River Dove 13-12-14

I took last weeks blank session in good spirit, it proved my resolve and determination was stronger than my desire to bank a fish or two. To quote from the map book….

You have to be in the right place at the right time, get it right and a good bag of fish is guaranteed, get it wrong and you’ll have a dry net. Still, sometimes just being ‘on the Dove’ is enough?

Well I wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time although the midweek rain had swollen the river a little it was dropping nicely when I arrived, later than usual, at 1pm. The car park was frozen and you be forgiven for hesitating if it was your first visit because it did look deeper than it actually was.

I also noted the map book said that the Mill Fleam, a small brook that runs into the Dove in the area I was fishing, provided good sport in flood conditions so I headed straight to the furthest point giving me a 100 yards or so of the Mill Fleam to put the theory into practice.

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I spent twenty minutes in six or seven spot before I reached the confluence with the Dove which was a complete contrast to the week before, it was up a good two foot and pushing through on a stretch that previously looked perfect for trotting for Grayling.

The week before this spot looked perfect for trotting....

The week before this spot looked perfect for trotting….

This week it was dropping but still up by a couple of foot and racing through.

This week it was dropping but still up by a couple of foot and racing through.

The sunset was incredible with trees silhouetted against the mackerel sky, a perfect opportunity for capturing the moment.

I found a nice slack on the inside and settled down for the evening ahead, it was dark by 5pm and the sky was crystal clear, a frosty evening awaited the hardiest of anglers. I was sticking with cheese paste as it seemed to generate the occasional pluck on the rod tip and I didn’t think it’d be long before it pulled round all the way. I decided to pour a much needed coffee and (you guessed it) the ratchet on the Trudex starting singing, a run at last but by the time I’d put the flask down and lifted the rod it was gone further proving my theory that chub have an uncanny knack of knowing when your not paying attention!!

Another hour passed and I moved around the bend, this time I dispensed with the luxury a a chair and dropped my paste into another slack using the rod rest to steady the tip whilst I touched ledgered standing up like an expectant pelican. Again a few plucks indicated fish were present (or I was being fooled by drifting weed?) but again no takers so I moved a further fifty yards downstream just ahead of where I started off last week.

Next swim along before the tree was my final resting place for this session (photo taken last week).

Next swim along before the tree was my final resting place for this session (photo taken last week).

This final spot was perfect as the higher bank behind me shielded the slight breeze which had cut through to the bone in the more exposed pegs, it wasn’t windy as such but just enough to increase the chill factor to ‘uncomfortable’.

I sat it out till midnight and didn’t take a fish, if I’m honest, I didn’t care. I’d had another great day, a proper winters day out in the fresh air, I’d seen an amazing sunset and some extremely clear shooting stars as I gazed up at the night sky, no my glass wasn’t half empty or even half full it was instead overflowing with a feeling of success and I can’t wait to get back there.


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