by Ian Law
It had been a
reasonable start to the season within the ranks of the Windsor Barbel Catchers,
(WBC), nothing spectacular, but a number of fish taken on the Thames from a
number of areas of the lower river, a few off the Kennet and at last a couple
of richly deserved big fish from the Wensum, for our
associate Norfolk member of the WBC,
I decided to head
out onto the Kennet, to a quieter stretch, that in the time I had fished it,
received little attention in comparison with the more well known beats. Indeed
it was a bit of water that I fished regularly about 5 years ago. It was a
Sunday evening and I felt tired after a late night on Saturday. As usual, on
arrival, it was clear no one else was about and I looked forward to the peace
and quiet that the next 5hrs would provide. The walk across the field wasn’t
too bad as I cut down on my gear, eg, no umbrella as
there was yet again no rain forecast! The cattle in
the field made their usual curious enquiry, (fortunately, not as curious as
three years ago when they ran en masse directly towards me. It’s strange just
how fast one can run laden with copious amounts of fishing gear when life and
limb is threatened…), and continued on their perpetual munching of the cud. On
arrival at the bank I went through the usual indecision of where to fish. The
indecent amount of beer I had drunk the previous evening had put paid to any
notion of a roving session. Fortunately, most areas of this beat had historically
provided fish, I did however eventually plump for the
first swim I ever fished on this stretch with my old fishing mate Johnny
Phillips now exiled over in
The light was
fading but there was no rush to get rigs prepared as my rods were already made
up in my quiver, (lesson number 1 for an un-named lazy member of our WBC clan,
you know who you are!) but I was keen to drag a lead across both the far and
inside areas to check that the previous winter hadn’t deposited any debris on
the bottom that may present a problem should I get into something. All clear,
good, now I could put some bait in. In recent years I have increased the amount
of bait I put in, in the summer months, to compensate for the plague we have
been blighted with on the Kennet, the signal crayfish. About a kilo of mixed
pellets and crumbed boilie went in across the far
side three feet out from the bush and the same down the inside track. I would
then adopt my old match technique of little and often.
Four hours went by
before any sign of activity. The rod across pinged twice and then lurched over.
The fish took line steadily and plodded off upstream. It felt a good fish.
5mins later she on the top and I could see a very large bronzed flank. It
looked an easy double as I reached for the net. As I drew her over disaster
struck, the lead clip got snagged on the mesh on the cord. As much as I tried
to pull the fish over the lip, the net pulled towards me in equal amounts.
After a minute of this she had regained strength and flicked her tail for
freedom. Her wish granted, the hook pulled and I stood in the darkness with my
prize disappeared into the depths. I must have stood looking across into the
meadow for a full five minutes in utter disbelief in the manner I lost that
fish. Sure, it happens to us all at some time, but following a very lean spell
this one was all the harder to bear. Unable to fish on, I packed up and trudged
across the field, my bottom lip ever so slightly protruded.
I didn’t fish for
the rest of that week, but the thought of losing that fish stayed with me. The
monkey was definitely on my back, and as I was telling my fellow folk in the
WBC, I had to go back and try to re-address the balance.
Friday night came
around very quickly and I noticed a marked increase in air temperature,
(ridiculous for early October, around 22C), when I stepped out into the garden
to take the padlock off my fishing shed. I loaded the car and was soon weaving
my way down the lottery that is the M4 on an early Friday evening. If only the
other drivers knew I was going fishing, I’m sure they would make way to hasten
my arrival on the bank. As I approached the grassy car park, there were no
other cars in evidence, excellent I thought, once again the place to myself. (I’m
sure in my progressing years I have become less tolerant of people around me
when I’m fishing. Curious really, as when I was a kid, I religiously walked
down the match length of the local canal every Saturday morning to immerse
myself in fishy dialogue with those wishing to listen to my probing questions….)
The walk across
the field was uneventful with my four legged sparring partners, although my large
metal bank stick is always now at hand to assist in subtle persuasion for the
spotted beasts in keeping their distance. Never again do I want to threaten
Colin Jackson’s world hurdling record for clearing barbed wire fences, and
subsequent safety from a stampede….
As is what you
were expecting I chose the same swim, no need to lead it as I had done this
already last Sunday. The umbrella went up to keep the light shower off me, and
soon after, I baited up. As darkness fell it was warm, the drizzle continued
and a slight breeze was doing it’s best to get underneath my umbrella. My cell
phone buzzed with a text from a friend saying it was going to be a good night, (7.15
in the evening and I suspected Neil Harding-Deans was on the vino already…).
I adopted exactly
the same tactics as the previous session, one bait
down the inside track, the other a few feet short of the far bank bushes. I
didn’t have to wait long as the inside rod pinged over and a fish was on. The
smallest fish I had ever caught from the Kennet, a little over 2lbs, refreshing
to see for a river where small fish, in my catches, are the exception rather
than the rule. Lucky you I hear you saying, but if this is indicative of the
general Kennet stock, we should all fear for the future…A pristine fish,
unmarked, and when lifted from the mat admired all the more for raising it’s
dorsal fin. A good start, I was contented, but I should have brought some nuts
for that monkey that still hung heavy on my back from last Sunday. I knew,
somewhere in the depths, she was there….
