A new club ticket was purchased for a river on the edge of the Fens, a venue that rises on chalk and generally runs clear, the upper reaches holding dace,chub and trout and the lower end classic Fen fish, rudd, bream and if you're lucky tench.
Waaaak and I arranged to have a day looking round just after Christmas, but his car troubles ( sing along with Adam ) meant I was alone.
First stop, an absolutely tiny stream, mostly unfishable, due to it being only inches deep. In a rare deep(er) pool I spied dace, but didn't fish, noting the spot for a future visit.
A few miles down the road in a hillbilly town, I walked an overgrown, almost canal like section, festooned with floating detritus, plastic bottles, cans, the usual stuff. Groups of bored kids roamed the banks ( sounds as if they're more feral and delinquent than "walked" or "played aĺong". I've been ready the Daily Mail you know ).
It was all rather uninspiring.
I came to a little weir pool, plenty of flow here. It looked great, if you ignored the masses of bankside rubbish. When you usually fish in a rural environment you forget what dirty bstards some people are.
First trot down and the float shot under. A lovely, good sized dace, the first fish on the beautiful ten foot, cut down 1990s Drennan Crystalite, customised by the legendary Lord Lobkin of Wivenhoe.
More dace followed, plus some roach and a couple of decent chub, all this with an otter working the pool the whole time.
After an hour I jumped in the van to check out a section further upstream. A wooded, scenic, very slowly flowing piece of water.
By now, the light was fading fast. A handful of maggots in a likely looking swim and the float again buried first cast. A nice roach. And so it continued, with some dace thrown in for good measure.
An interesting, enjoyable, if unspectacular day. It's been said a thousand times, but trotting a float down a winter river takes some beating.
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