"Barbel fishing like a Magyar"- (Christian Anglers camping retreat, 1st evening)

John Paget was a 19th Century agriculturalist, traveller and writer who had the good fortune (literally) to marry a wealthy Hungarian Countess and described his newly adopted Countrymen thus:

" ... a Magyar never moves when he can sit still ... his step is measured, his countenance pensive, his character a singular mixture of habitual passiveness and melancholy mixed up with a great susceptibility to excitement."

I am always suspicious of racial stereotyping, and as my own personal experience of Hungary is restricted to 48 hours in Budapest over a decade ago I can't vouch for the veracity of his observations, however I am qualified to remark that he could just of easily have been writing about barbel anglers. Barbel angling requires a measured step, great patience, and in those often lengthy periods between feeding spells reflection can lead to melancholy, but when the rod tip starts bouncing and a barbel tears off into the current, excitement (and not a little fear) take over as the adrenaline races as fast as the streamlined, torpedo-shaped barbus maximus.  

It was Friday evening, and as I bade my time for the light levels to drop and the sky to turn to dusk, I sat on my unhooking mat beside the River Trent, barbel rod pointing towards the fading orb, net, bucket and tackle bag beside me and coffee cup in my hand..... and waited  .... and waited .....

The annual Christian Anglers weekend retreat is, for me, a yearly highlight. Now in its third year, it brings together anglers from around the Country who share their  passion for fishing with one for their Christian faith, and every year has proved to be a time of relaxation, camping, barbecues, camaraderie, humour, good fishing and fellowship; a time to enjoy this most engrossing of pastimes while simultaneously enjoying the company of like-minded anglers and, in doing so, to recharge batteries both physical and spiritual. This year the target species was to be the mighty barbel. However, conditions could hardly have been worse, the most severe drought for over 40 years meant that there had been no rain for a couple of months and the river was alarmingly low and clear. However, all of that was to change and we found ourselves setting up camp in torrential rain with thunder rolling around and lightening streaking the sky. For a few moments the rain even gave way to hail, sharply stinging mini balls of ice bouncing off tent roof, ground and angler alike. On the bright side, at least the water would be better oxygenated, but the rain appeared to make only the most  negligible of differences to the water level and the air was chill as the temperature plummeted from its recent balmy heights.

Despite the inclement weather, there was to be plenty of excitement for the susceptible among us to enjoy. Once the thunder and lightening had retreated to a reasonably safe distance (no-one wants to be holding a carbon rod, the ultimate "lightening conductor" in a storm!) we made for the river, with thoughts of barbel and chub in our minds.

I chose a swim with plenty of flow about 60-70 yards across and a willow tree on my left on the nearside and started fishing to the edge of the faster current, initially with bacon grill as bait, and then drilled Robin Red pellets, while catapulting out pouch-fulls of pellets.  There were no screaming runs of the barbel kind, but several clear plucks from chub, and on hitting one of these I connected with a chub which, three quarters of the way to the bank suddenly seemed to become turbo-charged. As the fish began to see my side of the argument all became clear. Despite the chub being a good two and a half pounds in weight, a pike had taken more than a passing fancy to the chub, which was now clamped firmly in said pike's mighty jaws. A ferocious tussle ensued between fish and angler, with the pike eventually being drawn into the net (along with the unfortunate chub). The pike, long and lean as river pike tend to be, and with an outsized head and jaws was weighed at 10 pounds 14 ounces, photographed and gently nursed back into the river. The chub, badly mangled but gamely hanging on to life, was also returned in the hopes that it would recover the ordeal.

My evening, following the double capture, was uneventful with no further action, and with the river out of sorts only the very occasional chub or eel bothered the assembled Christian Anglers faithful. David landed a chub of about 3 pounds, but just before packing up time, with darkness on the edge of falling Pete caught the fish that was to give us hope for the following day- a splendid barbel of 9 pounds 12 ounces. I waded into the river to net the barbel, getting my feet and legs wet for the second time that evening. Three others of our party had lost hard-fighting barbel in the snag festooned river, and so- with first contact made- spirits were high. They weren't going to be easy to catch in the conditions, but the barbel were there, and tomorrow would provide ample opportunity to go after them.

We retreated to the Gazebo that was to serve as camp kitchen and headquarters, and after hot drinks and hearty congratulations to Pete, and some leg pulling for my "two for the price of one" chub and pike double, following a quick prayer together, all turned in for the night to prepare for Saturday's 5am start..

I suspect that I was not alone in dreaming of barbel. There was little as darkness drew in to prepare us for the drama that the next day would bring.