The next two hours
passed by pretty uneventful and I was fortunate to leave the swim undisturbed
from constant casting with fresh bait as those little critters, the Signal
crayfish were absent tonight. It’s strange, and I’m sure others who fish the
Kennet will have experienced the same, sometimes there is no getting away from
them and at other times they are no where to be seen, weird.
I decided to put
the kettle on, and as is consistent with any preparation of making or pouring
of a hot drink, the rod across pinged once then lurched over. This fish felt
better and soon after another barbel lay in the folds of the net in the water,
a little over 7lbs. Back she went, and I duly informed those sitting in the
comfort of their homes, glasses of wine in hand, with a text message, and back
came the reply that they expected more from this night.
I was in no rush
to pack up as I had no commitments the following Saturday morning. The fact
that I was in the middle of house hunting and would be technically homeless
unless I sorted something out in the next two weeks was beside the point. I was
fishing, and as is the norm, there was no where else I would rather be, the
pressures of the outside world can wait, well at least for 4 more hours anyway.
I sat and drank my tea in the wet, gloomy, but muggy evening. I deposited some
more bait in and rested the swim for 20mins. It must have been about 30mins
when the far side rod moved about two inches, like a coiled spring I sat in my
chair, then for the next minute nothing happened. Hmmm, a solitary crayfish I
thought, out by itself all alone. Seconds later that theory was laid to rest as
the rod, in one very swift movement, lurched over and a fish was charging off
upstream. When I picked the rod up everything went solid, the fish just stayed
deep and plodded around about 15yds above me. I knew straight away this was a
much bigger fish and was very careful not to give it too much stick and take my
time. Thoughts immediately went back to last Sunday night and the
disappointment of losing that fish. No chance of lead clips snagging on nets
this time, as I had tubing over the clip and lead swivel which the lazy bugger
fishing in this very swim last week didn’t bother to do…..
She rolled on the
surface in front of me and then through the darkness I could see a big bronze
flank. Three times I tried to roll her over into the folds of the net and three
times she lunged and took line against the tension of the clutch. On the forth
attempt she was mine and as I rested her in the net I knew I had removed the
nut nibbler from my back. The mat was ready behind me and as I lifted her from
the water it confirmed my suspicions, she was a lump. After zeroing the scales
the needle thumped down to 13.1. All the anxiety and frustration felt only 5
days previous just melted away into the warm night air. Not only was it the
biggest fish from this stretch, it was a PB. I rested her for a couple of
minutes, then weighed her once more, 13.1, mission accomplished.
As I walked across
the field, my four legged foes sat unawares as I past by, although those
closest got a reassuring pat on the head, such was the glee I felt on that warm
night in October. Little did I know what
was to follow over the coming sessions…..
The following Thursday
I had booked a day off, initially the plan was to travel down to the south
coast to go bass fishing, however, a call from Mike
Wilson a few days previous suggested we were better off going out when the boat
would be a bit quieter. I didn’t fancy cancelling my day off and going into
work, so the day was mine to go out on the river. In all the time I have had
a
The day was
overcast and warm and as usual it felt great to be out. The guys from the EA
were doing some work close by and as they passed by commented on how perfect
conditions were. That’s bound to put the mockers on it I thought! After
settling down and tucking into my lunch, (some of the lads I fish with say I
all I do is eat when I fish, ridiculous….) I was part way through the first of
my tasty offerings when the inside rod pinged around. The fish immediately came
towards me then tore off upstream, taking line steadily. After a solid fight
she was in the net, after a rest she went into the sling, 10.8, brilliant. I
immediately texted those lucky enough to be stuck at
work…. I will not repeat the responses here.
By this time it
was around 2.30 and three more anglers had turned up, all deciding to go
upstream. “Any luck?” “Just the one” I repeated.
Soon after the
inside rod pinged again and another fish placed its bid for freedom as the
clutch sang. Soon after a fat mint looking fish was in the sling,
10.13…….bloody hell I thought, better text those fine upstanding chaps at work
again. It would only disappoint them if I didn’t…
I was surprised I
caught another so soon from the same area, mind, I had kept it away from the
bush downstream during the fight, if indeed my assumption was correct, and this
is where they were. More bait went in, and I celebrated by putting the kettle
on. (Within the ranks of the WBC, I have two important jobs, one is chief tea
maker, the other a not so glamorous task, unhooking
A smaller fish,
but just as welcome, of 7.2 came to the net as the light started to go followed
by a chub. The anglers left on the fishery were now starting to make their way
back to the car park. One guy stopped for a chat and stood behind me for 10mins
as we swapped the tales of our respective days. Just as I commented on how
quiet the far bank rod had been, off it screamed. It must have been 2-3mins
before I saw her as she rolled in the rapidly fading light…she looked another
big fish. The chap with me netted and weighed her. 11.1, three doubles in one
session, another first for me, bloody magic. Of course, true to form, I
informed the poor souls on their trudge home from the daily grind.
