Barbel Fishing on the Old Mill

My alarm sounded after what felt like a mere 40 winks, however, the usual snooze function on the clock did not come in to play on this particular morning. It was 0430 on a summers Saturday, and whilst everyone else in the neighbourhood slept – I was up in a flash with the excitement of a days fishing ahead of me.

Like the majority of the readers, I also have a full time job and other commitments, so like you, I’m out on the banks when they are at their busiest, so it pays to be up at the crack of dawn so you can get one of the better spots.

As I quietly packed my lunch for the day, and loaded the car with my tackle, looking up at the sky I could see that it was going to be a gloriously sunny day. I set off on the unfamiliarly empty M25, making my way to the M4 where I would head west to the magnificent River Kennet. I had spent the best part of a spring on the stillwaters fishing for Tench, and now that the rivers were open for service once again, I couldn’t resist a trip in search of those hard fighting barbel that reside there.

The 90 mile journey on the calm roads caused no problems, and as I made my way down the last winding country road, the old familiar sign post “The Old Mill” came into view. I slowly drove up to the locked gate, and switched off my engine with a sigh of relief. It was only just past half six, and the fishery didn’t open till 8am, but whilst some would sooner have a extra hour in bed, I had a mission ahead of me, and as the old saying goes… well, the early bird and all that…

Being only one of a handful of the very few productive river day ticket fisheries in the south of the country, it understandably gets very very busy in the summer months, especially at weekends. To stand any kind of chance in having a choice of where you want to fish at the venue, an early start is indeed the order of the day. The gates would not be opened for over an hour yet, and whilst a relaxing read of the newspaper was rather tempting after the long drive, I decided to sit and tie a selection of rigs so that I didn’t waste any precious time throughout the course of the day.

Before long, a queue of cars snaked up the track behind me with the same idea, and as I applied the finishing touches to the rig, in my wing mirror I could see my photographer for the day, Paul Garner, a few cars back. We all seemed to be looking at our watches in the hope of an extra few minutes early fishing, but at 8 o’ clock precisely, the gate was opened where we paid our sub’s for the day.

No time to waste, I parked up and hastily picked up my kit and made my way to the running water that I heard all morning, gushing over the big weir pool. Naturally, first in the queue gets first choice, but as I hurriedly looked at where I fancied, I could see in the corner of the eye the stamped of fellow barbel anglers coming down to stake their terroritory, behind me.

The weir with its oxygenated water and cover seemed appealing, but I walked past this and across to the famous lawn swims to a worn peg that featured a small overhanging bush on the opposite bank. Within minutes all the swims around me were taken, and I wondered whether I had made the right choice, not that it mattered, it looked like I’d be here most of the day whether I liked it or not.

I stood assessing the meandering river through my Polaroid’s, the sun was already beating down on us, and I tried to figure the plan of attack. On further inspection, the main flow of the river was directed right along the margins of the far bank, where perhaps a 5ft deep run flowed over a clean gravel bottom under the bush. Coupled with the shelter and snags, there just had to be Barbel underneath it, it was a real textbook swim. The bush, served another purpose too, which I hoped that would give me an advantage for the trip, and that was cover of shade. Not for me unfortunately, but for the fish, and the way the sun was positioned, it would cast a small shadow for most of the day. We had dry sunny weather for previous 6 weeks prior to this session, and the low clear river was hardly ideal, but with clever thinking and an organised plan, I was sure we would be able to create a chance or two today.

My 12ft Purist Barbel Power rod was pulled out from the quiver, which coupled with a baitrunner reel and strong 10lb line, would be perfect for taming the slender powerful creatures that I hoped resided in my swim. The swim was no place for the paraphernalia of leadcore, backleads and other gizmo’s, instead, a simple free running 2oz grippa lead sat above a ‘longer than usual’ 3ft coated 15lb Two Tone braided hooklink. My thinking was that I could flick the lead so it brushed just under the canopy, where then my offering would sit on the bottom 3ft downstream, well under the cover and right into their lair.

