Went away at half term with the usual bunch, fishing for a week in the Loire Valley, mostly on the Cher near Chabris; a big derelict mill pool with the main hatch missing, twenty feet deep and holding all species of fish. We fished the pool a few years ago with some success and had the place to ourselves for a week, catching hundreds of pounds of Chub and Barbel, plus several torpedo shaped Common Carp to eighteen pounds. This year the river was three feet down on when we last visited and crystal clear. Fishing was tricky and the Common Carp that we had hoped to target proved elusive. Many fish congregated in the deeper holes, intent more on survival than having an autumnal feed. During a visit to the nearby Chateau at Chenonceau which is built over the river, we opened a window in the long room, to look for fish and immediately below were a dozen Carp between twenty and forty pounds. A "family event" where rods,tackle and all talk of fishing were banned, we reluctantly closed the window and attempted to banish thoughts of the leviathans that lurked beneath our feet.
Towards the end of the week we switched our attentions to a local lake. Constructed to provide irrigation for the surrounding fields and replenished solely by rain it was a third of it’s usual size, the mud flats revealed a huge population of Swan Mussels and in two relaxed fishing sessions we banked several Carp to twenty pounds.
Back home we have had some steady rain that has helped put a few more inches of water over the shallows where the Trout are starting to kick up their redds, there are a lot of fish left in the river and in shallow water provide an easy target for the Heron and Egret that are currently hanging around the valley. Fungal infections such as Saprolegnia can be a problem at this time of the year, but touch wood so far the fish in the river appear to be fairly clean. The Rainbows in the stew ponds destined for our local Big Fish water. Suffered a little from an infection of Costia brought on by the low flows of summer, but are now recovering after several doses of salt.
I have finished cutting the weed and all the fringe is knocked off. I still have to see to the Millstream, which has lain still for much of the year through lack of water. Next week we will drain it down and drive a tractor up the middle to cut the hedge that shield it from the road.
The hatchery trough is up and running and contains a couple of basket of mixed sex brown trout eggs. The fish seem to be a week behind on the spawning time of last year.
Ducks have found the pond and the heap of barley and we are all set to go with our first evening flighting ducks. The Pheasants continue to spend much of their day in the two strips of Maize and are in position for our first day in a few weeks time. This week the wind has blown and the sky opened up to dump several inches of much needed rain. Nice and steady with not too much run off, it has rained for much of the week. The weather map displays lows lining up across the Atlantic sweeping in to bring more, miserable weather for some, but just what the doctor ordered for this valley, if only the wind hadn’t blown so hard as to toppled an immense ash onto the bridge that I built last Easter, smashing it to a thousand pieces.
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
It come in, It goes out
We’ve had a bit of rain, and a lot of it has gone into the ground, not much is taking a drink at the moment and rain today should help the springs push a bit more water over the shallows at spawning time. We seem to have quite a few Herons up and down the valley at the moment that would cause carnage at spawning time if the river were too low. An egret has also turned up, a little earlier than usual.
We are into the final week of the season, and the fishing has picked up with fish rising to small Olives and Spurwings throughout the middle of the day, presentation is key, a clumsy cast spooking many fish. The Grayling are also in prime condition and are also feeding on the surface; there are also some large shoals of fingerling Grayling. As has happened on a few previous occasions the biggest fish of the season was taken in the final month, one of our regulars landed a five and a half pound cockfish that had been on the bottom bends for at least two seasons. It was not sporting spawning duds and was tempted to take a lightly fished Klinkhammer.
The Pheasants are in a routine of breakfasting in the wood, before taking coffee and lunch in the Maize, returning to the wood for tea. They are not wandering as much as previous seasons, due in no small part to the excellent strip of Maize. It must be some of the best in the area, which is just as well, as the Iron Age defence ditch that used to provide shelter for much of the parish’s wildlife is now a barren bank. Trees gone under decree by English Heritage and vegetation sprayed off so all can see the Iron Age bank that the Badgers have dug up.
We seem to have been invaded by Muntjac, two years ago we saw two or three on each shooting day, last year we didn’t see any. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see quite a few on our first beat through the bushes in December. A friend, who turned up to fish earlier in the year, gave me several chunks of Muntjac; we had the saddle a few weekends ago and it was fantastic.
