The Beginning !

The close season brings tranquillity to most dyed in the wool river anglers. Fast disappearing are the memories of chilling winds that dogged the end of last seasons adventures, and with the chill winds of winter now behind us all, May buds into being, bringing with it a glimpse of refreshing change that moves slowly towards yet another year spent by the waters edge.

I love all the seasons no matter what they bring because there’s always something miraculous to be found inside each one. The spring heralds an end to cold and cutting winds when nature herself seems to wake from a solemn slumber sending the pulse of life through the countryside once more. Stark branches that were once covered in frost begin to live again as tree after tree becomes covered in buds all racing to see which one can bear its new leaves first. Out in the fields, the hedgerows rush to cover their thorny walls with lush greenery that will provide a home for those wild creatures that seek their sanctuary in the warmer months ahead. In lake, pond, river and stream, fish begin to rise in the early morning light as the water temperature starts to rise. Some fish will have already spawned in the cooler water but other species like our very own Barbel will be heading towards their spawning grounds urged on by lengthening days and rising river temperatures. Dark shapes begin moving silently through deep pools all striving to reach the same place each having a ticket for the yearly dance of the spawning fish. Above these travelling fish all along the waters edge the banks are becoming a hive of activity. Great crested grebes face each other in courtship ritual whilst along the reedy margins the water vole paddles like fury as if late for an appointment somewhere further on down the riverbank. Wild plants and flowers long wilted by the freezing weather begin to sprout from the earth as their tiny shoots and buds push past the remnants of last years decay. A solitary lady bird beetle ambles over the stalks of crisp dead leaves as it leaves its winter quarters behind split bark at the base of the tree. Soon it will be joined by millions of its kind as they feast on the fat aphid herds assembled together beneath sticky leaves on almost everything that grows.

Below the waters surface a cloud is growing, silver and gleaming it twists and turns in shafts of sunlight being driven towards shallow water near the riverbank. In fanned plumes of spray tiny fish leap from the water desperate to escape the rivers striped tigers that have been chasing them since dawn, herding them up towards the shallows and certain death. River perch have found this year’s crop of chub fry and are gathering in large shoals themselves making fierce runs into the youngsters once they become cornered. Pushing up splashing boils and sub surface vortex’s, the perch betray their presence and send out a signal that these deadly runs are hitting their target. Come the new day’s risen sun, many will have met their end as the perch melt away back into their root mangrove sanctuaries and undercut bank hideaway homes, but when the bright bars of light appear in the eastern sky tomorrow, they’ll be back again as hungry as ever.

As the days grow longer and the weather becomes warmer, it becomes harder to remember the green fields that we walk in now, were once a frozen landscape covered in snow or heavy hoar frosts. The rivers surface, now teeming with activity, was dark and dead looking several months ago when a bite from a fish became a rare event. But with the new season nearly arrived, standing before this sheet of warm water passing silently by, we start to become restless and eager to be back in this watery place once again. Light cascades in celestial shafts through the overhanging willow branches now heavy in leaf where just above the rivers surface, great swarms of midges hover like hanging smoke. A kingfisher hurries past in a flash of cobalt blue with whirring wings and shrill whistling call, off upriver to a favoured perch above some clear pool and its minnow dinner. Below the high bank along wet gravel margins a pair of grey wagtails hop nervously over pebbles nodding to each other whilst constantly flicking their tails in the air. Then a cob swan, eager to stamp his authority on his territory, paddles towards you with his wing feathers puffed out saying this is my patch and you’d better keep out! But over on the far margin, the coot bobbing in and out of the reed mace with its head and neck jabbing back and forth pips its familiar call wondering what all the fuss is about. High up in the blue sky above, house martins are circling in acrobatic style as true masters on the air, to then sweep down like fighter planes skimming the rivers surface picking up emerging insects on the wing just kissing the calm rivers surface before rising up into the air again gliding back for another return sortie.

Tracks in the soft sand and mud at the rivers edge leave their warning marks that mink were around last night, a breeding pair as it happens both on the hunt after spending the day hidden from sight in the thickets and rocks further off down stream. A solitary moorhen chose her roost badly last night and paid the price as just after midnight a mink found her sleeping ending another life in a flurry of feathers. The poor moorhens last cries for mercy alerted a patrolling dog fox hunting food for its cubs who like any good fox, ran to the scene where the cries came from. Alas too late for him as the mink with its prize was swimming down stream on the surface in the centre of the river, leaving just a trail of bubbles and turbulent water shimmering in the moon light. A solitary brown rat once part of a large colony now fallen too the vicious minks appetites, hurriedly scurries across the floor of a riverside copse smelling and searching the night air for something to eat. On the edge of the copse perched high against the dead trunk of an elm tree, a hen tawny owl hears the rats rustling footsteps and turns its swivel head right around scanning the floor with its powerful night vision. The rat, now hidden beneath the large leaves of a dock plant, moves out and forward towards an empty crisp packet hanging in a clump of long grass. He hears nothing as the owl drops out the tree with outstretched wings of silent flight gliding down through the copse in shafts of moonlight. Then with gaping wide talons outstretched beneath powerful feathery legs, she grabs the solitary rat in a perfectly executed attack crushing its skull. A single high pitched squeal punctuates the still night air as the last of his kind in the small copse for now at any rate, meets its end.

On the Eastern horizon a band of purple bright light appears at the foot of the sky, morning has arrived and with it brings the cacophony of early morning bird song. The shallow light illuminates the river where every boil and crease can be seen as the sheet of water carries relentlessly on, and out in the rivers surface circles appear as small fish begin to rise. A heron flies in with its great wings shouting with its hoarse cry as it comes to settle in the shallows, very much a bird of the distant past more resembling a pterosaur than a bird both in flight and on the ground. The mink are long gone, now resting in their holts so it’s safe for the rivers water fowl to emerge and go about their daily lives. The long grass and bank side vegetation are laden with last nights dew hanging in droplets like the side of ice cold beer glasses, but soon the morning sun will dry it all off making the green plants and grasses come alive with a hive of insects.

Down on the river bed in the deep pools and shallow glides, shafts of early morning sunlight rain down on the gravel floor where the dark shapes of fish move. When passing through these watery pillars of light, their dark colour changes to bright images of uniform scales and wafting red fins with their gills steadily pulsing. The whole shoal turns from dark to bright as each fish in turn goes through the light onwards up river to feed. Then out in the river, a large fish leaps clear of the surface making a huge splash with its mighty tail on coming back down into its watery home. The heart races as the sight and sound is replayed by the memory second by second, then another fish, then another! Until the whole river bursts into fish leaping life then the moment arrives where your mind becomes tunnelled and channelled towards one thing only, catching fish!

So when the new season finally comes, follow me and some of my friends on an angling journey through the long hot summer and chill winds of autumn when the trees turn golden brown, right through the changing winter weather in flood and cold water when we will describe every detail of our angling adventures. This will be a diary type blow by blow story of our successes and hopefully not too many failures where we will give a no holds barred account of what we catch, and how we catch it in an on going story as if you were right there with us along the river bank. Some of you of course “will” be there so if you are, come up for a chat and share the pure experience and fun that fishing should always be.

"Ladies and gentlemen of our splendid sport",  ……. "let the adventure begin".