I favour small baits matched with small strong hooks when fishing in the low, clear, daylight conditions. They are highly pressured fish and I need to make my offering as natural and inconspicuous as possible, if I was to get any chance of action. I superglued two small 6mm Marine halibut pellets onto the hair, and hooked on a pva mesh bag which housed an assortment of different sized pellets and crushed Dynamite Red Fish boilies. This pva bag would do three things; prevent any tangles on the cast, encourage the hooklink to straighten out to its full length when on the bottom, and also give off plenty of attraction as the various sized morsals drifted off downstream.

Thankfully – the first cast was spot on. With minimal disturbance, I managed to cast inches away from the spindly branches of the tree opposite, and as I feathered the lead down through the depths, I felt a hard thump at it settled on the gravel below. Feathering the lead not only creates less disturbance upon delivery, but also ensures the rig doesn’t land into a big tangled useless heap.

I paid out a big bow of line so that the pressure from the flow on the mainline didn’t dislodge the lead under the snag. The last thing I needed to be doing would be putting the fish on edge with another cast, and the heavy lead also ensured it would stay put for as long as need be, hopefully until we had a bite.

I sat an watched the tip of my rod sitting low to the waters surface, just minutes into the session. The fish in the swim should hopefully be unaware of our existence, whilst the anglers around me still tackled up the rods in their swims. This is a big advantage for me, past experience tells me that on stretches with time restrictions, its often the few moments at the start and end of the fishing hours that produce the bites when the fish are off guard.

As the first hour past, I did start to hope that we wouldn’t be waiting all day for a bite, given that now baitdroppers and pouchfuls of pellets littered the surface all around me. It really is the kiss of death on busy venues, letting the fish know you are there; be as stealthy as possible and keep all disturbance to a minimum and you might be lucky to trick one early doors.

When all the commotion stopped, I had what looked like a ‘chub pull’, a steady 2-3 inch pull on the rodtip, as a chub picked up the hookbait, and then the tip springs back as the chub feels the resistance and spits the bait back out of its lips. Its definitely one of the times when it pays to sit on your hands, as a strike would be left with no fish, and a spooked swim. It’s a good sign though, when the chub are in the swim the barbel are usually not too far behind. Thankfully barbel don’t really have the ability to spit it out as well as the chub can, and this time the tip just kept going and going!

I swept the rod back, and the strike was met with pure resistance and resilience, a clearly strong fish motored way down river. I applied as much side strain as I dared, line purred off the clutch, and luckily, the fish well away from the obstacle I tempted it from. There was no mistaking what this was, the culprit was probably 25 yards away from me now, but under control, after its first run. I could see the golden flanks of a barbel shaking its head in the clear flow doing its upmost to rid the hook.

Before long, I was teasing it out of the streamer weed in the margin, and with a couple of splashes on the surface it was now engulfed into my waiting net. Relief! The fish was a stunning example of the species, fin perfect, hard fighting and worth waking up early for! It was over 7lb, but not quite 8… and very welcome.

After unhooking, barbel need to be nursed in the river with their head upstream. This is so they can regain their strength, especially this time of year when the oxygen levels are low. I held her for a few minutes, admiring her beauty as she slowly started kicking her tail, and only when they are kicking strongly can you let them swim off to the depths.

Within minutes another pva bag was flicked cautiously within inches of the bush, and I sat back reflecting on the mornings events. It was already getting very hot with not a cloud in the sky. Although the spot was sheltered, it was no surprise that no action commenced over the next few hours. It was time for a re think. I had with me, a tub of the dynamite hemp which I know barbel cannot resist, so I reeled in, and replaced the lead with a baitdropper.

I thought that a couple of pints deposited 6ft above the snag would draw them out from their hidey hole, and hoped a whittled down boile fished in their path would be irrestible, as they swam up to investigate.

In with the hemp I also mixed in some crushed boilies, and 6mm pellets. This all went out quite speedily though the baitropper, all in the exactly the same spot inline with the marker I had picked on the opposite bank. You need to aim to get it as accurate as possible, so that feed is not spread all around the swim. With this disturbance, I thought I would leave the fish to their own devices for a few hours, whilst I investigated the rest of the stretch.

I roved around in all the available swims during the hottest part of the day, flicking an assortment of link ledgered lobworms, pellets and pastes in small holes under trees. It was incredibly hot, but I thought that if I find a hungry chub, it would be a bonus, but to no avail.