Our small fish rearing operation is on the fish farm register, when the two main on-growing ponds were dug, hoops of Olympic proportions had to be jumped through before we were granted permission to go ahead. The Local Council, English Nature, English Heritage, Various departments of the environment agency, the man digging the ponds, all had input into the digging of what seventy years ago the Luftwaffe could have created with a push of a button. To use water from a river to grow a few hundred fish, you must first apply and pay to take the water from the river, you must then apply and pay to put it back; the former is called a “licence to abstract”, the latter a “consent to discharge”; both are dealt with by different departments of the environment agency. Unbeknown to us our licence to abstract had a ten-year shelf life, the consent to discharge doesn’t. This week an amiable cove. soon to leave the agency (unfortunately) arrived to inform us that our abstraction licence had lapsed two years ago we had been taking a quarter of a million gallons a day through a fixed pipe into our ponds, an oversight on someone’s part (the finger was pointed at me) but could we reapply, Oh and can we have another cheque for the application process. At no point during the two year period did the legions of office wallahs at the agency pick up on the fact that we were paying to put water back into the river but not paying to take it out. Where did they think we were getting a quarter of a million gallons a day of water? , I know the bottled water industry has taken off in recent years but we would require a cast of thousands, buying bottles and emptying Evian and Eau into the brook on a daily basis to get up to a quarter of a million gallons a day.
We are into the final week of the season, and the fishing has picked up with fish rising to small Olives and Spurwings throughout the middle of the day, presentation is key, a clumsy cast spooking many fish. The Grayling are also in prime condition and are also feeding on the surface; there are also some large shoals of fingerling Grayling. As has happened on a few previous occasions the biggest fish of the season was taken in the final month, one of our regulars landed a five and a half pound cockfish that had been on the bottom bends for at least two seasons. It was not sporting spawning duds and was tempted to take a lightly fished Klinkhammer.
The Pheasants are in a routine of breakfasting in the wood, before taking coffee and lunch in the Maize, returning to the wood for tea. They are not wandering as much as previous seasons, due in no small part to the excellent strip of Maize. It must be some of the best in the area, which is just as well, as the Iron Age defence ditch that used to provide shelter for much of the parish’s wildlife is now a barren bank. Trees gone under decree by English Heritage and vegetation sprayed off so all can see the Iron Age bank that the Badgers have dug up.
We seem to have been invaded by Muntjac, two years ago we saw two or three on each shooting day, last year we didn’t see any. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see quite a few on our first beat through the bushes in December. A friend, who turned up to fish earlier in the year, gave me several chunks of Muntjac; we had the saddle a few weekends ago and it was fantastic.
Our small fish rearing operation is on the fish farm register, when the two main on-growing ponds were dug, hoops of Olympic proportions had to be jumped through before we were granted permission to go ahead. The Local Council, English Nature, English Heritage, Various departments of the environment agency, the man digging the ponds, all had input into the digging of what seventy years ago the Luftwaffe could have created with a push of a button. To use water from a river to grow a few hundred fish, you must first apply and pay to take the water from the river, you must then apply and pay to put it back; the former is called a “licence to abstract”, the latter a “consent to discharge”; both are dealt with by different departments of the environment agency. Unbeknown to us our licence to abstract had a ten-year shelf life, the consent to discharge doesn’t. This week an amiable cove. soon to leave the agency (unfortunately) arrived to inform us that our abstraction licence had lapsed two years ago we had been taking a quarter of a million gallons a day through a fixed pipe into our ponds, an oversight on someone’s part (the finger was pointed at me) but could we reapply, Oh and can we have another cheque for the application process. At no point during the two year period did the legions of office wallahs at the agency pick up on the fact that we were paying to put water back into the river but not paying to take it out. Where did they think we were getting a quarter of a million gallons a day of water? , I know the bottled water industry has taken off in recent years but we would require a cast of thousands, buying bottles and emptying Evian and Eau into the brook on a daily basis to get up to a quarter of a million gallons a day.
