Seems I got my last posting totally wrong. Two memebers of the BS commitee haven’t resigned…….  three have.

Didnt think it would be that quick but not a bad guess. Read about it on Bigguns blog, July. Link to the side.

Steve Pope, try telling the world that this is not because of you now. Anyone who joins that Committee in its present form loses all integrity as far as I am concerned.

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Do I detect a slight listing to starboard on the good ship Barbel Society?

First we have a call for members to commit to fisheries permits, not just for this year but next also. Apparently there is something of a shortfall in covering fisheries rents due to poor take up and falling membership. More waters will go next term if the situation doesn’t improve. Do they know what to do about it? Do they buggery.

 Then Communications Manager Fred Bonney verbally abuses a longstanding member on the forum and the moderators see fit to impose a forum ban on him, how ironic is that? Dead right though.

 Steve Pope sees red and tries to get the moderators to reinstate his Southern brother resulting in all the mods resigning on mass. Fred, unable to post on the BS, takes out his frustration on another forum but just gets a thrashing, as usual.

Pope trys to recruit  new moderators but is told, “no thanks”……. Looks like its up to you Frampton……… what fun that would be, my word, it’s almost worth joining for.

 I feel it’s not over yet and if I were a betting man, which I am, I would say one or two names may yet walk the plank of their own free will..

 On second thoughts its more than a slight listing, there is a hole in the bow. Will Popey be able to shore it up?

Only a fool fails to see when enough is enough, time to leave the party.

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They say its grim up North. Not half as grim it is around some parts of Hackney ….. I can tell ya!

We left the splendidly re-developed St Pancras Station and jumped in a taxi to Mare St (apt name) Upon arrival the taxi driver asked why on earth we were wanting to stay in Mare St. “Off to a gig” we said, and, “It was the closest hotel we could find”. “I hope you have guns on you”, he said laughing. Boy was it rough. My London correspondent today told me Mare St was also known as “murder mile”.

The hotel was by far the worst place I have ever stayed in but it was only somewhere to sleep….. and I can sleep anywhere. My mates sister wasn’t too pleased though and objected strongly to the fact that you got a free mouse trap in your room,…. I kid you not. She actually refused to pay for the room the following morning and a mighty row was had, she won.

However, less than half an hours walk away we were in the beautiful Victoria Park. Very nice, made me think of Mary Poppins,…… Lets go fly a kite…… its surrounded by lovely crescents of houses that apparently  run to £800,000 each, quite a contrast to Mare St.

The gig itself was mixed. That Paloma Faith bird was on and she was very good. Next up was Mark Ronson. Didn’t like him before, like him even less now, he was rubbish. Then a surprise, Duran Duran nipped on stage and did a couple of numbers. Now I was never a fan but I have to say they were very good.

And finally Roxy, who played a lot of their early 70’s album stuff to the delight of us oldies in the audience and the bewilderment of the young uns. They really were excellent. Myself and the boys did of course push our way to the front of the stage just before Roxy came on and for a while at least we were all 16 again.

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Had a call from one of my school mates at tea time.

“Ey up Roc”

“Now then Dog”

“Want to come to London tomorrow to see Roxy Music, got a spare ticket”

“Well you could have given me a bit more notice”

“Yeah, been meaning to ring you all week”

“Ok then, whats the score”?……..

So I am off down the smoke on the train from Chesterfield in the morning to once again see the fave band of my youth. 

Fishing will have to wait.

VIVA ESPANA

Cant tell you how pleased I am.

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BFW carries tales of woe from the tidal trent, dead barbel floating down river, barbel retained in nets in this warm low river, litter everywhere and anglers pitching up on other folks knees almost when half the river is devoid of fisher folk.

 The easy fishing always attracts the morons and lets be honest the Trent IS the easiest barbel fishing in the country at the moment. The internet must carry some of the responsibility for the situation, it spread the word that attracted the fools, though there have always been some. Be better when winter comes and they are tucked up cozy like.

 As it happens I fished the Trent yesterday for the first time this season, no thoughts of barbel for me though, I trotted for the silver fish and had a nice time, mainly because I wont fish in the places that attract morons these days. I did have a very happy few years on Collingham before this all started and I am glad of that. Believe it or not there was a time when you could turn up and almost always find peg1A empty on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, if you fancied it, now there’s a queue for it sometimes. …… Peg 34 was my particular favorite, not a pellet in sight, big lumps of curried meat did the job and maybe still would……..Seems such a long time ago now.

COME ON ESPANA.

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I started work in the motor trade straight from school in 1976. By 1983 I had decided that maybe fishing all the time when I should have been at school wasn’t such a good idea after all and I had better do something about it before it was too late. So I secured a place on a degree course as a mature student, to start Sept 85. Then in late 83 my employer went bust and I found myself with a year or so to kill.

I accepted a 1 year post working in a South Yorkshire probation hostel, a sort of half way house between prison and back to the real world. It was full of blokes of all ages who had committed a host of crimes, some quite serious, there were some real nasty sorts in there, about 30 in all.

There were various projects running at the hostel that were designed to give the inmates a “fuller day”. Decorating and gardening gangs went out to do jobs for the elderly and disadvantaged and there was a huge poly tunnel on site where veg and flowers were grown.

