A Good Night

by Jon Callan

My Beloved: The River Kennet

A good night was called for, the season was fast running out and there was still so much to do and dreams to be met!

Having so little time left a trip to familiar haunts was called for, the river was rising fast and an in-depth knowledge was called for.

Forgive me for not naming the venue, but I rather enjoy fishing there in peace and quiet! I fear it would not stay this way, if it became well known.

I almost didn’t arrive at this venue; nearly turning off earlier to a venue I have only fished a handful of times, yet this venue holds so much promise of things to come. But I craved a bend in the rod and this was a rarity for some strange reason on this venue that promised so much, yet has only managed to give up a few of it jewels to anglers far more skilled than I! So I wimped out and headed to easier climbs!

I arrived at my secret haunt of most of the winter, to be met by only one other car hiding under the old alder tree at the back of the car park. It was a sight that rankled me. So often this winter I had been left alone to play with my friends in private, with only the wildlife to hear my screams of joy when a fat lady graced my net or cries of pain when a bite is missed. After pondering how unfair it was for another to invade my second home, I climbed out of the car to be met to a light breeze and a muggy dampness to the air. I always have a good feeling when the conditions are like this; damp nights always seem to produce the best results for my style of fishing. I’m not sure if the conditions suit the fish any better than others or just boost my confidence into thinking these are ideal conditions, making me fish all that harder with intense concentration and raised confidence.

Turning back to the job in hand, I unloaded the mass of equipment that is my armoury onto the damp ground; a quick check was called for to make sure nothing had been forgotten. Extra fags – Check, Flask and lunch box – Check, Bait – NO? where did I put it? This can’t be happening to me! Oh! Yes, I remember now! On the front seat, where I always put it!

As I lock up the car and stare out over the fields, I notice that the ground is now thick with sparkling dew; in the distance a curtain of mist is appearing out of the freshly ploughed field. Its on evenings like this I’m glad to be alive, wishing more people experienced the anticipation of a night on the river and the hope of a Barbel laying in the net.

Snapping myself out of the trance like state I have fallen into, I yearn to be by the river. I quickly start to load myself up; with the seemingly ever-increasing mound of tackle I take fishing with me these days. I promise myself for the hundredth time that season, I will lighten the load before I go next, but I’ll forget………again.

Finally after a good impression of looking like a pack pony, I’m on my way. I start of as always, at break neck speeds, desperate to be once more on the banks of my fickle mistress, the River Kennet. As I trudge across the first field who’s end will bring me to her once more. My mind wanders and drifts back to the many happy memories the river has provided me with this season, wishing for just one more of those special nights before the cruel (but needed!) break will be upon me for another year, how I wished for just another week or two!

As I near the end of the field, I spy the old rickety style that has caused many a slip and swear word to be muttered. But once more I negotiated it twisted old frame, it had failed to claim another victim for now, but the homeward journey had yet to be negotiated, their it may claim another victim.

At last I could see the river in all its glory, it looked like I had hoped it would; spume and flotsam being dragged and thrown about in the swirling current. Water almost level with tops of the banks, surging through the colour of old grannies tights! Just how I loved it, in flood!

A quick break was had as I dreamed about what monsters where swimming past and laying up within feet of me. Hugging the bottom and routing out tasty morsels washed out from their lairs by the fresh floodwater.

Resuming my journey on up the river, already starting to sweat and feel uncomfortable, wishing once more I hadn’t put my thermal suit on for the walk, I hadn’t noticed before how warm and muggy the air felt, a fact I was paying for now! Following along the course of the river as it twists and turn, intently staring at the surface hoping to see the flash of gold flanks on the surface or maybe a new crease that the floods have created, just waiting to be plundered. Unfortunately I see neither of these, but come to the area I had planned to fish when I had set out a few short minutes ago.

I have grown to love this area in these conditions, founds by accident only a couple of months earlier. It was on a night like this that promised much, yet delivered so little. That was until dropping in for half an hour on the way back to the car, four 9lbers’ later it became a firm favourite, to be visited whenever the river was charging through and bank high. Each visit had produced at least one barbel whenever fished in these conditions.