Friday, 24 September 2010
Media studies
This past week fishing has improved, despite the low clear water both trout and Grayling have been feeding hard in the middle of the day on a steady trickle of small Olives and Spurwings, proper September fishing. Swans have ripped a bar of ranunculus from the shallows in front of the fishing hut that has taken water from the Rainbows in the stew ponds, in order to push water through the ponds I have had to whack in a telegraph pole to act as a temporary weir to raise the river immediately upstream by a few inches. The Rainbows have also been flashing on the bottom of the ponds, an indicator of parasite infection, it has been necessary to dip the whole lot in a salt bath this week, this and the extra water should get them back to mid season form.
The Pheasants have found the Maize, which should cut down on the amount of “dogging in” Otis and I have to do of a morning. On our drive down to Cornwall a few weeks ago, much of the Maize seemed a foot or two shorter than ours, I am not sure why, perhaps it was drilled at a different time or we have a particularly tall variety, whatever the reason, ours look rather good!
We also took delivery of another half dozen chickens, the same strain as last year that had never knowingly underlaid , they are 70 weeks old, arrived with an egg on the way, and spared a slow death by shortcrust pastry. They’ve led a “free range” life but still have feather free bums. One moult and they will be back to full feathers.
On a different note, Wogan used to question the wisdom of educating so many media study students, where would they all gain employment? This week it became apparent where some are now earning their crust. A superbly filmed program about a population of tigers living at an altitude in the Himalaya never previously thought possible, was ruined by a couple of clowns who contributed little to the piece other than hyperbole and theatrical frightened looks. With little knowledge of the subject, they were the “X factor” that spoiled a fascinating programme. One attempted to convince us that he had been in mortal danger in the night, as Leopard prints had been found near his camp, another waited for Tommy Tiger in a pop up hide clearly visible from space. One waited up at night with oodles of equipment and was convinced that the eyes on which he was shining his polished piece of krypton, belonged to a Leopard heading his way, it turned out to be a sleepy squirrel in the tree just in front of his hide.
Goodness knows what the locals made of it. A theatrical bunch, on their nerve’s end following their dawn discovery of Leopard prints near their camp, set off up the mountain attired in real tree camouflage and packing all manner of survival equipment, their local guide led the way in flip flops with a John Deere umbrella on his arm; he probably sees tigers and leopards every week. The overpaid chumps added little but irritation; all that was required was an informed narrative to add to the superb photography and a few well-worded questions to the man in the flip-flops.
Ignorance and mistrust of local knowledge, with media folk to the fore, prevails a lot closer to home.
The Pheasants have found the Maize, which should cut down on the amount of “dogging in” Otis and I have to do of a morning. On our drive down to Cornwall a few weeks ago, much of the Maize seemed a foot or two shorter than ours, I am not sure why, perhaps it was drilled at a different time or we have a particularly tall variety, whatever the reason, ours look rather good!
We also took delivery of another half dozen chickens, the same strain as last year that had never knowingly underlaid , they are 70 weeks old, arrived with an egg on the way, and spared a slow death by shortcrust pastry. They’ve led a “free range” life but still have feather free bums. One moult and they will be back to full feathers.
On a different note, Wogan used to question the wisdom of educating so many media study students, where would they all gain employment? This week it became apparent where some are now earning their crust. A superbly filmed program about a population of tigers living at an altitude in the Himalaya never previously thought possible, was ruined by a couple of clowns who contributed little to the piece other than hyperbole and theatrical frightened looks. With little knowledge of the subject, they were the “X factor” that spoiled a fascinating programme. One attempted to convince us that he had been in mortal danger in the night, as Leopard prints had been found near his camp, another waited for Tommy Tiger in a pop up hide clearly visible from space. One waited up at night with oodles of equipment and was convinced that the eyes on which he was shining his polished piece of krypton, belonged to a Leopard heading his way, it turned out to be a sleepy squirrel in the tree just in front of his hide.
Goodness knows what the locals made of it. A theatrical bunch, on their nerve’s end following their dawn discovery of Leopard prints near their camp, set off up the mountain attired in real tree camouflage and packing all manner of survival equipment, their local guide led the way in flip flops with a John Deere umbrella on his arm; he probably sees tigers and leopards every week. The overpaid chumps added little but irritation; all that was required was an informed narrative to add to the superb photography and a few well-worded questions to the man in the flip-flops.
