Day 1 The Bristol Avon at Lacock
The three day break started so well. I had arranged to meet Reg at Lacock for a spot of barbel and chub fishing, expecting the latter as the air and river temperature had not risen.
I decided to try some spam which Sandy had flavoured using the pan in which she had cooked curry on the previous evening. Second cast I landed a pristine 4lb 12oz chub, and as Reg took the photograh I joked that we'd better take a picture of this as it might be the last fish of the weekend. What a great bait.
For the next three hours I tried manfully with no more bites, when Reg walked up and said he had caught seven chub on plain spam. I switched over and started getting bites immediately although mostly from 4oz chublets and with my tackle being a lump of spam over 1" across and a size 4 hook, I only managed to catch one. I then had a decent fish on and the hook pulled before I stuck into a good fish which doubled over my rod, then the line was cut which I would imaging was a pike.
That was the end of the day, and Reg had totally outfished me by catching nine fish but didn't gloat too much.
Sandy and I then travelled up to Bredwardine to spend the weekend with our friend Keith Cartwright while Sandy attended a singing course just outside Ludlow.
Day 2 The River Teme
After dropping Sandy off at her course, I nipped in to Mullock's tackle auction at Ludlow to view the books for sale. I left a few commission bids before leaving to collect Keith C and going to fish the Teme. Keith is a conscientious workaholic and a keen fly fisherman, and it is rare that I manage to be a bad influence and get him out fishing, but this afternoon we managed a couple of hours coarse fishing. This is a new stretch that I hadn't seen before and was picturesque in a tranquil valley. We both had a couple of bites; I caught a barbel of 4lb'ish and a chub of around 3lb. Keith missed both his bites, a sure sign that he spends too much time working and not enough time out fishing.
We then picked Sandy up and returned to Bredwardine.
Day 3 The River Teme
This was a horror day. After delivering Sandy to her course again. I headed back to Day 2 of the auction to see if any of my bids had been successful, and if so, collect the books. Well, after checking, they said I had won one lot, a title that I didn't leave a bid for! As the price was low and it was signed, I didn't worry, but then was told that the book had been despatched to their offices and I couldn't take it, even though I had marked my bid sheet 'to be collected'. They agreed to post it FOC, so all ended well, and I headed off to the Teme.
On the previous day, Keith C and I had seen a track down from the road that was marked for angler's parking, so I found this easily but got stuck half way down as my wheels slipped off the mud into ruts, coming to rest on the sump. Unable to move the car forwards or backwards I had to walk to get a kind man with his 4x4 to pull me back to the road. As I had very limited time to fish, this ate a large chunk out of my day.
I then settled down to fish only for a hillclimb to start adjacent to my fishing spot. I guess these specially built cars don't have exhausts or silencers as the noise was deafening and I quickly developed a headache. I have to say the sport looked good fun, and had I attended with ear defenders I would probably have enjoyed it, but it was incompatible with a quiet days fishing.
I therefore decided to trek further along the bank, breaking down my trotting rig before moving on. After a short way I slipped and fell, and as my tackle bag rolled towards the river, I lunged and caught my float box and fixed spool reel. I then heard a heavy sploosh behind me. Where was my centre pin? I could see a mud trail going down the slope underwater into the deepest pool on the stretch, but I couldn't see the bottom. I felt around with my landing net fully extended but with no joy as a sick feeling started in the pit of my stomach. After about half an hour I gave up, feeling totally dejected. I gathered up my sandwhich bag, and there was the reel. In my haste to move away from the noise I must have put it in the wrong bag, and the splash could only have been a clart of mud. I has spent half an hour scaring the fish in the deep hole that I was going to fish!
I then only had a few minuted left, so walked a bit further downstream and flicked out a rolling lead. I hook a couple of chublets which shed the hook; in reality I expect it was too big for thier mouths. Then I drifted the bait closer to a tree and hooked a good chub but my line had caught in a piece of bark, and so the chub was being dragged towards the tree. Not needing a second chance, the chub swam straight into the submerged branches, snagged the line further, and I could see it shake its head, loosen the hookhold and gently swim away. Definitely time to pack up, still with a headache and totally frustrated. A classic example of how not to do it!
Fortunately I don't get these days too often and I told Sandy it is becasue I was rusty having not spent enough time fishing this year.