It’s difficult to get accepted in such an environment but accepted you must be if you are going to do any good. I had a hard time of it for the first couple of weeks and it became obvious that a couple of inmates had it in for me whilst the rest watched on with interest. I knew I was going to have to fight, and fight I did, but I picked the moment and place, it was on my terms and a bloke called Tom was left in a heap*. Thereafter I was accepted and never had any  trouble, Tom and I got on fine and I actually really enjoyed my time working there.

My work was mainly administrative but I did have time to contribute to the “fuller day” thing. What did I do?…….. I took them fishing of course.

I got in touch with the National Rivers Authority and Bruno Broughton sorted me out a fishing licence free of charge that covered any hostel resident. I got funding for 15 sets of tackle and did a deal with a tackle shop down the Wicker in Sheffield, no not Bennetts the other one, Calcotts was it?.  We had a mini bus and enjoyed many trips to the Trent, Chesterfield Canal even the Idle. We even did a day out of Bridlington on a cobble (that days a story in itself).

Of course most of them weren’t interested in the slightest in fishing, it was just a day out, but a few did learn and really enjoyed it, they even caught some fish. I remember Tom catching a roach of about a pound and a half on a lob worm tail from below Radcliff weir on the Trent one day, he was over the moon. Strangely most of them seemed to like pike fishing more than anything else………. does this say something about pike anglers?

1984 was the time of the miners strike and me and my mini bus full of ‘nutters’ were pulled over by the police a handful of times when we were off fishing, they thought we were flying pickets. My passengers of course hurled a torrent of abuse at the police on each occasion from the back of the bus whilst I tried to explain who we were. It got interesting a time or two, to say the least.

My year ended and I went off to be a student for 3 years. As time went by some of the names I knew from the hostel popped up in the Sheffield paper. Wilf, who was an ex male stripper with one lung was found dead in a shop doorway one winters morning. Nigel, a likeable lad with a temper like an angry bull was burned to death in a house fire and Tony, a very bright fella even though he couldn’t read or write, went back inside for armed robbery.

I never saw any of the residents again and I have no idea if any of them continued to fish but I enjoyed my time seeing them smile, fishing.

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* Tom was a big mean bugger but he had a drink problem. I waited until he was drunk before I retaliated to his torment, drunken blokes don’t fight too well!

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I can’t remember the last time I set out to catch bream on purpose but yesterday I did just that. I couldn’t be bothered with the drive to the river but wanted to fish as I have mostly been watching all the football and haven’t been anywhere,……. and loving it I might add.

 So I went across the road to the old brickpond with a light tip rod, cage feeder and some of those soft hookers. Of course in the back of my mind I thought I might nick a tench but I knew I would have some bream, and I did, 9 to be exact. I even took a keepnet, which is now smelly and slimy. I had forgot what a bream net smells like to be honest.

Tref West once told me that you can always tell a bream bite, one tap when it picks the bait up, one when it is hooked and one when it falls over. Fight they did not and the prize for the most bream like bream went to a particularly docile 3lber that couldn’t have fought less had it been asleep. Still, It was a nice day and I enjoy catching anything these days.

Mrs Grebe was teaching her two young to fly. Back and forth all day, feet, patter, patter, patter on the surface as they ran and flapped at the same time. They did get airborne eventually if only a foot or so above the water.

There was a match on the far bank and I heard the shouts as a carp set off with half an anglers pole in tow. He took to a boat and gave chase but the pole disappeared below the surface just as he was getting to it. I laughed at the angler but felt sorry for the carp.

On a topical note I see (whoops) I mean hear, that even a Regional Organiser of the Barbel Society has called for the resignation of Mr Pope and Mr Bonney.

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Well my post on the BS caused a bit of a stir. It wasn’t intended to, I just wrote what I thought. It seems some folks didn’t like that, shame. Don’t some people get excited over little and nowt!

Something else that’s nothing really, but always makes me smile, are all the photos you see of blokes holding barbel at arms length to make them look bigger. I have seen some crackers so far this season on t’net and on a particular blog some lad has. Sorry but do you think everyone is blind? You really do look stupid and so does the fish. Bend your elbows and hold the fish close to your body thereby giving a better perspective. It makes for a far better picture and the fish will only be as big as it is whatever you do.

Its just another cross over from the world of carp fishing I suppose, certainly that’s where I saw it first. A bit like getting in the water with a fish, I have seen a few doing that for a picture with barbel too, how very silly.

If you disagree and you think it looks great then please carry on and I will carry on tittering at you, no harm ey.

Wharfe

Anglers on my old stomping ground at Newton Kyme on the Wharfe are up in arms as the farmer has put a locked gate across the top of the access lane. No more cars down there then. You can still buy a day ticket but you cant actually get to the river without a hell of a walk……. Its certainly one I wouldn’t fancy with my gear. Fortunately I know this other spot where……..ah, but that would be telling. As ever I suppose the minority of anglers have spoilt it for everyone, anyone fancy a Wharfe syndicate? The club wont pay the rent for long without decent access and as it happens the rubbish down there has been getting steadily worse this past few years. I can think of worse outcomes. Hardly surprising farmers get fed up of us is it.

 A couple of weeks in and the rivers that I know are fishing their socks off despite the need for a bit of water,….. great start I say.

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Firstly, I wish for a England victory against the old enemy.

And secondly, and its a very close second, I wish Fred Bonney would stop sending me E-mails. Which bit of  ’I really don’t care’ escapes you Fred?

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