The 3rd Wallington Invitational Gudgeon Gala

The tiny River Wallington, running its course from Waterlooville and spilling into the sea at Fareham is one of my favourite places to fish, especially at this time of the year.  Although this marvellous little journey doesn’t span the lengths of most of the rivers in England, and even though you can almost step across it at most parts, it is a haven for wildlife and one of the most prolific fisheries you could wish to angle at. I’ve been lucky enough to have been fishing it for a handful of seasons now, and year after year I keep coming back for more.

Many species thrive among its flowing waters, fish such as dazzling dace, ruby finned roach, territorial chub and perch, and even the mini species such as the humble minnow and the gudgeon are special in their own little way. Look past their size and muscle power and appreciate their wonderful features and you soon come to realise that you’ve tapped into a veritable gold mine, and a wealth of superb angling, all for yourself. You see, not many folk fish this little stream, hardly anyone knows it’s there, which is a bonus for those who do. Some carp, bream and tench make up the majority of the other fishes one could hope to capture, along with trout of course, loads of them.

For the past two years a group of died in the wool Wallington anglers, affectionately known as The Wallyboys, have gathered along its banks in search of the gudgeon, but not just any gudgeon, they pursue the king of gudgeon. WIGG (Wallington Invitational Gudgeon Gala) was this year to see its third year. Each year the group of eight or so fisherman battle it out for the Urn, a trophy the one who catches the longest gudgeon gets to take home and show off for a year. I was hoping that this year it could be me, after being so close last year where a three way tie resulted in Daz taking home the trophy after a coin flipping event.

 

It was set to be a damp day, with rain forecast throughout the day, but spirits were never dampened, challenge and tradition both as strong as ever. We met up on Portsdown Hill, Mick’s Monster Burger Van for breakfast. It was as damp as we all thought it would be and for the best part of an hour or more we ate, chatted, bantered and got well and truly wet. There were the odd moment of weakness, conditions were enough to test anyone’s resolve, but by 10:30 we set off to our favourite spots along the river and began the tournament.

I headed to Cheeseman’s Bridge, an area I’ve done well at previously and a stretch that has thrown up its fair share of monster gudgeon. I was thrilled to find I was the first one there, and after nipping home to grab my waterproofs too, so I felt if anyone else was heading there, they’d have been there and set up by now. So feeling rather smug I got everything into position and prepared for that magical first cast. Just as I did so I heard a car, looked up and spotted Daz. He parked up and crept down the bank opposite me. It was a fait cop, there was plenty of room for two of us, I just didn’t fancy sharing my big gudgeon with anyone, just in case they caught the big one.

 The fish started coming from the off, roach to begin with, but then after a perch for Daz the gudgeon arrived. They were perfect, stunning examples of a fish often overlooked. These fish were by no means specimens; they seemed to average between 4 and 5 inches. The good ones are the 6 inch fish, with a 7 being a real contender. Some trout were landed, along with one or two more roach, another perch and a dace for Daz. Then it happened, it seems that just as the wind and rain increased we both had a good fish apiece quite close to each other.

Daz’s fish was damn close to 6 inches, as was mine. We photographed them alongside the rulers and continued fishing, hopefully that leviathan might just be lurking. The weather turned worse, previously it had begun to brighten somewhat, after leaving the burger van it appeared that the day might not be so bad after all, but it was back with a vengeance. After another half an hour and a handful more small gudgeon we left the pool and headed for our lunchtime meeting point, a subway down river where we could brew up and have some lunch out of the elements.

It  was great to meet up with the others and share out experiences, and after hearing the stories it appeared that Daz and I had been spoilt, for nobody else had so much as a sniff of a gudgeon. A few trout had been landed, but not too much else. It was looking good for us. Lunch was awesome, with loads of banter flying around, as well as savouries, cakes, loads of tea and the customary midget gem fight, which almost resulted in a broken nose, but that’s a story for another time. With our bellies full and ribs aching from all the laughing we each headed off for the final part of the tournament, and new spots were in order.

Originally I’d planned to head back to Cheeseman’s, but to enter the field and fish the pools down river. I drove past but saw there were already four cars in position, so I kept driving and pulled over at Southwick Pool, here there were no other anglers and a spot that looked like it might just do a fish or two. The river here is much deeper that were I’d been, around five feet and was just downstream of the weirpool from a large estate lake. This means that in the floods one or two carp get washed down, so there was always the chance of an epic battle or two.

