Due to the usual complications of life, weather and river levels, the first proper chance I had to get out on the rivers in 2016 didn't come until mid-February. I took my usual Wednesday off work and for once had pretty much all day to do as I pleased. So for the first time since the previous November I loaded my trotting gear into the car and for a start, headed over to the river Bure at Horstead - about a twenty minute drive from my home in the Norfolk Broads. This was my late fathers old stamping ground - he grew up in Coltishall, the next village, and sometimes spoke of fishing the area back in the 1950s, including the famous "Bream Corner". Now I don't know for sure, but I'm fairly certain Bream Corner is the big sweeping S-bend a short distance upstream of Horstead road bridge. So far at least, I can't catch anything at all there these days, which may be because there's nothing left or it may just be me........
What with the connection with my dear old dad, and the shortage of fish nowadays in the river above the tidal limit at Horstead Mill, I sometimes feel I'm just fishing for ghosts here, memories and images from years before my time, ingrained in the landscape and water of this shallow flood plain. So, it's probably fitting that I should use one or two pieces of archaic fishing tackle........just to blend in if you know what I mean......
Passing an unusual number of anglers (two!) on my way upstream, I found they were visitors to the area, and struggling - predictably. I crossed the road near the old bridge and wandered up past (I think) Bream Corner, noting on my way that several bankside trees had succumbed to the recent gales and opened up some new areas for trotting.
Arriving at a swim selected purely on the basis that it was the most productive dace area last winter, I unbanded my old faithful (but still relatively new) Drennan Floatmaster, fifteen feet of loveliness with a new acquisition attached - a (proper) old Speedia Narrow Drum - most likely a child of the Sixties, like me. Feeding a little liquidised bread by hand, I commenced trotting an Avon float through, niggled by a fitful downstream breeze which had sprung up from nowhere, apparently just to bug me. The net result was absolutely nothing, so after half an hour or so I headed back down towards the car, on the way trying one or two of the newly accessible spots, which actually looked quite interesting. Still nothing. But the "new" old reel was feeling nice, spinning smoothly and very freely despite its years. I was pleased to be using it.
I wolfed my lunch in the car park by the mill and headed off to pastures new. Another lovely Norfolk river, this time the upper Wensum, deep in the rolling glacial countryside and miles above the tidal limit in Norwich. This was my old home ground, I grew up over here, biking along the then somewhat quieter lanes bird-watching and fishing for the dace and roach of the valley. The river is better known for chub these days, though in recent times for a decade or so the huge Wensum barbel held centre stage. This was of course until the return of the otters, which have been back here in numbers for quite a while now, unfortunately with predictable results for certain sections of the fish population.
Parking up near the top sluice pool, I made my way along the side of the mill bypass stream, and headed down to a favourite area. I walked out onto the open meadow, noting as usual now the otter run leading away from the river, beaten into the pasture, and numerous prints and signs scattered about where Tarka and co. had been messing around in the margins left muddy by last months floods.
Heaving my kit over the stock fence into a jungle of Norfolk reed and old nettles, I climbed over and dropped into the first swim in the ungrazed section, normally good for a fish. A different rod came out this time, my prized Harrison fifteen foot float rod, hand built by Andy Jubb of Norwich. And a different reel, a first outing for another old Speedia, this time a Wide Drum, chosen for its more robust construction, and loaded with 6lb Floatfish. A five gram wire Avon, with the longish stem trimmed down a little, was already on the line along with a size 6 spade end whipped on and I was ready to trot again.
Unusually, purely because I had it with me, I fed some of the liquidised bread left over from the morning. Normally I tend to use a roving approach for the chub here, just fishing breadflake with no feed, other than what comes off the hook at the end of each trot down. This different tactic was probably a good move though, as I was intending to stay put for once, only having a couple of hours left before dark.
That wretched downstream breeze seemed to have followed me halfway across Norfolk, out onto another floodplain, and continued to niggle me for a while. Gradually it eased, finally petered out altogether, and trotting the float down became so much more pleasurable. Especially so when I lost sight of it right at the end of the second or third "proper" trot and struck to feel a solid resistance which quickly became the thump of a Wensum chub. My first of 2016, on my first trip of the year, and the first fish for me on the big Speedia. It was a real torpedo of around three pounds, no monster but reassurance that there are still a few fish coming through for tomorrow. A short while later, the experience was repeated with another, slightly smaller but equally fit.
