The stretch I fish is quiet, mostly because the fish are not enormous, but it still gives the chance of two or three fish each visit, and there are a few doubles, up to about fourteen tops. The biggest fish have still eluded me, but the fishing is always interesting and enjoyable. In the summer you can see the fish, but the river carries a lot of colour in the winter, and I am still trying to work out where they ought to be, and get more consistent results.

I decided on my usual swim, and a fish of eight and a half, with a fat belly and a lot of stamina, took hold first cast. He gave me the impression that the day was going to be more productive, and it may well have been had I moved, but no more bites were forthcoming, although I knew the area always held a number of fish. I decided to make him my last barbel of the season. Maybe he was the only fish there, but more likely catching him spooked the rest of his shoal for the day, a symptom that perhaps they had been fished for hard, and hooking one was enough to scare the rest off for a long time.

They deserved a good rest, I decided, and I think I do too.

I was as concerned as ever to see the Himalayan Balsam starting to come through with the early spring seedlings, and even more concerned to see the bare patches where the heavier balsam growth from this year had died back and exposed loose soil to erosion from wind, rain and river water. The effects of all the soils washed in to the river may not be seen for some time, but low flows and extra sediments are not good for any of our gravel spawners.

I was cheered up enormously when my companion took a fresh looking grayling of 2.12 early on in proceedings, but became even more cheerful when a 2.15 decided to reward my efforts. I thought for a while that I was playing a big brown trout or salmon kelt, but it looked more than impressive when I first sighted the huge dorsal, and tail like a marlin, as it leaped out under my rod top. Both fish were clean and bright and fin perfect, so not yet prepared for spawning, and with a bit of luck they may survive until next year and put on a few more ounces.

A trip to the Stour for the afternoon had been promised, and the river looked really inviting, with a nice late winter tinge and a feeling of spring-like warmth in the air. I did not bother with the thermometer at all, and just fished with a calm and confident attitude. First cast was all that was needed, and a big whisker was soon to signal approval for my aromatic paste. Just as the last big Avon fish had, it fought in a carpy manner; dashing downstream in an initial sizzling run, then hanging in mid water and shaking his head angrily. He finally settled down and thumped steadily upstream, fighting like a barbel should, slow and deep and resolute. Another big thirteen, again with a frame that could hold a pound or two more, perhaps reflecting minimal feeding in the preceding cold spell. The bait had been taken well back in the mouth, so the fish had been guzzling greedily when it took my bait.

Next day was a resounding blank on the same stretch, despite apparently ideal levels, flow and temperature.
Must keep trying, but trying for some perch again before I have another go on the rivers.

A nice lump of paste was plopped into a hole I had been thinking ought to hold a few fish, but had failed in a few times recently. There were no rod rest holes or worn patches, and I was thinking how nice it would be to get a fish from here, when the pin gave a sudden, short screech, then tick-ticked in the way that says there is something still on the end. The rod tip was buried well under water to avoid drifting debris and the full strength of the current. I picked up on what felt like a chub until it came to the net, and was sort of pleased to land a barbel of about four pounds. It was the sickest barbel I had seen in a long while, all google-eyed, with red sores on the flanks and a nasty gash in the side. It may have been scarred by a predator, and infections set in, but it was a sad little fish, and returned very quickly. The next bite was the long, strong determined scream of the reel that sometimes signals a big fish, and it fought in the way of a carp, long fast runs, and rising up in the water and shaking its head a lot. Had I lost it, I would have consoled myself that it was a carp, but when that first sighting of a pale gold flank four feet down came, I started to panic a bit. It was a big barbel, and I guessed at fourteen plus with no messing. It refused to weigh fourteen, however, and I was nonetheless very content with a satisfactory thirteen fifteen. A very good Avon fish, and extremely welcome after a lean spell on the river.

Last cast produced the sick little barbel for a second time; he was clearly still well enough to feed and get caught again within three hours of the first capture. I hope he recovers enough to become a little wiser.

Laying on with a big wriggly lob in a slack behind a tree soon saw some action, but it was a sprightly chub that had grabbed the worm, and he gave me some fun as he tried to head back home under the branches. I bait dropped red maggot and chopped worm all afternoon, and although the chub responded well, no perch were forthcoming at all. I had five chub in fairly quick succession, all between three and five pounds. Good average for the Kennet, but not worth me travelling up here for chub fishing, with the old Clean Shaven, (Avon), or Happy Hour, (Stour), on your doorstep. The Avon / Stour chub are a much higher average size, and the expectation of a day on my local rivers is for a couple of fives and the good chance of a six or even seven pounder, on the cards.