 The bites were slow to start, but then the roach moved in, some of which were a decent hand size.  One or two perch made an appearance too, wonderfully marked river perch, those are the best ones. They were active too, with lots of small roach fry leaping clear of the water frequently. It ended with just roach and perch being caught, the winds became quite fierce almost turning my brolly inside out, and at 4pm when it was time to pack away and head to the pub, I was thankful of some respite.

In the pub the banter carried on much as it had finished at the subway. A couple of other gudgeon were caught, but nothing the size of Daz’s and my fish. And after close examination, it was decided that I would be taking the trophy home this time around. I was clearly made up, although obviously I played it down a touch. The river had once again been kind to us, its jewels on show for all of us and yet another hugely successful event. I shall be visiting the river a few more times over the coming months. I never pay the river as much attention as I really should, perhaps something I’ll get to remedy this winter coming. But for sure, if it’s a delightful days angling you seek, among some of the prettiest surroundings, then look no further.

~ Stu Harris

Mannings Blogger – Paul Fennell

Paul Fennell and Sean Manning go back many years to when they both met in Cyprus over 25 years ago. It wasn’t until deposed northerner Paul left the Army and settled near Winchester that he took up angling in 1995. In the early days Paul could be found on the beaches learning to enjoy the pleasures of cold winter nights, bird nests and Pout sprinkled in with some pretty average fishing.  “I wasn’t the greatest shore angler” Paul admits but it was where he cut his fishing teeth and got the bug.  Soon he was fishing 4 seasons and could be found hanging off various south coast rock marks searching for Conger and Bass.  For 10 years he learnt through the school of hard knocks and some very helpful friends but he was always looking for a bit more adventure. It’s probably an Army thing.

That’s when it happened.  In 2005 he was searching the mysterious beast known as the worldwide web when he came across something called a Forum.  It was about some crazy activity that was exploding in Australia and the USA.  Kayak Fishing hit him right where it hurt, mostly the pocket. Now this was the perfect fit, kayaks (he was an ex military instructor); fishing and an excuse to buy lots of new gear.  Perfect!

Since his early days as one of the first few he has become one of only 2 Level 2 Angling  instructors specialising in the sport; assisted the RNLI in training and advising on kayak angling safety; run dozens of safety courses; helped establish several of the kayak angling competitions such as Swanage and the national Grand Slam Series, winning a few on the way.  He also founded the kayak fishing charity in the UK called Heroes On The Water which helps injured service personnel.   As you can see he really is a kayak angler through and through.  He has four kayaks, apparently it’s just like rods, you can never have enough.

Paul no longer shouts about his exploits beyond his private Facebook Page but is looking forward to just posting on the Mannings Blog. Once sponsored he has stepped away from the bright lights and has got back to just enjoying his fishing.   “Although my sponsors were great and very relaxed its easy to lose the reason, objectivity and passion that drives all anglers when you are obligated to wear a brand. Pro staffing isn’t for me”.

No longer interested in sponsorship he is now free to focus on his passions; Kayak, Mullet, Pike, lure and float fishing.  All come together nicely from the kayak.  Secretly he still does some rock fishing but if you ask him about shore fishing don’t be surprised if his answer is something like “Do people still do that?”  tinged with dry northern humour and a wry smile.

Apart from his own handmade Smiler lures he loves float fishing from the “Yak”.  Kayak catches include 23lb Pike, 40lbTope, 45lb Conger (at night!), Cod and Stingray.  He has also kayak fished in the Channel Islands, Canada and US where he proved that the float (Bobber) was highly effective at catching specimen Red Fish.  His float box is pretty unique.  It ranges from 4g Drennan wagglers for the Mullet all the way up to specially adapted 8oz monsters for deepwater Tope and Conger fishing.  “Only one thing beats watching a float disappear at night with an angry Conger on the end and that’s using light tackle and being spun round by a 4lb Thick Lipped Mullet that refuses to give up.  Tope are OK too.” He says with typical Yorkshire understatement.

Paul will be sharing his freshwater and sea fishing exploits plus also writing pieces on tackle and his techniques used off the kayak.  Don’t expect anything without humour or articles that just conform to the norm. ……………..Oh dear, what have we done.

He is always happy to discuss any aspect of kayak fishing so don’t be afraid to get in contact.

Shades of Autumn

Autumn has always been one of my favourite times to be beside water. As everything gets ready for the approaching frosts it can be a time of plenty, with all walks of life looking to capitalise on an end of season free for all. Carp angling is no different, and not only are the carp usually well on the feed during this gorgeous season, they are also beginning to take on their winter hue. Carp of burnished copper epitomise the fall, commons of deep chestnut and mirrors of burnt auburn can take your breath away.