Ignorance and mistrust of local knowledge, with media folk to the fore, prevails a lot closer to home.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Where did all the water go?
Where did all the water go? No weed to cut in august, a proliferation of blanket weed and the river is now down to its bare bones. Fly life through August was reasonable with better sedge fishing than this time last year and Olives trickled off from late morning on the fine days. The rain we have had has done nothing but add colour for 24 hours, with fish rising between the showers. Now the river is crystal clear and with three weeks of the season left, several fish are more intent on making territorial charges than looking up for flies. There are many fish left in the river most have now moved into the deeper holes. On some parts of the river there is a thin line of mud between the water and the marginal fringe, a small beach that will be even greater when we cut the weed out in October. The Stew ponds are also short of water and it may soon be necessary to put a few sheets of tin into the river below the inlet to try and push a bit more water through.
The Pheasants are now out of the pen and all over the meadow, some are showing signs of adult plumage. I have feeders out through the wood, but the fatter they get on natural food and maize from the game cover the better as the price of Wheat has shot through the roof and currently stands at £150 per ton. Following the close of the cricket season and the start of school we had a week in Cornwall. A non-fishing holiday, at the end of a hectic summer, to a place we used to visit regularly, but had not been to for nine years. We also used to buy our day old pheasants from a chap who lives in a castle on a beach, we visited the beach several times during the week and the roads leading in were covered in tiny Cornish pheasants, half the size of a Hampshire bird they make a challenging target pushed of the top of some of the hills and cliffs that surround the beach. They did well here in Hampshire and flew beautifully, but had a tendency to walk a little further than their rotund Hampshire brethren sometimes over the hill and far away, and if it wasn’t your hill then they did not feature or your shooting day. In a week in Cornwall hanging around harbours, bumming on beaches and walking the cliffs I saw fewer Cormorants than I would on a mid winters walk on the middle Test.
Unfortunately during the past month, the best dog that we have ever had cashed in his chips. Zebo, our twelve year old Black Labrador developed a load of lumps where lumps shouldn’t be, that finished him off in a matter of weeks. Born into a well-bred litter of eight, he and his brother Jacko who lives nearby, were the two left that nobody chose. He cost a day’s fishing for two, and after initial efforts at training, it became abundantly clear that “it was all in there” and he knew far more about shooting than anyone else around here. He had impeccable manners with both humans and fellow dogs and did not have one fight in twelve years. On driven pheasant days he would quarter and flush as well as a Spaniel and then switch to picking up mode when the drive was done. On evening duck flights he came into his own, He abandoned all hope of me hitting anything at an early stage and would mark most ducks that fellow guns shot. These would then have to be located and picked up in the dark at the end of the flight, some on the water others in cover; on several occasions he picked the whole bag. He had two failings, the first a propensity to sit in front of us of an evening chattering his teeth if a neighbouring bitch was in season, and in his later years, after taking a long drink he would blot his gums on my wife’s thighs, best linen trousers or not! He had a week of Steak, Sausage, Chicken Breasts and Nan bread before it all got too much, and he now resides by the river at the end of a bridge where he would wait patiently for me to finish feeding Fish and Pheasants.
Big shoes to fill for his nephew Otis, Immature and great fun, he displays fleeting signs of high intelligence that are quickly extinguished by the slightest opportunity to arse about!
The Pheasants are now out of the pen and all over the meadow, some are showing signs of adult plumage. I have feeders out through the wood, but the fatter they get on natural food and maize from the game cover the better as the price of Wheat has shot through the roof and currently stands at £150 per ton. Following the close of the cricket season and the start of school we had a week in Cornwall. A non-fishing holiday, at the end of a hectic summer, to a place we used to visit regularly, but had not been to for nine years. We also used to buy our day old pheasants from a chap who lives in a castle on a beach, we visited the beach several times during the week and the roads leading in were covered in tiny Cornish pheasants, half the size of a Hampshire bird they make a challenging target pushed of the top of some of the hills and cliffs that surround the beach. They did well here in Hampshire and flew beautifully, but had a tendency to walk a little further than their rotund Hampshire brethren sometimes over the hill and far away, and if it wasn’t your hill then they did not feature or your shooting day. In a week in Cornwall hanging around harbours, bumming on beaches and walking the cliffs I saw fewer Cormorants than I would on a mid winters walk on the middle Test.