The swim had settled nicely in my absence, it felt cooler and I hoped that the swim was full of fish feeding on my appetizer I fed them a near 3 hours ago. Again, a pva bag was cast under the foliage, and my rod tip straight away registered interest. It was difficult not to strike at times, as chub mouthed the bait, and barbel bumped into the line.

I needn’t wait long, as soon enough the tip was being wrenched round for the second time as a barbel swam off at pace in a bid for freedom. Line was wrenched from the tight cluth, and the rod absorbed the energetic lunges from the authoritive specimen. Its essential to use reliable kit, hard fighting barbel make short work of light tackle. I had subdued the fish to a couple of rod lengths out, just beyond the weed, as the fish tussled amongst the strands to try and escape. I reeled down, and pulled the fish towards me as I scooped up my prize.

After resting in the margins whilst I dampened my mat, she was soon being held aloft for a picture for the album. Slightly smaller that the first, but fighting equally as hard. I was overjoyed at the success of the session so far.

Despite numerous signs of activity in the final hour of the trip, no more fishing were forth coming. I wasn’t disappointed, far from it!

It all paid off in the end!

Its been a good spring across the whole despite the late start, we have had some good weather for Tench Fishing. A few weeks of prolonged cold winds slowed the sport to an extent, but now – late into June we are still experiencing some great fishing with chances of a true whopper.

This year, more than any other spring, I fished really hard. I didn’t catch a double figure tinca last season, and being my favourite species – its always nice to catch one, for me in which is the most enjoyable time of the year. So that was my target, and hard fishing for me, is a weekends angling after a grueling week in the office.

It is almost as if I have literally lived and breathed Tenching for the past two months. When I haven’t been actually fishing, I’ve been preparing bait, tinkering with my rig presentation and keeping an eye on the weather. My first session was Easter Weekend, and after two day session zipped in the Bivvy, although getting off the mark, thankfully those climates are now a distant memory.

With my girlfriends birthday, and Glastonbury both ‘penciled’ in the diary, this trip would be my last opportunity for the fish I had longed for. It would be the ultimate goal of 2 months of hard work, notching up over 40 Tench in the process. Until now though, a brace of 9lbers at 9.7 and 9.9 were the best I could manage, amongst many 7 and 8lb specimens. The week before now I was rudely awoken by a double take at 0430am, where over 65lb of carp lay defeated in the net made up of a 36.12 common and 28.3 Mirror. Great fun on the Brench rods, and it just goes to show you what can be landed on balanced tackle and size 14 Hooks!

As I arrived on the Sunday though, I had to put all that behind me and really focus on the job in hand. Everything I had learnt was to be put in practice, and I walked round the lake time after time whilst all the other weekenders packed up for home. It was an unfamiliar experience, I had the whole lake to myself, and as you can imagine, in that situation the biggest dilemma would be deciding where to fish.

Tossing a coin didn’t help matters, so I ended up in a favourite swim with most of the kit on the barrow other than 3 rods nestled in the reeds. The 3 carried a feeder full of maggots fished out to their usual spots. The weather was scorching, and as the sun beated down on me with no where to hide, something wasn’t quite right. I had spent a lot of time here in past weeks, I knew all the marks, but for some reason I had a feeling I should be elsewhere. And with that, I packed the rods back up and wheeled it round to another swim I had a good hit from earlier in the spring.

This swim was more of a gamble. If they were there you had a good catch, but I feel they very much move through here on their travels rather than frequent the area, so it could not happen at all. With the sun still shining brightly, and the feeding times still open, I opted to cast 3 feeders out to the dark areas between the bars that stood out like beacons in the crystal clear water. The marker rod and disturbance it brought with it, could wait till later.

After a couple of biteless hours spent up a tree, watching, waiting for a sign of their presence – a screaming run on the left hand rod brought me back to my senses. After a few moments the bent rod was now slack… as the culprit has shed the hook moments into the battle. I was gutted. When all the fish are swimming around at their peak weights, you can’t be losing fish. I could however, now know where to stay. And with that, I put up my house and sorted my kit for the night ahead.