Next bite resulted in what felt like a much bigger chub that I had ever imagined I would hook in the Kennet, but it ended up being a greedy barbel that took a liking to a bunch of worms laid on in a slack on a cool February day. Nice surprise though, and I noted the swim as a potential barbel swim for the future. I expect to catch some perch from it when I next fish it with barbel in mind. My first barbel on the float for a very long time, but an indication that the warmer weather had woken them up a little. The dusk period, and first hour of dark was enough to discover that the perch were either not around, or not on the feed, so I packed and headed home with a strong southerly wind in my face, and barbel on the agenda once again.

Not a fan of live baits these days, I was happy to try big lobworms, fished under a big waggler, just tripping bottom or laid on. The fishing area was liberally fed with chopped worms and red maggots, but no expert perch fisherman, I was unsure how much difference the loose feed would make. The perch were very obliging, however, making the long trip most worthwhile. Sport was steady throughout the day, and we managed a good bag of the striped fish between us, with several over three, and my companion taking a superb four pounder. Perch are a most handsome fish, even when they are of modest size, but the fat stripy twos and threes are quite magnificent, and fight remarkably well, with a mixture of determined kiting, head-shaking and some quite powerful runs. We elected to fish fairly light, and with float rods or light quiver tip rods, the bold biting and dashing, hard fighting perch were a welcome change from winter barbel tactics on the local rivers, where one or two bites in a day are an event.

I am a perch fan now, and aim to try fishing harder for them on my local rivers. A big Avon or Stour perch will be even more handsome than a reservoir fish, I think, and relatively unfished for.

Later in the week, took Simon Asbury for his promised day on the Frome, and although the river was not really fishing well for some reason, we managed a very pleasant day with him getting a few big grayling and enjoying a bit of unusual fishing for someone used to the fishing in the Birmingham area, not noted for its chalk streams. We thought the local cormorants had unsettled the fish, or maybe the cold snap was a bit too sudden even for the grayling, but we had to work hard all day to get a dozen or so grayling. I had a couple of brown trout and a big rainbow I should have killed, but felt a bit sorry for. I meant to give Simon one of my cormorant quill floats, but forgot, so he will have to make do with a photo of one instead. The deluxe version is whipped with otter whiskers.

As the light faded, and the odd unidentified fish began to roll enticingly on the crease, another roachy bite and absolutely roachy fight turned into sea trout kelt of about a pound. Some salmon kelts are also still making their way downstream, and the well mended ones are lively fish of bright silver and clean lines, likely to return again next year. The sad old kelts, all rangy and full of fungus, are most likely otter fodder, I expect. Avon salmon are still declining, and increasingly rare, like the big roach, but the crashing of the kelts in the darkening river showed that they are hanging on for the time being.

I left it in the landing net to recover, ensuring it had plenty of clear water around its head, and resumed fishing. Barely a few feet of trot had elapsed, and the float stabbed down again, and another big fish was on the end. I was forced to land him in the net with the other, and took a quick shot of peas in a pod brace of two fish of identical weight, though the latter fish was a bit leaner and longer. Lovely stuff, but time for a break and after a nice cup of hot tea, I moved up to the next pool and took another pair of twos. I ended up with six over two and a few nice young backup fish, and it was nice to get some bites for a change and get the rod bent.

Next day was a resounding blank on the Avon after the elusive big roach, but I did find a dead carp, which was some recompense, I suppose. I had seen a big dog otter swimming brazenly down the river on this stretch a few days ago, but blaming him for killing and eating the carp was only based on circumstantial evidence. The body was eaten around the throat in typical otter manner, but it seemed the rest of the body was unmarked, and I have usually seen a lot of claw marks on fish that are more obvious otter kills. Next day the body had disappeared without trace, no doubt dragged off by fox or badger. I do not know if otters return to carcasses and feed on subsequent occasions, or scavenge on dead fish. One less carp anyway.

Perhaps they had been well hammered the night before, maybe they were full of worms, or someone else's pellets, maybe they were just not hungry and feeling a bit scary. All those musings are part of what makes fishing so interesting, and thankfully we will never have all the answers. It seems to be that the barbel fishing has been very patchy and inconsistent countrywide, ever since those unseasonal big floods in the summer. I have spoken to people who are blanking regularly in hitherto reliable swims in what appear to be ideal conditions, so I am glad it is just not me.

