The Secret River, Lincolnshire
I arrived at the river to find Ernie already set up on the tail end of a big bend. The wind was strong but we were reasonably sheltered. The river in question is one of Lincolnshire's only chalk streams (the spot we found in best plans). I looked downstream of Ernie where I had fished before but the water was too choppy so I settled above Ernie at the start of the bend where the water was calmer. I had caught some roach on the previous trip but small ones while using maggots. My approach today would be to try to catch some bigger fish on bread.
From my position I could see upstream a fair distance to the road bridge where strangely enough there were two people fishing directly opposite each other immediately above the bridge. While setting up I happened to glance up and see the angler on the opposite bank to mine playing what looked like a decent fish. He netted it and then disappeared from view. About a minute later he returned to the waterside with a carrier bag which contained a large red finned fish! Was this a fabled 2lb Roach? Certainly looked like a roach and he had obviously weighed it. It could have been a chub but it surely wouldn't be worth weighing if it was. He returned the fish and I kept a close eye on him and his partner. They were both ledgering with lightish links. After about half an hour he hooked into another fish and repeated the process. I mentioned it to Ernie and he said they had also caught one before I arrived. Got to be roach I thought to myself as he returned it to the water. In contrast I had yet to get a bite! Ernie was catching a few but only small stuff.
We carried on for couple of hours in which time the two anglers above had left. By now the wind was worsening by the minute and Ernie was really suffering. It had swung round and my peg went from a light ripple to full-blown waves. "Sod this Ern, I'm off up to the bridge, it looks a bit calmer up there". Now I don't usually like fishing spots straight after someone else but to be honest I only stopped because Ernie was with me and he was keen to continue. I settled above the bridge while Ernie stayed below it. The wind had really knocked my enthusiasm and I decided to be a bit lazy. I chopped up some worms and potted them in just over the near side reedbed. Baiting up with a whole worm on an 16, I lowered it gently over the reedbed and rested my top three on the reeds.
It was a real sun-trap where I was. This combined with my new Preston 3 in 1 celsius suit and my christmas boots from Mrs P I drifted off into a light snooze. I woke with a start. My float moved. I was sure of it. This reminds of the time I was travelling to a rugby match and the guys tried to draw a comedy moustache on me while I slept. Every time they got close with the marker pen I'd just open one eye. Not saying I have super powers or anything but it is a bit weird. I quickly re-cast. Watching the float this time it twitched and then sailed under! Striking hard the elastic shot out (number 6- far to light)."What you got there Mr Taylor?" shouted Ernie. I smacked my pole tip against the bridge trying to control my angry opponent. After a couple of minutes a big stripey appeared on the surface right in front of me. I netted it first go and excitedly readied the scales. 2lb 12oz. Wont be alone I thought. My rig was swapped to a heavier elastic (14). I dropped in a fresh worm. I studied the float intently as it drifted slowly down the reedbed. It suddenly disappeared from view and I lifted into another angry thumper. "Bloody hell Mr Taylor, turning out to be a good day" I heard Ernie declare. 2lb 5oz. I added another couple of smaller perch and a good roach as the light faded on bread. Good day indeed.
Tues 10th January
The Secret River, Lincolnshire
I awoke quite late at around 10am. Now I love fishing but going all day is too much sometimes even for me. A short afternoon session was the order of the day. With the van loaded up I set off towards Skegness to get some bait. Probably a fifteen mile detour and a real pain! However it meant approaching the river via the drain Tony had told me about in best plans. Can't hurt to have a look I thought as I turned off into the field next to the drain. A quick look and it was carrying a little colour and flowing this time.-perfect. To cut a long story short exactly the same thing happened as last time. Ten fish in ten casts and then nothing! After an hour it was time to move on.
Arriving at the chalk stream I found two anglers fishing where Ernie and I were the last time. No probs I thought, I'll go by the bridge again. The sun came out and it was really mild for January. I potted some ground-bait down the middle and chopped worms in the edge. The first hour was slow but there were fish topping occasionally and a couple of pike striking further down. A change from maggot to worm brought instant results. Another big perch came fighting all the way to the net. This was the start of a precession of perch and roach from about 20 feet under the bridge. I had a rig in where I had caught the perch before but this was stationary for most of the time. As the light faded the river really came alive. It was like a spring evening. Everywhere you looked fish were topping. The pike strikes also got more frequent with them seemingly every ten yards or so. One even attacked a fish close to me but on the opposite bank. As it returned to the depths it slapped it's tail on the side of the bridge which startled me a little. A txt was sent to Ken, a friend from work and a Pike nut! By the end of the session I had caught 30 perch and roach. Two perch over 2lb and a Roach just over a pound were the highlights.
