A Testing Week

Book news and a date for your diaries to come in this week's blog, but first I'll start with a couple of recent trips from rapidly cooling waters both close to home and further away.

The onset of winter brings either some of the best fishing of the year or a sense of foreboding, depending on who you ask. One of the winter optimists among my fishing pals is Will Barnard, who asked if I might like a cheeky day on the Test for coarse fish. What a silly question.

No prizes for guessing the species I was after from the above image. Grayling represent an occasional treat as far as I'm concerned. We're not exactly blessed with them in Devon and I couldn't wait to reacquaint myself. I usually fish with a fly rod and some heavy nymphs, but with the river pushing through fast and full I decided to spend the lion's share of the day trotting this time.


In no time at all I was getting bites but succeeding in losing a lot of these fish as they turned in the current. My running water float fishing skills were a little rusty if I'm honest, but one little piece of advice I took from Will was to add a swivel between mainline and hook length to counter that notorious twisting which grayling are famous for. It worked a little better, and while I couldn't quite get amongst the really big ones I had loads of bites and the odd roach, dace and accidental trout into the bargain, besides some pretty samples of my target species:


It was great to escape for the day, but rather frustratingly every man, monkey and their relatives seemed to want to call me to divert my attention from the beauty of the river. When you're waiting on a possibly life changing call you can't turn the damned thing off- although at one stage I wanted to chuck the mobile into the river.

Will was a better influence though, with some novel ideas and fairly unrepeatable jokes to keep my sanity intact. What is it with Mr Barnard I wonder? You could call the guy a true angler or an eccentric, as whenever I fish a session with him he seems to avoid the obvious. Last time out, he was looking for big eels. On this occasion though, he was fishing for dace by throwing a cute feeder set up into the little holes and corners most anglers walk past. And he was definitely onto something, because the silvery beasts he caught were some of the biggest dace I've ever seen. The best went 12 to 13oz and were quite breathtaking in their own little way:



As always, the worst part about fishing the Test is that you don't want to leave. With or without that fish you dreamt of, it grabs at your heart. You pretend it isn't getting dark; make ten last casts until you can barely see the float tip. Still, the journey home was cheered up by listening to my beloved Exeter City FC score three goals in a vital away win on the drive back West. Like one of the dace then, the dark end of the day had a very silver lining indeed.

Somehow I even managed to squeeze in the rare current luxury of a second trip in a week just three days later in the Tiverton AA Christmas Match. This is a quite superb event. A whopping 55 of us made it onto the Grand Western Canal with good spirits and high hopes. It was a beautiful morning, but similarly to last year, the draw bag just didn't do me any favours as I was pegged right by the cars on a fairly nondescript peg. Even so, it was just great to be fishing and enjoying the fresh with so many fellow anglers, including some faces I hadn't seen in too many months.



So how did I fare? The good news was that there were hundreds of fish in my peg; the not so good news was that most were tiny little roach of perhaps half an ounce. I caught steadily on the pole, fishing two punched bread lines and some chopped worm to cover, but struggled to hook any proper "net" fish. Even so, it was thoroughly enjoyable. I winkled out some perch from cover, and also lost a pike that might just have seen me climb the pecking order a little (they count in these matches). At the final whistle I was strangely satisfied in fact, because 3lbs 13oz wasn't a bad weight at all considering the peg. If only I'd drawn one peg further along, the other side of the bridge where Paul Elworthy had the turning bay to go at, I might have finished much higher. Not that you'd take anything away from Paul for skilfully putting together a winning double figure net of bream and skimmers. Next year perhaps!

Last but not least, I also bear news today. In spite of a slight delay at the printers, my new book "Tangles With Pike" is due any day this week. Apologies to anyone who has already ordered, but rest assured it'll be with you very soon. You could order it at Amazon (and a Kindle edition will follow too), but to be honest with you the cut they pinch from an author is scary. Besides, buy it at www.dgfishing.co.uk and I'll sign it for you personally.