Clearly, my day
had been the more productive.
11.1
The following
night was a gathering of the fishy folk at a nearby inn. Time
to reflect on the past few days and learn of others recent fortune.
As Neil Harding-Deans
sat muttering another irrelevance to me, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning
around a rather attractive young blonde lady stood over me with a smile. Now
then, a PB and a three doubles session in one week would have been sufficient,
but everything comes in threes…
“Are you Ian Law”,
she said, “erm yes” I replied. (She remembers me from
a squalid northern club somewhere in the dark distant past I thought…. you
beauty).
She continued, “
Howls of laughter
filled the four corners of the room from the assembled piscators,
and the rather red faced beauty retired back to the bar. I’d been set up big
time, and like the fool I am, I fell for it. (Well wouldn’t you if a stunningly
attractive female suddenly took a keen interest in you…..?)
Nice one Ed Burke.
I managed to sneak
out of work early on the following Monday and decided to head back to the area
where I got my PB from last week. It was a much warmer night as I crossed the
field in a t-shirt. Of course, my long bank stick always
within reaching distance, (to be drawn and held in the same fashion as
my hero, Obe Wan Kenobi with his Jedi weapon), should
those pesky beasts fancy a stand off.
I was expecting
the
I went through the
usual rituals of baiting then started to get my gear organised before it went
dark. Soon after my baits were positioned in near enough the same places as
last week.
I was midway
through eating my pasta, (further evidence that I don’t always eat when I’m
fishing), when the rod covering the far bank bush pinged once then hooped over. She stayed low for a good 3mins and tried to
get underneath the far bank vegetation. I gave her the butt and soon she was
mid stream, with the net ready to claim my prize. She was determined not to
come over that net cord. No rush I thought, take your time. Eventually she was
in and my head torch was focused on another cracking fish as I rested her for a
couple of minutes. Might go 11lb I thought, as I was about to lift her out onto
the unhooking matt. That was soon dashed as I felt her weight, fat as butter. I
zeroed the scales against the sling, then in she went,
13.10. Unbelievable, just unbelievable, another PB. I kneeled on the damp grass
just looking at this magnificent creature, again totally in awe, and bewildered
at my good fortune. Soon after I was joined by the lads, photographs were taken
before she was released safely back into the depths.
13.10
I had four days off
work, so the following morning I took our
Mine, again, had
bushes to the far and near side. After a liberal amount of bait was put in, I
sat back and enjoyed the un-seasonal weather we were having for the time of
year. It didn’t take long for the rod targeting the far bank bush to ping
around. After a short but spirited fight a plump fish, I guess around 4lbs lay
in the net. Great start. Soon after Ging turned up, he fancied a change of swim.
As Ging was settling in downstream of me, again the far bank
rod was receiving an enquiry. It didn’t long to develop as the rod near flew of
the rest. As I told Ging, this was definitely a
bigger fish as it plodded steadily upstream under the tension of the clutch. After
2-3 mins she was ready for the net. (Now when it
comes to my fishing, I am never expectant of success, it always comes as a
bonus to me. The mighty
Ging zeroed the scales and was chief weighmaster….12.8,
bloody hell, this really was the stuff of piscatorial dreams. More snaps
taken and back she went.
12.8
The next few days
of my time off was spent chasing the salmon and sea
trout of the river Cokeit with
It was great to
get away and spend time in such a beautiful place.
The night we
arrived back I was keen to get onto the Kennet once more. A strange thing to
say I know, but it was as though I was going just to blank, to somehow start
to apply the equilibrium with all the recent success. I felt a little cheeky
going back so soon and asking for more of the rivers’ treasures.
The night was
windy, in fact very windy. I needed to pin my umbrella down with all the
available pegs I had. Same routine applied once more with bait, and I was ready
to start fishing. First flick to the downstream far bush and I over shot it.
After about a
minute, problems, she had become snagged right on the inside, bugger. All went
solid and I started to worry. None of us like leaving rigs in fish, fortunately
I doubt it happens even once a season for me but all the same if it does happen
once, that’s too often.
I walked above the
snag and applied pressure. Out she came and as she came close I could feel the
weight of her as she kited against the limited flow. Soon she was in the net
and I knew it was yet another double. Unfolding the net she looked huge to me,
a massive head and a mouth you could have lost a 40mm bait in. (I later told
one of the lads she had a mouth like the winter cod I used to catch. In
hindsight, a slight exaggeration I would suggest….)
I put her in the
weigh sling and around the needle span. 11…12…13…14!! Awesome,
just awesome. The wind was buffeting the weight sling so after resting
the fish I weighed her once more in the shelter of the surrounding trees, 14.2
it was.
You
should never say never, but I
doubt I will ever better that run of fish in such a short time frame. I will
never forget those couple of magical weeks in October 2005 when I was graced
with such luck. It’s funny, but looking back, when I got the first one at
13.1,
Oh yes, one final
thing, amongst all this important stuff written here, I did manage to sort out
the trivial aspect of finding somewhere to live. These unwelcome distractions,
I don’t know….
Ian Law 2005