I waited well into dark to see if that would pay off, and was rewarded with a fat Loddon chub that fought like a little barbel for a while. Even in normal, clear water conditions, these Loddon chub are pale silvery creatures, but they are solid chunky specimens, and I have had them to nearly six this year. They may well grow even fatter on all the barbel food the river gets, so a seven is an increasingly likely capture. Like the chub of the Kennet, they are not as sought after as they deserve to be, and I may try some chub focused tactics next time I come up to the friendly little Loddon.

A trip to the Dorset Stour was called for, which now acts a bit like a spate river these days, ever since the big dredgings in the Seventies, and it drops very rapidly as a rule once the rain stops. The colour was a very nice pale brown, and the temperatures in the high forties. The river was clearly dropping steadily, yet still flecked with a sort of dirty froth that never looks quite right, and probably a result of sewage treatment works outfalls. Not as bad as the foam rafts I remember seeing on the Trent in the sixties, which could envelop you totally if blown off the river by the wind!

An almost immediate bite produced a nice pale Stour barbel, followed by nothing for the rest of the day, even when I moved swims. Next day was a repeat performance, with a barbel first cast, then a fishless follow up. It was as if I had dropped on a single fish, or maybe a pair, and that is the shoal size these days. The barbel populations in both Stour and Avon are pretty low now, and a single fish is a good result, I suppose. The multiple catches of twenty years ago are now unheard of, but the fish are much bigger. I was hoping for a fourteen or fifteen this week, an impossible target in the Eighties, but now not an unreasonable expectation.

This year, the black swans are starting to turn up in pairs, and they are a little bit more shy tolerable than the native mutes. The black ones enjoy swimming up and down, wiggling their scruffy backsides and honking plaintively, as if they are yearning for the outback, but the mutes enjoy attacking them and beating them up whenever they get the chance. Not very welcoming. The news that H5N1 bird flu is killing some swans in Dorset makes me think twice now about sitting in swims smothered in swan excrement, or even getting too close to wild birds. The pheasant that I was feeding in June has now become so tame it sits in the lap of anglers who encourage it with pellets or hemp, but I think I will give him a wide berth next time he starts begging for food. The shooting season is well underway, so his days are probably numbered.

It is important, I think, to vary your fishing as much as you can, and also vary your associated interests.
This week, for example, we have been trying to catch some salmon broodstock to provide eggs for the experimental egg box scheme being carried out by the Wessex Salmon and Rivers Trust. Last year, we raised several thousand salmon fry by catching and stripping eggs and milt from fish that were doing their business on redds on the upper river. A better understanding of this process may be of help in future support measures for failing salmon populations. The EA had given us special dispensation to catch salmon off the redds by rod and line and electro fishing, but this year we arrived a week or two too late, and did not get enough fish. The exercise was nevertheless worthwhile, and the sight of the huge redds, where fairly small fish have managed to shift tons of gravel, along with a close look at salmon in spawning livery, was a fascinating experience. Rivers with failing barbel populations could also benefit from such research, as there is the likelihood of some research into egg boxes being used for barbel. Barbel do have the biggest, non-sticky eggs of any coarse fish, and are invariably gravel spawners, like salmonids.

Taking someone else fishing has interest and reward as well, and I had been looking forward to taking Bob Buteux on the Frome to try and catch him a grayling. Bob is of advanced years, and not as athletic as once he was, and I took pleasure in sitting with him and listening to the wealth of tales he had to tell about his exploits in years gone by. He had many stories concerning the angling greats such as Walker, Taylor and Stone, and it should never be forgotten that these guys were giants in their day, not only breaking new ground in angling, but were also accomplished writers of such skill and talent that would make some of the stuff you read today shameful. We got Bob his best grayling, but he had to use maggots and a float instead of his beloved legered bread. He was also very appreciative of the beauty of the grayling, and some specimens have a bright, coral/orange stripe along the top of the dorsal, combined with greeny-blue pectoral and ventral fins, which some tropical reef fishes would be proud of.

The cold and clear conditions mean that a chub or two are a possibility, so I visited a quiet, unfrequented bit of the Avon, once frequented by roach legend, Captain Parker. His book on fishing the river, first published in 1948, is excellent reading, and the old photos of the river are a fascination. The first edition has the best ones. One swim in particular, which we now call Parkers Corner, is illustrated near the back of the book, and shows Parker waiting patiently with what looks like a bamboo roach pole. The stand of alder trees and the landscape have not changed that much, but the river has. I guess there were more roach in the river in 1948, although the average size these days is much bigger. The numbers of roach in the middle reaches is painfully low, but if you do get one it will be nearer to three than two pounds. I record a three pounder from this stretch every year, but I myself have not had a roach of any size from this fishery for three years. There are some places free on the syndicate, if you are brave and foolhardy enough!

