Three months after my first visit to the Cattery stretch of the River Blackwater, controlled by Hartley Wintney AS, I was back again this week to find a transformed river. Gone were the reeds, that covered most of the shallow open areas, while recent rain had put another foot of water into the river. This was good for the fishing, but my intended swim had a small beach to fish from in August, which was now under water. On that occasion, I had moved from a downstream swim after pike trouble, to this swim, where I began catching decent skimmer bream, until I had another pike attack, landing this thin seven pound Mr Toothy on my float rod.

Not knowing the water, I had time to walk the 600 yard stretch, down to the HWAS notice boards. The river twists and turns, creating attractive runs and eddies, as it flows through mature trees, which for a float fisherman like me is not ideal, describing most swims as Parrot Cages, difficult to fish with any rod above 12 feet due to over hanging branches. I walked back upstream for about 100 yards and found a compromise swim between two trees, with a slight slope to a high bank. With the legs of my tackle box adjusted, I had a firm base to sit and fish from.

This swim looked deep, but testing with a plummet gave a maximum depth of only 30 inches. The flow came round from my left, forming an eddy at my feet, that flowed upstream, perfect for my keepnet, while the main flow started 6 feet out, just right for my 12 foot Hardy to trot beneath the over hanging branches. I mixed up liquidised bread and ground pellets, with a sprinkling of ground hemp, damping this down to form firm balls that sank quickly. My float was a 5 No 4 ali stemmed stick float to a size 16 barbless hook with 6 mm punch of bread pinched around the hook.

There was a chilling wind gusting upstream and across into my face, plus the discomfort of constant drizzle. Winter is here! I had my thermals on and had dug out my fishing mittens with fold back finger coverings, held down with Velrco. My right, rod hand had a mitten on, while the left was in my pocket, leaving this one free to punch the bread in my bait tray, the right fingers free to pass the hook through the slot in the loaded punch, then pull the hooked pellet through.

I had already fed a couple of balls of feed to the edge of the flow, before I made my first cast, the float dragging under on the bottom seconds later. Lifting the rod to free the hook, resulted in a flash beneath the surface as a decent roach felt the hook, before heading downstream and across, rolling on the surface in the shallow water. The landing net reached down to the roach, as it slid over the surface, the hook just inside the mouth. A fin perfect winter roach.

The roach just kept coming, deep healthy fish, that took with confidence and fought all the way to the net.

I had got too enthusiastic with the feed, putting in a small ball every other cast, which attracted fast biting dace into the swim, a single dip of the float enough to strip the hook, the proof being the big dace below, hooked on a tight line held back after the cast.

I stopped feeding the fish and fed myself, the sandwiches washed down with a hot cup of tea. I was pleased to take my time responding to a solid slow roach bite, feeling the steady thump of a good roach.

And again.

Just as the roach were getting bigger, the landing net was out for yet another silver sided beauty, when the water erupted in front of me and the fish was snatched from the surface by a good sized pike, that ran off downstream, while I back-wound my ABU501 to avoid a break. I kept up the pressure, bending the little Hardy in two, before the pike had time to turn and swallow the big roach. Sometimes they will lose their grip and the damaged roach can be retreived. This was not the case today, as bringing the pike within netting range, the hooklink parted just below the knot, proof that the roach had been turned. The float had sprung back and tangled in a low branch to my left. I got back what was left of the rig; shot was missing and it wasn’t worth trying to put it right. It was quicker to fit another made up float on a winder, from my spares department in the bowels of my tackle box.

The roach seemed to have disappeared, no doubt due to distrubance caused by the pike, but a long biteless trot saw the float sail away and solid resistance from a hard fighting chub, that ran all over the swim.

Having taken a fat six ounce roach, I hoped that the pike would not be back for a while, but it seemed that the shoal had moved elsewhere, as a couple more small chub from the end of the swim, were all I had for a while. I’d been feeding continuingly and was pleased to get a bite half way down the swim and even more pleased, when it turned out to be another clonker roach.

I was back into the roach again, even though it was only 2:30, the light was fading faster than my old camera could cope, but although I couldn’t do it justice, I’ve included it.

The next fish I thought that it was a good chub, that ran to the far side, before transforming into another big roach. It had been taken by that same pike, when I hooked it, then let go. The roach was now skimming over the surface in panic, being chased by the pike, as I reeled frantically to get it back. Whoomph! The pike engulfed the roach on the surface and dived away snapping the hooklink.

I tied on another hook, there was enough groundbait for another hour, but decided that two beautiful roach fed to a pike in one afternoon was two too many and began packing up.

