Diary of an average angler

I had walked the first two meadows of the Chubb Stream a few days earlier and with some extra water flowing it looked really inviting. I was, therefore, feeling quite positive when I arrived but the water level had dropped somewhat and the stream was running very clear, neither being good omens for chubbing. My confidence was then dampened further when another angler turned up shortly after I arrived and walked off before me. Following somebody into a swim in such conditions would almost certainly kill any chance of a chub.

I had stopped at the first swim on the stretch, where I had caught on my previous outing in July, and where I had seen a number of fish just before the opening of the season. This also meant that I didn't have to walk too far. But my success in July wasn't to be repeated as after a number of casts I hadn't had a touch. I moved on quite quickly.

My second stop was not far down the stretch, once again a spot where I had caught chub previously. But again I didn't get a touch. At this point I decided to walk to a swim in the second meadow where I had had success on many occasions, hoping that the other angler hadn't dropped in there, or perhaps had not got that far.

When I got there there was no sign of the other chap, and I didn't see him while I was walking there. He had mentioned the other end of the stream and I hoped he had indeed walked further and not tried the swims I was now intending to fish. But I will never know if he had in fact fished them before I got there.

Disappointingly I didn't have a bite in my favourite spot. It wasn't the first time this had happened and to be honest the swim has proved less and less reliable since I first fished it about four years ago. I persevered there for a while, trying both flake and worm, but nothing obliged. So it was time to move again, about 50 yards further downstream to another swim that had produced chub in the past.

But the story was the same. Not a nibble. And another spot some yards upstream proved to be equally unproductive. It was time to start walking back upstream as I didn't have the stamina to walk the full length of the stream.

Next stop was the swim by the bypass, again somewhere that has offered up chub on a few occasions. But the story remained the same, not a touch on either flake or worm, even though the eddy in the swim looked like a possible perch hole. I began to wonder if the fish had all moved downstream with the recent flood water.

There were now not many options left. I continued upstream to a spot just above the bypass where I had caught a chub on a previous occasion, but once again nothing. I then walked back to where I had started but wasn't surprised when I still didn't get a bite. Then as a final throw of the dice I tried a cast into the gap between two groynes that were installed a few years ago to concentrate the flow and thus provide a good gravel run below. I hoped that the bait would flow through and rest in the slacker water beyond but all that happened was that I got well and truly snagged and lost my terminal tackle.

It was the time to call it a day. I hadn't had the slightest bit of interest. Not even from smaller fish. I never saw the other chap again so I don't know how he got on but it couldn't have been any worse than me. Perhaps the fish had migrated downstream and he had a great session.