The old reel performed very nicely, and whilst it could just be sentiment or a figment of my imagination, seemed to have a certain "feel" about it. All Speedias were apparently built by an artisan whose name has been lost over the years, in a glorified shed in a back garden in Shepherds Bush. Maybe just knowing this tugs at something in me that the most beautifully machine-turned Far Eastern import can't quite stir....who knows?
The light was going by now, and I realised I'd just had a precious hour of near perfect chub trotting, a lovely chilly day, bright skies and latterly at least, NO WIND for once! As I gathered my bits of tackle together, I noticed that it was getting decidedly cooler, in fact the unhooking mat had ice on it, and it crackled softly as I rolled it up.
I hung around for a bit, just taking it all in with a cup of flask coffee. The river slipped by quietly, the oak on the far bank silhouetted against the winter sky and reflected in the water. Canada geese were honking as they flighted in for the evening, reminding me as always of long-ago nights spent carping on the gravel pits dotted up and down the valley. It was time to go, a quick pint in the Fox and then a meeting in the local village hall, someone wants to ruin all this with a holiday complex and those who care are fighting back.
Footnote: the coarse fisheries of the upper rivers of Norfolk, principally the non-tidal sections of the Wensum, Yare, Bure and Waveney, the Thet and Little Ouse and their collective tributaries, are generally considered - by anglers at least - to be in a serious and continuing, decline. This despite twenty plus years of work by various bodies like the Norfolk Anglers Conservation Association, individual fisheries and clubs; the EA and NE, and the instigation of Fishery Action Plans, Catchment Sensitive Farming, National Water Framework Directives, River Restoration Projects etc. A new initiative just this year is the Wensum Working Group, set up to encourage co-operation between river fisheries interests and the EA.
There are historic and ongoing problems, including the legacy of post-war dredging, drainage and flood defence schemes, excessive silt choking the gravel beds, water quality issues, over-abstraction, and over-predation by otters, cormorants and now the insidious Signal Crayfish. Poor spawning success and fry survival for key fish species like roach and dace seems to be the norm, and if it weren't for the still reasonably buoyant non-indigenous chub populations there would be little left to fish for at all in many stetches. I fear this situation will only be compounded as rural Norfolk is dragged relentlessly into the twenty-first century, with massive infrastructure development to feed, house and transport a burgeoning human population. Not forgetting climate change of course.......
Fortunately for Norfolk anglers the lower, tidal sections at least of the Broadland rivers still seem to be capable of sustaining healthy fish populations, in spite of the otters and cormorants and everything twenty-first century man can throw at them. Small consolation though for the lovers of their upper reaches.
Tim Ellis, March 2016
What with the connection with my dear old dad, and the shortage of fish nowadays in the river above the tidal limit at Horstead Mill, I sometimes feel I'm just fishing for ghosts here, memories and images from years before my time, ingrained in the landscape and water of this shallow flood plain. So, it's probably fitting that I should use one or two pieces of archaic fishing tackle........just to blend in if you know what I mean......
Passing an unusual number of anglers (two!) on my way upstream, I found they were visitors to the area, and struggling - predictably. I crossed the road near the old bridge and wandered up past (I think) Bream Corner, noting on my way that several bankside trees had succumbed to the recent gales and opened up some new areas for trotting.
Arriving at a swim selected purely on the basis that it was the most productive dace area last winter, I unbanded my old faithful (but still relatively new) Drennan Floatmaster, fifteen feet of loveliness with a new acquisition attached - a (proper) old Speedia Narrow Drum - most likely a child of the Sixties, like me. Feeding a little liquidised bread by hand, I commenced trotting an Avon float through, niggled by a fitful downstream breeze which had sprung up from nowhere, apparently just to bug me. The net result was absolutely nothing, so after half an hour or so I headed back down towards the car, on the way trying one or two of the newly accessible spots, which actually looked quite interesting. Still nothing. But the "new" old reel was feeling nice, spinning smoothly and very freely despite its years. I was pleased to be using it.
I wolfed my lunch in the car park by the mill and headed off to pastures new. Another lovely Norfolk river, this time the upper Wensum, deep in the rolling glacial countryside and miles above the tidal limit in Norwich. This was my old home ground, I grew up over here, biking along the then somewhat quieter lanes bird-watching and fishing for the dace and roach of the valley. The river is better known for chub these days, though in recent times for a decade or so the huge Wensum barbel held centre stage. This was of course until the return of the otters, which have been back here in numbers for quite a while now, unfortunately with predictable results for certain sections of the fish population.