Parkers Corner now produces the odd chub, and it was nice to get a couple of fish that were spotless and probably uncaught for a long time. They love chomping maggots at this time of year, and it is common for them to regurgitate a mess of maggot that has been thoroughly chewed or macerated by their throat teeth.
With feeder fishing, it is not uncommon to reel in with no hook and a shortened hooklink due to a bite-off. Short hooklinks avoid this, and improve self hooking of course. Six pound chub are now an unremarkable event on the Avon, but I always try and keep a sense of proportion, and welcome the opportunity a good head of chub gives for some nice fishing when the barbel are chilled off.

The chub were lovely clean and scale perfect, but my last grayling from the Frome looked a bit worse for wear. As I walked round a corner to approach one of my favourite swims, I was disturbed to see FOUR cormorants take off out of the pool. Needless to say, the pool produced no bites, but in a little swim further upstream a grayling with fresh scars showed that the birds were hunting the fish hard. Another fish that day showed similar scarring. I had always hoped that nippy fish like grayling, in fast shallow water could outrun a cormorant, but they have always shown clear signs of beak damage on this stretch.

I went with Peter Wheat to the recent BS Regional meeting in Bournemouth, and Ray Walton gave one of his fascinating talks. Rolling meat is not really for me, but it clearly works, and Ray is the undisputed maestro of the method. He also provided the photographic evidence that fish will swim from the Royalty, round the Clay Pool and Upper Harbour and then up the Stour to the lower end of Throop. There is a fish they call The Wanderer on Throop, and Two Bars on the Royalty, same fish, it seems. It swam a hell of a long way, unless it got on the bus. Very interesting, and much more evidence of fish movement is out there, although the radio tracking research that has been done in the past has always confirmed that they will travel great distances, often returning to exactly the same spot a few weeks later.

Peter Wheat had encouraged me to take him the next morning for another day on the Frome, and it is always a delight to fish with him. I tend to just sit and listen, and much of the time we were just chatting and reminiscing, sharing experiences, though I learned a lot more than he did. Peter is an incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable angler, and a very nice man; a true gentleman. He was as delighted as I to catch another pb grayling, and insisted we take a quick shot in a Santa hat he had brought along, just in case. I took him to a dace swim, where grayling are rarely caught, promising him a few nice dace to end the day, and he immediately, first cast, caught another grayling almost as big! I shall never forget his face, and the comment, as what turned out to be two and a half pounds plus of grayling tore off and hammered his rod round;

"Just how big do the bloody dace grow on here?"

Sometimes, a single smelly hook bait can be all you need, and I simply lowered a big boilie wrapped in paste under the rod top, still employing a big backlead to avoid the leaves and dead weed coming down.
The barbel would not be far away, and I thought that droppers of loosefeed and the almost inevitable PVA bag could be dispensed with on this occasion. One big single bait fished in what the carpers have called glorious isolation can prove irresistible, and pick up fish that would otherwise do a quick raid on your loosefeed and never return. It seemed to work, and two fish of about seven pounds took a liking almost instantly, dragging the rod round in a most confident manner within a few minutes of casting in.
The temperature of the water was almost fifty Fahrenheit, and the fish were clearly on the hunt. I rested the swim, and checked to see how Hyacinth was getting on. He had lost a good fish that had snagged him momentarily under a branch, and slipped the hook. I wound him up with a barrage of smug advice, and returned to my swim.

Once again, within a few minutes of casting in, the rod curved round slowly and the pin made that long slow purring sound as a fish charged off into the middle, and gave one of those interminably strong, persistent fights that make you start to think you may have hooked something very special. It was a tough, well-conditioned ten pounder that had me thinking he was half as big again, but a warmly welcomed barbel. Hyacinth got a nine pounder at the death, which made the journey home a little more bearable, although I was glad he helped me avoid a collision with a stationary tree.

