The idiot's guide to carp fishing in rivers - part 3

After my previous triumph, it was now time to move on and live up to my new title of King Of The River, so I thought I really ought to get out more. I had been reading more and more about this mighty river and I thirsty for success. First though, I simply had to try an intriguing looking area on the far bank, where large fish could often be seen rolling at high tide... and I had a cunning plan.

This effort to avoid the near bank surface rubbish could have launched the first Daiwa Dictator into space

Here there and everywhere
After my glorious result in “the hole” and thinking I had it all sorted out, I was determined to cash in while the swim was still hot. With my new found knowledge and expertise I could hardly fail... could I? I returned two days later, burdened down with as many boilies and chick peas as I could carry, but this time the whole day passed with nothing to record except the time of high tide. I had always assumed that these tides were entirely predictable, moving just a few minutes each day in a similar way to sunrise and sunset, with just a few anomalies to account for such phenomena as spring tides, whatever they were. I'd had my eye on a marvellous looking area on the opposite bank, where I felt that if I took up the right position, I would have a nice slack area to fish over clean sand, where the carp would surely forage when it was covered by the tide.

When I eventually bagged the prime swim it was in the middle of winter - I had just one take and missed it

After yet another punishing walk, I eventually arrived at the bend to find a vast area of sand exposed. Brilliant I thought, and walked out as far as I dare, lightly treading baits into the soft mud and sand, trying to push them in just enough to resist the force of the current without burying them completely. When the tide came in, the carp would home in on all this free food, there would be a mad feeding frenzy and I would re-write carp fishing history.
I set up near the top of the bank to anticipate the rising water and waited for the tide to turn, my lines singing in the wind, and trailing through the air like telephone wires. After a while, bemused dog walkers strolled beneath my lines, while their dumb mutts rooted excitedly round in the sand for my bait. I sat there for several hours doing my garden gnome impression and do you know what? The tide didn’t move an inch all day.

This one came from the bend on 5lb line, when I was trying to catch one of the many rolling bream

There was nothing for it but to go back into Collingham and try one of the other routes. I was quite disorientated when I got back into the village, but then I saw a car go past with anglers in it, so I thought I’d better follow. At every stile all the way down the long lane to the river there was the inevitable hand written notice showing that there was a match on. I stopped at one of the stiles and walked across the field to the river, then noticed what appeared to be three empty pegs between matches. Now I don’t know if there are any unwritten rules concerning the correct etiquette in this situation, but quite frankly I didn’t give a toss. After all, there were only two hundred of them, and I had already wasted nearly half a day. The river was comparatively narrow at this point, and I seemed to be on an enormous bend. There were trees on the far bank, and a nice flat tow path to sit on, and all in all it seemed a pleasant enough place to go through the motions of carp fishing.

I later realised that this could have been the same swim that I first settled in between the match pegs

I was expecting a bit of trouble from my neighbours, and there were a few pointed glances when the first stringer went in, but once I settled down they must have thought I wasn’t causing enough disruption to justify any trouble and I seemed to be accepted. I don’t know if they were more amazed when I was when I started to catch a succession of small chub, some of them on a double boilie rig. I noticed the river was falling, and then for about twenty minutes the flow almost ceased altogether. Then I saw a large fish roll towards the far bank, then another. Great patches of bubbles were erupting now so I excitedly clipped on 31/2 ounce leads, and tried to drop them as delicately as possible near to the source of the activity. It wasn’t too long before one of the rod tips gave a big lurch, and several feet of line were taken from the baitrunner. I somehow managed to miss this completely, and I scarcely had time to re-cast before a long procession of boats came up the river and I was forced to reel in again. By the time they had passed, the tide was turning and I could no longer hold out across the current. In any case, all signs of activity had now ceased.

One of the commons taken in a difficult swim opposite the old wharfe at Sutton - small, but great fun

I thought I would use an hour or so to do a bit of exploring before I went home, and went down to the end of the lane just in time to see the weigh in on a bend opposite an old wharf. One of the anglers had caught a tiny barbel, and told me of several unstoppable fish that he had hooked and lost. I just had to give it a try, so I waited until they had all gone, then set up in a position opposite the middle of what appeared to be the remains of a sunken barge. Although the river seemed comparatively narrow here, the current was too fierce for me to hold out towards the far bank. There was the added problem caused by the difficulty in securing a firm hold for the bank sticks. Yet again I was forced to carry out a bit of creative construction with piles of rocks. It wasn’t long before I had to move, as the water was rising up the flat shingle remarkably quickly. At least I found that the more it rose, the easier it became to keep a bait out, then suddenly I had a furious take off a bait that was barely half way across.

The fight was violent and ferocious, and I couldn’t help but think how overwhelmed I would have been if I had been attempting to backwind on my old Mitchell 300’s. I think the answer is that I would probably have had all the flesh removed from my knuckles. I had never hooked a fish as animated as this one before, and for sheer turn of speed it even beat the common I had caught at Dunham. When it came in at last, I went to remove my hook, and noticed not only mine, but three other tiny hooks embedded around its mouth. I was just sliding it back when the other rod hooped over and I found myself playing another fish. On about its third run it shot over to the far side, then suddenly the line went slack, sliced through by whatever tangled metal lay hidden under the surface. I went back late the following afternoon and caught three more before dark. Funnily enough I had no more takes even though I stayed on for a couple of hours after dusk.

Perhaps I had just caught them all. I was to return several times after this without success, and wondered if a group of fish had just taken up temporary residence, or perhaps they spawned in the area and then dispersed afterwards. They were all solid, dark brown commons between eight and ten pounds, rippling with muscles and with huge paddle-like tail fins. I think it must have been the mind blowing nature of the savage takes that were gradually causing a pleasant holiday diversion to turn into something approaching an obsession. I had at least managed to catch a few carp and although I would have caught far more on my local pits, I found myself getting hooked. Those mind blowing takes were something else, but there was also the fascination of the constantly moving water.

It was time to move on. I obviously now knew everything there was to know about carp fishing on tidal rivers, so I decided to try a bit of easy fishing on the calmer waters further upstream.

I bet you can't guess where this one came from - part of a three carp haul that came within about half an hour

Part 4 will surely follow

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