Waggoners Wells on the Hampshire/Surrey border is one of my favourite places to visit through autumn. The carp, some of which are now 60 years old and were stocked by Donald Leney himself, take on those classic colours making them a much sought after quarry. WW, being a National Trust site, sees an awful lot of traffic by way of dog walkers and others who just want to savour those awesome tones. Countless trees of many different species line the banks making for a plethora of browns, golds and greens.

Last weekend I dusted off the rods and after agreeing to go in search of carp there was only one direction I was pointing the car. I set off early, but not silly early. There were already two other cars when I arrived, and being small vans and much too early for dog walkers to be up and about it was apparent from the off that it was going to be tricky. Folk being there the carp can deal with, they get used to the constant hoards of footsteps and dogs jumping in, lines on the other hand tend to be frowned upon by those wily carp and although they can seem very catchable, they are seldom that way when the anglers congregate around that little pool.

I figured out where the other anglers were, stood at the crest of the high bank a while just watching and sure enough, the carp were patrolling right under my position, groups of 3 and 4 cruising along the marginal shelf quite close in and looking wonderful, clearly avoiding where the other anglers were. My plan was to set up well away from the water, sneak into position gently and lower a rig onto a sparsely baited patch then sit back out of sight and hide quietly. A free running rig was swung out, the hook-bait a chunk of good old never let me down luncheon meat and a smattering of smaller chunks were deposited on and around the area.

Behind the tree stump I watched events unfold. Carp still cruised past, but even with my stealth and cunning, they still appeared to have pushed slightly further out. Half an hour passed and gradually they got closer, so close that they begun passing directly over the baited patch, only instead of stooping down for a feed they went about their business as if there was nothing under them at all. Whether they just weren’t up for it, whether the lines in the water had put them on edge I’m not sure. My own tackle was pinned down and out of sight, but whatever was going on, they seemed to be one step ahead.

But then that’s carp for you, at any time of year and on any venue, if they don’t want to get caught they won’t. The saving grace at Waggoners was that I had the middle pool to fall back on. The carp here tend to be slightly smaller, but just as beautiful, and with the added bonus of harbouring some clonking great roach and rudd. Oh, and it just so happened that I had a float rod with me. The day was overcast from the start and continued much the same until my departure. Light drizzle peppered my cheeks from time to time, but it never really came to much. The wind was the issue though, and with me opting to take only a small selection of very light floats, I had to find somewhere at least a little sheltered.

 The carp were nowhere to be seen on the middle pool, and my banker swim, the little secret hidey hole at the head of the shallows had suffered a terrible fate. A large tree had broken from its roots and fallen head first right through the middle of the swim. No doubt there would have been carp hiding among its many submerged branches, but there was no way of angling for them, not safely anyway.  I settled upon a swim just two along from this position, a little outcrop with a laurel poking out over the water a short distance. I plumbed the depth a couple of rod lengths out and 4 feet seemed just about right. Very little wind reached this spot so I felt confident I could float fish here a while.

I began fishing with bread flake whilst sprinkling pellets around the float to attract small roach, which hopefully in turn would attract the larger ones. A few dips on the float and eventually it sailed away, I struck and felt resistance momentarily, but it was short lived. I think over the following half hour I had half a dozen bites, but put them down to small fish as I missed them all. The nice thing about fishing here was that I was left alone. The banks are steep and walkers, even the dogs, tend to steer clear preferring the flatter path higher up the bank behind me.

As the drizzle returned and the bites stopped my thoughts once more surrounded the carp of the bottom pool. I gathered my things and set off, hoping that maybe the other anglers had become homesick. They hadn’t of course; in fact, there was another with two young children in two. He recognised me though and we chatted a while, a lovely chap. I bade him farewell and continued on to the shallows swim. I stood a while watching a group of carp just out using the old oak tree as cover. Leaves were strewn across the surface here too and I think the fish were enjoying the extra shelter.

It was almost 1pm by now, I felt I’d given it a decent try, and spent a glorious morning at one of the prettiest places I know. There was a time when I’d flog it to death, willing it to happen and not leave till it did. These days I’m just as happy to pop by, enjoy a morning and look forward to getting back to my girls. There’s always next time, and then perhaps things might be different, things might well be in my favour. Until then tight lines and enjoy this marvellous time of the year.

Stu Harris