Barbel – The End of a Chapter

Barbel – The end of a chapter

One of the reasons for this was that I was on a quest to catch a barbel, any barbel, and whatever I did, however I did it, it just did not seem to make any difference. This quest lasted the entire length of my admittedly short fishing career. This is a short story about the end of that particular chapter.

The bridge over the Ouse

I am very lucky to live only a half a mile drive from a beautiful stretch of the Ouse, and I drive over a bridge spanning the river. The bridge is straight off a postcard and is a sight to look at either from the car, or from the bank. There are many drivers who also seem to like looking at the bridge rather than watching the road as twice in the last month people have driven through the side of it.

The river in all its guises

Driving to and from work I get to see the river in all of its guises, from a heavy flooded monster to a babbling, trickling, crystal clear river in the summer. I have spent three years on this stretch of river and have caught some lovely chub, perch and roach, but never a barbel. I knew that they were in the river as I have had people stop on the bank for a chat while I was fishing and tell me with great pride about their capture. I even had someone show me their picture of them on their mobile phone proudly holding a large barbel. Luckily for them, I am not an aggressive man, for if I was, they would have been gaining medical advice on how to remove the device from an unreceptive orifice. Last summer I even spotted one lurking under some roots of a tree making the elusive capture of one even more frustrating.

Over those three years I am ashamed to say that I have now become a fair weather fisherman. The thrill of fishing on the banks in the winter was tarnished with the very low returns. I was lucky to scrape a small perch or gudgeon from the river while breaking icicles off my bobble hat. I got involved with coaching for my son’s football and rugby teams in the winter. Running around and shouting at kids was much more fun than freezing to death and not catching fish. The kit was carefully stored in the garage over the past winter and as June 16th arrived and the weather turned warmer I started getting excited again about spending time on the river.

I spent some time dusting down the kit and realised some of the bags of boilies had large amounts of dust in the bottom. I just happened to be reading a forum where a chap had discovered a similar problem. It transpired that I had boilie mite and that they had attacked the bags of boilies that I had carefully stored and sealed in a coolbox. I am not sure that the Natural History museum has this species classified but I am considering writing to them. It was then the turn of the kit to be dusted off. I opened my fishing bag for the first time for 6 months, and 10 or 11 moths flew out and I realised after a bit of searching that the moths had laid eggs on my fishing towel and hatched and the moths had lived in my bag for six months. What were they called I wondered, Fishing Towel Moth? Maybe I should write away about those too.

After my fishing bag had been fumigated, and the fishing towel had been hosed down I was ready for my first proper session of the season. I didn’t quite make it on the 16th, having to make do with an exploratory one hour spinning session with my son a day later, but on the 20th June I was ready to go for an evening spot of fishing. After three years of hoping for a barbel you do tend to give up a little and I had resigned myself to never catching one on this stretch, and all I was hoping for was a big chub.

The large ‘growth’ was a pike

I selected a swim I had caught chub in before and lobbed in my boilie and PVA bag full of trout pellets. Whilst I was setting up my landing net and chair, within 30 seconds of casting in, the rod tip rattled and I was in. I reeled in a small chub but I was surprised to see that the chub appeared to have a large growth on its tail. Then I realised with horror that the large growth was actually a pike. I stood there for five minutes wondering what to do, whether to land the two fish extravaganza I’d caught and claim both of them, or wait until the pike let go and weigh and photograph half a chub.

Then a clout from the watch lead

It was bad day for the chub as the hook decided for me and came out of the chub, and the heavy watch lead I was having to use to hold bottom in the raised river levels then flew behind me, whipped back and caught me square on the back of the head. The pike just sat there in the shallows eating the chub and I am sure I could see a smile on its face. The session had got off to a strange start.

I needed a heavy watch lead

I then faced the decision as to whether I could stick it out in the same swim I now knew was patrolled by a pike, or move. I decided to stay and see what happened. I should have guessed that nothing happening was the answer and after a short shower that soaked all of my kit, I decided to move. I now had the pick of the river. Rather strangely for the start of the season there was absolutely no one on the bank, so I decided to pitch up in a place I had previously caught a few fish from. I had hooked a suspected barbel there a few years ago, but it had smashed my tackle into pieces and left me tangled in a web of line and reeds.

Forming crop circles and a drive down the river

After using my chair to form a few crop circles and make a swim in the middle of some deadly looking nettles I settled down for another hour. Again I threw my boilie and PVA bag into the fast flowing river and gave myself until 19:30, when I would pack up and head home for a curry. The sun had now come out and was drying out the wet kit, and I was quietly sunbathing and admiring the nature around me, when at 19:29 precisely, the rod signalled a tap, and then the rod lurched round. I jumped up and immediately had to release the clutch as whatever it was on the end decided to go for a high speed drive down the river.

It was what I’d been waiting for

I thought to myself that this was a good chub. After many runs and lurches, including a period when the fish sat on the bottom and me being unable to move it, I finally managed to bring the fish to the surface, and realised straight away it was what I had been waiting for.

The bronze flank of the fish shone in the sunshine and it was a sight to behold. Not only that, it was a monster. I would have settled for a baby one to get off the mark, but this was obviously anything but. Once the fish had tired a little, I couldn’t wait to get the fish on the bank and nervously stabbed at it with my landing net a couple of times which could have cost me the fish, but luckily it stayed on and I landed it. I put the fish on the mat and just stood there, not quite believing what I was seeing. I then went into panic mode, not wanting to keep the fish out of water too long but wanting to photograph and weigh the fish all the same, and suddenly realised I had no one to take the photograph of me holding my prize.

The end of a chapter; the quest was over

I ran up the steep bank and saw a woman jogger running past about 200 yards away. I started opening my mouth to shout but then realised I would have looked stupid, flapping my arms around and in a state of huge excitement. I would not have blamed her if she had called the Police. I decided then that the photograph would have to stay in my head. I went back to the fish, quickly weighed it ( just over 9 pounds, which is apparently a great fish to start with ) and put the fish back in the net and in the water. I had read so many articles and forums about the subject of returning barbel I was a theoretical master at it, but had never put it into practise. I let the fish recover and after a few short minutes it was swimming into the bottom of my net just wrestling to be released. I lowered the net and it was gone in a flash of its tail. The end of a chapter. As I am sure a lot of people do after catching their dream fish, I stood there mouth open, staring at the river not quite knowing what to do. I just laughed and packed up and went home with the biggest smug grin on my face you have ever seen. And I was still shaking.

As soon as I got home I told my wife that the quest was over and I had caught my first barbel. She was of course very pleased for me, but in the next sentence brought me back to reality by telling me that she had defrosted the freezer and it looked really nice now. There is a saying that men and women come from different planets – different solar systems would be more precise.

The next day I went visiting every fisherman I knew at work and told them of my conquest the previous evening. They were all delighted to share the news with me and spoke about their own captures from the past.

It is now a few days later and I still can’t quite believe it. I have gone over all the times I have fished that river and have never caught a barbel. Was it the wrong location all along, the wrong time, the wrong bait, or just plain unlucky? Now that I have an idea where the barbel are and that they are catchable with the right methods, I know there must be more, surely. The fact that they seem to be dwelling in a place where the river is quite deep, there is no way of seeing them (apart from buying some scuba gear) and not knowing how many fish are there just makes me want to fish it all over again.

I can’t wait.