Pastures New

One country I've never fished, though I've visited a couple of times, is Germany.

The place we were staying on the Ijssel is an old favourite, the cycling there is fantastic, the park up is right on the harbour and the fishing always interesting. We'd been there almost a week and after scanning the map we decided to head roughly ninety miles into Germany.

The site was very quiet, small, backed on to a forest and had access to the river.....BUT when I had a look at the huge, very fishy looking weirpool, there were signs everywhere saying No Fishing.

Oh well. We got on the bikes for a recce and a short way downstream I found a likely looking spot.  I earmarked that for a go later on and we carried on our ride, along several different canals, all looking as fishy as feck.

At this stage I should say that in some parts of Germany,  getting a license is near on impossible.  And in this region, Lower Saxony, you need to visit the local town hall with a copy of your passport and a copy of your home country's fishing license and then, maybe, the clerk will issue to with a ticket. But it's totally at the individual's discretion. 

Once you've got the ticket you then have to buy a day ticket for wherever you decide to fish.

Now, I'd always prefer to buy a ticket, but I'm not traipsing up to the town hall on the off chance that the bloke behind the desk may, possibly, grant me a ticket,  especially if I'm only there for a few days.

The alternative of course, is to have a little poach. Which is what I did.

The river had forest on both sides, it was dead quiet. Goosanders, herons, common sandpiper, dippers, the birdlife was fantastic. 

After maybe twenty minutes the tip whacked over and I was in to my first German fish, a nice chub of maybe 3lb. That'll do. 

I didn't hang around long and with the light fading I walked back through the absolutely silent forest feeling satisfied at the modest success. 

I'll probably have a go on one of the canals tomorrow if I can find a discreet spot.

Mixed Bag

After a few days on the djkes and canals, it was back on the ( different) river.

Fishing was tough. The stretch by our park up was very deep, very snaggy and very fast.

I didn't like it and unsurprisingly blanked on the first evening.

The next day out cycling with S, I had a good recce about a mile downstream. It was much more to my liking. Shallower,snag free and a nice flow. And most importantly,  I could fish off the beach and paddle at the same time.

I started fishing too early really, it was boiling hot and bites were nonexistent. After maybe an hour, the tip dropped back as something unseen took the sweetcorn. It turned out to be a clonking roach just over 2lb. That'll do nicely. 

Next cast I lost an even bigger one, but that was it. I cycled back to the van along the floodbank, the air still warm and close, then crashed out on the chair and watched the last of the sun go down, as the big ships passed by, rumbling on into the night.

We got up early the following day and headed north, in a futile attempt to beat the heat.

The first day on yet another river and it was roasting hot.

Out on the bikes for a long ride, ferries across two rivers, ice creams and then a welcome beer.

Time to prep the barbel gear. The flow here normally means very heavy feeders, but at the moment you can hold easily with 3 or 4 oz . 15lb Big Game main line, same for the hook links and a size 8 Guru MWG hook. There's your technical bit.

I started early. Nothing for at least an hour, then the bites started. First fish a clonking silver bream of around 2lb, followed by a small barbel.

Then it was ide all the way. One particularly chunky, immaculately conditioned specimen stood out, a veritable pig of a fish, which took a liking to cheese.

After breakfast, it was anther big bike ride, then lazing in the shade in an attempt to keep cool. It was so bloody hot I didn't fish in the evening.

At the moment it's just gone 06.00 and I'm sitting outside drinking tea in the drizzly rain, having been out asp hunting at dawn.

As usual, the action was all over in half hour, but I managed a cracker of around 6lb, which hit the lure with fury in the half light of a murky dawn.

Crappy photo-on-the-mat-with-flash, but a record of some kind anyway.

Today will, yet again, involve cycling, ice cream, coffee, a big dirty omelette and a few drinks.

Oh, I might have a fish too.

Waterland

We headed north about twenty miles to the "Groene Hart" , a land full of djkes, drains and canals.

Most of these places contain carp of varying sizes. The place we stayed was surrounded by perfect looking, lily fringed water.

But you shouldn't jump to conclusions.  We walked and cycled miles, me on the lookout for tell tell signs of carp. Nothing. Not one sighting.

Back at the camp we had a tiny djke backing on to us.

A few casts produced small roach and rudd, there were hoardes of them. A couple of handfuls of hemp/corn mix were chucked in to see if anything bigger was present.

An hour later while having our tea outside the van, I saw a big patch of bubbles. Tea was put on hold and a big bit of flake put on the hook, under a piece of peacock quill.

A couple of minutes later the float slid away and an obviously much larger fish was on. Small carp I thought, but no, a lovely tench around 3lb. That'll do.

