21 June 04 - The Dove - A PB for Openers

“Sorry mate,” he said, “I'm stuck on the M6. Broke down. Bloody fuel leaking all over the motorway. I'm just waiting for the recovery people to come out to me. I'll see you later if they can fix it or if I can get a hire car in time.”

Rik (before he got soaked) with his 9.9 Dove barbel (click for bigger picture)

That's a good start, I thought. Poor old Stu, not been well lately so he could have done without that.

We met at the usual place, the Salt Box café, at lunchtime. Dave and I forced down huge meals of farmhouse pie, followed by ice cream and apple and raspberry crumble then staggered out to the car park. As it happened, Rik was just coming in. We exchanged the usual insults and headed off for the river.

As we unloaded the gear Stu turned up. They'd fixed his car; a fuel pipe had come unscrewed. “Some b******'s sabotaged me” he said. “There's no way that pipe came undone on its own.”

We tried to help by mentioning a few names, but after half an hour we gave up and staggered across to the swims some three miles away (well, it felt that far to me and Dave, but was more like 400yds in reality).

There were three swims in the little field, and a fourth one just over the fence, but that was already occupied. The end swims of the three we had left were no more than 30 yds apart. The middle one was just about big enough to squeeze in two anglers, so you can imagine it was a bit tight to say the least. But, what the hell, this was a social event as much as anything. We told Rik what the form was of the swims in the past (there being little difference as the fish were obviously swimming through each of them at some time or other). We then gave him first pick, as you do when you take a guest who can't fish there as often as we can (well, some work it like that, and some don't...). He chose the first swim. Dave and I squeezed into the middle swim, and Stu went into the end swim. This needed a bit of weed cutting to make it more accessible.

We each fished more or less the same, with either soaked pellet groundbait in an open-end feeder, or squeezed around a method feeder, with either pellets or boilies for hookbait.

Dave was first in with a small fish (for the stretch) that we guessed was about 4lb. About an hour or so later Rik was in, and as I looked up I saw the butt of his 2lb TC rod was trying to make a 'U' shape as he held hard to stop the fish making the snags along the far bank. Rik got the fish under control and soon after I slipped the net under a nice fish that tipped the scales to 9lb 9oz. We were all chuffed with that as it's always good when the guest catches a decent fish.

Stu was next to get a bend in his rod, hauling out a fish that probably weighed about 7lb.

My stomach was rumbling pretty loudly by now, and although I had yet to make my mark on the river, I knew I would have to head off sooner or later and make another kind of mark somewhere else.

It was raining now. With a vengeance. A clear blue sky and warm sunshine had, in hardly any time at all, turned to black clouds and a downpour that was taking no prisoners. Stu, Dave and I were crouching under Brotels and cursing. Rik had no shelter at all and just cursed as the rain battered down on him. It didn't help that his 100% waterproof jacket just wasn't. One per cent waterproof would have been pushing it. It soaked the rain up like a sponge and then soaked the rest of him. He actually wrung it out afterwards and stood there shivering. Not only was it now wet, it was also bloody cold.

Stu and his new PB barbel of 11lb 9oz (click for bigger picture)

It was still raining when we heard Stu's second cry of “I'm in!” And this time he was right in. We looked up and saw his rod being wrenched over to a near horizontal line as he struggled to stop the fish from going into the trees on the opposite bank. The fish made it, but not enough, for, as I got to him and shipped out the landing net he was playing the fish in mid-river. In unison, we each said something like, “it's a good fish, could be a double.”

I slipped the net under it and it pushed the scales round to 11lb 9oz. The fish had some spawning damage along one flank, but it was obviously fit and quite fat for its length. It was a PB for Stu. He deserved it too, after his run of poor health.

Soon after, Rik left for home. He was wet and shivering and not looking at all like the Big Rik we used to know. The one who who would have fished through it all in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and called us all a bunch of northern Nancy's for using a shelter.

Only minutes after he left, I was doubled up with stomach pains and diving into the bushes doing what I had to do. Only to repeat the process some minutes after that. Dave and I left for home soon after, while Stu carried on for a spell.

So it was a good start for some, and a poor one for others. But being there to see our guest catch a good fish and then witnessing and photographing Stu nobbling his PB made it all worthwhile.