Purple Policemans Helmet and Tiger Walking Stick
7th December, 2007

The week started with attending a seminar on invasive plants, and although I expected a fairly grueling affair, it was absolutely fascinating. The event was organised to raise the awareness of local riparian owners and local authorities, and landowners, Environment Agency, Natural England, Wildlife Trusts, Rivers Trusts and angling interests were all there. The cost to us in terms of hard cash and loss of biodiversity is going to be considerable unless we act together and act now. One ten acre site for the Olympics is costing 70 million pounds to rid of Japanese Knotweed. This stuff is a real menace in Wales, where it comes in your windows and under your living room floor. The Welsh call it Tigers Walking Stick, because of the stripey stalks, I suppose. The amount of silt and sediment released from Himalayan Balsam dieback in the winter will choke gravel beds already degraded by low flows and agricultural sediment, and all gravel spawning fish will suffer. HB is called Policemans Helmet, due to the shape of the flowers. The dreaded Floating Yellow Primrose is on the way from France, aided by climate change! I do not even want to think about Marbled Crayfish. Luckily, we have a chance to nip these invasive in the bud in my local area, but it is only one battle in the war against them. If you see them, pull them up or report them if not sure, although actually you should only attack the Balsam. The Knotweed needs special treatment, and Giant Hogweed can cause serious skin blisters or blindness.

Going fishing next day was a bit of a relief, but with lots to think about. The warmer weather had given me a chance of a barbel, and a nice eight pounder from the Stour was a good result for an afternoon in a favourite floodwater swim. I found the head of a more unfortunate barbel on the bank when I arrived, picked clean by crows and foxes, and probably a natural death, although some of my fellow fishermen were eager to blame the evil otters or ravenous Poles for the demise of the fish. A much bigger barbel rolled like a bronze porpoise, which is unusual on the Stour. Most of the barbel people see rolling on the Avon are salmon, or common carp. This was definitely a big rolling barbel, but even though I stayed well into dark, no more bites were forthcoming, and I was forced to merely mark him down for future reference.

A sluggish nine pounder grabbed the bait a on the second cast, but nothing else happened all day, until a last minute four pound fish broke the slightly confused monotony. I had baited carefully, I had fed sparingly, rested the swim for an hour, and then given a sudden flush of ten droppers. I had tried long tails, shorter tails, even went to two maggots on a 14, and replaced the feeder with a nice PVA bag of maggot threaded up the hooklink. Nothing seemed to work.

More often than not these days, fish seem to refuse to read the rule book, and it seems to be becoming increasingly common for them to ignore what we think are ideal conditions. Neither my host on the fishery nor I could work out why the barbel were being so uncooperative. He fared as badly as I, taking a nice fish first cast, then nothing else all day until he lost one at last knockings. Gives you something to think about though, or maybe we think too much.

I returned to another blank on the Stour, fishing a reliable swim that I had lightly prebaited with costly bespoke boilies, using two rods and the smartest of rigs, presented in a secret and cunning way with specially designed backleads. I fished hard all day like this. An eight-year-old kid arrived on the opposite bank, flung out a donkey choker pellet using a six-foot sea rod and a half ounce lead and hooked a barbel straight away. I tried not to be pleased when he lost it, but it was difficult.

I had sprinkled a few maggots in a hole a few yards downstream, and I moved on and gave that a few minutes. No joy, but something told me to persevere, and change tactics slightly. I increased the depth, and held back hard at the tail of the swim, where it started to shallow up. This time, the waiting grayling were fooled, and a nice brace of twos was the result, peas in a pod at two five each. This time, the more solid, dogged and determined fight of the bigger fish was a real pleasure, especially on the centrepin, which enables you to dictate and relish the fight a bit more. Another fish of just under two and a few more smaller fish, as well as a small salmon and a sea trout, and the bitter wind and setting sun said time for home.

Frome grayling grow very fast and very big, and those silver fish were probably two year olds. The big two I had the next day was maybe five or six, and I have been told that a seven or eight year old is a real pensioner. We certainly never catch the same three pounders two years running; they are old fish that cannot survive the rigors of spawning. They live fast and die young, and do not do well when subjected to heavy fishing pressure. They need careful handling and plenty of recovery time, much like barbel, and no doubt their musculature and hard fighting qualities result in a big oxygen debt after exhaustion. I leave them alone to recover in the net, allowing them to simply breathe, and stressing them as little as possible. They should not be held, stroked, splashed or massaged or mauled about any more than barbel; it probably causes more stress than just leaving them to their own devices.

Next day I went after some big chub from the Stour, but they did not want to play. I caught roach, bleak, gudgeon, dace, pike, one tiny little chub, and a few nice perch. One was almost two pounds, and had me thinking he was a big chub as he snaffled my red maggot and dragged the tip round. The Stour perch are making a big comeback, and threes and the odd four pounder are now reported. This chunky perch was as brightly coloured as any brown trout, and I am tempted to join the ever growing ranks of the Stour perch fishers, seeking out the untapped potential of those bigger perch. The trouble with perch is, they always seem to get their own back on me, and I always get spiked and bloodied by them in some way.