Unfortunately during the past month, the best dog that we have ever had cashed in his chips. Zebo, our twelve year old Black Labrador developed a load of lumps where lumps shouldn’t be, that finished him off in a matter of weeks. Born into a well-bred litter of eight, he and his brother Jacko who lives nearby, were the two left that nobody chose. He cost a day’s fishing for two, and after initial efforts at training, it became abundantly clear that “it was all in there” and he knew far more about shooting than anyone else around here. He had impeccable manners with both humans and fellow dogs and did not have one fight in twelve years. On driven pheasant days he would quarter and flush as well as a Spaniel and then switch to picking up mode when the drive was done. On evening duck flights he came into his own, He abandoned all hope of me hitting anything at an early stage and would mark most ducks that fellow guns shot. These would then have to be located and picked up in the dark at the end of the flight, some on the water others in cover; on several occasions he picked the whole bag. He had two failings, the first a propensity to sit in front of us of an evening chattering his teeth if a neighbouring bitch was in season, and in his later years, after taking a long drink he would blot his gums on my wife’s thighs, best linen trousers or not! He had a week of Steak, Sausage, Chicken Breasts and Nan bread before it all got too much, and he now resides by the river at the end of a bridge where he would wait patiently for me to finish feeding Fish and Pheasants.
Big shoes to fill for his nephew Otis, Immature and great fun, he displays fleeting signs of high intelligence that are quickly extinguished by the slightest opportunity to arse about!
Friday, 10 September 2010
Friday, 30 July 2010
Week 104
Week 104
The river is fast losing any sparkle that remains; the water has dropped markedly and is not far off the level it was at this time last year. Weed growth has steadied up, although the ribbon weed is sticking its nose through the surface of the water. Fishing is hard; rods are now resorting to nymphs to take fish during the day, with some brief sedge fishing in the evening. Many of the Brown Trout have tucked themselves away and not putting in an appearance for most of the day. It is amazing how so many fish can hide away in a small river with gin clear water, the clarity and size of the river draw you into thinking that most fish must be visible, but Brown Trout are particularly adept at tucking themselves away when they need to, which is why many beats started stocking Rainbows at this time of the year, a practice that many now undertake throughout the season. There is one female Brown Trout on the middle stretch this beat of around 8lb that I have only twice this year, and felt once when she crashed into my legs during the weed cut.
The flight pond is alive with Roach and Rudd fry that provide a daily feast for a family of Kingfishers, distracting them from my pond of Brown Trout fry further down the river. They are on and around the pond most of the day, taking advantage of the low clear water, there are a dozen or more Bream of between four and six pound who occasionally get their heads down and colour the water, affording the fry a little protection, but they too have taken to spending much of the day basking near the surface in the warm water.
The winter barley in the hundred acre field that borders one side of this stretch of the valley was harvested recently, and within a few days the stubble played host to around a hundred geese, an obvious distraction for our own harlot of the Goose world whose charges are now almost fully grown, how long before she does a bunk to go and play with the boys in the corn. They must have put some barley out the back of the combine because they have been there a few days now, along with a few ducks that have discovered the free feed.
One of our Friday rods, recently brought along a well-known fisherman in these parts. Advanced in years and as fit as a flea, he would fish some or other part of the river most days of the week. A resident of Stockbridge high street, he used to strike fear into the fishery management students gaining experience on the middle river. He once barked from fifty yards for me to stand stock still as I returned home for lunch with, what was for a puny teenager a heavy strimmer. A fish looked like it may rise and I may affect its decision to take his fly. I stood for many minutes frozen to the spot as he waited intently for the fish to rise before standing me down and moving on to another fish. He is still an accomplished fisherman, and fishes more days than not. I compulsively stand still on hearing his voice. I once walked into a pub in the depths of winter, and was greeted with the bellow “ I Know You!” from across the bar, which froze me to the spot. At another fisherman/journalist’s 70th birthday party on a nearby cricket field, he fixed me from twenty yards with another “You’re so and so from up the river!” which left me standing on the same spot fielding fishing questions for twenty minutes, much to my wife’s chagrin who was heavily pregnant at the time and desperate to get home. An entertaining and knowledgeable fisherman I would imagine he has fished almost all of this river system during his life and maintains the same enthusiasm for the sport as he did when striking fear into the hearts of fishery management students twenty odd years ago.