After tea I didn't, as you might expect, carry on fishing. I got on the bike and had a recce at another,slightly larger canal, just outside the campsite.

A few hanfuls of the old faithful hemp and corn mix was deposited in a couple of swims, ready for an exploritory session early next morning. 

Arriving at dawn, the swim was full of bubbles,it was like a cauldron ! But.....not a bite!

Not to be beaten, I returned the following morning and had a great result. Decent roach and rudd to 1.25lb, chunky silver bream, two nice tench and a huge great bream. All on a simple float set up and the old classic Mk1 Drennen Tench rod.

"On the bike" , a rod, net, bait bucket and bits and pieces in your pockets. The crazy thing is that in all the miles we've cycled over the last few days, we've only seen two anglers. There's so much to go at, but you just have to "suck it and see" and find out yourself.

More cycling and fishing planned.

Off Again

We got the ferry over to Holland, with rough plans to visit western Germany and the Ardennes in Belgium/northern France.

First stop however, was the mighty Waal, in the Netherlands. The river was at near record low levels, but let's be clear, it's still six hundred yards wide !

There was far less flow and compared to normal standards, far greater clarity, which unsurprisingly made the fishing tough.

There were still some excellent fish to be had though and over five short sessions I had roach to 2lb 14oz,  some very nice bluenose to 2lb 8oz, big bream and a monster ide of 6lb 2oz, a new PB.

An additional bonus was that we secured a riverside pitch and when we were sat outside the camper one evening, a beaver swam by and ended up on the beach not twenty yards away.

We've moved on to somewhere very different now, a little place in the "Grone Hart", with djkes and polders criss crossing the land for miles. The possibilities are endless.

Let's see what fish they hold.

Glorious Flatlands

Up on the north Norfolk coast again, thirty miles of endless sand dunes, marshes and reedbeds, bursting with wildlife and yes, very, very big skies.

I was on the hunt for thick lipped mullet, or at least that was the nominal reason for a few days in ( one of ) my favourite places in the world. 

Monday I went out at dusk looking for nightjars. I waited, then waited some more, until just on dark thay showed. That weird churring, as the bird sits somewhere in the heathland and then the high pitched, short calls of birds on the wing. It was almost totally dark before a pair flew over me and then disappeared in the blink of an eye. A real buzz.

I walked back to the van through the woodland, torchless, the scent of honeysuckle and pine trees in the nostrils and the sound of muntjaks barking in the distance.

Tuesday I met Waaaak for a pint in a proper pub and then embarked on the long trek to the beach. And what a beach, miles of flat, golden sand, backing on to dunes and creeks and back channels running mosaic like round the marshes.

I missed my only take, but what a place.

In the evening I joined Charlie boi on the beach to record an episode for the podcast. Hadn't seen him for a while, so lots of piss taking ensured and tales were told. The man doesn't give a feck.

Next day, I walked for miles, bins at the ready, looking for mullet. A few showed, not really enough to give a chance of catching, but the lack of angling was compensated by a huge amount of wildlife.

Spoonbills, three types of egret and three species of tern, ringed plovers, reed buntings, stonechats, eider duck, a tree creeper and countless others.

In the marshes I saw Chinese water deer, roe and munjak, hares, a toad ( not Nigel ) and a lizard.

Once again, a great trip in a wild, beautiful  area. Lucky to live only a couple of hours away, looking forward to returning already.

This England

No, not the England of little Tommy, Mr Toad and the flagshaggers, an England that still exists, hanging on, whilst the shitehawks, grifters and ruthless corporations do their worst. 

North Norfolk,  one of my favourite places, unchanging ( almost ) and always a joy to visit.

We were bus wankers for a week and I bloody loved it. Thumbs up to Sanders coaches. 

Titchwell, Wells, the magnificent Picnic Fayre in Cley ( with entitled middle class twonk parking on double yellows, shouting work instuctions into his mobile, blocking the tiny street ), a pint with Wak at the Dun Cow in Salthouse and we even battled it out with the hoardes at West Runton and Sheringham.

A magnificent week in one of Old Blightys best spots.

Back on the Mud

It's warm, sunny and we've lost that nasty northerly wind, so that can only mean one thing.

Time to get back on the tidal river.

Bass on the top water lures.

Mullet on the fly. Feeding well at the moment. 

Two yesterday and two this morning.  I took Dicky Boy today, to show him the static fly method.

He loved watching the mullet nosing along the edge, occasionally swirling and bolting. He was less keen on the mud, more specifically the Mud Pit of Doom. He stopped for a breather and found himself stuck. 

Rule Number 1, keep moving

He is not alone in this, every "guest" hates it. 

Packing the camper for a few days in north Norfolk, with the fly and lure rods of course.

Forecast is hot and sunny. That'll do.