OLD FRIEND

By Jon Wolfe

Jon Wolfe's Old Friend, 'Spot'

Go to Next Article; Changes by Steve Kimpton

Recaptures are so much a part of modem day barbel fishing that I am sure that we are all familiar with the subject. Indeed the inability to recognise individual fish can lead to a serious misassumption on the potential of a fishery. Although it is good to catch a fish that you have never had before, there's not much that you can do to avoid recaptures if the fish are as inclined to wander as much as they do on the Yorkshire Derwent.

I first became acquainted with my old friend in September 1986. I was at this point two months into a new campaign on this, the most mysterious of all the Yorkshire rivers. Looking back I had probably started on the wrong stretch. It was not a recognised barbel holding section of river. The recognised parts are hard enough, quite what I was doing so low down god only knows. Then in late July, I got a phone call. A big barbel had been caught in a match, it weighed 11lb 4oz. I could be shown the swim it had been taken from but I should refrain from fishing there as my informant fancied having a go for this fish himself. Derwent doubles were after all very rare. After pointing out to him that by declining his offer and purchasing the following weeks Anglers Mail in which the photo's would be appearing, I would be as free as the next man to fish there. It was after all, available to anybody with the appropriate club book. My contact agreed and showed me the swim anyway. I started fishing on August I8 and had my very first Derwent barbel and another one just for good measure, both were small fish, but nonetheless very welcome after my numerous blank sessions on the lower river. My old mate Dave Tipping who was with me, had gone after the eleven without success but he returned a few days later to take an eight from my swim, which was well upstream from the eleven swim. A six on the next trip, followed by two more barbel the following session meant that I was on cloud nine. The Derwent was not supposed to be as productive as this! Some of these fish were caught during spate conditions, Hurricane Charlie had battered the country and the barbel were obviously feeding in the high and coloured water. And so to September. Fellow Barbel Catcher Steve Jacques, never one to miss an opportunity, was my companion for the day. We fished in the area where the eleven had been caught. I was fishing bacon grill as a particle, cut into tiny cubes and fried in curry paste. It was mixed into my hemp and fed with a bait dropper into a far bank swim, whose main feature was a huge over hanging willow and around which a large raft of debris had collected. At various times during the day the rod top rattled and pulled around as a succession of chub hung themselves. Another baiting with the dropper would follow, and another wait as the swim settled. At about 5pm the rod folded in half, this was no chub! The barbel fought long and hard but from the moment I turned it away from the raft it was always destined for the net. The fish had a few spots down one flank but was clean on the other. It had a small split in one pelvic fin and a split in its tail. It weighed 10lb 15oz and there is a picture of me with it in the first book we produced. I didn't have the photograph of the eleven with me from the Angler's mail and looking back we obviously thought it was the same fish. However, when my slides came back and I compared them, it was without doubt a different fish and just the incentive I needed to carry on fishing this particular stretch of river.

Over the course of the next four years our paths crossed a few times too many for my liking. Twice in I988, from swims over a mile apart and again the following season. I had by this time taken two different doubles from other parts of the river but my four doubles from this length were one and the same fish. It was at this time that she obtained the nickname ‘Spot’, christened if my memory serves me correctly by Mick Wood. By now the fishing on the Derwent was getting hard. Five or six fish a season, with at least thirty blank sessions a year. I was certain that the stretch held a few other big fish, I just had to keep plugging away, trying new swims and revisiting old ones in the hope of turning up something different. But I really did pray that I had seen the last of ‘Spot’
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For six years my prayers were answered. Two different doubles were caught during this period including one from ‘Spot’s’ length. I had almost forgotten about her.

By September of that year, 1996, the Derwent was as low as I had ever seen it. With only a trickle of water coming over the weirs, it looked more like a canal than a river. Nothing was being caught on the slower and deeper water between the weirs so I moved back up to the faster water to a swim that I last fished in June. I arrived for this particular session at about 10am. Normal procedure in this swim was to bait up on the crease between the fast water coming off some gravel shallows and the slow marginal water which was held back by a large over hanging willow. However, with my Polaroid’s on I could just about make out the gravel bottom one rod length out from the bank. I guessed this was about four feet deep as opposed to about eight feet deep in mid river in the flow. I put eight droppers of hemp and corn in and left the swim to settle. I had never seen a barbel in the Derwent except when they were spawning and even that was a very rare occurrence, so I was far from convinced that my plan would work. Fish spotting on the Derwent! Was I going mad? Thirty minutes later I crept back to the swim, slithering down the bank so as not to break the skyline. The upstream willow held the water back and created the crease, it also disturbed the surface and it was very hard to see through the ruffled water. Just like trying to spot when it's too windy. Every now and again it would settle and the gravel bottom would become visible. At first three or four fish could be seen, all chub. It was a start; I baited again with the dropper and continued to watch. Plenty of chub feeding confidently, but no barbel. Then about midday a barbel. In and out, I was lucky to see it. More hemp and corn, more waiting. An hour later it was back with another barbel and by mid-afternoon a third and a fourth fish had joined the dozen chub, unbelievable! I never cast in that day but continued to feed and watch. I had never seen anything like this on the Derwent. By the end of the afternoon I had worked out where I had to throw bait in by hand for it to settle in the right place. The swim deepened from my right which was up stream, the gravel bottom eventually dropping away hidden from view not only by the greater depth but also by a large swaying frond of ranunculus. The fish entered the swim up the narrow channel between the weed bed and the bank. I had no idea of the size of these barbel or even the chub. Fours, fives and even an odd six had been caught from this area in early summer. One of the barbel was chub sized, the other were considerably larger, varying between seven and nine pounds at a rough estimate.