It was then my turn to get a pb for someone else, so I took Phil Smith for a day on the Avon. He had been suffering on Throop for a day or two, so I showed him a nice Avon chub swim, gave him some bait left over from our grayling session, and told him where to cast. He was delighted to bag a seven four, and the grin on his face tells it all!

Wait until he gets the bill.

We paused momentarily outside the Trout Inn as we were leaving, but thought better of a pint and a pie, and headed south to fish the Loddon for the afternoon and evening. We blanked soundly on a very interesting little stretch that we had never fished before. Like so many of these minor rivers, the swims all looked even more inviting than the Trout Inn, but not all of them contain barbel. We never had so much as tweak or a twiddle, even fishing into the dark for half an hour. Next day I went to a bit of the river I knew better, and had a couple of barbel in the last hour, but again no indications at all until the dusk period, despite me using plenty of maggot to try and stir them up a bit. Maggot or caster can usually get fish going at any time of day, but perhaps the twenty four hour pressure that some of these stretches gets has an effect. On the other hand, I have had good results in the daytime on stretches that are heavily night fished, by using particles like caster or maggot for fish that are heavily bombarded with big pellets and boilies.

It is a funny time of year, and the fish can never be relied upon to follow the rules!

The EA landrover and trailer arrived in good time, and was also carrying several thousand roach, chub and bream for restocking a part of the river upstream that had suffered a fish kill earlier in the year.
I was eager to see if the elastomer inserts had remained intact, and it was clear that the retention rate was very high. All of the fish checked were still carrying clear marks that would now stay with them for life and enable monitoring of their movements and survival. The barbel were extremely fit and lively, and after a bit of confusion, they shot off and took cover as soon as they were released.

I helped the transfer of the other two batches of fish, and took as many photos as I could at the other two release sites further upstream. The river looked inviting, plenty of cover in the form of ranunculus beds and tree branches, but the ravages of the big dredging exercises in the late seventies are in need of further repair, and the funds donated by the BS and local clubs, as well as considerable input of funding and expertise from the EA, will go a long way towards restoring even more favourable habitat.

The river seemed a very large place, and even those 3000 barbel looked a very vulnerable few in the face of the potentially hostile environment they now had to grow up in. I quietly wished them luck, and continue to hope that with a bit more help, a self sustaining population will establish in a few years. The habitat improvements will also benefit all other species of fish, and indeed all wildlife, but I look forward to landing a ten pounder with a little plastic tag behind her eye in the next decade!

Barbel failure, chub success, Frome finale
27th/ 28th October, 2007

Simon Asbury came down for a day to try and catch an Avon barbel, which I have promised to aid and abet him in doing. On any specific day, it is by no means guaranteed that I will catch a barbel from the Avon, let alone catch one to order for someone else! Not a river for guiding and expecting to catch barbel, that is for sure, but any day on the Avon is a special event, and both Simon and I are both wise enough to anticipate and cope with failure on the barbel front. We fished a swim that contained barbel; we saw them eat the loosefeed, roll lazily on their sides, and generally swim about enticingly, but they were only half switched on, and we had to be content with a couple of PB chub for Simon, and a bit of advice on how to fool them on the maggot feeder. At least the crystal waters of the river allow you to watch your quarry take advantage of your freebies and yet refuse the most carefully presented hook bait. Even the chub were cute and scary, and as soon as a fish was hooked and landed, the rest of the shoal shot off and sulked for an hour or more, all moody and out of casting range. We arranged the next visit with mixed feelings, but it is only a matter of time before Simon gets his Avon barbel, and my list of excuses is getting shorter and shorter.

Next day was another guiding session, in aid of the Research and Conservation Auction Fund, and BS member Dave Redfearn was insistent that we take the day on the Frome despite the weather forecast and my heavy hints that heavy rain and strong wind did not favour trotting! We both got absolutely soaked, and yet the day was a real joy, an experience I will not forget for a while. The rain persisted almost all day, the gusting wind nagged and harassed us constantly, and yet we never really lost hope or allowed ourselves to become downhearted. Dave is a smashing bloke, very positive and good fun, and the worse the weather got, the more we laughed about it. He caught a salmon parr, several minnows, a few grayling to about a pound and a half, and then at the end of the day, he followed my advice by putting on a single maggot a bit under depth, and winkled out a nice fat 2.7 grayling that had him whooping with excitement when it finally came to net. Dave does some work as a professional magician, so I actually knew he would pull something out of the hat by the end of the day.

