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A CLOSE ENCOUNTER By Peter Hornfeck
Go to Next Article; Nidd Monster by Jon Wolfe
Following my recent membership of the Barbel Catchers Club I have, by way of an introduction, decided to write about a chance meeting some twenty-five years ago with the legendary Bill Warren, 'King' of the Royalty fishery. The occasion proved a turning point and has had a deep effect on my approach to river angling. For me, my first encounter with barbel took place in the mid-sixties on the Thames at Windsor whilst studying for my exams. Free days were spent ledgering a nearby weirpool. On one occasion my deliberations were rudely interrupted by an arm wrenching bite, the cause of which came in the shape of my first barbel. A muscular infant of 4lbs had battled all the way to the net and all the way back into the river. The species I decided warranted more than casual investigation. In the next few months several more small barbel found their way to my net. This culminated in two 5 lb fish taken in flood conditions on lobworm, at Runnymede, near Staines. I had to rely on public transport which made long distance travel both expensive and difficult with only two or three trips to the Avon at Christchurch having been attempted. Once I began to work I acquired my own transport but by this time it was the end of the 1968-69 season. When the new season began, trips to various rivers were embarked upon-with limited success. It was January 1970 that I found myself on the banks of the Avon at Christchurch. The rooftops were cloaked with a heavy overcast that last day of January. A short break to the Avon was into its final day, the Royalty was my chosen venue and I arrived to find the fishery deserted save for a solitary angler ensconced by the boathouse. It was amazing to see all the well renowned and heavily fished swims of the summer available. After the customary reconnaissance I settled into Harrigans. Thankfully, a strong easterly wind the previous week had passed and had been replaced by a moist but mild westerly airstream, prospects seemed promising. Prior to tackling up, a few choice cuts of lobworm were introduced, hopefully to arouse the interest of those lurking in the murky depths. With everything in place, an enormous lobworm was liberated from its mossy home in the bait tin. Threaded onto a size six Chapman Goldstrike this delectable offering was cast into the steady flow. The bale arm clicked shut and fingers lightly held the line, waiting for that tell-tale pluck. Minutes passed-nothing, more minutes, still nothing, half an hour and not a touch. I began to wonder how the worm was performing, surely in need of an aqualung by now; perhaps a cursory inspection was called for. Retrieving the line, the worm came into view, wriggling slowly but still in pristine condition. Recasting, I settled again, surely the worm was worthy of more than just one swim! This time my waiting was confined to a few seconds, my right index finger straightened with a searing jerk as the top section of the rod arced towards the river. Only a turn of the wrist was needed as contact was made. My though processes began to accelerate-what snags, will the line hold, how big? At first it seemed that the fish wanted nothing but to hug the bottom, this however was short lived. To my surprise I could feel the fish rising rapidly in the water. My short limited experience of barbel had not prepared me for the reaction this fish had to being hooked. Seconds later, a silvery shape exited the water in midstream, my surprise was complete, no barbel of course but a salmon. A thirty-yard dash downstream for me and three aerial displays from the fish saw a long lank specimen lifted from the water. Despite the leanness the scales told the truth and a 10lb salmon was posing for the camera. A last admiring look and the salmon was returned to her watery world. I trudged back to my swim, a cup of tea uppermost in my mind, after such a frenetic few minutes. It had escaped my attention during all the sprinting and splashing about that the bailiff, along with an elderly gentleman had arrived upstream at the end of the railway pool. Staring through the steam of the rejuvenating brew, I found myself watching this fellow in his dark trilby hat preparing to cast. A movement of the arm and at some distance I saw the bait plop into the water, the rod instantly set pointing skywards. My mug of tea was only three-quarters consumed when the once high pointing rod was seen to curve steadily downwards. "A fish already and first cast too", I thought. Spirited resistance was the unseen fish was was met with clinical efficiency on the part of the angler. In a matter of minutes the landing net was being employed. The fish, once unhooked was admired for a moment and then returned. Within minutes the rebaited hook had been cast and the rod once more stood pointing at the overcast. My attention was momentarily drawn away by a sip of tepid tea passing my lips. Before I could replenish the cup it became obvious that the elderly fellow was playing another fish-this I had to see. Covering the distance between us rapidly my arrival coincided with the nettingof a barbel weighing about 5lb. Despite the murky water, the fish was in fine colour and equally fine in fettle. I remarked on this fact and was informed in a broad Hampshire accent that the chub caught previously 'had its winter coat on'. Returning the barbel, the old chap began to rebait once more. A lump of cheesepaste the size of a hen's egg was roughly wrapped around what was confirmed later as a size 4 hook. A link ledger of some 1 1/2 oz was set about three feet from the hook. I was advised that this was much better than a conventional short tail when fishing the Royalty. A ten-foot split cane rod and Ambidex reel completed the set up. Deceptively nimble fingers dealt with the line and bale arm as a deft flick sent the bait looping out to the desired spot. Immediately the rod was set high in its rest, the tip swayed slowly back and forth as the flow and unseen weed played with the link. Several minutes passed suddenly the forward motion of the rod accelerated and the whole top section arced over and downwards. A firm turn of the wrist was met with solid resistance. The old fellow was already on his feet-“Feels like a better fish, staying deep”. The clutch began to screech as the pressure increased. Several more minutes passed, no quarter was given by either side, slowly but surely the fish began to tire. Ten yard away the brownish water boiled as a brassy flank broke the surface. It was clearly a good fish and tiring now was drawn expertly to the waiting net. The barbel managed a final few flourishes before the folds of the enveloping mesh plucked her from the water. The spring balance told the story-9lb 8oz, a beautiful fish; it was the largest barbel I had yet laid eyes upon. The barbel, once unhooked, was further admired and returned. She recovered her strength on the edge of the current and began to move, slowly at first, and then with a flick of a powerful tail she headed the deeper water. Her bronzed back caught the light as she went. Staring at the spot where the had been, the old fellow began to reach for the cheesepaste. “I hope she tells the rest of her friends I'm up here”, he chortled. The same routine was repeated once more, the cast, the high rod, the strike, another fish, this time a chub of about 4lb. This was followed by two more; a barbel of perhaps 6lb was next. I asked questions constantly of line-10lb B.S. was being used that day. “They're not afraid of a bit 'o line or a big 'ook" I had been told. The chub and barbel in 'ere have big mouths and like big baits”, in response to my remarks on the size of the hookbait. “Any old stale bread with Dutch cheese I uses-with a few bits extra sometimes”. We talked at length, I was told about great fish, particularly chub, both seen and caught on the Royalty. Every underwater feature was discussed. Large stone, depressions, deep holes, low and high water levels and fish holding areas at various times of the year. It was a travelogue of the riverbed, an underwater map. I was in awe of the apparent simplicity of it all. This fellow exuded enthusiasm and confidence in the certain knowledge that more success would follow-it did. The next two hours produced a further three barbel and four chub, one of which was a magnificent specimen of 6lb 4oz and undoubted highlight. The return of the bailiff made me realise that I had been sitting, watching and talking to this fellow for several hours. By this time the old man had started to pack up his tackle and assisted by the bailiff was soon on his way. Cheerio's were exchanged and as I trudged back to my redundant tackle I was wondering who the old man could have been? I didn't have to wait long to find out. When I left the river that afternoon, I was hailed by the bailiff who enquired whether I had learnt much from being in the company of Bill Warren. I nodded an affirmative and headed for home. |
