Given the choice of only one season for my barbel fishing, I would say winter every time. The weather can be unpredictable with long cold spells, frosts, heavy rain and of course the possibility of snow, all of which, conversely, I think makes the river and fishing that much more predictable. I can imagine the Northern lads mumbling that we Southerners are bloody lucky to have an extended sesason and I couldn’t agree more.
As I see it, summertime is a period of stocking the old memory banks and learning more of the waters I will be concentrating on later in the year.
For example, I want to know where the depressions and gullies are in the riverbed. Barbel love them, even in a spate. Much easier found, of course, with a rolling ledger in the summertime. A lot more difficult when the river is up a couple of foot or so of floodwater. I’ll also be making mental notes of where those thick beds of reedmace are during the summer. When the frosts and floods arrive to remove all but sunken root stems, a bait fished in the runs and depressions between the old weed beds can be brilliant. However, find the stems and roots instead and, if you’re not fishing a static lead (and usually, even if you are), be prepared for snagged tackle.
As you can probably see, I like to have things all pretty organised and comfortable for the serious stuff come wintertime. Everything put away neatly, so to speak. But then of course, we are dealing with fishing and of course, the norm is never the norm. A point brought home to me one February, a few seasons ago.
Like the rest of the Country, the Southern Counties had been suffering in the icy grip of a particularly cold winter, with the ground and water temperatures having been low for some considerable time. Melting snow on the ground had written off any chance of barbel fishing as I saw it, so I decided to have a go for the big Kennet chub instead. It’s something I do about once a year. Kid myself I’m going fishing for chub when if fact my tackle, bait, choice of swim and thoughts are without doubt leaning more towards barbel.
I remember I arrived at the riverbank at midday to find the Kennet coloured and carrying a good extra 18 inches of melting snow, the kiss of death for any barbel fishing. The fact that the water temperature was 39o F was of no consequence, I had already made up my mind by then, chub fishing it would be, on the deeper water at the bottom of the fishery.
After about half an hour of half-hearted wandering around, I settled in a swim at the head of a deep glide on the inside of a bend. I remembered the riverbed at the tail of the run shelved up from around 9 foot to 6 foot and with all the overhanging branches; the swim certainly looked the part. To add to that, the air temperature seemed to be getting warmer. It has to be said though, all my fishing lacked any real conviction so, not surprisingly, the next couple of hours passed without a bite.
With time getting on, I was thinking more of the fish and chip shop when I noticed, to my surprise, another angler had moved in 20 yards below me. Now I freely admit to not being the most sociable of people on the riverbank but on this occasion though, my curiosity did get the better of me and I decided to pop down for a chat. It just so happened it was an old friend and Kennet big fish man John Ellyat and I hadn’t seen him for a year or so.
The time passed easily and before I knew it, my watch said 4.00pm. With that, I remembered saying to John "OK, I’m off to catch a good barbel from one of the shallow swims before dark"- tongue in cheek of course. John’s short laugh was typical.
A while later saw me standing in the 12 inches of cold, coloured water that was covering what was previously riverbank. I could plainly see my footprints were the only indent in the remaining area of white snow around me.
The centrepin spun as part of a hot-dog was cast across the shadowed water. Line was eased back through my fingers to have contact with the weight as it hit the bottom. A minute passed, perhaps. I lifted the rod to move the bait down the swim, maybe a yard or so. It settled again. Then something I never expected, a slight pull, the weight moved. I struck and a hard fighting fish was on. A fish soon to be realised in the form of a 9lb 9oz barbel.
The fish was sacked and after packing up, I walked down to the area that John was investigating, hoping for a photo. It was dark by then and John had gone. He had expected about as much from the day as I had. Before I left though, I took the water temperature again; it hovered around the 40oF mark, a slight increase on earlier in the day.
Driving home had me deep in thought, my snow water theory well and truly out of the window. I had never given a serious thought to fishing for barbel proper in these conditions. However, the more I thought about it, it began to remind me of other occasions that were pretty closely akin to the situation encountered that day and I was guilty of passing them off as flukes.
Thoughts returned of another occasion when the Kennet valley landscape was white with a very hard frost all day. The river was the colour of pea soup and very high. I had two barbel at 5lb and 5lb 5oz in the space of ¼ of an hour, just after dark from a snaggy slack. Water temperature 39oF. A fluke?
Perhaps the most convincing occasion was back in ’79. Again it was the Upper Kennet in wintertime, on a stretch fellow Barbel Catchers Alan Slater and particularly Pete Tillotson held in great affection. Again, there had been a very cold period followed by a heavy fall of snow that still lay thick in the fields a week afterwards. I remember in view of our recent run of success, it seemed an age for the weather to break. When it did, of course, I was on the bank with 4 pints of maggots. I had previously phoned Pete, he couldn’t make it. As his swim was by far the most consistent, obviously that’s where I decided to fish, with Pete’s blessing of course. The river on arrival was up about 18 inches and that’s a lot for the Upper Kennet. The river was the colour of milky tea as it pushed through thick with melting snow. I was not impressed. It was too late to turn back though and I wasn’t taking the maggot’s home.
The swim was a gap between thick hawthorn bushes with plenty of tree cover. Any fish were usually taken from beneath the downstream bush, so in went the dozen or more of droppers of maggots, right on the spot, followed shortly afterwards by the first feeder to work it’s magic while I set up a second rod. We used two rods, as the fishing was usually slow. Not on this occasion though, I turned my back to hear the whirring clutch and a splash as my rod hit the water. Too late, I was snagged and had to pull for a break.
Thinking that was it for the next few hours at least, I less than enthusiastically set up and recast to the same spot. This time, as I put the rod in the rest, it took off and another fish found the sanctuary under the bush and I was broken again.
Shaken but not stirred, I upped the line strength and never bothered with a second rod. The result in the next couple of hours was three fish to 8lb plus and one recovered hook. So much for snow broth being the kiss of death. In both the cases, I can think of two factors that stand out. First and I think foremost, is a rising, coloured river is created and then of course, the water temperature is rising. The fact that the water temperature is perhaps very low to begin with is probably beneficial and the fact that it’s snow water going into the river matters little as far as I can see. If the river is getting warmer, what’s the problem? Ho
w did I overlook it before?
Another tale that reinforces the effect of coloured water on barbel fishing occurred a few years ago when Pete and I fished a canalised but fairly pacey stretch of the Kennet. Apart from a couple of swims, the fishing was hard, to say the least. What made it worthwhile though, was the high average size of the barbel that we caught.
Both of us were unaware as the season commenced that a gravel company had been given permission to abstract gravel upstream from an area between the river and a small, fast flowing stream. By July, they were underway, conveyer belts over both the river and stream, arc lights, heavy lorries thundering up to the river’s edge, the "full Monty". And all this going on about ½ a mile upstream of us while we sat intently watching our rod tops.
And then it started. A quiet session would be suddenly transformed, as if someone had suddenly thrown a switch and the most productive swims would come alive and we would catch barbel. Why soon become apparent when we shon our torches on the water. The river was brown with colour. No rain, no rise in river levels but the barbel loved it. It was the water colour that was stimulating the barbel into a feeding frenzy. Only later did we find the cause. The gravel company were washing gravel into the stream that flowed into the river upstream. It was like liquid mud. If ever I needed convincing of the effect of coloured water on barbel, that summer did it.
I now have to be careful in drawing conclusions. However, I will definitely keep an open mind on snow water in future and try to look at it as only one part of the overall picture.
If you’d like to find out a bit more about The Barbel Catchers Club, please click here.
