see the alarm clock flashing, errrr no lorry then ! A few minuets pass, reality invades my warm attitude, it feels good. Then sudden sickening realisation, it’s not good. The alarms gone off for the second time. I’m late. The season, oh no, still two months to go, today its only 15th of April . My fish, my dream gone, back down in the rivers velvet blackness where she waits for me. I wish I’d taken that last look at the scales ! Now I really can’t wait.
THE END
By Dick Dowing