14/03/2025 - A mixed bag to finish

Last week was spent aimlessly messing about, although to be fair the weather was all over the place - cold, gusty wind, bright sunshine, squally showers, sleet and even hail. 

Had a couple of hours on Tuesday soaking some cheespaste on the River Soar for a couple of hours. However, missed my one, proper bite while I was taking arty photographs of the sunset through the trees on the far bank! Then had another short session on the Trent near Beeston on Wednesday to check that the grayling were still there and worth targetting. Managed to catch one small one that at least answered the first question but not the second, which still left me with the quandry of whether to renew my club book or not next year. 

Therefore thought I'd play it safe for the last day of the river season so I booked onto a club section of the River Dove up in the wilds of Staffordshire. The club only allows two anglers on at a time, but I've yet to share it with anybody else and wasn't expecting to this time either, even at the end of the season. Grayling were the target, although the quiver tip also went in the rod sling just in case an opportunity for a chub arose. Had a leisurely breakfast before chasing my own shadow westwards on the A50 towards Uttoxeter in bright sunshine. Caught a glimpse of the river as I dropped into the valley and, as I thought, the banks were empty. Parked up the van, made myself a quick cup of coffee and then headed across the field to the river. 

From the top of the bank I was a bit shocked to see how low it was, the bottom clearly visible all the way across to the far side. Could also see that the gravel was covered with a snotty, brown filamentous growth of spring diatoms. My confidence having taken an early hit I dropped into the river and got down to business. Second trot down the run the avon disappeared and I was into my first, albeit modest, grayling. Confidence immediately restored I carried on, although I had to work hard for the bites, running the float as far downstream as my crap eyesight would allow and periodically taking a couple of steps further across the river to change the line. Had had a few small grayling along with the odd, nuisance brownie when I struck into something bigger that hung out in the current. 

Following a dogged fight I had a cracking dark male grayling in the net that went 1lb 4oz onthe scales. Popped him back and watched him swim off in the clear water, his dorsal fin waving in the current like crimson pennant - one of the best sights in angling. After finally exploiting the width of the river I moved downstream to the next spot. Had a couple of small grayling and a couple of spotties before hooking another cracker, also bang on 1lb 4oz. Looking at my watch I found that 4 hours had flown by, so decided to break for lunch having had a dozen grayling and 9 trout. Whilst the fishing had been relatively slow I'd seen no end of bird life including, two pairs of feuding dippers reinforcing their territorial boundaries, ravens, buzzards, a kingfisher, tree creeper, grey wagtail and a female sparrowhawk that flew straight downstream just past my rod tip. Back at the van I made myself a sausage and bacon cob and another cup of coffee and thought about what to do with the rest of my day. 

Decided to drive a short way downstream to a different club section downstream of Rocester where I'd had some success in the past and would also be in with a chance of a chub. Fifteen minutes later I was amazed to pull into an empty car park - where was everybody? Not that I minded! Made the long walk over the rig and furrow to the first swim, disturbing a little egret and a pair of lapwings in the process. Clambered down the steep bank to a small platform at water level to find a little pile of remains where something had made a snack of a signal crayfish judging by the red claws. Another angler appeared appeared on the opposite bank at this point. Like me he was after grayling and chub, but hadn't had anything all day despite trying several spots, including the run I was just about to fish. 

Not encouraging news and after a biteless half an hour, I moved on. Had a small grayling from a spot I'd not tried previously - a short run at the tail of a deep pool - before moving on again, dumping the majority of my gear in a swim where I'd had a few chub in the past. Managed to find a few grayling in the next spot, catching half a dozen in quick succession but nothing of any size, so with an hour of daylight left I headed back to my chub swim and got the quiver tip rod out, initially casting a black cap feeder full of maggots out onto the crease. After 45 minutes I was about to change tactics when the tip pulled round resulting in a chub of about 3lb that gave a good account of itself in the current. With the light fading, I took off the feeder and replaced it with a link leger with a big lump of cheese paste on a size 6. However, as the sun set on another river season I failed to attract any further interest, so packed up and made the long trudge back to the van. 

Ended up being a reasonable day out, but on the whole it's not a winter season to write home about for me. Oh well, there's always the next one and there's plenty to do in the interim!