The swim from above the water is probably the least desirable on the whole venue, the banks were straight and high, there was no overhanging cover or substantial weed growth. Just an area 5 feet long and a couple of feet wide, that is 6 inches deeper than the surrounding water, coupled to this is the fact that it is tight to the bank. All these features make it a superb floodwater swim and also provided the holy grail of flat un-turbulent water, which barbel seem to love in heavy water conditions.

After taking in the sight that greeted me, I took a few cautious steps back and unloaded pony express into a heap and went back to surveying the river. I couldn’t believe how perfect it looked; if I didn’t catch tonight I’d want shooting!

After a quick rummage through all the pockets on the rucksack, I finally find what I’m looking for, a thermometer. Creeping up to the edge I lower its probe into the edge. After an anxious wait, I find what I was hoping for, a rise in temperature over yesterday pushing it over the magic mark of 10C. In fact 10.4C, a climb of 1.4C over yesterday. That’ll do, that’ll more than do, its perfect.

Conditions looked amazing. A rising river, rising temperature, plenty of colour and very little rubbish being washed down. Just what I had been dreaming of! I just hope its what the Barbel is dreaming of as well!

Instead of rushing to make the first cast and possibly ruining a good swim, I set up leisurely, meticulously making sure every hook, knot and piece of braid is perfect. Also, that everything is to hand and just where I want and expect it. Deciding to have a sit in the chair, have a fag and decide on a plan of action. After a few minutes of mental wrangling, I decide to fish one rod out mid river in the flat smooth water and the other tight to the bank in the depression, but on a small bed of bait left for an hour or two before making the first cast.

Returning to the rod bag I get out the bait-dropper rod and a bag of mixed pellets, a mixture of 3mm Betains, 4mm low oil pellets and a few handfuls of CSL pellets. After lining up where the depression is with a small clump of trees in the distance, I gently lower the dropper in and let it rest for a few seconds before giving it the merest of flicks to release the bait, after repeating the process another 5 times, I thought that’ll do. Just enough to get them feeding and moving, but not so much as to feed them off.

With everything ready for the off, I decided to go and have a look for the angler who’s car had been skulking under the alder, secretly hoping he hadn’t caught and was soon to leave me alone with my precious water.

I found him fishing a couple of hundred yards upstream, a dark smudge on the undergrowth of the surrounding landscape. I crept up to the back of him to see how he was doing, from the reply I received, not to well! With plenty of time to go before the first cast was to be made, I settled down on my knees to try and see why he was failing, when he should have really been catching where he was.

Despite his initial downbeat mood he proved very talkative, after a few minor probing questions it became apparent where he had gone wrong so far that day. He’d arrived mid-morning, where he proceeded to bait up 4 swims with a quantity of hemp and plain old luncheon meat. Now this may work on some stretches of the Kennet, but this was definitely not one of them! A more subtle approach is called for. I explained as best as I could where he was going wrong. I explained that this tactic may work very well with uneducated barbel in the summer, but after a few weeks the barbel on the Kennet will spook at the sight of a bed of hemp and a mass of bright pink meat. Also, in the colder months you had to be very careful not to overfeed them. It’s always better to put to little in, if you are not sure how they will respond to your bait.

What I did next, still surprises me as I write this; I went back to my gear and got out a bag of spicy meatballs. I took these back and gave them to him and suggested a move upstream, to a deep hole between swallow areas. He said he didn’t know the area, so I helped him pack his gear up and gave him a hand upstream with it. Once their I pointed him in the right direction and showed him where the deeps started and finished and where I thought the barbel would be laying.

It was now getting on towards dark and I wanted to be back with my rods ready for the time to make that all important first cast. I bided him fare well and wished him luck, praying that the information proved to give him what he prized…. a bar of gold!

The reason I mention this is, normally I am more than happy to help anyone not fishing where I am, but I like to keep things to myself on the venues that I fish the most and cherish. A very selfish outlook, but harsh experience has taught me a few lessons in the past. Plus, I always think it is a lot more satisfying if you do the donkeywork for yourself and find out these little special areas for yourself. On this occasion I can only put my very helpful mood down to the excellent conditions and the season nearing a close, but it did leave me feeling quite satisfied with myself.