When any chance of action had passed for the day, I set to work with the marker and spod rod. My favoured groundbait recipe of Dynamite mixed particle, hemp, marine halibut pellets, sprinkling of casters and pinch of corn, was prepared in a big bucket – ready to be deposited out via the spod. A dry mix of frenzied hemp groundbait would be used to cap the spod to avoid any spod spill. I chose 3 spots, all some distance apart in amongst the silt gullies between various bars that littered the swim. I was fishing into the mouth of a big bay, and was sure the fish patrolled along these on their way to and from the shallow water. I picked spots at varying distances, so I could intercept a shoal of them depending on what route they took.

After putting around a pint of particle on each spot, the traps were laid carefully for a fruitfully anticipating start the next day. Maggot feeders were fished helicopter style on 2 rods, and a inline lead was fished on the rod further out. All of them carried a supple braided hooklink, with 2 artificial casters for bait. The eels would hopefully leave me in peace until the Tench hopefully turned up the next day.

The night was quiet, but as the steam from my kettle flowed like the mist drawing off the calm lake – a few Tench porpoised not far from baited traps. For the first time this session, things felt good. I topped up each spot with 3 mini spods of feed, not too much, but enough to colour the water and catch the attention of any inquisitive tincas near by.

Come lunchtime I had two Tench to my name, an ‘8’ mid morning, and a ‘7’ come lunchtime. It wasn’t the amazing start I had hoped for, but as the wind swung round and started howling into the bay mid afternoon, things took a turn for the better…

The wind was so strong that I had to resurrect the infil panel to my bivvy, to try and shelter myself away from the strong breeze. I had often had activity in sessions past, as the sun cast a shadow on the swim as it crept below the trees behind me in the distance. Much to my surprise, one rod produced fish after fish from 6.30pm till nearly 10pm that night, a pva bag of casters fished on the smooth silt 60 yards out proved too good to resist for 7 male Tench up to 8.10. It was a great end to an otherwise quiet day, and I slept anxiously at the thought of what tomorrow might bring.

The wind was relentless, it didn’t lay up the whole night, but I managed to top the swim at first light and recast all 3 rods with pin point precession which gave me extra confidence.
The first fish made an appearance at 7.30 am and it fought like its life depended on it, at 8.5 it was a good fish, but I was slightly disappointed to see that it already spawned.

I recast the feeder full of red maggots out towards the marker on the skyline, and set the rod ready for more action. All three pole elastic markers were sitting just infront of the butt ring on all 3 rods, everything was just perfect.

It was another hour, when the rod that had remained quiet for nearly a day, let out a high pitched tone as the culprit took off at great speed. By the time I had reached the rod, it was powering away into the distance. I was scared to strike, but I leant into the fish to set the hook, as the rod took on an inspiring curve and the clutch purred away as the fish kited out into the lakes depths.

The fish was now over two bars, so I had the job of trying to coax it around and over them without getting cut off on the sharp gravel. It seemed like an age, and my legs were shaking, but the fish was not giving up – it wanted to evade capture at all costs. The wind had been so bad that the usual gin clear water had coloured up with the sediment, so despite the leadcore coming up to the surface during the fight – I never saw the fish at all.

I steadily steered the fish into the margins, where it swam deep with viguor and authority, I pretended it was boss, but I knew deep down that the hard work was done and I just needed to entice her into my waiting net. Three feet of leadcore was viable, so it was just under the surface but still I had no idea of its size. Its thick set characteristic shoulders broke the surface as I engulfed the beaten specimen, and whilst I had seen a fish before of magical proportions with similar attributes, I thought perhaps that it would be 9lb+ without seeing it in full.

The rod was put down as I regained my composure after such a dogged fight. I parted the net in the margin, and it seemed that I had to move quite a lot of mesh to see the fish in full. It just kept growing and growing – I couldn’t believe it – it was monstrous – as deep as it was long – I knew straight away it was over the target weight, miles infront, but how much?!

I let out a cheer of emotion – it seemed that all the hard work in spring had finally paid off – but a fish of this size? It beat any of my expectations for the water, a potential pb was resting in the margin. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me round to a carp angler a few hundred yards away, and before long, we were both admiring her beauty as we hoisted her up onto the zeroed scale. At just under 13lb the needle hovered, and as we held the rueben still, the needle settled on 12lb 14oz. Unbelievable!

