Bygone Times Re-visited

[Stour Otter]

Editorial from: FISHING - The Magazine For The Modern Angler, No. 32. Friday, September 27, 1963. Price: One Shilling.

Why be obsessed with small hooks?
KEN SEAMAN tells how he has caught good roach on really big baits

WHEN I have described how I have caught roach on hooks as large as No.1, I have always aroused some scepticism, and in some cases outright disbelief.
I have not advocated the use of these hooks a normal practice for the roach angler; but the fact remains that I have caught many roach on large hooks, and shall probably continue to catch them at those times and in those waters when and where I believe big hooks will be advantageous.
I caught two roach recently from a water which hundreds of anglers fish with fine tackle every season. They weighed 1lb 2oz and 1lb 4oz. Both took large pieces of crust fished on a No.1 hook. On the same day I caught a large dace with the same tackle and bait.
This doesn't really prove anything; but it does indicate that roach will take much bigger baits than is generally accepted.
Small roach my often nibble at a large bait until it is reduced to fragments. So, too, will the larger fish when the water is clear. The big fish are not always so finicky, however, and will often take the bait wholeheartedly, just as these two did, provided the tackle is made up so that they do not become scared.
To me the obsession with small hooks and small baits is not realistic. There are times when small hooks are needed, but I can see no reason why they should be regarded as essential. Apart from the roach, I have caught on No.1 hooks, I have taken many on hooks only a few sizes smaller. Big roach often want something substantial. They are not going to be satisfied with small baits all the time.
On one occasion recently I returned to a spot in a still-water where I had fished continuously for several outings and caught a large bag of good roach in a manner that some would think unusual. It was a warm day with sou'-wester blowing steadily in-shore. No other anglers were on that side of the fishery, although some were crouched under the shelter of the opposite bank, out of the wind.
I used the same tactics of float legering that had helped me to catch many good fish from this swim. The bait was cheese on a No.10 hook, but before it had time to settle on the bottom the float moved sideways and on striking I felt a good fish. I failed to land it, however, because the hook pulled out.
The next cast brought another bite, this time when the bait could have reached a depth of only about 6ft, I caught that fish and found the hook had been almost swallowed -- proof enough that the bait was being accepted confidently.
With this evidence of a free-feeding roach shoal so obvious, I decided to change tackle, and I switched to a weightless line and a No.4 hook, using a small porcupine quill float that the cheese alone would cock, because it seemed that the roach were not waiting for the bait to reach the bottom.
There was nothing delicate about these roach. They took the cheese in one gulp, as it was descending, and the bites were registered by the float moving off before it had cocked. That shoal of good roach stayed with me for almost an hour and I had 32 fish before the shoal moved off.
The size of the catch was not important to me at that time. What did interest me was that the confident way in which the roach accepted the bait, and the size of the bait they were prepared to tackle.
Had I fished with a small hook, I would still have caught fish, but probably not so many -- and I certainly would not have confirmed what I already suspected; that roach will accept really large baits on large hooks.
Chub are "naturals" for a big hook. Their greedy way of biting and the size of their mouth is all the evidence any angler should need to convince him that these fish are not usually put off by a large bait on a large hook. Not long ago I caught two chub on pigeon-egg-sized pieces of cheese paste. They weighed only about 1/2lb each and spoiled my chances of catching the big one I wanted, but again it was demonstrated how foolish it is to persist with the idea that only small hooks will give the angler the maximum chance under all conditions.
It two such small fish could take such large baits, what size of bait could a really big chub take? Well, I've caught the big fish on orange-sized pieces of flake, lumps of cheese the size of a bantam's egg, slugs and whole frogs, to mention a few. There's not much point in impaling such baits on a No.16 is there?
In fact I think the idea that small hooks are absolutely indispensable has the same origin as the idea that maggots are unbeatable. Both ideas are wrong. Both can be disproved by anyone who has the wit, patience and will to prove them wrong.

[Lea Dweller]

I must admit I never use a hook size smaller than 16 (shop bought ready tied) In the past I have seen match anglers land large fish on tiny hooks, but I am happy to generally use bigger hooks and bigger baits. Many years ago, I had an old caravan on the Great Ouse at Littleport. While fishing for roach, if hemp or maggots would not work, a large piece of flake often would!