The following day I was back, as were the fish. For three hours I baited and watched then at midday a bit of a disaster. I was seen by another angler who was intrigued by my antics, stood heron like with bush hat and Polaroid’s, what the hell was he up to? This was not the Dorset Stour! He crept along side me for a chat. I told him I had got some chub feeding and despite there being two barbel feeding amongst the chub he luckily didn't spot them, eventually wishing me luck and departing. I still hadn't worked out how to catch these barbel. The chub were sure to be a nuisance but the biggest obstacle of all was the disturbance caused by the tree. That evening before I left, I climbed into the base of the tree and tied one of the lower branches back which was responsible for causing much of the surface ripple
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The following morning, service was resumed. With the offending branch out of the water, visibility was a bit better and by concentrating most of the feed in the shallower top half of the swim, I managed to separate the chub from the barbel. The barbel seemed reluctant to feed in the shallower area, preferring to stay right in front of me in the deeper part of the swim. As long as I kept the chub's feeding area topped up they remained separate to a degree. As for the barbel, the biggest one was definitely more cagey than the others and I spent a very frustrating afternoon peering at a solitary grain of corn whilst noting out of the corner of my eye that every other grain in the swim had been eaten. I was getting there but progress was slow.

Day four dawned. I had spent a sleepless night tossing and turning. I find fishing in this manner very exciting but also very frustrating. My eyes hurt from constantly watching the same spot. You almost had to concentrate to break through the surface glare. Same tactics as before, the big fish was eating the corn all right and nothing else is as visible. To fish blind would definitely result in hooking a chub or even one of the other barbel. So corn it was, only this time with a very long hook length as I thought they might be spooked by my main line coming off the bottom. This proved awkward to cast and difficult to manoeuvre into position. Once in place, I used a second rod with a dropper to concentrate hemp around my hook bait, at the same time keeping enough going into the top of the swim to satisfy the chub. With the trap set, I baited the second rod with a small cube of Peperami and lowered it into the channel that the barbel used to enter the swim. It was quite windy today and for lengthy periods visibility was poor. I had seen the big fish on a couple of occasions, feeding about a yard from the hook bait but I refrained from chasing the fish around the swim. It never works! At about midday the second rod, which was fishing in the channel, curved alarmingly in it's rests before the Cardinal 54 clutch grudgingly gave line. I dropped the stalking rod and pounced on the other. It was a barbel and fought very hard in the strong flow. Once in the net I let it recover in the margins. It looked big from above, not very long but broad across its back. On the scales it went 10-1. Was I a happy bunny? Alright, I hadn't stalked it, but I had found it, fed it and caught it. I had underestimated its size, never really believing that it might be a double. After sacking the fish in the next swim downstream I returned to my original position and peered in, expecting the other barbel and chub to have been spooked. I was wrong, the chub were still feeding at the top of the swim and the small barbel had polished off all the corn in front of me. I rebaited and watched. Before long another barbel entered from the channel and I was amazed to see that it was the big one. If the double in the sack was one of the estimated eight's or nines how big was the one in front of me now? As soon as the fish circled away after feeding, I repositioned the hook bait close in where I could see it clearly. Within a minute the big fish was back and feeding but for the best part of two hours it avoided my hook bait. The fish seemed very reluctant to come close in when I had a line in the water. This obviously resulted in stalemate. I was at work the following day and the fish was waiting to be caught. Two doubles in a day, I had to go for it. The hook bait was repositioned further out and I pinched a swan shot on the line above the hook length to keep it pinned to the bottom. Concentrating my free offerings around the hook bait, I soon had the big fish back and feeding. Visibility was reduced at this distance and on a couple of occasions the bait was picked up. Once by a chub and once by my intended quarry, but on both occasions I didn't see it happen.

I was by now tearing my hair out with frustration (I did have some then!). A light breeze had sprung up from nowhere and for a while I was fishing blind. If the small barbel hooked himself, the big one would be gone. If on the other hand I reeled in, we would only have to start again. They definitely become used to the line after a while. The big fish was still feeding confidently and coming very close to my corn. It was surely only a matter of time. At about 5pm, the moment that I had been waiting for arrived. She approached bang on line, gills and mouth working over time as she hovered at the hemp. One second the corn was there, the next it was gone. If I hadn't struck she would have blown it out, but I did, and my timing was immaculate. For a split second time stood still, angler and fish connected by a frail piece of monofilament. She turned and bolted, but seeing as I was holding the rod and had anticipated her next move I was ready. I let her run against the clutch before tightening down and regaining the upper hand. I have to say that right up to netting the fish, the thought hadn't entered my head that this barbel was ‘Spot’. Although it was six years since I had last caught her, I knew that other members of the club had caught her. She seemed to get caught once or occasionally twice per year. As I pulled her over the net I recognised her, but far from feeling disappointed I was almost glad to see her. Unlike our previous encounters, I had witnessed with my own eyes how tackle shy she was, how she had managed to feed for the best part of three days before making a mistake. In my opinion this was no mug fish and at 11-13 she was still one of the biggest barbel in Yorkshire. I am not trying to make out that it took fantastic angling skill to catch her, but at one time I reckoned that I only had to cast a bait in close proximity to her before she hooked herself. How fitting that at our fifth time of meeting, my opinion of her was changed so much for the better. I was probably just as pleased as when I first caught her nine years earlier. It just goes to show that you should judge each recapture on it's own merits.

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