A few snaps of both sides in the sunshine before she was back waddling off to where she came from. I was over the moon, and thankful that such a tremendous specimen decided to pay me a visit at the end of my campaign.

I floated around the swim for the rest of the morning, it was surreal, I was absolutely blown away, and somehow managed to steady myself and carry on catching, a spawned out 9lb 10oz showed how fine the line was with catching her at her top weight. Further fish succumbed to the casters, and the last fish was caught with the kit packed with just the rods resting on the grass.

I grinned from ear to ear as I pushed the laden barrow back to the car. It was time to go home now, but thankfully the memories of such a session will stay with me much longer than the journey back to reality will take.

Rod : Shimano Purist Brench 1.75lb
Reel : Shimano 10,000 xtea Baitrunner
Line : 8lb Catana
ESP leadcore fished to a 1.5oz Drennan Blockend Feeder
10lb of Sinklink
Size 14 Drennan barbel hook
2 Drennan Artificial Casters

Jar Of Dynamite Mixed Particle, 2 Jars of Hemp, Bag of 3mm Pellets, Bag of 6mm Pellets, Tin Of Corn, Gallon of Red Maggots and 4 pints of Casters.

5 Top Tench Tips

1.Don’t be afraid to use a small spod to top up the swim when its quiet, or when you’ve had fish. The Tench home in on the dinner bell.
2. If you don’t have confidence in using plastic baits, hair rig those, and nick a couple of real ones on the shank, it also disguises the hook.
3. Keep an eye on the weather and watch the water. If the wind is due to change, it might be worth investing in one of the swims it will blow into.
4. Tape up some of the holes on your feeder. It slows the maggots released and also breaks up the shape of the feeder on the lakebed.
5. If the going gets tough, a micro bag of casters on the hook along with the feeder might induce some action.

41.04 Colne Valley PB Common

After a couple of blank trips, another barbel trip on the Wye and a few weekend party trips, it was now mid September and if I wanted to catch a new personal best from my Colne Valley Synidicate I had better make it sharpish. By the time I come back from a holiday to Florida with my girlfriend, it would no doubt be November for another chance, when all but the very last of the leaves were left to fall from the trees. By then, I would be looking forward to the Rivers, and the Perch, Chub and Roach trips!

The M25 was as usual not very kind to me on this particular trip. A lorry pile up one side of the tunnel, and massive tailbacks the other way round, the afternoon was spent biting my nails in the office wondering if it could get any worse. I was refreshing the traffic reports and the delays only got bigger. When I did finally arrive, it was nearly getting dark, and someone had jumped in the swim I fancied only moments before I got there. I therefore opted for a swim I had blanked in twice, enclosed in the narrow part of the lake on the basis I could be sorted in next to no time at all without having to use the marker rod. Despite not having any success in the swim before, whilst I was getting organised a couple of fish showed, and now the gruelling day was at last turning for the better.

I spoke too soon, come bite time the next morning, the water was being thrashed to a foam by an angler opposite me, I turned over in the bag and slept through the pain, and when I woke up a couple of hours later, he was still at it! By lunchtime and with his float still being cast inches from my carefully laid traps, enough was enough and I upped sticks and moved into the now vacant swim where I had success from the a few weeks back.

It was rather hot for the middle of September, I worked up a sweat pushing kit round to the other side of the lake, and when I got there, I sat back in the shade and tried to think about how I was going to tackle it this time round. I knew the hot spot where I was going to focus one rod, but the other was pretty much of a mystery to me. The left hand side of the swim is weedy, and I didn’t want to create too much disturbance or have lines going through the other area, so I settled on just flicking out a short way to the edge of a bank of weed close in. Whilst I was cooling myself in the shade, I took the time to tie a fresh rig, consisting of a blow back arrangement on a size 8 Long Shank, with steamed tubing over the eye to exaggerate the flipping over of the rig in the fishes mouth. A 10 inch combi link complimented the rest of the rig, where two inches down from the hook sat a large piece of putty to encourage the hook point to drop down into the bottom of the fishes mouth when sucked up. A 3oz Korda Pear lead fished loosely on a lead clip finished it off nicely.

