Back on the Riverbank

For the first time in a good few years, I found myself back on the riverbank—rod in hand, heart quietly hopeful. I wasn’t under any illusions of grandeur; this wasn’t about hauling out a barbel first cast or breaking personal bests. This trip was more of a test run—to see if my kit setup was workable and to rediscover that old river rhythm.

As it turned out, I wasn’t burdened with as much gear as I feared. You know how it usually goes—too many bits, bags full of "just in case" items—but surprisingly, I’d only brought a touch more than necessary. A few tweaks here and there and it’ll be bang on. It felt good just travelling light again, wandering down to the river with purpose but without pressure.

1545 – A Glimmer of Interest

I had a sudden, sharp take—well, sort of. It turned out to be an aborted one. Closer inspection showed the hook point had snagged a small twig, just enough to blunt it. Still, it told me something was down there, inspecting the bait and showing an interest in the swim. A glimmer of hope.

I was fishing with 8mm Big Fish Mix pellets and matching boilies as hookbaits. Ideally, I’d have used small PVA bags to create a tighter attraction around the rig, but in true riverbank fashion, I forgot to pack the PVA. First lesson learned—or maybe just re-learned.

The Case of the Vanishing Chub

What puzzled me most was the complete lack of interest from the chub. This spot should have screamed chub holding territory, yet I hadn’t even had a knock. Not a pluck, not a twitch. Nothing. I’d watched fish spook off the area earlier, but even that had slowed to a standstill. They weren’t having it.

I tied up two new rigs, making subtle adjustments in presentation, hoping a change might trip them up. Still, silence. The rigs looked spot on in the margins, but confidence alone wasn’t enough today. It had me questioning the whole setup, especially the main line. It might be time to switch to something finer, more supple, or just less visible before the next trip. There’s a niggling feeling it might be the final piece of the puzzle.

Calling Time

I held out until just before 10pm, but my session ended slightly earlier than planned—thanks to my head torch batteries giving up the ghost. And yes, I’d tested them over the weekend. Clearly not well enough. Another lesson chalked up.

Despite giving it my all, I left with a blank. Not even a nibble to show for my efforts. But honestly? It didn’t sting like it used to. I’d already made peace with this trip being more about learning than catching. That said, the lack of action has me itching to go back to the drawing board—reassess the rigs, rethink the baiting approach, and maybe do a bit more late-night research online.

The river’s a different beast to the stillwaters I’ve spent so much time on. It moves, it changes, and it demands your full attention. But I’m in no rush. This was just the beginning.

Until next time,
Richard