Fishing on the Test & Itchen

These Hampshire rivers are regarded as two of the finest chalk streams in the world with their crystal clear waters supporting a rich diversity of mammal, bird, fish, invertebrate and plant communities, providing the right environement for abundant fly hatches.

Famous for there high quality fly fishing and gin clear streams, the Test & Itchen are characterised by rolling chalk downland interspersed with flat valley floors. Both are classified as Sites of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) throughout their courses, with the Itchen additionally designated as a candidate Special Area of Conservation (cSAC).

Here are some highlights of what you can expect from the Rivers:

• Rich in insect life, and in excess of three hundred species of invertebrates recorded on the main channel of the River Itchen
  
  
• Best salmon season since records began in 1954 on the Lower Itchen
  
  
• Prolific hatches of Grannon, Hawthorn, Mayfly Blue Winged Olive, Sedges, Daddy Longs legs during the season.
  
  
• Excellent stocks of coarse fish including chubb, tench, bream and bream.
  
  
• Exceptional Autumn and Winter grayling fishing
  
  
• Wild and stocked brown trout, some of significant size

Both rivers are stunning and hold any number of opportunities for visiting fishermen for most of the year, keen to enjoy the experience of challenging, exciting fishing on gin clear streams.

Excellent road, road and air access and with London only 70 miles away, salmon, trout and grayling fishing are closer than you think.

Fishing on the Wear

For game anglers the Wear is recognised as one of the best Sea Trout Rivers in England, with double-figure fish being caught annually. The Environment Agency fish counter at Framwellgate Weir in Durham has counted 17,728 Salmon and Sea Trout this year, with a record September of 6,431 fish. This is the second-best month since Wear records began in 1994.

What to find on the Wear

Double figure Sea Trout.
Significant run of salmon.
Brown trout fishing, both wild and stocked
Grayling fishing
Specimen size coarse fishing: Barbel to over 12lb, chub to 6lb 10oz
British record Dace; Increasing numbers of bream.

The Wear is the smallest of the North East's three major rivers, being approximately 100km. in length from source to tidal limit. Rising in the Pennines in the West, it flows Eastwards to the estuary at Sunderland. Along its length it is fed by many tributaries, the two most significant being the Gaunless and the Browney which enter the middle reaches. Brown Trout are abundant throughout and Sea Trout and Salmon are well distributed during most of their seasons. Grayling can be found in the middle and lower reaches whilst most of the Coarse Fish are found in the lower reaches.
Visitors to the area enjoy a range of outdoor activities with sites of historical interest, including the World Heritage Site in Durham. The River Wear at Durham featured on the BBC television programme Seven Natural Wonders of Northern England.

Fishing on the Tyne

The Tyne is rightly regarded as the best Salmon River in England and Wales. Environment Agency catch returns and fish counts from the station at Riding Mill endorse this, with fish entering the river system every month of the year.

Here are some highlights of what you can expect from the Tyne:

The legendary Tyne salmon with weights up to 35lbs

Sea trout runs are excellent with good average weights

Brown trout fishing is good for both wild and stocked fish

Grayling fishing is improving nicely on the tributary River Derwent; already an established brown trout fishery

Coarse fishing is improving with good mixed catches of dace, roach and chub

The North Tyne and the South Tyne meet to form the River Tyne. All three strands of the Tyne river are splendid for game fishing and the North Tyne and River Tyne provide good coarse fishing. The whole Tyne system combines to give excellent fishing all year round.

The Tyne is a massively improved river with good visitor access along its length. There is no better way to experience the renowned Northumbrian hospitality than to visit its wealth of attractions for anglers and non anglers alike

THE WARWICKSHIRE AVON

I learned a valuable lesson a couple of weeks ago. Like a lot of lessons it was something I already knew, but one that I was too idle to put into practice. My mate and I were fishing the Warwickshire Avon on a horrible day with blustery winds and heavy rain, hail and sleet showers. I spent the day tucked under my brolly feeder fishing for chub and barbel, , but when the feeder didn’t work he walked a mile back to the car to get his float rod.