Anyway, as I arrived back at my swim. I had just enough time left to make up 10 or so, mini PVA bags. These are about the size of a 50pence piece and contain a mixture of pellets and a few CSL pellets. During flood conditions I always like to have at least a little bit of bait around the hook bait. And previous trials have proved that it definitely works over a single bait approach.

Once I had finished these and popped them in an airtight bag to stop any moisture getting at them, it was time to make the first casts and see if the plan was going to work!

I double-checked the tackle, just to be sure that I hadn’t missed anything. The inside rod had a 2oz flat lead, 3" hook length, size 6 Owner, Betain \ Elips pellet combo and a PVA bag of goodies. I quietly crept a couple of yards below my position and lowered the tackle into where the depression in the bottom contours were, feeling the lead hit bottom with a satisfying thump, I paid out a little line and placed the rod in the rests.

The second rod I was going to fish differently, a 5oz lead, 6-inch hook-length connected to a size 4 long shank hook. Onto this went 2 Campbell’s meatballs heavily spiced and flavoured, I cast it just opposite my position into mid-river, after a few seconds of rolling and bouncing, it finally settled and was holding bottom nicely.

Both rods out and time for a coffee and take in the surroundings. Or so I thought!!

The mid-river rod was away only seconds after placing it in the rests, after a spirited fight lasting a minute or so, a small barbel of about 2lbs comes to the surface spinning in the fast current. A few seconds later, she’s mine in the net. Not the monster I had been dreaming of, but welcome all the same. Before returning it I held it up in front of my eyes so it was capturing the last faint rays of sun on its flanks, I truly love the way small barbel look. Perfection in miniature and a sign that maybe the future isn’t so bleak. After a few short seconds admiring it, I lay down on the sodden bank to hold her upstream. A couple of seconds to catch her breathe and away she shots into the murky water. I stare for a short time into the depth wandering if there are more to be had or is that my lot?

Standing up, I look out across the barren field opposite and notice how darkness if falling, the trees in the distance are starting to merge into one big tree and car tail lights can just been seen twisting away in the distance. People rushing home from work or off to do the shopping, whereas I am just entering my most favourite time and doing the thing I love.

Sitting back down I re-bait with another couple of spicy meatballs and marvel at how such a small fish can cram such a large meal into its mouth, but they do time and time again. Swinging the bait out mid-river and holding the tip high, I can feel the lead bounce about for a short while before coming to rest. Replacing the rod in the rests, I managed to get that cup of coffee before anything else happened!

Whilst drinking the coffee, I started to get a few small touches on the inside rod. They were starting to look very promising, when the mid-river rod was away again. After the initial few seconds where the fish powered off, giving hope to something a lot larger. It came under control with little pressure exerted, the twin of the first fish broke surface and was quickly in the net. Removing the hook from its rubbery lips I returned it without even handling it feeling a little dejected. As welcome as 2 barbel were in the first 20 minutes of fishing, I was starting to question if I was in the wrong area. I had maybe stumbled upon a barbel crèche?

After a few minutes fighting with various ideas and other possible swims in these conditions in my mind, I decide to give it another half an hour or so in this swim, but only fishing the inside line and not recasting the midstream rod. If no more small fish appeared I would stay put, if another turned up, I would move elsewhere. What convinced me to stay put was, whilst playing the second fish in and whilst indulging in some mental wrangling, the inside rod had continued to give a few fishy taps and twitches, withstanding all the commotion the two fish had made. As tempting as it was to reel in and check, I left it be and hoped all was OK and nothing was masking the hook point or bait. Its always so tempting to recast when you’ve had little touches and they haven’t come to anything, but to do so would more than likely spook whatever it was down their.

