Saturday saw a few of the Perchfishers meeting up on a south midlands river. The river is only small and is an intimate little place but despite this it has thrown up some very big Perch. Confidence was high and the conditions were perfect. It was overcast and very mild for the time of year and the river although up slightly also looked great.
I chose a swim on the outside of a bend with a tree to my left and a weed bed to my right. Whilst setting up I had already got visions in my head of a 4lb Perch gracing my net. If it wasn’t me then surely one of my fishing buddies would succeed in catching one. I put a bait downstream towards the tree and another one just to my right close in to the weed beds. I’d got a depth of about 4 foot and very little flow.
The morning came and went in the blink of an eye and neither of the quivertips registered a bite. I covered as much of the swim as possible. Twitching the baits back slowly, casting to the other side of the river and slowly twitching them back across the current but no matter what I did I couldn’t get a bite off anything.
I had my sandwiches and a drink and sat there still confident that I would catch. As the day wore on I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier. I shut my eyes briefly and thought to myself “I wonder if my tips will still be in the same position if I fall asleep for a couple of hours”? I half opened my eyes and whilst looking at the quivers the left hand tip pulled round before dropping back a bit before it viciously pulled round again. I struck fully expecting to feel a solid lump on the end but there was nothing. It then quickly crossed my mind that the fish could have swam upstream so I wound down but still there was no resistance. How did I manage to miss such a confident bite? I reeled in to find one of the worms had gone and the remaining one looked a bit bedraggled.
I’d spent all day without a bite and then the one time I take my eye off the ball, or quivertip in this case, I got a stonking bite. From that moment on my eyes were glued to the quivertips but the remainder of the afternoon passed and the witching hour that everyone bangs on about was also non-eventful.
If Mr Crabtree had been there he would have been telling Peter that conditions were ideal for a big Perch and i’m sure he would have been telling him to fish in the same spots as me, although i’m sure Peter’s day would have ended as they always did with a lump of a fish on the bank.