Choosing a swim almost at random he fished bread on the float and caught five chub in less than an hour, with three fish over 5lb. I blanked. Now you might say that this was pure luck, but I know for a fact that the swim he caught in had been fished the previous day by a friend of ours who blanked, as did three others who fished the same length.

Fast forward a week and I’m on my last trip of the river season heading for yorkshire. This year business and family commitments have conspired to limit my time and my last hurrah was really more of a last whimper as it was limited to a short session on the last Friday of the season.

The elements seemed to be conspiring against me too as heavy rain in the week had caused the river to lift sharply and then drop again, leaving it very coloured, but only slightly up an normal level and a distinctly cool 6C. The wind was blustery and in a direction that made float fishing a marginal prospect at best, as in some swims it was slightly upstream and in others distinctly downstream. Despite this I was determined to fish the float as I felt it would give me the best chance of a few chub in the less than perfect conditions.

The first swim was really awkward as the fish holding areas were all on the far bank and the wind direction was veering between upstream and downstream. Normally when float fishing I would use a centre pin, but the distance I had to cast, the depth of the water and the awkward wind made me opt for the safer option of my Abu 501.

This swim has around 30 yards of far bank cover and in normal (ie clear) conditions the chub will move up to intercept a trail of mash. In these conditions with the highly coloured water I’m going to have to search fish out, and with the wind as it is this is going to take some careful planning. Despite the colour in the water I’m happy to fish mash and flake as in my experience it works just as well in coloured water as it does in clear. I throw a few balls of mash in a fair way upstream and run the float through a few times to get the depth just right. I then squeeze a lump of bread flake on the hook and start to fish.

The plan is to use the wind as best I can; fishing the top end of the swim when it is blowing downstream and casting further down the swim when it is blowing upstream. Given the conditions, I’m pleasantly surprised to hook a nice chub of around 5lb after only a few casts, but this proves to be a false dawn and I get no more bites from the swim.

I then start to work my way downstream exploring all of the chubby areas (the edge of cover, creases, and deeper areas) thoroughly with my float, giving each swim at least half an hour. Two hours later I arrive at a swim that has produced some good chub for me in the past in similar conditions.

This is a slower, deeper stretch with a nice near bank crease formed by a partially submerged alder at its head. I’ve already fished down to the alder without success so I know that any chub are likely to be somewhere along the crease below it. I drop a hen’s egg sized ball of mash in just upstream of the alder and check the depth, around 10ft, before running a piece of bait down the crease. This swim is sheltered from the wind so I can trot a good 30 yards down the crease without any problems.

On the second trot I get a quick dip of the float about ten yards down the swim, but it doesn’t develop any further. On the next trot I hold back slightly in the same place and the float is pulled decisively under. At first I think I’ve hooked a big barbel as a very powerful fish kites out into the current. Stalemate ensues for a while and then the fish heads off to explore the far bank. I’m not convinced it’s a barbel due to the slow ponderous fight which is punctuated by heavy head shaking. I reserve judgement and concentrate on working the fish back towards me, wishing I’d opted for a centrepin as these reels are much better than a 501 for playing big fish.

Eventually my float breaks the surface, followed shortly afterwards by a great silver flash and a heavy boil. It’s a chub and a really big one at that. I sense a looming crisis as just upstream of me are the trailing branches of the alder, at my feet is a submerged tangle of old flag iris stems and the chub still appears to have plenty of life in it. Fortunately it kites back out into the main current and I let it drift downstream away from danger. It’s then only a matter of time and a few minutes later I draw an enormous fish into my net and sink back into my chair for a good tremble and a well deserved rest.

When I’ve recovered I have another look at the chub. A few months ago I jokingly remarked about catching a Yorkshire seven pounder and this fish looks like it could go close. It hasn’t quite got the length though and the scales reveal it to be 5 ounces short of 7lb at 6lb 11oz.