A few minutes later, perched on the edge of my chair, puffing away on a fag to calm me down, the taps had come more persistent and a couple of times had me reaching for the rod to try and strike the hook home. One more time the tip started to pull round, but this time it just carried on going, slowly and confidently. As I lifted the rod and piled on the pressure, the fish made no attempt to bolt away, preferring to just slowly swim out into the full force of the current a few yards below me hugging the bottom contours. For the next couple of minutes it was a pretty dour affair, so typical of good fish the fish with me gaining a couple of yards and then it taking them back. Finally it broke the surface out in mid-river, I caught a glimpse of a deep flank illuminated in a pale blue of my head torch, at this sight the nerves just started to go a little bit more, visions of monsters were conjured up once more. After a couple more lunges for the far side, I managed to draw it over the waiting net, its mine!! I secretly scream inside my head. On lifting the fish onto the mat, I bend down quickly to part the mesh and see what my prize, a sneaky feeling comes over me that it may go double figures.

Placing the fish back in the net and placing it in a slacker piece of water, just upstream of me, I rushed to get the sling out, wet it and zero the scales. A moment of indecision, do I get the camera out, No I’ll wait and see first. Once ready, I retrieved the fish from the net upstream and placed it on the mat and slide it in the sling and hoist it up.

The moment of truth, what would it weigh? The scales bounce about erratically finally settling on 9lb10 oz. I have to be honest and admit I was a little disappointed and surprised it didn’t weigh more. On closer inspection, it was a very fat fish. But, was lacking the length needed for those few more precious (?) ounces. But all the same, a magnificent creature without a blemish on it.

After holding it for a few a little while it recovered it poise and gently disappeared from view. I returned to the bombsite that is my swim after a decent fish. After a quick sort out, I was ready to recast again, but not before thinking what a night I had already had and could it get any better?

On went a couple of pellets and another PVA bag, which was lowered into the same area of the tip.

I returned the rod to the rest and sparked up a ciggy and sat back and smiled to myself, thinking maybe I was in the right area after all!!

Suddenly the tip flew around and snapped me out of dreamland and back to reality, the PVA bag could have only just finished dissolving!

This fish set of in a way, which announced instantly, I’m a big fish!!! It just powered off upstream hugging the bottom, it past my position under extreme pressure from my end, the tight clutch singing out like a badly tuned Violin. I won’t recount the whole fight, because from big fish it is normally quite a dour affair and more a show of stubbornness from the fish, than the electric power of a 7lber. Anyway after a few heart stopping moment where it thrashed on the surface mid-river leaving me expecting the hook hold to give at any minute, it was mine in the bottom of the net.

Quickly flicking the hook out and placing it in the slacker water, I re-zeroed the scales and set the camera up. Retrieving the fish and placing her in the sling, I knew it was definitely a good double! The scales didn’t disappoint and recorded a weight of 11lb 10oz. You beauty!!!!!!!!!!!

Quickly setting the timer on the camera, I rattled of two photos’ in quick order. Placing her back on the mat, I just stared and smiled to myself, not believing how beautiful and magnificent she was. I slipped her back in the sling and carried her to the waters edge; I lay down so as to get comfortable with her and close to her wonderful environment. Slipping her out of the sling, I pointed her into the current. Watching her gills puffing away as she regained her spent energy. Feeling the cold dampness creeping into my bones and not caring a bit, after a couple of minutes she was ready to go and was powering hard against my hand, but I didn’t want to let her go, I wanted to keep her! Finally releasing her, she shot of upstream soaking me in the process, I hoped she would find her favourite resting place to recover and regain her full strength.

Just magic, 2 hours into the fishing and four fish on the bank! It couldn’t get any better than this, could it?

Yes and No. No more doubles (Just being greedy now!!) but 2 more fish on the inside rod. 8lb 7oz and 9lb 2oz. again both these fish came in quick succession and on the pellet/PVA combination.

A night I won’t forget in a hurry! Or more to the point, a season I won’t forget in a hurry!

Oh! What of the other angler?

Nearly forgot about him! He walked past not long after I had put the 11 back, he thanked me for my help and said he’d had one of 7½ lbs’. He did ask me what I’d had? Just one small one mate!

Well, old habits die-hard!

Jon