“My swim” and The Perfect Script.

I have fished my local stretch of Mole now for some ten years. It is a small but varied stretch of river meandering through the Surrey countryside, pretty as a picture in all seasons .Of all the miles of river I am lucky to fish there is one swim that will always have a place that is dear in my heart, “my swim”, as I affectionately call it, for it was here that I first made my acquaintance with a Mole Barbel.
I still remember the evening while on a pre season recce watching Chub gather on some near bank shallows, when I noticed a bright flash a little further out in the deeper water. My eyes strained to look into the channel to catch site of it again, for ten minutes I gazed into it and then to my amazement drifting from the depths onto the shallows under my feet, a shape that was instantly recognisable. I gasped and held my breath, I stood statuette like and scared to breath or to move for fear of being seen or heard. I watched that fish for a good half hour drifting on and off those shallows before it eventually disappeared. So from that evening plans were hatched for opening day. This is a tale worthy of being told in its own right and maybe one day I will write that account; suffice to say my first Mole Barbel was caught from that swim on glorious June the 16th at 7lb-11oz.

That season I caught quite a few Barbel from “my swim” and else where along the river, but none bigger than that first fish. I vowed to return the next season to do battle and seek that elusive double figure fish that I was sure the river could muster. But a life long ambition for motor racing cropped up in between and did not see me return for the next four years.

As so often in my life I returned to fishing after my detour, and was pleased to hear from a good friend within the club over a beer one night, that he had caught two different Barbel of 11+, Things had been progressing in my absence. So at the back end of the 2001/2 season I picked up where I left off but with much more urgency than before, my mind made up that Barbeling full time was what I now wanted to do. Sadly no Barbel graced my net those last couple of months, a little rusty I think is the word.

My first full season back I put a lot of hard work in trying to locate fish pre season, but my only reward was one hooked and lost Barbel despite all the time and effort I had lavished on them. I had lost count of the hours I sat watching a motionless tip that I almost gave it up to go racing again after that 2002/3season so despondent was I at not catching one single, solitary fish, I could have been forgiven for thinking my friend might have been putting me up with talk of 11lber’s, “11ounces of Barbel” would have been welcome that season, but words of encouragement from friends and fellow fishing acquaintances kept me going, and gave me the confidence to give it another go this season, lets face it I could do no worse, surely.?

This season saw me doing more walking, watching and baiting during the close season and this has I’m glad to say paid off, I also had a good rethink to my approach thanks to a good friend. The reward had been 14 fish to 9lb-10oz and most in the 8lb bracket with the lowest at mid 7lb’s, a pleasing average, but still my first Mole double had eluded me. I had seen fish during the closed and early part of the season to know that doubles were present, as I had been told. I did drop a good fish back in November but did manage a 9lb-06oz the same session to make a mends, but with the season rapidly disappearing and I was already thinking about the next with little over two weeks to go.

And so to the day in question, It had started with a telephone call to my mate Jason earlier in the day, I had told him how I had a really good feeling about my scheduled trip that afternoon and fancied a fish. After a long cold snap for some five days the water temp had stayed at a constant mid 40’s f, but the weather had finally turned in my favour with rain coming in from the south and water temperatures where on the up. Little did I know then what lie ahead?

I pulled into the little lay by and parked up. I walked from the car feeling slightly nervous as I asked myself would someone be in “my swim”, the panic quickly subsided as I realized it was vacant and awaiting me. I cautiously negotiated the first of two obstacles on my way, a narrow ditch not deep, but deep enough to have to clamber from fully laden if the worst should occur, safely across I continued to walk along the path. As I neared my destination a sweet smell of crushed wild garlic scented the air. I was briefly filled with sadness as that smell again reminds me that the curtain was soon to draw on yet another season. I came to my second obstacle, a partially dried up channel that had been scoured away through many years flooding, to create a tiny island, which was to be my vantage point. Silly thoughts entered my head, “I would be the king of my own little island paradise for the evening“, I stood for a minute or two just looking and thinking how much I liked this place and
if it would give up one of its secrets to me.

I set about the ritual of tackling up, but on this occasion a little differently. For some reason I was compelled to set my camera up, something I never really do, but I thought for some reason that “if” I should catch “the” fish, I wanted to be prepared. This done and the other ritualistic things we all do, including wetting the weigh sling and zeroing (another thing I tend to forget to do at the start), I was ready for the off. Just to go off on a tangent, I had brought a new set of Avon’s that lunchtime as I had left the old set on the bank during my last trip, and had joked with a mate at work who said “they wouldn’t be out of the bag, let alone christened.”

