In May 2009, before I started writing this blog, I was
invited by my friend Tim to join him on a trip to the River Ebro for his 40th
birthday. Joining us would be four of his mates from back home in Lancashire that
I had got to know through our regular pike fishing trips out to the
Lincolnshire fens. We had six days fishing in pairs for catfish and carp at two
different venues on the river. Overall we had a fantastic experience, caught
(and lost!) some big fish and had a lot of laughs, but it was the first two
days fishing with Tim that were the most memorable for me. For those two days
we were based on the lower river near Benifallet with the absolute legend that
is Pete Evans. Active in the specimen angling scene of the 1970’s and 1980’s,
Pete had “retired” to Spain to concentrate on offering a guiding service from
his home set in citrus groves overlooking the river. Despite arriving late at night we were up
bright and early the following morning to get our first proper view of the
river and it certainly looked suitably big and daunting!
Heading down to the
jetty we got the run down on tackle and methods from Pete. The plan was pretty
simple – we would go to his known holding spots where we would fish super-sized,
carp livebaits from his boat under big, home-made floats. Pike
fishing on steroids! Pete had developed his own rigs in order to be able to fish
such big baits effectively, consisting of two large single hooks to secure
the bait by the top lip and tail root, connected to a large treble that
remained free above the bait to provide the hooking power.
Definitely not a
method for anybody with a sensitive disposition and I have to admit that I initially
baulked at the idea of using a 4 lb carp as bait, until Pete put it into context
by explaining the size and voracity of the predator we were after. The weather
on the first morning was wet, cold and windy and we were decked out more like a
trawler men as we pushed off from the jetty and headed upstream. Fishing was
slow and it wasn’t until mid-afternoon that we had our first action. Tying off
upstream of a deep depression in the river bed we let the baits rove freely off
the back of the boat. Tim had graciously let me have first run, so when one of
the floats started to draw away steadily like something out of “Jaws”, Pete gave
me the nod to pick up the rod and then wind down into the fish. There was a
brief sensation of weight and power and then nothing! The carp livebait came
back still attached, but had been stripped of its scales on both flanks,
presumably by rough pads of a big cat’s mouth. Pete could only ruefully shake
his head and grumble “big fish”, before the bait was sent out to work the swim
again. A little while later one of the floats was away again and it was Tim’s
turn in the hot seat. Unfortunately, whilst he managed to connect properly with
this one, it turned out to be a mere “kitten” of about 20lb. With that our
first day ended, but it was a taste of things to come and we’d had some great
banter, including me gaining the nickname of “Shirley Temple” off Pete because of
my long hair! More importantly, I was back in pole position to take the first
run the next day. The following morning we woke to find it dry and sunny and,
after a quick breakfast, we were back on the boat and heading to a new spot. A
change of tactics was also in order. Tying the boat off in a reed bed with a large
slack in front of us, Pete set up two fixed paternosters to fish the baits just
off the crease with main current. Whilst everything felt right, there was an air
of seriousness in the boat and the banter of the previous day was curtailed as Pete
went through the game plan should we get a run and we settled down to wait. However,
we didn’t have to wait long! In a split second one of the floats disappeared
and the line started scything through the water as the fish made off downstream.
Almost without thinking I was up at the bow with the rod in my hands, Tim had
got the other rod in and had put the fighting harness around my waist and Pete
had untied the boat and pushed us into mid-river to follow the fish. After that
flurry of action the actual fight was ponderous and protracted, with the fish
staying deep and seemingly immoveable. All Pete told me to do was to keep the
pressure on and let the rod do the work. I’ve no recollection of how long this
stalemate continued, but after we had travelled several hundred metres
downstream the pressure started to tell and I started to lift the fish off the
bottom. Soon the dark grey shape of a big cat with a head like a dustbin emerged
next to the boat. Worryingly, I could see that one point of the treble was only just nicked
into scissors by the merest sliver of skin. However, Pete was quickly on hand and
leant over the side to expertly guide it into the sling by its lower jaw. It
was mine! When we lifted it into the boat it took a while to sink in. On the scales
it went 133 lb – an immensely impressive creature and one that had reached that
size on natural prey and not by gorging on halibut pellets! After a couple of
trophy shots we slipped it back and watched it return to the depths.
Whilst we were
all feeling pretty elated with this result, the pressure wasn’t off as Pete was
now desperate to find a similar fish for Tim. After sorting out the boat we
headed over to a reed-lined bay on the far bank, where we sent out two free-roving
baits to work the margin. This soon elicited a response, but from the way the
float dithered and bobbled about Pete concluded that it was just another “kitten”
playing with the bait. A little while later and we were on the move again to
where the river narrowed slightly upstream of a gorge.
Tying us off on a tree,
Pete instructed us to work the baits downstream to a large reed bed. My
float was the first to reach the desired spot, so I handed the rod over to Tim.
At this point all our eyes were focussed downstream while I just held the other
rod, the float literally knocking against the side of the boat. Suddenly it disappeared
with an audible “PLOP”, the rod was wrenched round and I was shoving it back
into Tim’s hands! In complete contrast to earlier the fight was short and
frantic, with Pete and I trying to keep out of Tim’s way as the fish charged
from one end of the boat to the other. This appeared to tire the fish a lot
quicker and Pete was soon leaning over the side again to secure it in the
sling. Grins all ‘round, we lifted it into the boat to do the honours. At 118
lb it completed a memorable “double ton” and, as a black kite dipped its wings
overhead almost in salute, was a great end to our two days on the river.
Back
at Pete’s we spent an enjoyable evening drinking red wine while he regaled us
with tales of his experiences with angling royalty, such as the late, great John Wilson. Whilst we were looking forward to the challenges of the next four days, it was with a tinge of disappointment that we said goodbye the following morning. As far as I
am aware Pete is still going strong, although a change in regulations regarding
livebaits has meant the use of more “exotic” baits, such as whole chicken
carcasses! Tim has returned on a number of occasions, albeit to a venue further
upstream, and has significantly bettered his 118 lber. Maybe I’ll go back for
another go one day, but for now this trip will certainly stick in the memory.
Adios!
I suspect that many people, myself included, greeted last week's announcement about a phased relaxation of lockdown, particularly with regards to the rules on fishing, with a degree of optimism. However, based on my own lockdown experiences, I am sorry to say that I do not entirely share Mr Johnson's trust that common sense will prevail when it comes to the Great British public. So, whilst I am now keen as anybody to wet a line, I am not going to risk my health, my family's health, or anybody else's health for the sake of my hobby. Canals and stillwaters are therefore off the agenda for me for the time being. Instead, I'm looking at this as an opportunity to get the fly rod out again and explore some of the more remote and neglected waters on my club books - some old, some new, but all with the common denominator that hardly any bugger fishes 'em! 
It didn't help that my progress upstream was severely hampered by numerous blockages caused by trash dams and fallen trees, some of which looked like a giant game of "pick up sticks"! I had been prepared for a bit of jungle warfare after my previous visits, but I was getting a real workout clambering out of the river and forcing my way through the bankside brambles to find a suitable re-entry point. By the time I reached the upstream limit I was hot and sweaty, but hadn't had another touch.
