The saying goes “Third time lucky” that’s me.
Having covered a fair few miles of river over the last two days and blanking is enough to dishearten you. But us anglers carry on and continue to hunt/stalk those fish. The determination gets stronger!
My plan this afternoon was to cover a stretch of river from left to right, moving swims every 40mins. I arrived around 14:00pm to a location that screamed chub. A tree had decided to live out its remaining life onto the water, and judging by the debris it had collected, it had fallen some time ago. Beside this tree, a small narrow fast flowing cut, which joined the main flow of the river.
It was that crease of the river that I was to drop a large piece of bread flake. For me it’s all about going big in winter. Big hook, big bait and 6lb line straight through to a size 6 specialist.
Two small balls of liquidised bread with a little turmeric added, thrown into the cut beside the margins, this produced a nice cloud which will eventually make its way to my hook bait.
I didn’t wait long for the quiver tip to smack down and then bend right around. I lifted the rod too soon, the fish screamed away towards the low bridge and after feeling two or three heavy knocks the hook gave way. It certainly felt like a powerful chub. With that in mind I was prepared to move on and find another swim, but my gut feeling was telling me to stay.
The rod tip settled and I set my stop watch to 40 minutes. 20 minutes later another great curve in the quiver tip. This time I allowed a little more time, bingo! I held the rod low, applying pressure to keep him away from the possible tree roots and most certainly the debris. The location I’m fishing was risky, a 50/50 chance of getting snagged, if I didn’t steer the fish away quickly. Chub certainly give a good fight and will use every opportunity to get you, the angler, in trouble. Away from cover he continues to fight, my rod absorbing each tail thrash and body dive to get to cover. I was glad to see his huge rubbery lips and wide open mouth as I slid him into the landing net.
As I’m admiring his beauty I notice that a small part of his tail was missing, an old injury that had healed. I named him “The Half Tail Warrior” even with some tail missing he fought like one. Who knows, someday I may get to catch him again.
The light was fading, the wind was getting stronger and temperature dropping. The cold wind was smacking against my face making my eyes water. One final cast into the same spot.
I began to pack my things away and as I was rolling up my unhooking mat, the rod tip bends around and I’m into another fine chub. Not as big, but just as chunky and angry as the first.
I slipped him back into the water. It was pretty much in darkness now, the wildfowl had arrived home and several ducks beside me were waiting patiently to gobble up the fallen bread pieces by my feet. I can’t complain, two great chub taken on bread flake. I gathered my things and made the short walk to my vehicle.
Homeward bound for a hot brew and a seat beside the fire.
Note the tail A big piece of bread used on a size 6 hook