Highs And Lows
By Steve Withers
I’m sure we’ve all been there, the high that lasts for days after a particularly good fish or a memorable session, while on the flip side, the lows when things don’t quite go according to plan. I’ve found these periods tend to come in spells, at times all your plans fall into place and you can’t do anything wrong, while at the other extreme, whatever you do just doesn’t work out and the harder you try the worse it gets. Last season I had the full range of these extremes in just one short session on the Stour that will live in the memory for a long time.
I was taking the usual autumn half-term break off with the kids and this also gave me the opportunity to fit in a few short afternoon/evening sessions. The weather was good for November with the classic conditions of mild weather coming in from the south west and a little water in the river to give it some colour. The usual dilemma of were to fish was tossed around in the head and for some reason I had an urge to fish a swim on a stretch of the Stour that I used to fish quite regularly but hadn’t fished for at least 5 years. The only problem was that it would be a short session as the controlling club are very strict on finishing times and I would be left with only about 3 hours fishing time, but the feeling to fish there was so strong that off I went.
Down the farm track and not a car in sight, the river appeared to be in perfect condition with an extra 6” of water and a nice colour – things were looking good. I quickly settled into the swim in question, a classic inside bend swim with a nice drop off in depth after a shallow run and a distinct crease. Although it had always been a productive swim for me in the past it hadn’t produced any particularly large fish but I’d always felt it “owed me one”. After a few droppers of pellets followed by a bait, I was sitting back feeling very comfortable in an old favourite swim. After about 20 minutes a slight tap on the rod increased the interest level. This went on for about half an hour with taps and sharp pulls every so often. I was convinced these were not line bites but sat on my hands waiting for a decent pull round and watching the clock tick by and kicking-off time getting closer. Eventually I have to admit just I lost patience and decided I was going to hit the next decent pull, round it went slowly, I struck and off it went like a rocket with full pressure making no impression. Carp was the immediate thought, as they reach 20lb plus in the area, and this was fighting like no Barbel but I quickly realised something was seriously wrong and it was probably foul-hooked. Eventually I saw a flash of the fish and sure enough it was foul-hooked in the pelvic fin and to make matters worse this was no small Barbel. I bullied it into the net and it was obviously a good fish, on the bank it looked even bigger • do I weight it or just slip it back and block it from the memory was the immediate thought but inquisitiveness got the better of me so on the scales it went • 13.04 and what would have been a Stour best • words can’t explain how you feel at a time like this • ABSOLUTELY SICK!!
The fish was slipped back and I sat back for a cup of coffee and a post-mortem. Into the rucksack for the flask only to find I’d left it in the car, things were now going from bad to worse. With only another hour and a half before I had to be off the water I seriously considered packing up there and then and going home to sulk. After all the commotion of the fish thrashing round the swim there seemed little prospect of any further action but I decided to trek back to the car and get the flask.
Back into the swim, I flicked out a bait and sat back with a cup of coffee to go through the motions for the last hour after having destroyed the swim. Going over it all in the mind made the situation even worse, it’s bad enough to foul-hook any fish but for it to be a 13 and river best really hurt. It’s easy to be wise after the event but looking back it was a classic case of impatience taking over and the slow pull I had struck at was very different from the other bites I’d been getting and was a classic liner. Out of the corner of my eye a tap on the rod top focused the attention again, surely there weren’t fish still in the swim. For the next half hour I went through an exact repeat of the previous situation with pulls and taps every few minutes, they just didn’t look like liners to me. I wasn’t going to be lulled into the same mistake twice, sit on the hands and wait for the rod to pull round, it never did!!
Just a continuation of the pulls and taps and time was rapidly running out. I was more than ever convinced that these were proper bites so when the rod pulled round a little more than most I struck and was into what was obviously a Barbel. A small consolation for the foul-hooked fish but a Barbel nevertheless. After a while a flash of bronze in the coloured water showed it was a decent fish and as it fought on the interest level rose until it was under the rod top and ready for the net and I got a better look at it. It certainly looked a bit more than a consolation prize and more importantly, total relief to see it was hooked at the right end this time!! Without any real dramas the fish was quickly into the net a really long fish that was clearly a lot bigger than I had first imagined. Onto the scales and the needle was bouncing around in uncharted territory around the 14 pound mark. Two further re-weighings and I settled on 13.14, not only a new river best but also a personal best. The difference a couple of hours can make, and to think I very nearly packed in on the spot after the first fish!
A few photos and there was only just time to get back to the car in time for the rottweiler of a bailiff to appear trying to catch a straggler sneaking an extra few minutes overtime. “Any luck” he enquired, “no not a touch” I replied trying not to let the smile give the game away as I climbed into the car and set off down the farm track with a grin like a Cheshire cat. The whole experience was totally bizarre, a real mixture of feelings covering the full spectrum in a matter of a couple of hours. Obvious joy at catching such a superb fish but unfortunately also a rather hollow feeling because of the possible missed opportunity of a brace of thirteen’s • I know it’s greedy but what’s wrong with that, it’s the thought of what could have been that drives us all on!
As a post script to this session I just couldn’t resist returning to the swim the next day. Identical scenario, an empty fishery, perfect looking river and after half an hour in the swim the knocks started again. Still no rod-wrencher so I struck at one the pulls and again a flash of bronze as a BREAM slides into the margins (no way is a bream going into my net!). Recast and off again with the knocks until the second bream slides onto the bank • WELCOME BACK TO REALITY!!
Steve Withers
Wessex Region
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