Still, it’s my first Yorkshire six and a personal best as well! Typically, there’s nobody else about so I’m forced to do a self-take for the trophy shot. When I’ve recovered I give the swim another half hour but get no more bites. I try a few more swims, but wind is really getting up now and float fishing is almost impossible. I have a think and decide that as the peat stain is clearing slightly I might have a chance of a barbel.

I’ve got half a pint of flavoured, dead maggots, so I save a good handful for hook baits, mix the rest with a handful of Sonubaits Halli Crush and dampen the mix enough so it will just press into a cage feeder. The swim I choose is a proven winter and late season barbel swim; it has heavy cover lining the far bank with a deep channel mid-river where I’ll present my feeder.

Fishing right on Mr Barbel’s front door will result in much unseemly pulling and tugging and I prefer to draw the fish away from cover to swing the odds more in my favour. I press a good helping of my maggot and ground bait mix into the feeder, impale three maggots on a size 14 hook and swing my offering out into the channel.

An hour later I haven’t had any interest and I’ve only got half an hour left before I have to head home for tea (or else). I decide to force the issue slightly and I spray a few catapult pouches of dead maggots on the line between the far bank cover and the channel. My experience is that this will often provoke a lethargic cool water barbel to move out of cover to feed on the sprinkling of maggots. Sure enough, a quarter of an hour later my rod tip pulls smartly round and I latch into a good barbel. Unusually, it decides to carry out most of the fight near the surface but after a lively struggle I net a nice fish which goes 8lb 6oz on the scales.
 

It’s now 4 o’clock and as I have to negotiate the M62 in Friday night car park mode and arrive home in time for tea I decide to call it a day. What an end to the season!

THE WYE

It’s a long drive to the salmon beat; well, it is if you happen to be an Essex lad and you’re picking up ‘His Wyeness’ from Maynard Mansions in Middlesex. But it’s an entertaining one.

For a start there are no fewer than four equally sensible routes and many more if you’re in no rush and you’re keen to take in some extra scenery. The Chepstow-Monmouth portal to the valley is pretty enough for those daily constrained by strips of asphalt, shopping emporia and fast-food joints, and reaching this unfailingly welcome contradistinction is something of a pleasure: you just click into cruise-control, sit back and put the world to rights with your buddy. Harmonizing with Simon and Garfunkel and allowing Jethro Tull to destroy your hearing are luxuries reserved for the journey home; it’s a way of weaning yourself back onto the coming week of traffic-jams and Essex surliness you suspect.

Once you’re over the bridge of your choice – they’re both enormously expensive but hey…try walking it – you can re-run the customary exchange about which exit to take at the roundabout then opt for the wrong one. You get fully under way when you see the much-welcomed sign for the racecourse. How did you make that mistake yet again? Likely as not, your pal will apologize for the confusion and you’ll insist on taking the blame. But you’re on your way and there’s twenty miles or so of narrow, winding tarmac pushing its way through the shade of the conifers on either side. As ever, one of you moots the possibility of pike at Tintern Abbey: do they get this low down? Is the river brackish here? You’ll never find out for yourself; you’ll just continue to wonder because you know, deep down, the value of conjecture and mystery in your angling life. At some time though, you’ll happen upon a report telling you precisely what you didn’t want to know.

There’s a café twenty minutes further on, once you’ve crossed what you assume to be the Monnow; you’re in Monmouth so you suppose it must be. The café’s unremarkable but it’s clean and the all-day breakfast is value for money. The toilets are clean too – something you can reasonably expect in the twenty-first century – but you needn’t be ancient to recall the ritual destruction of dog-ends at the deep-end: some things do get better.

