"I saw her again today"
by Graham Elliott
I saw Her again today.
Five fish swam past, pecking at a few offerings, but only from habit not from
hunger. The biggest was a good double, over 11lb I should imagine. A few chub
drifted by, in that sideways style they favour. I hooked one and the rest
scooted. 5lb 6oz.
An hour later, from my position in the tree I watched as two very large barbel
dropped back and suddenly picked up a few bits of bait. I slivered down but
they had moved on by the time I had got my rod in my hand. They were seriously
big fish, 12lb and rising.
A barbel I estimate at 8lb+ in the clear water comes to the net at just under
10lb. The other fish in the area glide into the safety of the nearby weed
strands.
Twenty minutes later, back in the tree, watching, first the chub, and what
a chub…broad backed and looking like a carp. How big? At
the very least 7lb. It dropped back from the weed bed.........and there
she was…
The third time in three days in
the same place. Probably the largest barbel I have
seen.
Always on her own, except for the big chub that shows at the same time. How
big? Big enough to
fill your dreams and then some.
At the moment though, it’s a bit of a nightmare. She picks up 2 or 3 pieces
of bait and that’s it. 4 hours later maybe 2 more. If I put few baits
the chub clear them, if I put lots it would be like winning the lottery if
she chooses the one with the hook. I think I need to go and leave her. At
least until the water colours up some and she is not so shy, hopefully. Stay
safe Beauty.
Still the water remains crystal clear and the river
looks like a river should do. It glistens along almost with a mirror coating
on the top. Reflections of the wonderful
fauna tickle the surface and break up into shards of light as a chub or dace
noses a fly from the silky smoothness. The weed flows with a constant rhythm,
dancing and swaying to the silent beat.
The barbel are not yet nervous
of anglers, however they need to be tricked a little to pickup a baited hook.
Watch and learn, the deposit of time to be paid back
with interest when the river colours and deepens and other venue challenges
are tackled.
The line is heavy and visible, yet the barbel approach
without a care. One nudges the line, almost caresses it alongside its form
as it passes up to the baited area. Suddenly they spook wildly, in different
directions. What happened?
I watch the same thing a few times until it become
clear. The barbel did not worry at all about the visibility of the line, they
swam alongside it, brushed it even, until another
fish moved it on to them unawares, the natural reaction, inbuilt for survival
being to rush away, escape. I try to relate this to human behaviour.
Safety means as you walk through a forest and brush
aside the tangled branches and the leaves, you see them and visualise no problem,
but if one suddenly reached out and touched you from behind…? Would you jump?
I sat and watched and caught fish into double figures,
moving it away from smaller ones and the chub. The predictability of the sport
was more than made up for by the pleasure of watching and learning.
Mid August, a group of fish in the 5-8lb range were
picking up the particles alongside the sunken tree. They divided as She came through, one mouthful of bait and then she continued
on her way. Slowly, gracefully, regally.
Open mouthed I looked across to my rods, unpacked
on the top of the bank. I had been immersed in the watery underworld for over
three hours and the time had passed in the blink of an eye. She continued
upstream into the large streamer weed bed and was gone.
During the past few weeks I had wondered if I had
overestimated her size, indeed, wondered if some of the other fish I thought
were 13-14lb were her. My mouth closed after the gasp had left it. I think she is nearer 18lb than anything, my
mind said.
September, leaves were starting to golden.
The fish were becoming a bit more wary, still the
waters ran gin clear and it was not enough to put a bait
near fish and wait for it to be picked up.
Some of the actions of fish behaviour may hold some
interest, possibly not believed by many.
How many times that little stab on the quiver top,
often ignored, would in fact be the fish mouthing and dropping the baited
hook! No longer were they picking up
a bait and moving away, but picking it up statically, holding
still and then trying to eject the bait and hook. One fish did this five times
before it managed to spit it out, others after two or three attempts, bolted,
leading to a wrap round on the rod top. Many times the fish would move away
after being unsettled by mouthing the hair- baited hook, only to return in
a short while to pick it up again, often till a mistake had been made and
the fish had firmly pricked itself enough not to be able to blow the hook
out from its hold.
Fascinating.
Changing the bait shape to multiple small ones on
a hair fooled the fish time after time and more good ones followed, with over
five more different doubles and numerous other fish coming to the net in so
many visits.
One other regular angler came over to chat one night.
We shared memories and other fishermen’s tales, until bursting, with a haunted
look in his eyes he said, “Have you seen Her yet?”
It was whispered, but spoken with deep reverence.,
“How big do you think?” Was my reply?
We settled on not less than 16lb but probably bigger.
The day changes.
Dusk was an hour away. She came alongside
the gravel bar, not three feet out from my chair. Picking
up the bait particles that had fallen from my feeder every time before a cast.
I lent forward and slowly turned the reel handle,
dragging the bait in from its far bank position. It snagged on a small branch
mid-stream, catapulted towards me and landed with a wave-making splash on
top of where the fish was feeding. Or had been.
I could have cried, perhaps should have, but for some
reason I laughed out loud and long. I am never going to catch this fish, I
thought.
I sit behind the rods, wet, waiting for the rod to
move. I have learnt that if I take the hook length down to about 4 inches
the fish often prick themselves when the pivot upwards after picking up the
bait. The downside is the chub catch rate has gone up, and this spooks the
fish. Sometimes you have to wait two hours until there are signs again of
fish around…sometimes you wait until home time. People pass you by as you
catch a chub. “Nice chub” they say. You
smile. In your mind your fingers stretch out as if self motivated and you
slowly strangle them.
You fish the river twice a week, and sadly, when the
pressure applied to a fish brings it toward you the first time of asking you
realise that this is not the fish of your and others dreams.
Fortunately other rivers still keep you sane and undemanding.
The colour of the water hides the fish and you are
happy that mystery to the river is returned. Over and over you tell yourself
it could be the next bite.
Mid October, 4pm and the rod wraps around after an
hour of indications. This fish keeps low and steady, makes a long run with
a clutch tightened down so no onion roots can join the tussle.
I get nervous and start to bully the fish back to
me and it surfaces. It’s not Her, but a very good
fish. Towards the net, and she dives
after touching the rim. Downstream again, and again bullied back up and to
the surface. Difficult to get her past
the inside flow and ping the hook pulls as I go to raise the net. By some
magic trick she is not in it. 14lb at least. Bad angling.
Memories of another lost Loddon fish; shared with
fisher friend Dick some seasons ago come flooding back.
I go downstream to share my woes with “have you seen
her yet?” who nets a 12lber as I arrive. Cruel. I take the ‘photographs and the congratulations, slightly hollow, echo around in the mist.
I am unfaithful; to spite the river and Her and I visit the Bristol Avon for the first time at the
invite of Russell and manage two welcome doubles.
October continues to be fish filled, The Kennet has
been a kind river to my customers with plentiful doubles, including fish over
12lb and many new personal bests to reward their endeavours.
A Junior day teach in for
the Barbel Society bags a first barbel for two of the young men, a nine year
old catching a 12.11oz fish as his first ever.
The
The Loddon eases from my mind; I have decided that
I will never, ever be able to catch her. Time to admit defeat.
Wet and windy, November is here, never
say never. I surely have a date with a very special fish.
To be continued…………………………………………
by Graham Elliott
Photographic Acknowledgements -
with thanks.
Matt Brown. The River Loddon in summer
Andy Frances The River Loddon
in autumn.
Russell Jones B.A. Fish.
© Barbel Fishing World 2004