Friday's visit last week to the River Frome was a complete success, the capture of that Grayling just half hour before dusk was a prime example of why even when the fishing is tough anything can happen. On our walk back to our pits for the evening the clouds vanished and a clear cold night settled in, it turned out to be a bitterly cold one. My net was frozen solid and took a while to thaw out before regaining its shape, it was unfortunately the first frost of the Winter, fishing was going to be hard and we knew that bites would come very few and far between. Lucky that we are both fairly patient. We needed it.
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| The Stour steaming in the morning after the brisk night. |
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| Even just for a walk it's nice to be out, but armed with a rod just feels so much better. |
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| -1c does this to nets! |
The frosty morning revealed a beautiful sunrise, the kind of bite in the air that would deter most anglers from making the effort but for me I love it, blanks are usually inevitable after a sharp frost but the scenery is so relaxing and you get to really enjoy the countryside in those conditions, you almost vanish into it, sometimes I just put the rod out and sit and watch the time go by, the ever present Kingfisher's flashing past, the watchful Buzzards and Kestrels searching the fields for their next meal, the enigma which is the Otter, slipping in and out of the water and keeping tabs on me as it searched the margins for fish, all things I don't see in London so for me this are treats.
I started the day searching for anything, whether it be Grayling, Chub, Barbel, Roach and Dace. Trotting maggot and sitting behind a quiver-tip rod in the hope of the rod hooping over. For hours the float top remained above the surface or the tip remained motionless, the frost really had put the fish off, as the day wore on I could only think that the best chance we had in catching a Chub was setting up camp in a single area and await the time when they would feed, dusk was probably that window.
That small window came and went very quickly, thankfully I was in the right place at the right time. My boilie rod twitched and then lurched towards the river, no invitation needed I lent into a good heavy fish, the fight was fairly decent but it was certainly no Barbel, the weed was still quite thick so I had to put the head torch on as the light had almost failed completely by that point, in the light I could make out a good sized Chub that looked to be approaching the six pound mark and shortly after seeing it she was in the net.
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| 5.13 |
That window I alluded to shut after that Chub was landed, a quick couple of photos, a spin on the wheel of fortune and slipped back into the dark abyss. An hour more of lifeless rods meant the time had gone and we headed off home. I feel I am getting closer to capturing that monster Chub I seek, just got to put the time in and it may just happen.
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