08/03/2025 - Still struggling

Forecast for weekend was more May than March with a forecasted daytime high of 16 degrees on Saturday and a degree higher on Sunday, so a session had to be on the cards.  Decided on the Dove near Turbury, normally reliable for a few grayling.

The only possible fly in the ointment was the wind, and as it looked marginally less breezy on Saturday I got a pass out from the wife until lunchtime. Therefore got up nice and early and was heading West on the A50 as the sky was just starting to brighten in my rear view mirror. Parked up next to the river just as the sun appeared over the horizon, got togged up and then walked upstream through the low mist still covering the fields. There wasn't a hint of any breeze at this stage and the surface of the first glide that I dropped into was as smooth as a millpond. Had a nice grayling early on - a fat hen fish over the pound mark - but then had nothing else over the next hour, despite searching the length and breadth of the swim. 

Therefore decided to head upstream, but as I did so a lure angler turned up, so had a quick chat (always looking to gather a bit of intel) before leaving him to try the swim I'd just vacated. Followed the same drill in the next swim and had another nice fish and two smaller ones as I slowly made my way down the glide. My lure-fishing friend turned up at this stage and sat and watched me for a while he had a cup of coffee. Exchanged catch reports - he'd had a couple of jacks - before he headed off futher upstream. He'd only gone a couple of minutes when the float disappeared and I struck into a good fish that shot downstream. Unfortunately I never got to see it as there was an eruption in mid-river, the rod hooped over and then everything went solid. 

Whatever I had hooked had been in taken in turn by a decent pike that just sat holding station in the middle of the river. Every so often I felt a thump through the rod, but I could do nothing with it despite giving it full welly with the Acolyte and eventually the inevitable happened and the 3lb hooklink gave up. Felt a bit bad as I'd not only lost a good fish, but I'd served him up on a dinner plate for a hungry pike! Not surprisingly this killed the swim.The breeze that had been forecast was also now making itself felt, blowing straight upstream and making presentation so I decided to head back to my first spot. On the way I bumped into my friend - again, he' d got designs on the swim I'd just left - so I told him about my recent encounter and he hurried off with a nod of thanks and renewed enthusiasm. 

Had a few trots throught the first swim but again the stiffening breeze was proving problematic so, with no more bites fortcoming I started to walk back to the car. On the way I spotted a short little run down the nearside bank that was also sheltered from the wind, so dropped in for a couple of speculative casts just as a chap showing an expanse of arse crack plonked himself down in the swim directly opposite. Second trot down and the float buried, resulting in another nice chunk, which piqued the interest of Mr Builder's Bum. Next trot down the float disappeared again. Felt a fish briefly before it came off. Wound in to find one of the maggots had folded over onto the hook point. Doh! Not something you really want to happen on a day when bites are at a premium. Gave it a few minutes longer, but I was on borrowed time by now, so reluctantly headed off. 

Again, it had been hard work with just half a dozen fish in almost five hours. Running out of time to turn it around!

28/02/2025 - Hard going all round

Friday last week promised to be a dry sunny day with light winds, so I booked the morning off for a quick grayling session on the Derwent. Didn't reckon with the hard, overnight frost that had me scraping the car windows. 

I just hoped that it hadn't knocked the fishing on the head. Whilst it was fairly bright when I eventually left the house, as I descended into the river valley it became increasingly foggy and the temperature dropped a couple of degrees to below freezing. Got togged up in the empty car park and made my way across the footbridge, which looked like  a portal into another world! The river, however, looked spot on with just a hint of colour. Made my way upstream in the gloom, interested in seeing what re-modelling had occurred following the winter floods. However, apart from a couple of fallen trees it looked pretty much the same as twelve months ago. Dropped into the swim at the top of the section and sent the float down the run. 

After a few minutes I had my first bite but, after a couple of heavy thumps on the rod tip, what felt like a decent fish came off. After that bites proved hard to come by and after an hour in the swim I'd only had three grayling, including a baby not much longer than my forefinger. Moving downstream, the next two spots were complete blanks and so I found myself in a usually reliable swim downstream of the island with little to show for my efforts. The sun had burned off the fog by now and it had turned bright and sunny. Would this bring a change? First trot down the float buried and I had the first decent fish of the morning that gave a good account of itself in the fast flow. Thought my fortune had changed and that I'd dropped on them at last, but had another fruitless half an hour before moving on again. 