By late afternoon, the House was up and the traps were set, all sorted nice and early so I could actually relax in the evening and chill out with a beer and radio on. It looked perfect, the gentle breeze was putting a nice chop on the water, and I thought would I have to wait till bite time the next morning as it looked prime for a bite right now!

No action was forth coming, it was very late by the time I drifted off to sleep, I laid there as Carp doing their best to impersonate Hippo’s leaped in the area of my spot. The atmosphere was electric and I could hardly sleep due to the excitement. It seemed like I had only just closed my eyes, when at 4am the rod fished to the plateux signalled a ripping take. Like always, I didn’t waste anytime in striking, and a heavy weight slapped its tail out in the quiet calm night.

It fought forcefully, but without the lead, it seemed to all go to plan, until I realised the fish was closer than I expected when a deep flank of bronze common carp flank spooked off the head torch literally feet from the bank. It caught me off guard, I slackened off the clutch a touch to cater for the lunges under the rod tip just as it decided to kite through my other line. Hastily moving the rod out of harms way, the mess didn’t prove too troublesome, and at full stretch I bundled the fish into the waiting net.

I took a depth breath of relief, and tried to sort out the tangled lines before looking at what I had caught. I reached in to the net to unhook the fish to get the rig out of the way, but firmly lodged in the bottom of the mouth some 2 inches back I struggled to get it out. A great hook hold, that fish was never coming off in a hurry.

With things organised on the bank, I lifted her onto the mat where through the illumination of my head torch admired her beauty as I transferred her into the sling. She looked big, don’t they all, and I couldn’t really guess how big she might go. Maybe a low to mid thirty perhaps, as I quickly lifted the scales to see. With everything zeroed, I watched in amazement as the needle looked like it went past the 40 mark!? Hold on a minute, I lifted again and sure enough it went past the magical number for a second time.

I was in a daze, and thought to myself I needed to sort it out, the Reuben Scales were a fresh purchase for the carping, so I lifted once more slowly, and literally counted it round incase I mis-calculated how many times it went round the dial! So I’d now established that it was either over 40lb or 15lb… and somehow I thought it must be the latter!

Adrenaline set it – I couldn’t believe what was happening! A fish over 40 on the mat? I popped it back in the net and secured it in the margin whilst I tried in vain to wake the angler next to me, so descended on the angler the next swim up. “Phil, can you give us a hand mate?” after some mumbling, I said, “I think I’ve got a 40 mate!” “Ey!?” He shot up and followed me down the bank to where we zeroed the sling again and used the landing net pole to steady the scales on our shoulders as we lifted her again. The dial was facing him, and for what seemed like an age of umming and arghing, I asked him to put me out of my misery. “Hold on – I want to make sure I get this right” he said. I was thinking at this point that it was never a 40, and how stupid I was given his facial expressions and time it took him to read it out. I thought I’d still settle for an upper 30, until he greeted me with “You wont believe this mate…”

“41lb 4oz”.

I cant repeat what I said back, but sure enough that’s what the dials read when he spun them round and when he asked if I was happy with that on the reading, of course I bloody was!!

I was shaking as I got the camera sorted we even managed to wake Leon next door, who could probably sleep through a hurricane, we wouldn’t of wanted him to miss such a spectacular specimen. I’m not used to lifting such big fish, a wet keepnet full of perch is one thing – but this was in a different league.

We got some awesome pictures, and we slid her back to her home, swimming strongly back to the deeps where she had just been extracted from. I was speechless, it was now colder then what I had thought, as I stood there in a soaking wet t shirt and trousers. We all stood there – silly o clock in the morning, just standing there looking out into the lake. All pretty much taken back from the events that just unfolded, but I can assure you, no more surprised than what I was. Never in a million years did I think I’d bag one of the big uns, I don’t have much time and I rarely carp fish, but sure enough I just landed the biggest of the season so far.

Ten minutes passed as I soaked up the atmosphere, then they commented that I might aswell get it back out there and bag another! That was the last thing on my mind, but I wasn’t to look a gift horse in the mouth. No further action came, and whilst I lay there texting most of my phone book, I realised that I didn’t care a jot that whether I had another bleep that morning, or even that there was a 3 hr delay on the route home… I was a very happy man indeed no matter what happened for the rest of that day… or the week for that matter!