I had my most manic fishing session ever on Friday night.
I arrived on the Trent on Friday teatime and set my stall out to fish into dark, hoping that in these conditions I would get a few after dark.
I steadily built up the swim as the evening progressed and was thoroughly enjoying myself. It was breathlessly hot and humid and Mother Nature was alive. I even had a couple of small fish when the sun was up, which surprised me.
Then, around 11 O'clock, it was like someone flicked a switch. I just knew things were starting to happen as my tips started bouncing shortly after casting. I made a real effort to get lots of bait out in my feeders, keeping my discipline and casting and recasting repeatedly.
Bang! The downstream rod was away. I landed a decent fish around 7lb. Before I recast, the other rod was away. For the next three hours I couldn't even keep two rods in the water. Fish were hitting the boilie within 2 minutes of it landing. I had barbel after barbel after barbel, with the odd chub thrown in, all between about 5 and 8lb. No monsters, but all good fish. I had to abandon one rod, I was soaked to the skin from wading out to net and return the fish. I ripped my landing net in the undergrowth and had to stitch it up in a panic. I booted my bait bucket over repeatedly.
Fast forward to about 2am and I am kneedeep in the Trent, wearing nothing but shorts, playing a barbel while lightening lit up the sky around me.
I thought to myself "It doesn't get much better than this"
If one of those bolts would have hit my rod and zapped me to the great wierpool in the sky, then I would have died a happy man.
Superb, absolutely superb. Barbel fishing at its best. God knows how many I had. Maybe 20 fish? I left at 2.30am with them still feeding like mad, gutted that I couldn't carry on but exhilarated at my best ever bag of barbel.
I arrived on the Trent on Friday teatime and set my stall out to fish into dark, hoping that in these conditions I would get a few after dark.
I steadily built up the swim as the evening progressed and was thoroughly enjoying myself. It was breathlessly hot and humid and Mother Nature was alive. I even had a couple of small fish when the sun was up, which surprised me.
Then, around 11 O'clock, it was like someone flicked a switch. I just knew things were starting to happen as my tips started bouncing shortly after casting. I made a real effort to get lots of bait out in my feeders, keeping my discipline and casting and recasting repeatedly.
Bang! The downstream rod was away. I landed a decent fish around 7lb. Before I recast, the other rod was away. For the next three hours I couldn't even keep two rods in the water. Fish were hitting the boilie within 2 minutes of it landing. I had barbel after barbel after barbel, with the odd chub thrown in, all between about 5 and 8lb. No monsters, but all good fish. I had to abandon one rod, I was soaked to the skin from wading out to net and return the fish. I ripped my landing net in the undergrowth and had to stitch it up in a panic. I booted my bait bucket over repeatedly.
Fast forward to about 2am and I am kneedeep in the Trent, wearing nothing but shorts, playing a barbel while lightening lit up the sky around me.
I thought to myself "It doesn't get much better than this"
If one of those bolts would have hit my rod and zapped me to the great wierpool in the sky, then I would have died a happy man.
Superb, absolutely superb. Barbel fishing at its best. God knows how many I had. Maybe 20 fish? I left at 2.30am with them still feeding like mad, gutted that I couldn't carry on but exhilarated at my best ever bag of barbel.