Headed to "the beach" downstream of the footbridge and found that the sand bar deposited last winter had disappeared and the swim was now slow, deep and boily, so carried on a little further to a nice walking paced glide. Again, had a fish fairly quickly but then it was back to scratching for bites and after one final fish I'd had enough. Unperturbed I decided to venture back on Monday afternoon with the remains of the maggots. Finishing off work as quickly as possible I was out the door for 3 PM. It was again bright and sunny when I arrived on the bank half an hour later but, in contrast to my last visit, the temperature was well into double figures and warm enough for me to dispense with my jacket.

With time limited I focussed on the swims I'd caught in last time but after an hour and a half I'd only had one small grayling that I'd somehow lasooed around the tail, so it didn't really count. Dropped into the last swim as the light was fading and managed just one more - at least it was hooked in the mouth. Left slightly perplexed and wondering where the hell all the fish had gone! With the pleasant weather continuing into the week I'd also booked Wednesday morning off but, not wanting to flog what was obviously a dead horse, I decided to follow up a lead instead.

Scott in Soar Tackle had mentioned seeing a big pike during a match on a local section of the River Soar so, after scraping 'round for a few deadbaits, I bought a day ticket online and headed off bright and early. The section in question was opposite some boat moorings, so started off putting a bluey into a gap between two barges and a lamprey down the nearside margin. After half an hour without a sniff I leap-frogged upstream and again put one rod over to the boats and the other down the side. 

After another 30 minutes I was contemplating moving again when the float over the far side started bobbing. Seemed to take an age for the fish to commit and eventually trundle off, but when I wound down I must have pulled the bait straight out of its gob judging by the slash marks on the flanks. Doh! Put it back out for a bit longer hoping for another chance that never came, so moved swims once more. As I was doing so a chap stopped and asked how I was getting on and mentioned that a 17 lber had been caught recently just upstream, so at least confirming I was in the right area. Put both baits out over the far side next to a floating pontoon and was again on the verge of moving again when I saw one of the floats bob and then move off. 

Gave this a bit more time and waited until it had built up a head of steam before hitting it but, even then, the resulting jack was only hooked in the nose by a single point of the bottom treble, which promptly fell out in the net. Tried a couple more spots after that, but had no further interest so headed home for lunch. Again, a bit disappointing despite the glorious weather and regularly being buzzed by at least three different kingfishers, probably more interested in each other than in me. At a bit of a loss what to do next! 

25/02/2025 - Beaten up on the brook

Went back to Lithuania at half term to catch up with the lad. Had a pleasant few days wandering around sunny, snowy Vilnius, visiting galleries, indulging in their cafe culture and eating lots of nice food. 

Even fitted in an impromptu cross-country skiing session that turned out to be great fun, if not hard on the arms and calf muscles. Temperatures had been below freezing every day, cold enough for round ice floes, looking like giant, frozen lily pads, to form on the River Neris that runs through the city centre. It was therefore a bit of a shock to arrive back at Luton Airport to find it was 16 degrees! Back in Nottingham my thoughts soon returned to fishing and how I could fit as many sessions on the rivers in the time left available. Looking in my work diary a meeting up at Ripley gave me another opportunity to drop in on the brook on the way home, so the tackle went in the car along with a new, "virgin" ball of cheesepaste, made at the weekend out of the Christmas leftovers from the freezer. 

With the days getting longer I didn't have to rush and was on the bank for 1530 hrs. Baited up a few spots with some bits of paste before fishing them back to the start. The brook was running at a nice level, with a greenish tinge, so I was confident of a few fish. Proved to be case as first cast in swim number one resulted in a greedy chublet. Missed a couple of tentative knocks before moving swim number two. Again, first cast down the side of a tree stump resulted in another chublet that I retained in the net as the swim looked too good just to hold one fish. 

Sure enough, his brother joined him in the net a couple of minutes later. Moved downstream of the tree stump and popped a bait over on the far bank crease. Again, within minutes, the rod tip nodded and pulled round resulting in another chub that, judging by the damage to his tail and gill plate, had survived a recent encounter with a feathered or furred predator. Things were looking good, so I was full of confidence as I moved into my "bogey swim" - one where I was yet to successfuly hook and land a fish despite getting several bites. However, weirdly I didn't have a single touch, althought the bait came back looking as if it had been attacked by something. Crayfish? My final swim was the pool downstream of the footbridge. 

