A switch from double to single maggot seemed to stimulate a bit more interest and I added a couple of chub between 2 - 3lb and a few more grayling to my own tally before I was flat-rodded and snapped off by a big fish that bolted into the sanctuary of the far bank trees before I could react. With Stuart struggling for bites I therefore suggested we move down into the deeper and steadier water of the glide. Unfortunately, I was first on the board again with another grayling and nice brownie that lead me a merry dance in the current and which left Stuart scratching his head about what he could possibly be doing differently.
Having reached the bottom of the section with no further interest we paused and took stock with a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Thinking that the fish might be shoaled up after the recent cold snap and that we'd have a better chance if we found some deeper water, we headed upstream to a likely-looking glide. To be honest I'd had limited success here in the past, so I was mightily relieved when Stuart finally hooked his first grayling of the day.
We were fishing with renewed enthusiasm now and were rewarded with a few more grayling to just over a pound. However, I had to curse my luck once again as I hooked what undoubtedly would have been the best grayling of the session only to have the hook pull after a few seconds, the first and only time it happened all day! By this time Stuart's dodgy knees had started complaining, so we decided to call it a day. When he tipped the remains of his maggots out of his bait apron into the river I noticed that weren't sinking. Turned out that his apron had filled with water while he was wading and we all know what happens when you add maggots to water - his loosefeed would have been five feet off the bottom! Not that he was really bothered, he'd just enjoyed being out and to catch a few fish had been a bonus. Felt even better when on the way back to the car we came across two other anglers fishing for chub on the tip who'd not had a sniff all day.
Rounded the day off with a quick pint in the Bridge Inn at Branston, a regular haunt of Stuart's when he lived in Lichfield and when they served Bass straight out of the barrel - flat as a pancake and to the top of the glass. However, much to his dismay, we found the now "Italian pub restaurant" surrounded by a new housing development and squatting below a new link road to the A38. Not wanting to put too much of a dampener on the day, we drank our tap-delivered, mass-produced pint of bitter outside in the beer garden and left as quickly as we arrived!