Chubby Chasing

T'is the season..... for freezing temperatures, too much water in the river and sloppy muddy treacherous river banks. I expected a difficult session and thought the best chance of a fish on the bank would be a Chub. 

There was plenty of evidence of the recent floods around with piles of debris, plastic bags, bits of driftwood and even the base of a bed. 

On arriving at the river I was surprised to see how much it had risen turning it into a speeding dirty brown torrent. I still felt the fish would be feeding, not prolifically but all I needed to do was find them. Roving approach required then. 

I walked the full length of the fishery baiting up likely looking swims with a dozen or so lumps of cheese paste in each. There was a chance of the fish finding this smelly bait in the gloomy depths. I dropped in the last swim as the sun burnt off the last of the cloud cover, the warmth on my back most welcome.

The strength of the flow made it impossible to fish anywhere but the near side margin, the fish too would be there escaping the main flow. The first spot was very quiet apart from a friendly little Robin looking for a feed and a Woodpecker doing likewise on a far bank.

Right hand trunk from a long distance

The next swim I tried was equally quiet, my concentration was waning as it does when suddenly the rod trip did a huge lurch, I struck, needless to say I missed the take. With renewed confidence I stared at the rod tip-it remained stationary. It looked like I'd missed my only opportunity. Three swims later I was almost back to the van when I finally got another bite and this time I hooked up. A spirited fight followed which I won and landed a 3lb 7oz Chevin. Blank saved.

3lb 7oz

Soon after I hooked up again but suffered a lost fish. The swim went dead and it felt like my feet were doing the same. Home time.