LOW PRESSURE FISHING....
...in high pressure conditions; what could be better? I don't fish the Leam enough. It doesn't have the fish that the Avon has; in weight or in numbers. In fact it can be bloody hard at times, at least on our stretch. It is a really nice piece of water though and truth be told, that is enough for me these days. Two seasons ago, I fished it quite hard through the summer but try as I might I struggled to catch much on the float. I had a few nice Perch laying on but trotting has never produced anything really.
Winter fishing there is predominantly Chub fishing. The whole length is one big Chub swim, at least according to all the books that I've read but you can never tell. I've fished nearly all of them over a mile or so of water but caught in less than half a dozen. It's not an easy stretch to understand.
These days it is pretty unusual that one can have a mile of water to oneself and it makes me determined to do better; I'm coming round to the idea of really trying to come to terms with the place. I see no reason why there shouldn't be more good fish in there than I have managed to catch so far and so I started fishing it again a couple of weeks ago whilst overcome with an urge to try roving with float tackle. The results, of course, were predictable; I never had a bite.
There is an endless array of online videos showing anglers catching fish trotting a float from rivers apparently just like this one so I convinced myself that conditions were the issue. When I arrived this morning to find the river in identical condition and the weather even colder it didn't, at first, look all that hopeful. It was glorious though; a fairyland scene, crunchy underfoot, the dying vegetation sparkling white in the winter sun. It was proper winter weather not the piss-awful sodden grey misery that most of our modern winters consist of. It made me glad to be alive and my spirits soared accordingly.
True they were dampened a little when the first swim garnered no interest whatsoever. I'd walked three quarters of a mile to get there and it did dampen my spirits a little but the second swim made up for it. Usually I fish bread or cheesepaste on the hook, eighteen inches below a cage feeder full of liquidised bread. Today I decided to give worms and casters a try, essentially because I was hoping for a lucky Perch to bolster the bag.
Perhaps the most characteristic thing about this part of the Leam is the difficulty in catching its smaller silvers. After putting this fish back I had an endless stream of knocks, tugs and rattles on the tip. The worms were chewed up and broken off but I never came close to hitting one of them. Leaving them to hook themselves didn't work either. I suspect Minnows but some of the bites were pretty vicious. In the past I have had the occasional Roach or Dace slip up but never a second. In only one swim have I ever caught a quantity of fish and that is the large, wide, pool at the bottom of the stretch. It puzzles me because I've never come across this pattern of behaviour on any other river.
Winter fishing there is predominantly Chub fishing. The whole length is one big Chub swim, at least according to all the books that I've read but you can never tell. I've fished nearly all of them over a mile or so of water but caught in less than half a dozen. It's not an easy stretch to understand.
These days it is pretty unusual that one can have a mile of water to oneself and it makes me determined to do better; I'm coming round to the idea of really trying to come to terms with the place. I see no reason why there shouldn't be more good fish in there than I have managed to catch so far and so I started fishing it again a couple of weeks ago whilst overcome with an urge to try roving with float tackle. The results, of course, were predictable; I never had a bite.
There is an endless array of online videos showing anglers catching fish trotting a float from rivers apparently just like this one so I convinced myself that conditions were the issue. When I arrived this morning to find the river in identical condition and the weather even colder it didn't, at first, look all that hopeful. It was glorious though; a fairyland scene, crunchy underfoot, the dying vegetation sparkling white in the winter sun. It was proper winter weather not the piss-awful sodden grey misery that most of our modern winters consist of. It made me glad to be alive and my spirits soared accordingly.
True they were dampened a little when the first swim garnered no interest whatsoever. I'd walked three quarters of a mile to get there and it did dampen my spirits a little but the second swim made up for it. Usually I fish bread or cheesepaste on the hook, eighteen inches below a cage feeder full of liquidised bread. Today I decided to give worms and casters a try, essentially because I was hoping for a lucky Perch to bolster the bag.
I used a 50/50 mix of groundbait and casters in the feeder which worked well enough and a broken worm on my size 14. Having given up on the first peg after an hour, I settled into the second. Ten minutes in, the tip nodded; I left it and a short while later there was another firmer tug on the line and then the rod just hooped over. The fish fought hard, staying deep and making determined attempts to reach the numerous sunken branches but my old Martin James 'Greaves' took it all in its stride.
When it surfaced it looked like a really good fish and the scales agreed. After zeroing them on the bag, the fish pulled 66.7 ounces making it my third four pounder from this river. That initial small indication must have been caused by the fish picking up the bait because the hook was a very long way back although it came out easily enough. I know that in the grand scheme of things that is not an especially large Chub but on here four pounders are like hen's teeth. Like the vast majority of the Chub I've had from here it was in mint condition. Given that it is a very underfished, small, snaggy river, home to a healthy Otter population, I can only conclude that the majority of fish damage one generally comes across is caused by anglers. I guess that it is this lack of angling pressure that makes this such a special place to fish.
Perhaps the most characteristic thing about this part of the Leam is the difficulty in catching its smaller silvers. After putting this fish back I had an endless stream of knocks, tugs and rattles on the tip. The worms were chewed up and broken off but I never came close to hitting one of them. Leaving them to hook themselves didn't work either. I suspect Minnows but some of the bites were pretty vicious. In the past I have had the occasional Roach or Dace slip up but never a second. In only one swim have I ever caught a quantity of fish and that is the large, wide, pool at the bottom of the stretch. It puzzles me because I've never come across this pattern of behaviour on any other river.
In the end I left whatever was frustrating my efforts and moved on. The next swim cost me a hook and gave me nothing; but the last one offered me some consolation in the form of another scale perfect, winter Chub, just a couple of ounces shy of three pounds. As so often happens, it came almost immediately after I started fishing. I cast right across to a very traditional snag, allowed the current to put a bow in the loose line and the tip pulled down a couple of inches before catapulting backwards; a classic slack-liner. Because I fish the lead on rivers so seldom, I do tend to forget that it is better to feed some slack line to give the lead a better chance of sticking in the flow. If I learned nothing else today, I was at least reminded of the importance of that tactic and with time running out I left with a head full of developing plans for future visits.
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