[Stour Otter]

Editorial from ANGLING, Written by anglers for anglers - August 1977 Price: 35p
The origins of "Stret-pegging"
by Lewis A. Harris

ALMOST ALL THE DESCRIPTIONS OF stret-pegging, by any author, however famous, have been wrong. The nearest to the truth was Colin Gamble in his book Freshwater Fishing.
Before the beginning of the century the inhabitants of Kent were divided by the Medway into two factions. Those to the north were the Men o' Kent, and the other bunch were the Kentish Men; and never the twain did meet, in agreement, except that both grew hops and both fished the Medway. From opposite banks, of course!
Each spoke their own dialects, which were in many respects similar and in matters of industrial idiom were almost exact. The word "strart" meant stretch and the word "payg" meant stop, both derived from the calls of the riggers when the hopfields were being prepared for a new crop. Those who know a hopfield when they see one will be aware that the crop grows by climbing a complicated but orderly rigging of poles, wires and twine erected specifically for the purpose. During this process the poles were driven and when they were deep enough the man at ground end would call "payg", to his mate, who was doing the driving. When the wires were being put on the poles, to form the overhead network which carries the lines up which the vines will grow, two men would loosely fit up the wires and when each had reached the end of the same row one would call "strart". whereupon his mate at the other end would tension the wire and fix it. He would then call "payg" indicating that the wire was stopped.
So it was that "Strart paygn" meant stretching and stopping. It was most natural that they should apply the jargon of their trade to a fishing technique, which they practised on the Medway. The method of fishing the bumpy swims, caused by the Kentish ragstone, lying about the bottom, half covered with the brown silt so typical of the hopfields earth, was given the name "strart paygn" which, when Londoners invaded the Kentish rivers, became "stret-pegging". Some clot from Lincolnshire learnt it and, when he returned to the land of the poachers, varied it a little and told his thieving mates it was "tight corking". The Londoners, who fished both banks of the Kent rivers, without so much of as a by-your-leave, when they were supposed to be picking hops, had their own variation and called it "laying-on".
The pure method was always kept intact by the Men o' Kent and the Kentish Men. The Londoners did it with a roach pole, and this is still the best instrument for the job. I learnt it on the spot from the Kentish gipsies, who also kept the method pure, and poached both banks of the rivers and everything else in sight. They used a 15-18 foot branch from the oak or ash trees, straightened in the fire. The effect of this firing was to eliminate most of the moisture from the wood, halve its weight and at the same time contribute an astonishing capable resilience. No reel. Just a length of strong cotton thread tied to the tip and connected to a 10 foot cast of horse hair, or silkworm gut if they could steal it, the whole length being roughly the same as the length of the "bender" as the rod was called.
The first thing to be done was to discover the deepest place in a swim about 10 yards long. We would now do it with a plummet every foot or so along the swim. They did it with their treasured folding lead. This depth, plus 12 inches, was then set between the float and hook. The weight was set six inches from the hook. The bait, whatever it was, applied to a hook size suitable to its character was delicately cast upstream as far out as the rod and line would allow. The weight was allowed to settle and the line was held only as tight as was necessary to keep the float just as the surface. Groundbaiting and feeding was by the usual method of a little over the float at every cast or move. No bite on the first cast, the lead allowed to rest for five minutes, and the weight was gently lifted and the float allowed to pull it downstream a foot or so where it was again allowed to lie, with the float once again held at the surface. The whole process was one of stretching and stopping, the weight falling into all the deeper places near the bumps, where the fish were known to hang on the fin and feed. Now do you see ...'stretting and pegging'? Always intermittently moving downstream, stretching and stopping until the terminal tackle was at the end of its tether and too near the bank. Then upstream again for a new run down.
If one spot offered continuous bites it was persistently worked until the bites stopped, then it was stretch and stop going down again. There appears to be no other known successful way of fishing the bumpy swims which most anglers avoided. The old exponents called the cast their "wetting line".
Stret-pegging can, of course, be done with our new-fangled poles and match rods, fixed-spool reels, nylon line, dumpy floats and scientifically constructed hooks. The rod must never be out of the hand, except for unhooking, rebaiting, boozing, noshing, or a trip around the bushes. Unless in a raging flood. Hopeless in a force five downstream gale. Stupid from a high bank, and pointless in a swim deeper then eight feet. Smashing in an eddy not far out. And in a one mile an hour stream with not enough weed in it to impede the intermittent movement. Find this swim in any river -- and I have found at least one in the hundred-plus rivers I have fished -- and you have an active, interesting and rewarding day's fishing.
Provided the fish co-operate.

[Liphook]

That's a beauty of an article StourOtter! Doubt that would get past any editor in today's easily offended society

[Nobby]

What a great find! I always thought it was a strange expression.

[Stour Otter]

Editorial from ANGLING, Written by anglers for anglers - February 1956. Price: 1/6p

