I doubt many UK anglers would have cause to disagree with me
saying that the weather so far this winter has been shit, even by the standards
of our drizzle-blighted little island.
It's as if winter hasn't even arrived yet. Temperatures remain
warm at around 5-7 degrees most days, and with the unseasonal mildness has come
endless rain and a howling, bone-rattling wind. The rivers rise and fall at an
alarming rate and always seem to be carrying colour, and the lack of any
lengthy periods of cold weather and frost has left the grayling dispersed far
wider than is normal for the time of year.
The weather patterns have been particularly frustrating for me as,
having not wet a line since September, I was rather hoping to spend as much
time chasing the 'ladies' of the Wharfe as possible in the short window I
had back home. Well, it appears that was not to be! Every time in the last week
or two I've so much as picked up a float and looked at it, all the rivers in
the area have burst their banks simultaneously. I would've probably seen the
funny side of it normally, but in the back of my mind lurked the awful thought
that I might not fish
until
April should I miss this window - not an easy pill to swallow for a
fish-head. So, driven to near panic by that prospect I was determined to hit
the river on Saturday come hell or high water, or suffer a mental breakdown
(something I could really do without in my final Uni year).
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| Boils and swirls in a normally calm pool. |
I'd like to give some epic rendition of how I battled the elements like Captain Ahab, roaring defiantly at the heavens as I battered every
inch of water to oblivion in search of my prize... but in all honesty it really
wasn't that bad. In fact is was absolutely fine. There was of course a nasty
wind and constant drizzle, interspersed by the odd bit of 'proper rain' -
nothing a good pair of waterproofs couldn't handle. The real issue was the
extra foot or two of water the river was carrying. Still, trotting with worms
has landed me fish in worse conditions, so I rigged up my centrepin setup (with
a loafer float capable of carrying plenty of shot to get the bait down to the
bottom) still fairly confident of at least tempting a fish.
 |
| Float rod sporting the centrepin reel... I should really put a little more effort into my photographs. |
The current was pushing hard in a number of normally sedate
'banker' swims, which made life awkward as I struggled to find creases and back
eddies where the grayling could be sheltering. Nevertheless, I managed to
search out a welcome fish in the first twenty minutes. It had been sitting
tight to the bank where a young willow trunk bowed abruptly outwards, creating
a narrow channel of slack water, and accepted my worm gladly once I managed a
successful trot downstream without being pulled into the main flow.
Predictably, that's exactly where the unsuspecting fish decided to bolt, and I
was subjected to the agonising process of having to gradually ease it upstream
against the weight of the current before it could be steered into the net.
Anyone who has fished for grayling will know just how much pressure they can
put on a hook hold, using their huge dorsals to catch the current. Multiple
hook pulls are par for the course, but in this case I was lucky, and after
summarily admiring the fish's pewter flanks and stately sail-like fin it was
slipped back to relocate its refuge.
 |
| Relief: first contact for almost four months. |
Celebratory tea and fag time! Pressure off, blank avoided. I carried on fishing
the run for another half hour with no further interest before moving on. I
searched a number of other swims for the next couple of hours with no reward
other than snags, lost gear and one fine branch - not the best of the year, but
not far off (well, if you're going to come into contact with river-junk now and
then you might as well make a game of it). Stumped for ideas I headed back to
the original spot and fed a handful of chopped worms before trying again. After
a few trots down the float dipped again and I hooked into another fish which
held its own, stubbornly hugging the bottom for a while before yielding - a
better grayling around the pound mark. Not a monster by any standards but a
worthy catch, and good enough for me.
 |
| A respectable example of Thymallus thymallus. |
This success was followed by a series of missed bobs,dips and stolen baits -
odd considering the river's seething hoards of minnows tend to vanish through
the colder months, and shoals of small coarse fish such as dace and roach are
notable in the upper Wharfe by their absence. I changed to a smaller piece of
worm and was immediately rewarded with what turned out to be a tiny grayling
skittering along the surface towards me. Another slightly larger one around six
inches was swung to hand within a couple of casts. Perhaps this wasn't the stamp
of fish I was looking for, but it's certainly an encouraging sign for the
future of the river that the juveniles are present.
 |
| It would seem there were quite a few of these tiny fellas present. Embarrassing to catch, encouraging to see. |
The nabbing, pecking bites ceased as abruptly as they had started, leading me
to think something was afoot. Sure enough, ten minutes later the next
disappearance of the float was followed by an eruption of spray as an out of
season brownie launched itself all over the swim in its manic attempts to shake
the hook. Not a bad fish at around a pound and in excellent condition for the
time of year, it was slipped back with the minimum of fuss so as to cause
minimum disruption to its off-season relaxation. Whilst it would have been a
very welcome fish in September, trout are a downright nuisance to
the winter grayling angler. Once they sniff out loose bait or detect feeding
activity they can move in quickly and often muscle out the more reserved
grayling. Add to this their no-holds-barred maniacal efforts to escape once
hooked, and they can soon clear a pool of any fish with an ounce of common
sense if not swiftly subdued. Having contemplated on this, after a few more
token casts I decided to quit while I was ahead. After all, it hadn't been a
bad few hours sport. Enough to cure the cabin fever at least.
I'm still faced with the fact that I probably won't be able to wet a line now
until springtime, but a few hours chasing ladies was a perfect antidote to the
stress of the last few months. Hopefully the memory will be enough to drag me
through the even worse months to come!