As I began dismantling my rod, a pike fisherman came along the bank asking if I had seen any pike, I relayed my story of stolen fish and he looked down into the river and said “Oh yes, its here looking at the fish in your keep net!” He was wearing poloroid glasses and could see it clearly, pointing it out. It looked a good size, maybe 10 pounds. I pulled the net out and it drifted over the vacant space. I photographed my fish, weighed them and the piker took the net upstream, then released them. He returned, then cast to the pike with various rubber lures, a bright pink one getting the most interest, but no strikes.

Not a bad haul on a cold December afternoon, over 8 lb of quality roach taken on the bread punch in a three hour session, that included playing two pike, an inevitable hazard on the Blackwater.

 

 

 

 

Not so long ago fishing in mid November meant thermals and shy bites, but not since Global Warming crept into our lives. This week, following a day and half of  tropical rain, the sun came out to dry the roads, ushering in a warm, but windy afternoon. After lunch, I announced to my wife that the local river Cut would now have some water flowing through it, giving me the chance of a decent net of fish at last. Being married to a confirmed fishing addict, she knows not to resist these sudden urges, and readied the tea flask and a Wagon Wheel to keep me going for the brief afternoon session, to avoid being bombarded by an afternoon of “What ifs” had I stayed home.

Just needing to grab my bag of liquidised bread and a few squares of punch bread from the freezer, I was soon on my way, after putting my float rods in the pre-loaded car. Minutes later at the car park, the gear was transferred to my trolley, which dutifully followed my brisk down hill walk to the river, aided by a strong tail wind.

That wind carried a familiar smell. Oil! The enthusiasm drained from my body, on first sight of the river, the wild, natural side had a rainbow sheen to it. My side is where the usual suspects dump their waste oil,  a pair of concrete outlets from under the industrial estate, that spill over a sill to join the brook. There were no oil booms out, so this must be a recent event. Having intended to walk downstream to a favourite swim, I unloaded my gear at the first fishable swim. Why waste time and energy walking to a guaranteed blank, when I can have one right here?

What happened to all that rain? The river was the lowest I’ve ever seen it. This mudbank is new. My mate Martyn was catching carp over the edge of this bank in June. These images show the rainbow effect of the oil at the new water’s edge.

My 12 foot Hardy float rod was already rigged with a 5 No 4 Ali stemmed stick float, to a size 16 hook, when I plumbed the depth, which gave only 20 inches from the float tip to the hook, a yard out from the opposite bank. I was not confident of even getting a bite, but it was worth a try. Dipping my hand into the bag of liquidised bread, I squeezed up a small ball and lobbed it over into the deeper water, watching it sink slowly through the film, sending a mini snow storm of feed to spread along the bottom. With a 6 mm punch on the hook, I followed the cloud and the float slid away downstream, being met with a steady lift by a bouncing rod top from a small, but determined chublet.

That was quick, I thought that I would have to work hard to get a bite.

I could see small silver fish flashing over in the clear water, a couple of small dace swinging in minutes, it taking longer to punch the bread, hook it and cast, than to pull the line straight and lift into another battling dace. I dropped a few off, while missing others and decided that a heavier groundbait would slow the bites down. Liquidised bread, ground pellets and ground hemp was damped down and squeezed into firm balls and plopped over. There was still an intial cloud, but the balls broke up slowly and bounced their way along the bottom. A better roach sank the float.

Smaller roach and gudgeon moved in at first, but then the gudgeon got bigger, hugging the bottom.

I was busy bashing these out, when two figures towered over me in dayglo boiler suits. “Caught anything?” “Mostly small stuff!” I replied, as I swung in another gudgeon. It was two men from Thames Water, taking photos of the water, working their way down from further up the brook. I’d seen their vans on the way down, parked a couple of miles upstream. The brook that runs down from Swinley Forest,  passes under about a mile of culverts, before joining with other streams to form the Cut, and has many land drains flowing into it. They were tight lipped about this spillage. Later a female lab worker taking water samples came along, casting jars in, then retrieving them. So much for my peaceful afternoon.

Later a pair of large dogs came to visit, and before I realised, they had scooped up the remains of my groundbait and eaten the punch bread off my bait tray! I complained to the owner, who comiserated with a “Sorry about that Mate!” It was time to go anyway, being close to 4 pm and the light was going fast.

This was my last roach.

One way, or another, it had been a busy two hours, plenty of variety, but no decent fish, if you don’t count the specimen gudgeon. The flow was much faster than of late, but the river was very low and shallow. Later on in the week, the rain hammered down again, but I doubt that it has affected the water table.

About 50 fish