I picked my spot and cast out to a crease just where the water turned off the main flow, at the back of a deep hole in front of me, and settled back into my chair with thoughts of what the evening may bring. As I settled I became aware of an eerie quite that was only broken by the water riffling over the shallows at the head of the swim and every now and then as the flow dictated, a gurgle as a submerged branch on the far bank lifted to the surface and then sank from view again. Now in tune with my surroundings I noticed how high the far bank looked from this side as I normally fished from the other, I then glanced to the head of the swim where there were still long plumes of bright green weed, my mind wandered to thoughts of the river in its summer guise and those long warm evenings swatting gnats and tending nettle stings, sat motionless amongst the overgrown foliage with a swathe cut just wide enough to squeeze a rod through, Ah! those wonderful summer nights.

My mind eventually turned back to fishing, I knew this swim had some potential for something special as in the summer I had witnessed three fish of good proportions that would often appear amongst the smaller shoal fish. Whether these fish where resident or just visited occasionally had always intrigued me, and I wondered if they only visited the swim at certain times. The hope for this session was that they had visited today. I had lost a good fish to a straightened hook here three weeks before, so expectations were reasonably high.

The first couple of hours passed and nothing much was happening when there was a sudden jump of the tip, not a pull, but more of a jump or rattle. This alerted the senses and quickened the pulse but nothing transpired for the next half hour or so and calm was restored. Then the tip pulled sharply round about 6” and stayed there briefly before springing back and taking on a now familiar arc again, a good sign, and the heart rate increased once more and sweat now began to exude from my palms. Reading into this registration I came to the conclusion that the fish was not sucking the bait up, but gently pulling the bait backwards and letting go again. This was the trend for the next 15 mins. “Don’t know how much longer I can stop myself from hitting one of these bites,“ I told to myself, but I resisted the temptation to strike. Then out of the blue the tip just sailed round and kept going, not a typical rocket Barbel bite, but nice and steady, I lifted in to it and was in.

Initially I was unsure what it was, it just seemed heavy but did not make that initial surging run that the lost Barbel made three weeks prior. I almost started to drag it upstream through steadily pumping and retrieving until it was under the tip. Then all hell let loose, with no warning she took off on one of the most powerful runs I have ever encountered, leaving me no choice but to follow with the rod creaking and groaning as the tip pulled down to the water and a shrill whining as the line cut through the air. At this point and for the ensuing few seconds I was out of control and in the hands of the gods, luckily she turned upstream and now hung in the flow, and doing so handed the initiative back to me. Heart stopping stuff I can tell you but I had managed to hang on.

Having gained control again there followed a couple more surging shorter runs as she vied for freedom, but now under constant pressure she started to tire, it was at this stage I knew it was a Barbel but still had no idea of its size. Not that is till I dragged her over the net and lifted her out. I remember thinking how heavy she was and once placed on the matt and the net carefully peeled away, did I then realised how special she was.

I lifted the sling and the Avon’s dropped round to 14lb-02oz, “Nah” can‘t be right I thought, I had to lower the fish to the ground and lift again as I was sure I had misread the reading on the dial, but yet again they sailed past the 10lb mark and dropped again at 14lb-02oz. I weighed her again for a third time to be sure and again the scales pulled round to the same figure. “That‘s big“ was now being mumbled under my breath over and over again, and I could feel my hands beginning to shake with excitement. My mind was now telling me that I had to get her back to the water ASAP as a little wave of panic set in. I set the self-timer on the camera and hoped for the best. I hoped I would not fumble her on the floor in all the panic, and prayed the photos would come out ok. As the flash lit up everything around me for a second or two, I gazed down on that bronze back and marvelled at how broad it appeared.

With the camera work done it was back in the water with her, she recovered within 30 seconds or so giving a big kick of her rudder like tail, but I held on for another half a minute to make sure she was fully recovered, or perhaps this was for selfish reasons, I almost felt reluctant to let her go, maybe I would never seen her or such a fish as big again, but eventually I did let go of that huge tail and watched her sink out of sight into the depths from whence she came.
I sat for an age on the chair, hands still shaking, and muttering to myself as I tried to text those who had given me the help and encouragement to stick at it this year, thinking how glad I was right at this very moment for taking their advice. This done I again sat back chair and tried to get my head round what I had just achieved. My first Mole double, and some double at that.

I did recast after a while once I calmed down, and did have some more interest, but really, (as strange at it might seem), I just wanted to pack up and go home as it somehow did not seem fitting to stay any longer. Mission accomplished so to speak. I could not have written a more perfect script prior to that evening, my whole season, in fact all my Barbeling dreams over the last two years on Mole had come to fruition this night. A night of pure Mole Magic that had started a few years before in this swim, “my swim” it seemed fitting that events had culminated here in an evening that shall be etched into my memory for ever more, to be drawn on and remembered in the future when things aren’t going so well, and I once again sit watching that motionless tip as the hours slip by.

By Mark Street.

Markusbarbulas.

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© Barbel Fishing World 2004