If I was to catch a better fish it was going to be here. Put a fresh lump of paste on the hook, gave it a blob of "lava" and then swung it out into the middle. Again, the bite was almost instantaneous. Struck into a much bigger fish that gave me a glimpse of a deep, brassy flank on the surface before it bored headfirst into some over-hanging brambles on the far bank. Felt everything go solid, so slackened off and felt the line between my fingers. As soon as it started to move again I gave it full welly. However, everything went limp and my rig came back minus hook. Bugger. Re-tackled and gave it a couple of minutes before casting out again. A couple of nods on the rod tip and my strike connected with another decent fish that splashed on the surface before making a bee-line for the near bank. 

Tried to get an angle on it to stop it getting into the over-hanging vegetation but, sickeningly, everything suddenly went slack as the hook pulled out! Luckily any dog walkers had by now disappeared up the field, so they didn't have to listen to the string of expletives that coloured the air. Baited up again in the vain hope that it would be third time lucky, but as the light faded the rod tip stubbornly remained still. To add insult to injury it started raining, so I packed up and trudged back to the car feeling a bit crestfallen. Either of those fish would have easily been my best from the brook so far. Hopefully I'll have another opportunity to redeem myself, although I need the weather to behave itself for the next couple of weeks - not to rain like it's doing now!

02/02/2025 - Lanzarote round up

My friend Rob hit the big "60" this month and to celebrate a group of us headed off for some winter sun on Lanzarote. 

Our base was on the south-western tip of the island near Playa Blanca, so in the weeks running up to the trip I did some research on likely fishing opportunities, with Scott Hutchison's blog here being an excellent source of information. Along with the LRF gear I put in a heavier lure rod and some plugs and jigs to target the bigger pelagic species from the deep water rock marks, althought that would be entirely down to the weather and it was already looking as if it was going to be a bit windy during our stay. Caught the plane from Birmingham at 0900 hrs and by mid-afternoon we were unloading the hire cars at the Villa. Rest of the day was spent settling in, having a quick walk around the local area and then enjoying a few beers watching the sunset.

First morning we had a walk from the villa along the promenade past the lighthouse at Punta Pechiguera and on towards Playa Blanca. The view across to Fuerteventura was spectacular as was the coastline, which was being hit by a heavy swell driven by the north-easterly winds. About an hour later we arrived at the beach at Playa Flamingo, found somewhere to have a cold beer and a bite to eat and took stock of the surroundings. It was a lot more sheltered down at the beach, which is protected by two man-made breakwaters consisting of large rocks and concrete blocks. The arm of the breakwater to the right of the beach looked to be more accessible and provided access to some deep water over boulders. 

Therefore left the others to do some snorkelling and picked my way over onto a reasonably flat rock. Set up a "extended" drop shot rig (see here) with a size 10 wormer hook, baited up with a Gulp! angleworm and flicked it out. Felt it down onto the bottom and started jigging it back. Had a bite straight away and was soon re-acquainted with an old friend from a previous visit to the Canaries, an ornate wrasse, which was followed up to the surface by several of his friends. After about an hour I'd had two dozen, along with a couple of Canary damselfish and a solitary diamond lizardfish. At this stage my friends Rob and Stuart snorkelled round to tell me that they'd seen barracuda, parrot fish, bream and garfish at the end of the arm that I was stood on.

However, rather than risk breaking a leg on the first day of the holiday and with the wind and swell picking up I decided to walk back towards the villa and have a look at one of the big rock pools I'd spotted below the promenade. Made my way carefully down the cliff, dropped my baited rig into the deepest section of the pool...and immediately pulled out another ornate wrasse! Had a couple more followed by a damselfish before changing tactics and tying up a simple splitshot rig to sight fish what looked to be either blennies and gobies sat amongst some boulders in another part of the pool. Turned out it was both as first cast I had a rockpool blenny that was followed by a Madeiran goby, a new species for me. 

Caught half a dozen of each before some rather large waves started breaching the rocks and swamping the pool making it decidedly dodgy to hang around, so I headed back to join the others for dinner - some nice thick tuna steaks grilled on the BBQ. The next day we had an explore of the local area, firstly climbing up and around the volcano that we could see from our villa, Montana Roja, before going on to the salt pans and black sand beach at Salinas de Janubio. 

