Cormorants and canoes

Thursday 26 December 2019. River Weaver (0.85m and dropping).

Another few hours on boxing day...

move

I rocked up at 14 bells, started in the same two swims I finished in on Xmas eve, nada.

In the first 30 minutes I had a mink, a goosander and a cormorant all go through the swim (not together, that would be a bit too much). Then a 'know all' got me, telling me I was too late 'as a cormorant had been through'.. ..

I wasn't happy with the state of my flake in the first two swims, too old, too flakey, not right, so I changed rig slightly and used crust thereafter (for the first time in ages it has to be said). Lo and behold in my third swim, the witching hour came at 15.15 and I got a chub right on time. Fifteen minutes later I got another. Nothing amazing, 2lb+ each, but happy enough.

I had one more bite which I missed and reckon I could have mustered out another few fish but decided to bimble on downstream to an 'old banker' that has in recent years turned to sh*te. I fished on until 5, nice and warm (although a tad wet) suffice to say, the 'old banker' is still sh*te.

Sunday 29th December 2019. River Weaver (0.783 and falling).

A few more hours this afternoon, a bit of an experiment as much as anything. Sorted myself a new camera, so had a play with that. Scaled the amount of terminal gear down, had a play with the interchangeable feeders/leads that Preston have introduced and decided to try a few swims I rarely fish.

snags

River still dropping, I didn’t arrive until 2-ish so in reality it was only 2 hours fishing, but as we know you catch fook all sat in the ‘ouse.

First swim is a deep hole. I can’t remember catching a fish from there, I do remember losing tackle. Well I didn’t remember until reeling in from my first cast which saw me leave a hooklink in an unseen snag. “I remember now.”

Now it’s fair to say I’ve been a right moaning twunt lately, and today, there were loads of people out. It was a mild day, a Sunday afternoon, Xmas week, goodwill to all. Forgive and forget. I didn’t bargain for a bloke in a canoe though, yet that’s what happened. Payback for me being such a miserable tit. 

Payback

After a few more half-hearted casts I moved down to the railway bridge swim, where it was miles too busy, far too many people, too many dogs, so after 5 minutes there and I was on my toes once again.

Thereafter I revisited the shit banker swim that I finished up in on Boxing day. I do sometimes feel I have a point to prove with certain swims, regardless, with an hour or so left I opted to fish mid-river, using a small cage feeder containing hempy bread mash, with flake or dendra on the hook. It’s fair to say the fish weren’t going mad, but second cast I did miss a bite, and the third cast I hooked into a fish which gave a good account of itself, and in fact, turned out to be one of the resident bream of about 3lb. I might just have a pop for these one day.

slab

Just before dark I had a chub near 3lb, however the hook had passed clean through its lip and became embedded in the net. So after snapping off I called it a day.

Twenty Four

Tuesday 24th December 2019. River Weaver (0.89m and dropping).

The Annual xmas eve Weaver session started at 13 bells. Earlier that morning I’d done the usual recce with the Airedale and happened across another upper Weaver regular, ‘Stu’, who is a decent angler. He’d been there since sparrow’s fart, fishing the pole with maggot, tight to the far bank, and had sod all. So when I rocked up 3 hours later at 1pm expecting him to have at least gotten something, it was a bit of a kick in the nads to find out he’d still not had a sniff.

We chewed the fat over the state of the river, and the lack of small fish in particular before I settled in 100 yards above him. My plan being to move every 20 minutes or so until I found the fish. I had some dendras that had seen better days, also some lobs, and decided to mince these and mix them with dead maggots and hemp, and then introduce them through a small feeder with lob on the hook. Lots of wormy, hempy, maggoty goodness. First swim gave me nothing, I moved below Stu (who had since had his one and only chub) into a banker swim some 50 yards below him.

Stu’s swim is a popular swim, next to a footbridge, sadly, e-v-e-r-y- -s-i-n-g-l-e- -f-e-c-k-e-r who crosses said bridge wants to ask the usual mundane sh*te. “Have you caught anything?” “Do you eat them?” …and so on. Christ, it’s incessant. Unless it’s peeing down I usually avoid the swim like the plague for those very reasons. However today is worse. Much, much worse. The xmas eve dad banterists are out in full force for their yearly walk. Surrounded by their scabby offspring, who laugh at every, f**kwitted word whilst throwing any old sh*te they can find into the river. One particular gobby nobhead booms out loud to Stu “I’ll place an order for 2 salmon and a trout….HA HA HA HA.“ I hope he gets dysentery.

Thankfully my banker swim can only be approached by circumnavigating 20 metres of mud and a nasty slope, so the feckers steer well clear. Swinging a lobworm under a nearside tree, I should have had something, anything, in the way of a bite or an indication, but again, not so much as a hint of a fish. Twenty minutes later and I move again, to yet another banker, this being the other side of the tree where there is a lovely crease and a large slack. Again, aside from one tentative pluck, nothing on the worm/mush combo.

The witching hour of three fifteen comes and goes and still nothing. The wormy approach isn’t working, so I change my approach and go onto bread. I have a hunch and guess the fish have backed off the feed so I cast 15 metres further downstream and within minutes I land a chub, the bullshitometer guesses it’s over 3. I’m officially ace again.

Next cast, ditto, but this time it’s a bigger fish. Not long, but a proper stocky fella. Into the bag and the scales say 4lb 1 oz, my first 4 pounder off the river in probably 5 years, ferry mucking xmas. Two more casts and 2 more chub followed, another three+ and one of a pound and a half or so.

At 1630 I call it a day, the Nantwich bell ringers are in full flow I’ve had four fish in the last 45 minutes or so including a very rare four pounder and life is good. The walk back to the car is lovely, strangers wishing each other merry xmas, the spirit of the season is in the air, and I have a genuine feeling of goodwill to all men. Except for that gobby twot, whom I genuinely hope is currently shitting a hedgehog.

Still

Sunday 15^th Dec 2019. River Weaver (level approx. 1.01m and falling).

Still

River up 2 foot approx, which never seems to bode well, but dropping and nicely coloured so thought I’d give it a go with lobworms. The morning dog walk found 2 cormorants, where last week there had been one.

Nothing too complicated, I fished a lobworm hookbait under a small bomb down the inside on 3 different swims, each of which is quite overgrown. Normally these would throw up the odd bite, maybe a chub, perch or ruffe, but today sadly, I didn’t have a sniff.

This continues my recent, poor run of form on the river. Although in my defence comment has been made on the local FB pages as to how poorly it’s fished this winter. That said it’s getting to the point now where I feel I have a point to prove.