To celebrate I'm also planning a little meet up a week on Sunday (the 14th). The Somerset Levels PAC branch (region 12) have a fish in that day, so it'll be a fun combined event. A day of fishing and good company (meet 7am at Lime Kilns), followed by some ales and a book signing party at the Double Locks for 5pm. Do come and join me if you get the chance, whether it's to have a cheeky cast or just to chew the fat on a Sunday afternoon. It's been way too long since I've seen many of you and it would be great to catch up over a cold jar.

Pike and Publishing

What is it about the River Wye and me? Every time I'd previously launched an attack on its pike population, the very fabric of the world seemed to conspire against me. This week felt little different, as I got held up by a road accident on the way through Hereford, followed by a bridge closure and then, just as I thought I might actually get there, the drizzle began and I was met with more "road closed" signs. The river itself looked good though. I came to the spot I'd eyed up before- a great sinister endpoint on a bend, complete with gothic looking, leafless tree branches. As the rain kicked back in, the temptation was to hunker down with a bait rod out for the day. And yet looking into the depths, it struck me that the water was still beguilingly clear, the rain yet to cloud things up. Out came the fly rod; the right decision. With a fast sink tip, a big fly was getting right among the boulders where the bottom dropped away and I had that distinct feeling -as any angler has in their blood from time to time- that something would happen. After losing one fly lodged solid in a snag, I thought the same had happened again when the line stopped dead. This time something began a low, determined thumping across the bottom. It took me a few yards down the bank before I managed to stop the fish. Only by slow turns and what can only be described as an abusive curve in the rod could I bring the fish up. And then I saw it and froze. I had to scramble down a muddy bank on my backside, while the thing wallowed at the surface. She seemed to come in painfully slowly while my wellies gradually disappeared into the bank. Was this finally going to be the moment I put a Wye twenty into the net- or would they just find a pair of wellies and the word "help" scratched into the bank? She was bloody heavy. I was elated and yet still bricking it as I took her in the unhooking mat and climbed along the bank for dear life. I just about clawed my way to more solid ground, breathing a sigh of relief as I found a better area to retain her safely for a quick weigh and a picture. At an ounce over twenty four pounds, this was my biggest ever fly caught fish! It took a 6" yellow and black pattern. Finally, after believing the place was just there to provide mud and disappointment on the pike front, I have my revenge on the Wye! Prettier and calmer waters had met me in Ludlow the day before, as I met with publisher Merlin Unwin. As well as a cheeky trot on the Teme, we were also there to talk books. There can't be many people who have met more characters in the world of fishing and country sports as Merlin. The riverside is always a great place for a conversation and I intend to get some of his reflections together for an article soon. The grayling didn't disappoint either and trotting with the pin was a lovely way to spend a couple of hours, accompanied by the rush of the weir. Amazingly, much of the fishing is free through the town centre. The biggest fish might just about have troubled the pound mark- but they made short work of maggots and just kept coming. The lines between work and play were pleasantly blurred on this occasion- and we also discussed a new book project for the coming months (but I can't spoil the surprise just yet!). I feel honoured to be backed by the people who've published great writers from Chris Yates to "B.B" over the years- and made "Flyfishing for Coarse Fish" not just a reality but a roaring success. Will coarse species on the fly ever enter the mainstream of fishing? It's already happening. There are now plenty of anglers as enthusiastic about pike as they are on trout. With the desperately cold temperatures earlier in the week however, I thought I'd have my work cut out guiding Lawrence Heaton-Wright to some decent predator fishing. Never mind the fish, it was a job finding ice free spots at first! At least the cold made for lovely clear water on the stretches of canal I'd picked. The highlight of the day was the sighting of a good fish that at first totally ignored a smallish, realistic pattern. Switching to a big orange fly did the trick though- Lawrence landed the fly perfectly within murdering distance and the pike did the rest, right before our eyes- SLAM! An inspired substitution you might say. Guesstimated at around eight pounds, this one proved to be the best of four well-earned fish on the day:

Cheap Seats vs Exclusive Beats

I've never been one for forking out mega bucks for my fishing. It's not any lack of love for stunning private waters, but more lack of funds. You do get the odd perk out of writing about places, but the phrase "there's no such thing as a free lunch" also applies. Just like I'd never want my output to read like a sales pitch for a sponsor, nor should it read like a fishery brochure. And besides, I quite like it when my viewpoint comes from the cheap seats. Where there's muck there's interest. Where there is dirt there is truth. This is why Rimbaud and Baudelaire frequented gutter bars and cemeteries rather than five star restaurants. That, and the fact that they were perpetually wrecked on absinthe. This week has been a tale of two very different river settings. Firstly, you have the free stretch of the Culm. I've never investigated this place properly before, hence it was a bit of an awakening. Sadly as well as butterflies, birds, chub, dace and trout it also has litter and dodgy types; cows and dogs disturbing the water in at regular intervals. Not surprisingly the best fishing came from taking a walk (or should I say a wade) away from the better trodden areas. Like that craggy bit by the M5. You know the one, the place you must have scanned 1000 times from your car and thought "I wonder what's down there?" Well, I gave it a crack: Was the fishing electric? In a word, no. But varied and challenging, yes. I fished a Klinkhamer and hares ear combo to find dace and a couple of sporty trout, as well as losing what I suspect was a half decent chub. The dingy bits were so overgrown I stuggled, but on some of the shallow, sunny runs I got some lovely rises to the dry fly. Beautiful too, are these Culm trout. Sunny gold and vivid. This bit of the Culm might not be Premier League fly fishing then, but hey- it's free. My next outing couldn't have been more different. An invite to spend the day on a quiet -and usually very private- stretch of the Exe through the kindness of a family friend wasn't to be sniffed at. It was a place so beautiful you had to keep reminding yourself that you weren't trespassing. My brother was already frothing at the mouth with the prospect of salmon, but I wanted to make sure I put something in the net first before giving them a cast. Grayling are a particular favourite. They definitely thrive on neglect- and of all the fish I believe they are the most fragile and easily killed by careless anglers. The nice thing about grayling on salmon waters is that you know virtually nobody is fishing for them. I found plenty of lovely, steady paced runs with 2-3 feet of water and rising fish. Most wanted the dry fly: It soon went from good to outstanding, as the rises increased and Ben hooked a salmon further up. The next grayling I hooked was in a different class to the rest, vast in length by comparison. They are one of those fish that really tantalise as they come towards you; I love that moment the dorsal fin is hoisted and for a brief moment the fish is perfectly frozen before you. My brother had the only scales sadly, but it was 17", quite possibly a two pounder. Who cares, figures are for maths teachers and it was exquisite: I've written before about the huge influence confidence, or a lack of it, can have on fishing success- and on this occasion you felt anything was possible. Ben had already caught a salmon too, so there was only one way to try and finish the day. I aimed an orange Pot-Bellied Pig into various tempting, boiling spots along a far bank channel. After about cast fifty, I was still hoping and almost tempting fate asked Ben "so do I strike when I feel something?" The answer to that is generally "NO!" -a better answer would be to grit your teeth, give line and try not to die of shock. The thing I was attached to flew downstream at a scary pace before throwing itself into the air. Pure adrenaline. In fact, the next time someone even suggests fishing is boring I'm going to slap them. "It's going to be a decent one," and "it's well hooked I reckon," were comments that only added to the tension. The fight was manic, but under my brother's expert guiding hand I eventually managed to bring it to the net. A first ever salmon for me, on the fly and one of the most nerve shattering battles I've ever had on a fishing rod I'd say. The fish, a male, made a steady recovery before making his way homewards. As for me, I've only just stopped quaking.