Half an hour and you’re back on the road, braking for female pheasants and swiftly summing-up the houses with ‘For Sale’ signs. Could you make the move? Would you really want to? Could you stand the isolation? And what a lot of hassle. The musing recedes a little more slowly than it came, but recede it does, the thought of your line singing to the weight of a tired downstream fish taking hold.

You slow down for the villages, not because you must but because you need to fill the spiritual void imposed by the motorway. There’s Postman Pat! It’s very English isn’t it? Or are we in Wales now? Ok, it’s very British. Long may it stay that way, dominated by the pub and the church. You agree it’s unlikely but, well, it’ll see us out – and the kids will see the mosque as normal. Then you’re descending into Middle Earth where the last webs of mist linger over a gentle Wye.

Little has changed at the hut; only the symmetry of the creeper-leaves, now curling red with the onset of autumn, and an extra mystery-hole at the rear: perhaps this time you’ll get to see the culprit. Inside it’s unmolested as far as you can tell: no chewed newspaper and ruined fly-lines to be seen this time, but what about the dresser? Earlier in the year some entrepreneurial rodent had moved in and converted it to Hereford’s Premier Rave Venue. Ribena and apple-juice had flown freely; Ritz Crackers, Chocolate Hobnobs and even His Wyeness’s Mint Imperials had been gorged with hedonistic abandon. And what had been that white powdery substance on the chopping board?

But the comprehensive dung-out and the application of anything and everything remotely toxic seems to have done the job: not nice but, well…at least you hadn’t given them a dose of Weil’s. The kettle’s on and the door’s chocked-open to frame your very special wallpaper; and over the river a buzzard is joined by its mate to twist and wheel and mew their dominion.

You’re home.

The house back in Essex is somewhere you’re obliged to visit but this is where you belong, in the company of crocks and tea-pots, Tilly-lamps and tackle, in a hut by clean water. You thank His Wyeness for the tea and exchange a few words about the evening meal: his chilli or your stew? Chilli. You’ll inspect the beat, chuck some fluff in the afternoon then settle in for a few hours barbelling before returning to eat – that’s settled then.

How lucky can you be?

Less than two years before his elevation to royalty, Mr. Maynard had been the mysterious mortal who checked and published your scripts, but just a few exchanges revealed your roots to be the same council estate in ‘arold ‘ill, three miles from Romford. Of course! You knew the name! He’d flicked inky pellets in the same class as your brother and had fished the ancient ponds in Dagnam Park Woods; he’d jumped the stream, dammed it and probed the pool with a sixpenny net for red-throats and palmate newts. You’d both been beaten up by Johnny Daniels. Within minutes of re-acquainting yourself at a pool just off the A12 at Sandon, you knew the man again, the man who’d shattered your cheeser and the man who’d shared his frozen Jubbly that day ‘Snudge’ came to open the fete. You’d both seen the world: you on a push-bike, he with a guitar and tuppence a’penny.

Evening.

You’re close to your rod and willing the cane to thump over. You’ve had nothing so far and a curious air of contentment and despondency has quelled your expectations. A lone blackbird flutes from the skeletal oak by the feeder-stream and the first pipistrelles flicker in the gloom. There’s no sound. Just you and the Wye – no, not the Roding – the Wye, and the damp of dusk is seeping through your corduroys. You rub your legs for a few moments of warmth then reach for the blanket in your rucksack. Not daring to avert your eyes you twist in your seat but unfurl on seeing a nod. Your talon is there, hovering over the cork and the Redditch winch your father used to use; then the rod is bending and stabbing at the river like a frenzied conductor and yearning to be with the fish – barbel!

RIVER FISHING IS THE BEST

For me, ‘proper’ fishing means rivers.

Sure, you can find me happily alongside a lake particularly if tench or trout are involved. I’ve even recently bought myself a proper bivvy for those overnighters after tench. But it’s flowing water that does it for me.

