Love Is In The Air.

For my last hurrah of 2022 I returned to the Anker once more, dreaming of a barbel.

When I set myself the task of catching one of these elusive fish last year it seemed like I had time on my side. Now, with one last session at hand it felt like the trials and tribulations of all that had gone before were compressed into this; one session, one river, one chance(?). Truly the sort of drama only a closed season can overlay upon your day and a hard stop to proceedings whether you like it or not.

March is often as kind to anglers as it is spiteful. Offering them the green shoots of spring and a countryside resurrecting from winter in one hand whilst in the other a substantial padlock soon to be hung to the gate.

The countryside resplendent and mild I travelled light. A rod, a net and rest, a small bucket of baits and my tackle bag could not hope to weigh me down.

I'd chosen a stretch which to the best of my knowledge has little form or report of barbus in recent years. But that didn't matter as I'd chosen it for a reason more important than even that - it is glorious! It's everything I love about river fishing with it's twists and turns, holes, runs and glides. The Anker cannot be described as a big river by any stretch of the imagination and here it is small enough for swims to sometimes offer you just one shot.  

I'm an impatient soul and so the first swim I came to I made a cast. This was not in the script which was hung around my neck and clearly printed in large bold type font underlined,

"Walk the stretch identifying your chosen spots, deposit a little peace offering and then fish your way back up". 

Sod that. I had a thirst to quench and so stopped for a swifty at the first bend. Second cast and the tip knocks then pulls round and I'm playing my first chub. There is no photo to follow as this fish was so ugly I fear it may breach bloggers family friendly thresholds. Suffice to say it has probably lived in the area way longer than I have.

Thirst quenched I followed my script with only a few ad libs along the way as I swung out into the faster runs with larger pieces of meat and bounced them around. It really felt like the rod could hoop at any moment.

A four pound chub followed the first old boy from such a fast run. He had my heart all a flutter in the current.

As time ticked by I found myself smiling increasingly not for what I might catch today but in the near future.

I stayed too long in the last peg. I'd caught a chub first put in over the bait I'd left behind on my way down then as the light started to fade a big fish rolled over my hemp. My whole being and season now became totally immersed in this moment. Could it be a barbel? I should at least stay a little longer in the hope it finds my bait... 

Either it wasn't or it didn't, one will never know, but by the light of my headtorch I made my way back to the car. My chance will come again and by the time it arrives this scene will be unrecognisable and lush. That's fishing folks, there's always something new around the corner.

My dinner was still in the oven.

Cheers.