From there we headed to El Golfo to see the green lagoon at Playa de Los Clicos, before heading into town for a cold beer and a plate of grilled limpets (if eating fish-flavoured rubber erasers is your kind of thing!). Suitably refreshed it was back in the cars and onto Los Hervideros to watch the massive swell smashing into the headland. The following day was as equally full on as for Rob's birthday we drove up to Timanfaya national park. The coach tour around the incredible volcanic landscape was well worth the 20 Euro entry fee and the casual way that the driver threw his vehicle around the corners within inches of viscious looking outcrops of jagged lava provided extra excitement! Suitably entertained we had lunch cooked over a hot air vent before jumping back in the cars and heading back down south to Playa Papagayo.

What we hadn't reckoned with was that access was via five kilometres of teeth-rattling dirt track. However, the stunning white sand beach backed by high cliffs certainly made up for it. Whilst the beach was quite busy with sun worshippers I spotted a track going off to the right and after scrambling down the rocks I found myself perched above a deep gully with a sandy bottom. Starting by casting a Savage Gear Psycho Sprat into the deeper water and then jigging it back parallel to the side of the gully. Third cast I had a confident take resulting in a small Atlantic lizardfish. Had a couple more of these before I let the lure stray too close to the rocks and got snagged up, losing it in the process. 

Switched to Gulp! on the dropshot rig, but this only resulted in one ornate wrasse after another with just the odd damselfish to break the monotony so, after getting snagged up again and losing my rig, I headed back to the beach to see how the others were getting on. Could see shoals of mullet and the odd garfish amongst the swimmers and Rob reported seeing several types of bream near the rocks fringing the bay. However, whilst we were outside of the prohibited period for fishing off Spanish beaches, the additional rule of not fishing within 150 metres of swimmers and divers made me reluctant to chance my arm and risk the wrath of the locals. Therefore contented myself with a quick explore instead before we headed back to the ranch to continue Rob's birthday celebrations. 

The following morning I was up at first light and back down on the rocks near the villa where I found an even bigger rock pool immediately below a large cave that looked like somebody's temporary dwelling judging by the clothing and other items that I could see. Casting my dropshot rig into the deepest section and slowly jigging it back it was a bite a cast. Unfortunately it was virtually all ornate wrasse again and in less than an hour I'd had 28 of the buggers, together with 3 damselfish. 

Rather than use up all of my Gulp! I headed back for breakfast, although I couldn't resist sight-fishing for a couple of rockpool blennies on the way. After breakfast we headed up north again to to walk around Volcan El Cuervo, a virtually perfect volcanic cone, the smooth sides broken by a single gash where molten rock had spewed out to create to surrounding lava field. As a bonus we were treated to the sight of a Barbary falcon hanging in the wind before it stooped into the crater. After that it was on to the caves at Cuevo los Verdes, not actually caves but part of a lava tube formed by molten rock forcing its way out to the sea. After the best part of two days in the car we decided to stay local on the Friday and we all walked to Playa Flamingo again. 

Rather than venture out onto the straight away I made my way onto some flat rocks at the bottom of the headland to the right of the beach. Somewhat inevitably it was the usual wrasse and damselfish that greeted me, so it wasn't long before I was picking my way along the breakwater anyway. Took the dropshot rig off and clipped on a Psycho Sprat intending to give it a proper go with the lures. The wind was coming over my right shoulder, so I was able to cast into the deeper water with ease. After half an hour of thrashing the water I'd only had one small lizardfish to show for my efforts. However, with my interest waning and the thought of a cold beer becoming more and more tempting my lure was suddenly taken with a thump by something that immediately took off at warp speed, bending my HTO Rock Rover double and making the clutch of my reel sing. 

The next 5 minutes were extremely hairy and I expected the braid to snap on a rock at any time as the fish tore up and down alongside the breakwater. Thought it might be a bonito, but as it tired and came up to the surface I saw it was a small jack. I'd not bothered bringing my net, but could see that it had been nailed in the corner of the mouth by the assist hook so swung it up onto my rock at the first opportunity. With a distinctive black stripe over the eye I later identified as an almaco jack, another new species. Unhooked him and then watched him shoot off before carrying on with renewed enthusiasm. However, with just one more small lizard fish to show for my efforts I switched back to the dropshot rig. More ornate wrasse followed and I was on the point of giving up when out of the blue I had a colourful Madeiran rockfish. 