The river is fast losing any sparkle that remains; the water has dropped markedly and is not far off the level it was at this time last year. Weed growth has steadied up, although the ribbon weed is sticking its nose through the surface of the water. Fishing is hard; rods are now resorting to nymphs to take fish during the day, with some brief sedge fishing in the evening. Many of the Brown Trout have tucked themselves away and not putting in an appearance for most of the day. It is amazing how so many fish can hide away in a small river with gin clear water, the clarity and size of the river draw you into thinking that most fish must be visible, but Brown Trout are particularly adept at tucking themselves away when they need to, which is why many beats started stocking Rainbows at this time of the year, a practice that many now undertake throughout the season. There is one female Brown Trout on the middle stretch this beat of around 8lb that I have only twice this year, and felt once when she crashed into my legs during the weed cut.
The flight pond is alive with Roach and Rudd fry that provide a daily feast for a family of Kingfishers, distracting them from my pond of Brown Trout fry further down the river. They are on and around the pond most of the day, taking advantage of the low clear water, there are a dozen or more Bream of between four and six pound who occasionally get their heads down and colour the water, affording the fry a little protection, but they too have taken to spending much of the day basking near the surface in the warm water.
The winter barley in the hundred acre field that borders one side of this stretch of the valley was harvested recently, and within a few days the stubble played host to around a hundred geese, an obvious distraction for our own harlot of the Goose world whose charges are now almost fully grown, how long before she does a bunk to go and play with the boys in the corn. They must have put some barley out the back of the combine because they have been there a few days now, along with a few ducks that have discovered the free feed.
One of our Friday rods, recently brought along a well-known fisherman in these parts. Advanced in years and as fit as a flea, he would fish some or other part of the river most days of the week. A resident of Stockbridge high street, he used to strike fear into the fishery management students gaining experience on the middle river. He once barked from fifty yards for me to stand stock still as I returned home for lunch with, what was for a puny teenager a heavy strimmer. A fish looked like it may rise and I may affect its decision to take his fly. I stood for many minutes frozen to the spot as he waited intently for the fish to rise before standing me down and moving on to another fish. He is still an accomplished fisherman, and fishes more days than not. I compulsively stand still on hearing his voice. I once walked into a pub in the depths of winter, and was greeted with the bellow “ I Know You!” from across the bar, which froze me to the spot. At another fisherman/journalist’s 70th birthday party on a nearby cricket field, he fixed me from twenty yards with another “You’re so and so from up the river!” which left me standing on the same spot fielding fishing questions for twenty minutes, much to my wife’s chagrin who was heavily pregnant at the time and desperate to get home. An entertaining and knowledgeable fisherman I would imagine he has fished almost all of this river system during his life and maintains the same enthusiasm for the sport as he did when striking fear into the hearts of fishery management students twenty odd years ago.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Week 103
Week 103
Where did all the water go? The river that looked in great shape mid April has been reduced by half following a prolonged dry spell that has bought hosepipe bans to various parts of the country. It’s early season sparkle dimmed by an explosion of blanket weed that hides the clean gravel and swamps the once verdant weed.
Fishing has been hard but not impossible, unlike last season we have experienced some good sedge fishing with the fish feeding hard for a short period most evenings.
I have had a schoolboy with me on his year 10 work experience, and have made the most of the extra pair of hands to get some two-man jobs done. Most of the week has been spent moving fish around the ponds. We have had to have a reshuffle to make room for some Rainbows that we are growing on for our neighbouring big fish water, five hundred pink striped ravenous lumps that grow at twice the speed of our more refined home grown Browns. The lakes in question have had a hard time in recent weeks, the water temperature in the lakes soaring to 24 Celsius sending the trout soporific and reluctant to feed. The temperature in the river is currently around 18 Celsius, although the Mill Stream is now still water and several degrees higher as we no longer have enough water to run it.
