Where have all the Chub gone!

After a productive meeting with my fellow market managers at lunchtime I was soon on my way to a tributary of the Wye hoping to winkle out a few Autumnal Chub.  I really enjoy catching them at this time of year, especially when the fiery orange Autumn sun catches their brassy flanks as you hold them up for a self take.
I chose to fish a stretch of the Monnow that I know intimately although I have not fished it for some years.  One of the reasons I chose to revisit this stretch is that during a conversation with Rob the bailiff a couple of weeks ago he mentioned how the fishing had declined, especially the Chub population, they dont seem to be there in the numbers they were a few years ago.   He explained how patchy the fishing was especially if you fished maggots or worms all you would hook were Brownies.  This seemed hard to believe, I wasn't doubting Robs recent experiences, however I would expect to of caught half a dozen Chub from this stretch a few years ago with relative ease due to the numbers of them.  This sounded like a challenge.



Spam and Bread - Classic

I drove over the small bridge that takes you into the car park, and this instantly brought back vivid memories of all the years I had spent on the river as a lad, stalking Chub in the height of summer, catching a mixed bag on the stick float and lure fishing for Pike, this was where I cut my teeth in river fishing and I learnt alot over those early memorable weekends.
I made my way to the first swim, a slower paced section with over hanging trees on a slight bend, it was one I could normally entice a bite or two.  I was armed with a medium feeder rod, feeder reel loaded with 6lb line, small feeder and a size 6 Drennan Specialist hook.  After all the Barbel fishing Ive been doing recently threading the eyes on the feeder rod felt like threading the eye of a needle with cotton, thin cotton! 
I mashed up a loaf of bread for the feeder and put a 50p sized breadflake on the hook.   I wouldn't normally use bread in the warmer months but I had the Spam as back up.



No one at home.

It looked ideal, big over hanging trees, the fallen leaves slowly making their way down river, the first cast was perfect, under the out stretched branches.  A couple of handfulls of mashed bread were fed slightly upstream and I sat back with the rod in the rest, the butt on my thigh and my finger on the line feeling for any indications.
In the background I could hear water cascading over a small broken weir downstream, a kingfishers high pitched call and about two hundred kids all trying to shout louder than the next one!  I had forgotten about the junior school on the  opposite bank which had obviously just broken for a break releasing what seemed hundreds of kids all rushing and screaming into the playground.  If there were any fish under those over hanging branches im sure it wouldn't of affected them, they hear this almost everyday and it probably bothered me more than the fish.
With no indications after over an hour it was time for a move.  I was travelling light, chair was left behind, I would sit on the unhooking mat, this made it so much easier to move around the river to try and find the fish.



Waiting for a bite.

I walked to a steadier section, not as deep, a nice long glide with several over hanging willow trees on the far bank.  My intention was to fish every 10-15 yards and fish for half hour at a time.  I put on a light leger, baited with luncheon meat and fed a few small balls of mashed bread into each swim just to try and get the Chub going.  After fishing a couple of swims I couldn't believe I was still fishless, I know this stretch like the back of my hand and ten years ago if you asked me to catch a chub I would of made a bee line for this stretch.  Surface activity was minimal too, just the odd dace breaking the surface.  I fed some floating crust and watched them travel the entire glide without any of them being harassed by anything sub surface.
As I waited for a bite I looked down to see 3 big slugs approaching my sliced bread, this was to be my final assault.  I retackled 6lb line straight through to a trusty size 6 and picked a nice sizeable black slug with the intention of rolling it under the over hanging willows.  After another half hour of constantly casting and rolling big fat slugs along the bottom, it started to spit with rain, and as I was travelling light I had no water proofs or brolly so I had to admit defeat.  I was scratching my head, perhaps it was one of those days the fish weren't feeding, however Rob had also struggled to land a Chub recently on a couple of trips.  After so many great memories of this stretch which include my PB Chub, my first river Carp, my PB Roach, it seemed that it was certainly in decline, this might seem harsh after just one session in many years away from the river, so I intend to return during the winter months to target the Chub again, when they will hopefully be shoaled up under those over hanging willows.