Parking up near the top sluice pool, I made my way along the side of the mill bypass stream, and headed down to a favourite area. I walked out onto the open meadow, noting as usual now the otter run leading away from the river, beaten into the pasture, and numerous prints and signs scattered about where Tarka and co. had been messing around in the margins left muddy by last months floods.
Heaving my kit over the stock fence into a jungle of Norfolk reed and old nettles, I climbed over and dropped into the first swim in the ungrazed section, normally good for a fish. A different rod came out this time, my prized Harrison fifteen foot float rod, hand built by Andy Jubb of Norwich. And a different reel, a first outing for another old Speedia, this time a Wide Drum, chosen for its more robust construction, and loaded with 6lb Floatfish. A five gram wire Avon, with the longish stem trimmed down a little, was already on the line along with a size 6 spade end whipped on and I was ready to trot again.
Unusually, purely because I had it with me, I fed some of the liquidised bread left over from the morning. Normally I tend to use a roving approach for the chub here, just fishing breadflake with no feed, other than what comes off the hook at the end of each trot down. This different tactic was probably a good move though, as I was intending to stay put for once, only having a couple of hours left before dark.
That wretched downstream breeze seemed to have followed me halfway across Norfolk, out onto another floodplain, and continued to niggle me for a while. Gradually it eased, finally petered out altogether, and trotting the float down became so much more pleasurable. Especially so when I lost sight of it right at the end of the second or third "proper" trot and struck to feel a solid resistance which quickly became the thump of a Wensum chub. My first of 2016, on my first trip of the year, and the first fish for me on the big Speedia. It was a real torpedo of around three pounds, no monster but reassurance that there are still a few fish coming through for tomorrow. A short while later, the experience was repeated with another, slightly smaller but equally fit.
The old reel performed very nicely, and whilst it could just be sentiment or a figment of my imagination, seemed to have a certain "feel" about it. All Speedias were apparently built by an artisan whose name has been lost over the years, in a glorified shed in a back garden in Shepherds Bush. Maybe just knowing this tugs at something in me that the most beautifully machine-turned Far Eastern import can't quite stir....who knows?
The light was going by now, and I realised I'd just had a precious hour of near perfect chub trotting, a lovely chilly day, bright skies and latterly at least, NO WIND for once! As I gathered my bits of tackle together, I noticed that it was getting decidedly cooler, in fact the unhooking mat had ice on it, and it crackled softly as I rolled it up.
I hung around for a bit, just taking it all in with a cup of flask coffee. The river slipped by quietly, the oak on the far bank silhouetted against the winter sky and reflected in the water. Canada geese were honking as they flighted in for the evening, reminding me as always of long-ago nights spent carping on the gravel pits dotted up and down the valley. It was time to go, a quick pint in the Fox and then a meeting in the local village hall, someone wants to ruin all this with a holiday complex and those who care are fighting back.
Footnote: the coarse fisheries of the upper rivers of Norfolk, principally the non-tidal sections of the Wensum, Yare, Bure and Waveney, the Thet and Little Ouse and their collective tributaries, are generally considered - by anglers at least - to be in a serious and continuing, decline. This despite twenty plus years of work by various bodies like the Norfolk Anglers Conservation Association, individual fisheries and clubs; the EA and NE, and the instigation of Fishery Action Plans, Catchment Sensitive Farming, National Water Framework Directives, River Restoration Projects etc. A new initiative just this year is the Wensum Working Group, set up to encourage co-operation between river fisheries interests and the EA.
There are historic and ongoing problems, including the legacy of post-war dredging, drainage and flood defence schemes, excessive silt choking the gravel beds, water quality issues, over-abstraction, and over-predation by otters, cormorants and now the insidious Signal Crayfish. Poor spawning success and fry survival for key fish species like roach and dace seems to be the norm, and if it weren't for the still reasonably buoyant non-indigenous chub populations there would be little left to fish for at all in many stetches. I fear this situation will only be compounded as rural Norfolk is dragged relentlessly into the twenty-first century, with massive infrastructure development to feed, house and transport a burgeoning human population. Not forgetting climate change of course.......
Fortunately for Norfolk anglers the lower, tidal sections at least of the Broadland rivers still seem to be capable of sustaining healthy fish populations, in spite of the otters and cormorants and everything twenty-first century man can throw at them. Small consolation though for the lovers of their upper reaches.
Tim Ellis, March 2016
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