The fish farm at Calverton is impressive, and is run by a devoted team of hard working and highly qualified professionals. We saw stews containing hundreds of thousands of chub, roach, dace and bream, and the barbel, raised from Loddon broodstock, are superbly conditioned fish. The staff were extremely knowledgeable and helpful, and I learned a huge amount during my visit, not least that Prickly Pear extract is an invaluable stress relief treatment for fish, and that barbel have the largest eggs of any coarse fish species.

We worked hard over the three days, carefully transferring, anaesthetising and then injecting each fish with a tiny amount of inert elastomer that will stay visible for a lifetime. The three colours are distinctive and fluorescent, and the movements and survival rate of the fish from each of the three stocking sites will now be much easier to monitor. It was tricky at first, trying to inject the liquid plastic under the translucent skin on the heads of tiny, groggy barbel, but the fish seemed none the worse for the experience, soon recovering and swimming strongly in the holding tanks. The bio security, absolute cleanliness and rigorous rules and routines, combined with massive experience and knowledge about raising and caring for fish, means that the quality of health and subsequent survival chances of those barbel is first class. More news on the stocking at a later date, but watch this space as well as the angling press for further details in the next few weeks.

If the plans for the BS fishery at Bransford come to fruition, we hope to combine the removal of large overhanging trees with the retention and possible introduction of LWD and CWD within the river.
We all know that barbel love cover like this, particularly on smaller rivers, and the range of other plants and animals that benefit from woody cover mean that retaining it is crucial to a healthy and balanced ecosystem. The BS inspired project on the Dorset Stour will also involve a good deal of instream work, to try and repair the damage done by excessive dredging and clearing of the river in past years. The new stock of barbel to be introduced will welcome plenty of cover and hidey holes too!

The last barbel I caught from the Stour was not far from a substantial bit of LWD, and although it was clearly a fish from the older generation, a bit long and lean and battle scarred, it put up a tremendous fight and tried hard to get back into the woodwork that it was undoubtedly using as shelter for much of the time while the river was low and clear. I thought it was another thirteen, but failed by a couple of ounces to make the weight. It will certainly fill out this winter, and I think it could make fourteen later on in the season. Another deep bronze, richly coloured fish, however.

Balsam and barbel
13th October, 2007

Attended a meeting today to discuss the problem of Himalayan Balsam in the Avon Valley, hosted by Natural England, but also attended by representatives from local fishing clubs, EA, Wildlife Trusts and riparian owners. There is a big push to deal with the big three invasive plants, which include Giant Hogweed and Japanese Knotweed as well as the Himalayan or Indian Balsam. The latter is the most widespread and most rapidly invasive, however, and it looks as if plans to attack the key infestations next year will come to fruition if the will to kill can be funded and maintained! I suggested that anglers are going to be key contributors to the control of the balsam, but need to made aware of the problems it can cause. Apart from the loss of biodiversity along river banks, which will have incalculable effects, the plant is an annual, and after dieback each year will leave bare banks that are then eroded and deposit silts into already choked gravels. Gravel spawners like salmon, trout, barbel and chub are the first to suffer. Hopefully, the local clubs will help educate their members and contribute to the work needed to both identify and treat outbreaks all along rivers and streams. Anglers have long been the eyes and ears of the waterside environment, and the threats from these invasive species are considerable.

The Stour is not yet subject to balsam attack, and that afternoon I was happy to fight my way through bramble, nettles and tall reeds to a sneaky little swim where I had spotted a big barbel a few days earlier. The river was still quite coloured, but I could make out a big grey shape working on the baited patch I had been feeding. It flashed again, and I was encouraged to see that it was a very deep fish and no doubt a good double. Second cast, and it took my half boilie, hurtled off upstream and burrowed strongly into the weed that was still very green and tough. The line squeaked and creaked under the strain, but eventually it tired, untangled itself and after a long and dogged fight under the rod top it wallowed into the net that was by now held in shaking hands. It was a really fat, clean, young looking fish, with the deep rich colours that can make barbel as handsome as any common carp. At thirteen ten, my best from the Stour for a few years, and with the look of getting even bigger in the next few.

I can see myself giving the Stour a bit more attention from now on. I have been spending a lot of time on the Avon, but there is still a good deal of water to explore on the river, as well as some old stamping grounds to revisit.

