Packing

Four and a half weeks in the van somewhere in Europe, leaving Wednesday 

The packing takes ages, I think there's enough stuff to last a year, let alone a month.

Ferry to the Hook of Holland, first stop a little place on the river Ijssel ( hopefully....nothing booked as usual ), then I've only the vaguest idea where.

Somewhere to avoid the August crowds where we can cycle, walk and fish. Not in that order obviously. 

Five lure rods, five feeder rods, two fly rods, three barbel/light carp rods, a float rod, 20 kg brown crumb, 20 kg seed, 5 kg, hemp and two trays of sweetcorn for starters.

Things never work out exactly as you expect, so let's see what happens. I'd like another big asp, a barbel or two and a monster ide. Oh, and another one of those huge roach.

Greedy, aren't I ?

In The Groove Again

The tides were crap last week. Next to no fish seen on my walks and I didn't even bother to fish.

Yesterday, I nipped out for a very quick afternoon session for maybe an hour and a bit. It was calm and sunny and looked....well, not very fishy.

First cast on the surface lure was hit by a bass and before I knew it I'd had three fish, decent size too. What do I know ?

I kept looking at a group of mullet that were showing close in around a very specific area. Fins and tails out, they looked as if they were feeding.

I rummaged around in my pockets and cobbled together eighteen inches of horrible,crinkly line with two flies and an orange indicator, which I clipped on to my bass trace. It looked horrendous, but speed was of the essence. 

Making my way to where the fish were showing, the mud got deeper and deeper,until it was an inch or two from the top of my wellies.

A decent cast to where the fish were and I left the flies static. More and more fish appeared and after fifteen minutes or so the indicator slid away and I was in.

In to a fish and in to even deeper mud that went up to my thighs and filled my wellies with stinking, sloppy goodness. The fish fought long and hard but was eventually netted.

I was well chuffed ( yes, that old expression again ) and truly covered in mud. Worth it though. First one I've had on the fly for a while.

Three bass and a nice mullet on a sunny afternoon in double quick time, doesn't get better than that.

This morning I was on the river at 04.00. Beautifully calm, warm and the surface was alive with mullet. Mullet that would not take my baited ( Isome plastic worm )  spinner, unlike the bass, which hammered it cast after cast.

I had about fifteen before I moved a mile down river. The first pool produced a sizeable fish on the popper and then I moved to a spot shaded from the early morning sun.

The popper was cast out and worked back over some bridge pilings when I noticed several fish that looked like bass mooching about , totally ignoring the lure.

A change to a shallow diver resulted in an immediate take and yet another decent sized bass was on and fighting like fury. Unfortunately, it was bleeding badly, so was taken home for the pot, along with samphire, blackberries and cherry plumbs. The fat of the land.

There are suddenly plenty of fish in the river again and "I know where they live", so this week I'm going to make hay big styleeeee.

Perfect Day

Late morning I set off on the bike, along unmade tracks and tiny lanes, covering a paltry twenty five miles in three hours, such was the frequency of the stops.

Not because I was knackered, but because the scenery demanded it. Old Blighty at her best.

It was a truly stunning ride. On one section, I travelled over five miles without seeing a car,  the lanes ever more narrow with sand and shingle interspersed with tarmac.

Glorious countryside deserted, in July in southern England. All is not yet lost.

So far I'd crossed the river Brett, heavily choked with vegetation, but full of life nevertheless, the river Box, Belstead brook and Stutton Brook.

Now I came to the Stour at Boxted.

The bridge was closed. I mean properly closed, with high Loafer proof barriers. Now, if I was in a car I'd have no alternative but to turn around, but a big diversion along a small but busy road on a bike ? No thanks.

I carried the bike down the bank and across the mercifully shallow river, fast flowing across the gravels, the bank somewhat steep on the other side, especially for an old git.

The rest of the ride was mostly off road along the river and within half hour of my river crossing, I was sitting the shade in the garden, sipping an ice cold drink.

S wanted to join me bass fishing locally in the evening, but kept getting stuck in the mud, so the trip was aborted almost before it had begun.

No matter, it was a couple of minutes from home. I sat in the garden, the wind dropped and the evening warmth ensured a T shirt was enough. And shorts obviously. 

I couldn't resist it. At 21.00 I jumped in the van and by 21.07 the first bass of the evening was being unhooked on the mud.

A few casts later the Rapala Skitter Plop ( product placement for you, mandatory these days #influencertosspots ) was smashed by a furious fish, the silhouette of the surface attack only enhanced by the flat calm water.

A much better fish this, but in no time it was having its photo taken.

In pristine condition, I slipped it back and continued fishing.

Five fish in less than an hour, all off the top and I was back by 22.00.

Perfect.

A Phenomenon

Another very hot day. Nipped down the road to see if I could catch a bass or two on some new lures.

Lovely evening,  spoiled somewhat by a huge invasion of hoverflies that filled the sky and covered my body.

Third cast on the "Hunthouse" top water lure ( superior Chinese copy ) and an extremely hard fighting bass eventually succumbed to the pressure of the old Lamiglass nine footer.

A change to a slow sinker immediately resulted in another of the same size.

It was then I noticed the whole river was full of rising fish. I was initially flummoxed, but with a bit of observation came to the conclusion they were taking hoverflies off the top. They being small bass. Thousands of them

The hoverflies were replaced with millions of ladybirds and the rises became even more vociferous and widespread.

An incredible spectacle that I've never seen before and may never see again.

Us anglers are lucky aren't we ?

Summer Days

Well, the bass and mullet on my metaphorical doorstep have disappeared.  Where there were hundreds of flashing, rolling, jumping fish, now there is nothing. Another mystery.

I've been poking about, watching, cycling and baiting. Ive been pre baiting two interesting areas, one in a section where I've never, ever had a decent fish. I've seen nothing either, but the bait had disappeared on a couple of occasions.  Whether it's wildfowl, small chub or something decent who knows. I'll find out.

I've also been farting around doodling. Sitting in the garden in the shade, coffee on, listening to the back catalogue of the mighty Fall, is a damn fine way to spend a morning. 

I reckon in the last few months almost all my fishing has been done on, or more accurately, accessed, by bike. Obviously that means it's all pretty close to home, but it ensures that the gear is kept to a minimum and cycling tiny lanes and riverside footpaths in summer is a lovely thing.

I had a look along a tiny feeder stream yesterday, heaving with life. Small fish, dragon and damselflies, a kingfisher. The water was crystal clear, as you'd expect after months without significant rainfall.

A beautiful place to spend a bit of time.

You can never be unhappy catching a gudgeon.

I've finally got round to (very, very loosely) planning the camper trip for late July and August, just over four weeks of fishing, cycling and generally poking about somewhere in Europe.

As Eisenhower said, "Its a bad plan that can't be altered", so we'll see where we end up.