By now I was really in danger of being cut off by the incoming tide, so I quickly packed up and went to join the others for a beer and a plate of fried calamari. On our last full day the consensus was to have a day chilling by the pool. However, I decided to walk along the coast to where a partially built and now abandoned hotel overlooked some large rock pools. The swell that had been bashing the coast all week had significantly reduced and and along the coast I could see a few locals spinning and floatfishing from the rock ledges below the cliffs.

When I got back to the villa I found that a few of the others had gone to check out the other local beach at Playa Dorado. A bit later my friend Jason sent me a picture of the breakwater, which looked far more accessible than the one at Playa Flamingo, so I quickly had a bite to eat, jumped in the hire car and headed over to join them. Was kicking myself that I'd not checked this spot out earlier in the week as halfway along the breakwater the rocks gave way to deep water over sand that looked ideal for putting out a bait rod. Instead I tied on a Psycho Sprat and starting casting out into the open water. Second chuck the lure was taken on the drop by what felt like a small fish, but as I wound it in closer the rod suddenly hooped over. Spent another 5 minutes frantically trying to keep the culprit from cutting me off on the rocks, but eventually saw that I'd hooked a massive Atlantic lizardfish that presumably had sought to make an easy meal of whatever had initially taken my lure.

Popped him back and carried on for a bit, but after no further interest switched over to the dropshot rig. This resulted in a few, much smaller lizardfish before I started getting small, pecking bites and the Gulp! angleworm came back looking like a string of beads. Had an idea of what was responsible and a couple of casts later this was confirmed when I swung in a Guinean pufferfish. Had another soon after, but then got snagged up and lost my rig. I'd gone through virtually all of my drop shot leads during the holiday, so took that as a reason to call it a day. We certainly enjoyed our stay on the island and I had managed to get a few, short sessions in and catch plenty of fish. 

However, the wind and swell had made it impossible to to get out onto the rock marks with the lure rod and I had to content myself with dabbling with the LRF rod in the sheltered spots. The lack of variety of fish was a bit disappointing as I was hoping to add to my tally of bream species, but at last the almaco jack and Madeiran goby were new to me. Cheers Lanzarote!

16/01/2025 - Carpe diem

Finally, some dry and settled weather! When the local rivers eventually started to fine down this week I dared to look forward to getting out again with the float rod. 

It had been a month since my last session and I was getting a bit desperate to wet a line. I'd normally be well into my winter grayling campaign by now, but it had hardly got off the ground with just one session before Christmas. Unfortunately, I had failed to factor in the snow melt that sent levels temporarily shooting up again, knocking any ideas of fishing the Derwent or Dove into touch until next week at the earliest due to family commitments at the weekend. However, another meeting up in Ripley at least gave me another chance to fish the brook, so the gear went in the back of the car together with my shrinking ball of "vintage" cheesepaste. My meeting over-ran yet again but I got everything done and was out the door for 3 o'clock. 

Had left Ripley in bright sunshine, but 15 miles down the A38 it was cold and misty. There were a few, fresh boot prints on the public footpath down to the brook, but once off the beaten track there was no evidence that anybody else had been fishing it apart from myself. Walked downstream from the footbridge flicking a few pea-sized bits of paste into the usual spots as I did so. Settled into my first swim but hadn't had a bite after 15 minutes so with time limited I started walking back upstream. 

Suprisingly had the same result in the next spot, usually a banker, so I was on the move again. Finally got a bite in the third swim, a confident pull round, but managed to somehow miss it, pricking a fish that left an angry boil over the spot where my bait had been a split second earlier and sending my rig whizzing past my ear and up a tree! Sorted out the tangle and gave it a few more minutes hoping he'd come back when realistically I'd missed my chance. The light had started to go by now and the mist had begun to close in, so everything was soon enveloped in a gloomy, grey cloak. Just had two more primed spots to go, so when I drew a blank in the next one I thought I'd been beaten. 

However, the pool downstream of the footbridge finally gave up one of its prizes. Not a monster, but the biggest chub I'd had out the brook so far that did its best to tangle me up in the bankside brambles. Was now pitch black so I decided to end on an high and head back over the fields. Had turned distinctly chilly and by the time I got back to the car my net had frozen solid. Exchanged pleasantries with a lady washing two very muddy lurchers in the layby before heading home. Hopefully I can get a quick session in on the rivers next week. It'll again be a question of grabbing a couple of hours when I can. However, got a "lads" holiday in Lanzarote coming up last week of January, so have got to get the LRF and lure gear sorted! 