I was brought up on rivers and for most of those early formative years all my fishing was on the moving stuff, principally the lower Dorset Stour and occasionally the Hampshire Avon. In those days I rarely ventured onto any lake or pond, typically because most were too far away and beyond the range of my bicycle. Strangely enough most trips to lakes were on the ‘glorious 16th when I tagged along with my uncles for the traditional opening day tench bonanza or, in reality in the early years, a sleep under the brolly.

I lived within easy reach, walk or ride, of the tidal Stour or, if I was feeling a little more adventurous, the hallowed banks of Throop. Had I been aware of any lakes or ponds in the area I probably wouldn’t have fished them anyway. Back in those days the Stour held plenty of fish and I ‘learnt my trade’ with the masses of bleak, dace and roach that, with a bit craft, could be found throughout its length. That craft was acquired by following my uncles everywhere, listening, watching and trying to copy what they were doing. The fact that they were, and still are, among the finest anglers in the area, helped somewhat. If my version of that craft failed, and I wanted to put a real bend in my rod, I would chop a bleak in half and leger it alongside a weed bed and wait for the eels to find it.

The vagaries of the ‘tidal’ meant the river was constantly changing and knowing when, where and how to change tactics was an art form and for many years, as far as I was concerned, something akin to black magic. But my youthful world consisted only of river fishing and thoughts of river fishing.

All my fishing revolved around the club, in my case Christchurch AC. The local tackle shop, Bill Longmans in Barrack Road, was the hub of everything as the great and good met there regularly to discuss next weekend’s match or get together. I used to sit in the middle of them all soaking up the information and trying to store it all away for future use. And it was all about rivers! The nearest I got to stillwater was the trip to the Huntspill for the away leg of match against Bridgewater AC.


So fast forward 50 years and the anticipation is still at its greatest when I approach another river trip. Even when I’m walking down to the river I know so well there is still much to be answered. Height, flow, pace and colour are just part of the equation. The swim I fished last week, last year and 50 times before is still there and outwardly looks the same but rarely ever is. It’s that initial sight as I approach the river that prompts so many questions and hopefully the answers come along quickly.

Last season was a good case in point. The summer rains resulted in very high levels and, even when not in full flood, the pace was exceptional. Some of my favourite areas and swims were simply just not within the norms that I had come to expect and forced a radical rethink. In many ways last summer reminded me of the conditions I encountered in my youth - minus the bleak, dace and roach!

I also reinforced my love for rivers when I finally discovered my local Rivers Loddon and Wey. It only took me 20 years to finally get acquainted with these marvellous little rivers and by that time they had probably past their peak. But they were within 10 miles of my front door, very new to me and, once I’d joined a local club, their banks saw me several times each week. I really relished getting to know these rivers over a period of time and trying to work everything out for myself. I even put in a few all-nighters when searching for barbel, something I hadn’t done for many a year.

Late summer and autumn saw me almost exclusively on the upper Loddon after barbel and, by my standards, I had some excellent results. I even surpassed my long standing PB with a stunning 13lb 3oz whiskers. The vast majority were much smaller but hooking even an average sized barbel in the dark from a very tight swim on a little river is absorbing and exciting!

As autumn moved into winter I started to explore the River Wey. I walked for many a mile, occasionally finding the odd little chub or grayling, and really enjoyed the experience. But as the winter really took hold, the call from my angling ‘home’ was too great. The Dorset Stour and particularly its potential to produce huge chub, is usually the backdrop for most of my winter efforts. Although it’s now a 160 mile round trip, it’s still ‘my’ river, I know a lot of it intimately and I’m addicted to trotting a float for chub.

Last winter on the Stour was generally a tough one as conditions generally conspired against me but, oddly enough, I achieved a long standing ambition to net a 7lb fish on the float. That was a ‘day to remember’ as I had three chub for a total weight of over 20lb; river fishing at its finest.

So, now in my 60th year, rivers have always been in my blood and will continue to be the main reason I get out of bed (or indeed stay out all night) to go fishing.

Long may it continue.