Crucian diversion
10th October, 2007

A bit of settled warm weather gave the chance of what was likely to be the last visit of the season to the crucian lakes with Trevor and Budgie, who had been pressing for another visit in order to bag a few fat crucian carp before the frosts arrived. We stopped at an amazing cake shop on the way and stocked up with a blueberry and lemon, a chocolate slab, a ginger and orange, and other assorted goodies to pass the time if the crucians were not biting. Trevor is Chairman of The Roach Club, and insisted that we had to admire the latest additions to the fry tanks in the back garden before we left, and also discuss the plans for rearing more Avon roach from eggs for eventual release into the river. It was therefore late morning before the rods were even set up, and even then it was necessary to sample the cakes along with a cup of fresh hot tea before casting in.

We actually knew the crucians would not feed until the afternoon anyway, which is a pretty good excuse for the casual start to proceedings. We sat in adjacent swims, and swapped exclamations of disappointment every time the floats slid slowly away and our strikes met with nothing. Typical of the cagey crucians, and mostly only line bites as a rule. As the afternoon wore on, the crucians were starting to bubble a bit, and the occasional splashy roll told us they were at least in the swims.

The sudden screams of a flock of magpies alerted us to a bit of red claw nature, and Trevor grabbed his camera and crept up close to a sparrowhawk that had killed a pigeon in the woods nearby. The bird calmly dismembered and ate the unfortunate pigeon alive, while the magpies protested loudly, flying madly around the scene of carnage.

After a while, the satisfied hawk flew off, the magpies quietened down, and we got back to concentrating on the fishing. It was a delight to see Budgie grin as he took his first crucian from the water, and we all admired the chunky golden specimen, and vowed to come back next year in the early summer, when the fish are a bit easier to catch. I managed a couple of smallish fish, but it made a nice change again, aiming for tricky little fish on light tackle, and concentrating hard on every indication of a bite. One of the crucians did give me a barbel bite when I was not looking however, hooking itself and making the pin scream like a demented magpie, but I still counted it, despite Trev and Budge disapproving.

There were one or two nice grayling and a fair few brownies in residence, but as ever, many of the fish were very spooky and most remained well hidden. I trotted a few of the deeper pools, and was rewarded with a small selection of fish. A few dace, some salmon parr, and a nice mix of grayling of all sizes.
It is fascinating to watch them swirling and swooping for maggots, the more eager fish competing greedily and rising to the surface to take the bait. The bigger fish were more reluctant, and needed to be fed constantly for several minutes before they became confident. Even then, they were cute enough to ignore hook baits a lot of the time. The baby grayling are a pretty little fish, but not as brightly coloured as the brown trout, which looked as if they had been freshly painted in oils, with vivid orange flanks and a mixture of red and chocolate spots. The trout are a bit of a nuisance when after grayling, but I suppose the roles are reversed for the trout men on the river.

A couple of fish just under two and a half, and the sight of some small groups of fish of similar size bodes well for the winter fishing, when proper grayling fishing will start. The bigger fish never fail to impress, and the long, yet thick- shouldered body of a two or three pound fish invariably gives a stubborn dogged fight when hooked on light tackle. I will return after the first floods, and preferably on one of those cold clear frosty days when only the grayling can be relied upon.

Interesting recaptures
28th September, 2007

Working hard to find fish on the Avon at present, and although the Golden Rule is to find fish before it is worth fishing, it can sometimes be worth visiting spots that you know have been productive in the past. Some of the deeper, weedier areas are very hard to spot fish in, even when the river is clear, but they can throw up a fish when you try them out, fishing blindly, but relying on past form. First cast in an old favourite, deep and mysterious swim, and a hungry seven pound barbel, all fin perfect and sprightly, put in a very encouraging appearance. He was nicely coloured, with no hookmarks, and was swiftly returned, and off with a splash.

Then it was the return of the chub with no face, a fish with a deformed top lip that I know I had caught twice before, from the same swim last year. He obviously liked the area, and there was no mistaking him. I am constantly amazed by the way that fish will stay in the same swims year after year, and also at the way they will travel great distances, for no apparent reason. It is the striking fish, with noticeable features, that you actually do notice, and it also seems to me that we are recapturing fish far more often than we realise.
The one-eyed barbel that I caught last week was instantly recognised as the fish I caught from half a mile upstream two years ago. It had gained about half a pound from the time of the first capture, but without the distinctive missing eye, that fish would have been put down as just another nine pounder. Another chub was to make an appearance just before du