13/12/2024 - A mixed bag from the Dove

After constantly checking the weather and the river levels for what felt like weeks it finally looked as if I would have an opportunity to get out after some grayling. The "hump" caused by Storm Darragh was finally out of the way, the main rivers were fining down nicely and it even looked as if the wind was going to behave as well, albeit until the weekend! 

Friday therefore saw me heading south on the M1 and then west on the A50 into Staffordshire. Decided to head to a stretch of the River Dove near Uttoxeter in the hope that it was far enough up the catchment for the level to be somewhere near normal for winter. Got togged up in the empty carpark and made my way across the wet fields, my footprints being the first since the floods had subsided. The river had a nice green tinge to it and, whilst it was still a bit higher than I would have liked, looked perfectly fishable. As I settled into my first swim the first salvos of shotgun fire from the aptly named  "Big Shoot" shooting range echoed across the valley. It always amazes me how the local wildlife have obviously become accustomed to this daily onslaught on the senses.

The flock of geese and the pair of black swans in the field opposite seemed completely oblivious to it all. I had also seen a heron, a little egret and a pair of dippers happily going about their business and as I ran the float downstream for the first time I spotted a kingfisher flying straight towards me. As soon as he noticed me he veered off across to the other bank and as my eye followed him I saw a BIG barbel "head and tail" in mid-river, his erect dorsal fin making him look like a mini shark! However, that's not what I was there for, so I stuck it in the memory bank and carried on with the task in hand, catching my first grayling of the winter season. Surprisingly after half an hour I was yet to have a bite, so I upped sticks and carried on downstream to the next run.

Before I left I flicked a few bits of cheespaste down the near margin as it looked "chubby" and I had hedged my bets and had brought along my quiver tip rod in just in case there was an opportunity. Carried on in the next spot, but struggled for another half an hour before the float finally disappeared resulting in a tiny grayling that did well to get the double maggot into its little gob! Carried on with renewed enthusiasm for a bit longer but to be honest I was struggling to see the float any distance down the swim due to the combined effects of the gloom and the ripple, so was soon on the move again. Next spot was equally dire and it continued in this vein all the way down to the bottom of the section.

With hindsight there was possibly just a little too much water on and it was a bit "boily" to fish the float comfortably, so I slogged it all the way back upstream to the spot I'd primed with my cheespaste. Swung a big lump of paste out onto the crease and had a sit down with a cup of coffee while I decided what to do. A couple of minutes later there was a tap on the rod tip, followed by a confident pull round. The culprit was a fat Dove chub a sliver under 4lb that gave me a good scrap in the current. Popped him back and had a recast, but I was getty itchy feet so quickly packed up and headed back to the car. I'd persuaded myself to go to another section upstream of where the River Churnet joined the Dove in the hope that conditions up there would be better. 

Got there about 2 o'clock knowing I only had a couple of hours to rescue the day, so quickly had another coffee and a bite to eat and then headed to my favourite spot. However, on the way upstream I met another angler with a fly rod who turned out to be the bailiff, so spent 10 precious minutes chatting before we parted ways. Dropped into the river, sent the float down the run preceded by a few maggots and was into a fish before he was out of earshot! Soon had my first decent grayling of the winter in the net. Bumped the next one, had another and then annoyingly bumped the next three fish as well. No issue with the hook, so changed from double to single maggot and didn't have a problem after that. 

After a few more grayling the trout inevitably put in an appearance and I'd had half a dozen out of season brownies when I struck into something a bit bigger that took me all over the river. The bailiff had mentioned that there might be a few salmon in the river at the moment, but when I eventually caught sight of it I could see it was another brown trout. Eventually got him in the net and was amazed by the nature of his markings and how he was almost orange across the back - I'd never seen anything like it. The bailiff came back at this point and was equally flummoxed. I thought I'd caught some kind of hybrid, but a call to my friend Tim from the Wild Trout Trust later revealed that it was just a stockie, the irregular patterned markings and lack of any red spots being the giveaway. 

Carried on until I could no longer see the float down the run, by which time I'd had 13 grayling to just over a pound and 7 trout. Was kicking myself a bit that I'd not come here first having struggled for four hours further downstream However, it's always easier to know these things with hindsight!