Thurs 12 January
Woodlands Fishery, Lincs
"I'll follow you down Phil, I haven't walked the lakes today." Eric (the fishery owner) declared. This was woodlands, my local complex of five lakes and scene of my best catches this winter with Perch to 3 pounds. We descended the shallow hill towards the back-end of the Hawthorn lake. The water is at its deepest here. The mild weather had disappeared and deep water is usually more productive in the cold. We neared the corner of the Lake and I could see Eric get agitated. "Look...........Look at that" he exclaimed, pointing towards a large scattering of fish scales on the bankside. "An Otter?" I asked. "Yes look, it's spraint" Eric said. He thrust his hand into a small pile of Otter poo, smearing it between his fingers as if the texture confirmed is origins. "The carcass will be round here somewhere, they don't drag em far" Eric shouted as he followed a trail of scales down the bank. I helped him look to no avail and he departed back up the hill shaking his head as he went. The fishing was ok but nothing really of note. Few perch. Biggest 1lb 12oz.
Tues 17 January
The Secret River, Lincs
Ken was due at 9am. Daisy woke me up at 7.30! Whining as she does through the cat flap. I went down and let her and her sister out while I put the kettle on and tried not to wake Mrs P as I gathered my gear together. The dogs soon came bounding back in and straight upstairs! They quickly came down again, Daisy with a toilet roll and Harry with a sock. Ken arrived, slithering down the road on his luxury moped. "Bit icy," he declared as he removed his helmet. It was freezing. One of those real deep ground frosts that take ages to thaw. We loaded the van and set off, full of expectation.
I'd been telling Ken for days about the amount of Pike I had seen in this particular stretch. Ken would go after the Pike while I would try again for the perch and roach. We arrived at the river and although nobody was there I could see why. Big patches of ice stretched out into the river. The ground which had been gooey mud last week was frozen solid. Not an inch of give underfoot. The river was fishable in places though and I set up directly above the bridge again. Ken planned to roam around and fish any clear spots. First fifteen minutes were uneventful apart from Ken losing a couple of lures on the far bank. All of a sudden he appeared on the opposite bank, downstream of me and right against a fence going down into the water. I put my finger to my lips as if to say be quiet. He nodded. As he did this a figure came into view behind him. Flat cap and long trench coat he strode towards Ken. "Oi, what are you doing in my garden" Said the old man. "Sorry I didn't realise" Ken explained. "I don't care what you realised, how would you like it, I'm sick of you lot." The old man was clearly annoyed at Ken's unwitting act of trespass. "I'm just retrieving my tackle" Ken declared. "No you're bloody not". This tit for tat continued for a couple of minutes and I was bordering on intervening. It was funny though. Watching Ken shrugging his shoulders and trying to pacify this mad old git. He wasn't really in his garden. The old boy may have owned the land but he was spoiling for a confrontation. In the end Ken had him calm and he even offered to help Ken retrieve his gear!
The fishing was slow so I decided to have a wander about. A short distance upstream I came across another large scattering of scales similar to the scene at woodlands. I picked a couple up and bloody hell they were big. It was almost certainly the work of another otter but what was the fish? The scales really were large but with only a slight raised tip of dark bronze colour. On reflection I think they must have been from a big bream. By big I mean 8lb plus, easily. I returned to the bridge and continued with renewed vigour with the thought of more massive bream swimming about.
As is usually the case when I recommend somewhere to somebody the fishing was terrible. We didn't see a fish all day! Totally unbelievable compared to the week before when the river was alive with fish. We stopped off at the small drain on the way home and I winkled out a few small roach but on the whole a very poor day. Ken kept me entertained though and he said that he had throughly enjoyed it although the fishing was poor and he nearly had a wrestle with an OAP.
That may well be it for January although frost will not be a problem on my next trip!
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