The Pond is currently full of fry, mostly Roach, Rudd and Perch with the odd Bream. We have around a dozen Carp left that have been feeding on the surface, along with a shoal of twenty Bream of around 3lb that have broken with type and now look to the surface for sustenance. My son and his mate’s recent fishing efforts resulted in a net full of year old Perch and many many Rudd. There are also Roach fry in the river along with some huge shoals of Minnows.
We were away watching a cricket match in the centre of Basingstoke this past weekend and for over an hour a Red Kite was checking out the ground, they seem to be almost as common as Buzzards around here at the moment unless it is the same one or two who get around a lot. Swallows and Martins are still way down on numbers from a few years ago, while the Ducks who have had later broods have benefited from the warm weather with large numbers of off spring surviving through to adult plumage. Coots and Moorhens have also had a good year, and may need sorting out in the winter months. Coots and Moorhens shot on Vermin day on a stretch of the Test on which I carried out pre college work experience invariably ended up in the pot. Several Keepers would take them home to pluck in front of the fire while watching Crossroads, to be served up at a later date. One retired keeper liked the breasts fried in butter, along with much of his day to day food. He also grew his own tobacco and pitched up in the pub well into his eighties. His son, who is now also retired, was regularly talked off as one of the best keepers on the river and is blessed with carpentry skills that have chucked up a dozen or more fishing huts on the middle Test that could fill a whole series of “Grand Designs”
Where did all the water go? The river that looked in great shape mid April has been reduced by half following a prolonged dry spell that has bought hosepipe bans to various parts of the country. It’s early season sparkle dimmed by an explosion of blanket weed that hides the clean gravel and swamps the once verdant weed.
Fishing has been hard but not impossible, unlike last season we have experienced some good sedge fishing with the fish feeding hard for a short period most evenings.
I have had a schoolboy with me on his year 10 work experience, and have made the most of the extra pair of hands to get some two-man jobs done. Most of the week has been spent moving fish around the ponds. We have had to have a reshuffle to make room for some Rainbows that we are growing on for our neighbouring big fish water, five hundred pink striped ravenous lumps that grow at twice the speed of our more refined home grown Browns. The lakes in question have had a hard time in recent weeks, the water temperature in the lakes soaring to 24 Celsius sending the trout soporific and reluctant to feed. The temperature in the river is currently around 18 Celsius, although the Mill Stream is now still water and several degrees higher as we no longer have enough water to run it.
The Pond is currently full of fry, mostly Roach, Rudd and Perch with the odd Bream. We have around a dozen Carp left that have been feeding on the surface, along with a shoal of twenty Bream of around 3lb that have broken with type and now look to the surface for sustenance. My son and his mate’s recent fishing efforts resulted in a net full of year old Perch and many many Rudd. There are also Roach fry in the river along with some huge shoals of Minnows.
We were away watching a cricket match in the centre of Basingstoke this past weekend and for over an hour a Red Kite was checking out the ground, they seem to be almost as common as Buzzards around here at the moment unless it is the same one or two who get around a lot. Swallows and Martins are still way down on numbers from a few years ago, while the Ducks who have had later broods have benefited from the warm weather with large numbers of off spring surviving through to adult plumage. Coots and Moorhens have also had a good year, and may need sorting out in the winter months. Coots and Moorhens shot on Vermin day on a stretch of the Test on which I carried out pre college work experience invariably ended up in the pot. Several Keepers would take them home to pluck in front of the fire while watching Crossroads, to be served up at a later date. One retired keeper liked the breasts fried in butter, along with much of his day to day food. He also grew his own tobacco and pitched up in the pub well into his eighties. His son, who is now also retired, was regularly talked off as one of the best keepers on the river and is blessed with carpentry skills that have chucked up a dozen or more fishing huts on the middle Test that could fill a whole series of “Grand Designs”
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