TENCH FISHING ON THE RIVER WYE

Still Tenching
I know the river season is over week old but I’m having real trouble dragging myself away from the tenching. I’ve not yet landed any monsters so far this year, in my book a nine pounder is still a monster tench, and at times the fishing has been hard. The thing is, whilst I would classify myself as primarily a river angler, once I’ve got that tench head on and the rods all rigged I’m kinda loathed to make the switch to running water too early.

This is no bad thing with the weather we’ve been having of late. Both the chub and the barbel have spawned late and have been slow to respond while the tench are still some way off completing their nuptials. In some respects the cold spring has prolonged the best of the tench fishing which is another excuse not to be rushing to the riverbank on June 16th.

I guess the other reason I’m keen to keep on the tench trail is that I’m trying out a new water this season with some unknown potential which is always exciting. There are many Thames Valley gravel pits that hold big tench but this is one on the up rather than a water with a reputation for past glories.

Tench Tactics
My tactics for specimen tench are reasonably straightforward and involve moderate baiting with particles in clear areas adjacent to weedbeds and pronounced drop offs. I usually rely on hemp, caster, dead maggots and a few pellets delivered via a mini Spomb, surely the best invention in recent years, or thrown in by hand if I’m targeting a float line down the edge.

Hook bait on the in-line feeders is the ever reliable mag-aligner set up using an artificial caster to offset the size 12 hook and two or three live wrigglers on the bend. Nowadays I tend to favour a PVA caster bag on the second ledger rod fished with three artificial casters on a short hooklink fixed helicopter style between two lengths of anchor tubing to keep everything pinned down. This is particularly effective over light weed as the bait can be popped up off the lake bed depending on where the sinker shot is positioned on the braided hooklink.

On the new pit I’m trying to fish one float and one feeder line in order to work out where the tench prefer to feed. There’s no doubt that floatfishing is a far more enjoyable way to catch tench but when you are fishing waters that rarely offer more than a couple of bites in a six hour session it pays to risk upsetting the purists by deploying bite alarms and bolt rigs.

My friends and I are not fans of using the scaled down carp tactics of some specimen tench fishers. There’s no denying their effectiveness but I like to enjoy the fight from my fish and in any case the resident carpers are usually much more willing to impart invaluable information about where the ‘nuisance’ tench are showing if they can see that we really aren’t after their precious quarry. I find that my 12ft, 1.5lb Fox barbel rods are perfect for tenching for up to 50 yards and I’ve yet to need to feel the need to cast any further.

Whilst my back up waters have produced good sized tench on a pretty regular basis this year I’ve been unable to find the monsters at Reading’s Englefield Lagoon. Switching to a new water is always a bit daunting, particularly one the size of a small inland sea where very little is known about the tench fishing. The few resident carpers have been helpful and I’ve been able to narrow my chosen area down to a few preferred swims. All have clear features and a couple have produced some nice accidental captures to carp tactics.

Inevitably the first session was a blank but I did see fish in the area and so decided to return three days later after I’d given it a generous prebaiting and a good raking of the inside line. There’s no need to suffer undue sleeplessness when after gravel pit tench as on most waters the prime feeding times seem to be between breakfast and lunchtime. I’m happy if my rods are in the water by 7am and I’m usually on my way home shortly after 1pm. The fishing may be hard but the hours are nice and civilised!

Session number two started promisingly as the chosen swim was vacant and there were sporadic bubbles appearing on the float line in response my sprinkling of hemp, caster and 4mm pellet. Despite ringing the changes on hookbaits and shotting patterns I couldn’t convert the dips and nudges into hittable bites so it was with some relief when the buzzer sounded on the maggot feeder rod positioned in a gully some 30 yards out. That was at 9.30am and a couple of hours later the same thing happened and two pristine tench two ounces either side of seven pounds opened my account on the new pit. I’m keen to get back for more but first I’ve got a very pleasant barbel break to look forward to.