The Bothersome Barbel"
by F. S. Martin

MY first barbel was really the sixteen-ounce fish I caught on a juicy fat leather-jacket in a private weir on the Thames at Sutton Courtenay, near Abingdon. The second weighed four pounds, being hooked a short while after the first on the same evening. I like to think of this second fish as my first barbel; after all, the first was only a barbelette. True, the was no great shakes as barbel go, but as a first fish it nearly caused the last of me.  
Having saved by fattest lob until last, big worms being scarce in dry weather, it was dusk when I finally impaled it and cast my ledger into the turmoil under the weir. In order to keep the bait rolling in the fast water I was fishing from the bank level with the weir itself, casting parallel to the fall. Consequently when the meaningful tug came, only a few seconds after the bait hit the bottom, I had to scramble down the weir flank onto the shelving concrete banks below in order to play the fish on its own level. That fish justified its pseudonym of "poor man's salmon" the way it fought in the fast eddying pool. I couldn't see where it was either, and four pound Black Spider line is no direction indicator in the dark.
However, it finally tired and I got my first glimpse of it as it turned and gleamed on the surface a few feet out from the bank. Crouching on my hunches on the edge of the concrete bank, long handled net stretched out in one hand, I steered the fish in. It was a long stretch with the net -- too long!   As I lifted net and fish, the extra weight at the end upset my equilibrium and with a crash that shook me to the core, I found myself flat on my back on the sloping concrete with no rod, no net and no fish. Worse, I found I was slowly sliding down the smooth slippery concrete face into the weir pool -- not a welcome prospect in the dark, fully clothed and gum-booted. I saw the net on the left, half in the water. Grabbing it I tried to reach the river bottom with it to stop myself sliding further. Shocked, I found the water too deep. On the right, the rod was in the water, butt and reel poking out. I flung it out on to the bank behind me, sliding further into the water in the process. My boots filled and I pushed the useless net out of the way. Fully spreadeagling myself on my back, I halted the downward slide into the depths, and very slowly was able to edge myself backwards. Eventually sitting up at the top, I picked up the rod. Yards of fine black threadline seemed untangled round the reel, but the other end was still in the water, although slack. Dare I hope? I did, and after some frantic moments unraveling the mess, reeled in and contacted the fish. It had gone straight to the bottom near the bank and remained there. This time I led it down stream a few yards and netted it on a much safer piece of bank.
I found afterwards that I was suffering from an elbow cracked on the concrete. But a first barbel is worth it!

[Stour Otter]

Editorial from ANGLING, Ways To Better Fishing - January 1956. Price: 1/6p

The Capricious Grayling
by Bill Davies

WHEN game birds come into season, and when the countryside is aglow with hops, apples and nuts, grayling fishing begins in earnest. Having spawned about May, and having recuperated during the ensuing months, by autumn the grayling is ready to test the skill of the angler. By the end of October the grayling has donned her seasonable costume with hues of mingled purple, reddish orange, brilliant white, violet, copper, blue, gold fringe and that general appearance of grey whence she derives one of her names -- umber.
The grayling is a most convenient and obliging fish -- the fly-fisher's stop gap, coming into season as the trout go out and contrariwise. Broadly speaking she stoops to conquer (and to be conquered) from Michaelmas to Chandlemas. She is a fish of far less frequent occurrence than the trout. But when met with, as is generally the case, in the same stream, she adds much to the attraction of that water, as she is in the best of season when trout are worthless.
Unlike trout, grayling do not poise themselves near the surface of the water. They lie deep, and come upwards to seize the lure, after which they plunge downwards, aided by their abnormally large and powerful dorsal fin.
The haunts of the grayling vary with the season, as also with the temperature of atmosphere and water. In the summer you will often find them feeding in cool pools and at the tails of fast water; but in the autumn they resort chiefly to the intervening shallows, loving especially the placid depths, whence the dry-fly artist can seduce them in dead still water.
Grayling will often examine the angler's fly in a leisurely manner. The largest fish take the fly in a most unostentatious way; so it is essential to give a slight feeling motion of the wrist at the least possible indication of a touch. When your quarry is hooked, play her delicately yet resolutely (for she is tender-mouthed, and will often break away), and bring to the net as quietly and quickly as may be.
Looking through my diary of last season I find that most of my forty-eight graylings were taken on the following flies: Black Spider, Red Tag, Coch-y-bondhu and small March Brown; all the spider dressed, and on a No.16 round bend hooks.
After a winter storm a brace or two can be lured with float tackle and a small red worm, with the bait run down from the stream into the pool. The worm need not be longer than 1.5 inches. A period of sunshine in November is a good time to try flies, and here again my diary reveals that the Black Spider was the most killing pattern. It would be difficult to find a more sombre-hued fly than the Black Spider, seeing that it has a black hackle and black ostrich-herl body.
The usual Black Spider body of herl and fine silver twist wire rarely finds favour with the winter grayling, yet at the beginning of autumn it is a very good combination and has accounted for some really good fish in various parts of the country. If the grayling is not interested in flies or worms, the wide-awake angler still has an artificial called a grass-hopper, for it in no way resembles the insect after which it is named. They can be purchased at most tackle shops, but the construction is so simple that it is far better to make your own.
Wrap some fine lead wire round the shank of a No.12 hook -- a foundation to give it weight to sink -- and then on top wind some green-coloured silk (floss) or wool, or better still some green peacock herl. Thus is produced what the grayling may assume to be a grub. However, in all the years I have been fishing no grub that in any way resembles it has come my way for observation!
Fish the grasshopper with a sink-and-draw motion, keeping close to the river bed. Sometimes it will be found that a gentle put on the hook of this artificial will prove attractive. Once the fish have been located take your time, as in late summer especially grayling move around in shoals, and it is possible by careful fishing to capture two or three before moving on.