Friday the 13th

Is it me or are we as anglers a superstitious bunch, I know of match anglers who will only draw with their left hand and a great friend of mine and top all round match angler will only draw with a fifty pence piece in his pocket. What about the Trent angler we all know and love that always wears odd socks, my favourite is the Rowntree Fruit Pastilles angling barometer. It works like this, buy a packet of pastilles and providing the pack has at least one yellow and one green pastel your trip will be ok, if however you can come up with a yellow and green next to each other then its jackpot time and a good days sport will be on the cards.

To be honest I have to be one of the most superstitious people around, always trying to avoid ladders, broken mirrors and magpies for a start, so when the only day I could fish a couple of weeks ago was on Friday the 13th I was a little unsure if a night in front of the telly would be safer than to risk life and limb ( I don’t even like driving on Friday the 13th) for a few hours fishing that would most likely end in a blank. Well ten seconds later I had made up my mind and was mentally preparing for the session.

A careful drive to the venue was uneventful, I managed to avoid driving under any ladders but was nearly tempted into the garage for a packet of fruit pastilles in an attempt to predict what the evening ahead might bring.

A short walk across the meadow and I was well happy to see my preferred swim was empty, my only concern was a large marquee that was erected in a nearby garden that glowed in the dark looking almost ghostly in the heavy mist that was becoming thicker by the minute. Although I could not see them I could hear people chatting and some background music playing. The river was looking good; the level was at last showing some signs of improvement after a summer of very low levels and flow.

Boom thump boom thump, what the hell was that? Only a live band that had taken up residence in the marquee which was now glowing a different colour every few seconds. Great I thought at least a damp night by the river with no sign of even a tremble of the rod tip would be a bit more enjoyable with some nice live music to listen to. In theory great in practice they were awful, the last time I heard anything as out of tune it was Ginger snoring.

Although not cold the mist had turned into a real thick fog and it was very damp with everything being coated in a heavy dew, the glowing marquee took on an eerie appearance, with the blanket of fog causing an almost insulating effect the music took on an even greater dull thud than it had before. When the music finally stopped at around 11 o’clock I thought to myself at last some piece and only eleven o’clock still a couple of hours to bag a Barbel before bed.

Fizzzzzzzzzz, Weeeeeeeeeee, Kaboom, Fizzzzzzzzzz ,Weeeeeeeeeee, Kaboom now I know why the music had stopped its time to let off the fireworks, for the next five minutes or so a variety of whiz bangs and atomic blasts emitted from the nearby garden. To top that off not many minutes after the last bang the sodding music started again.

With the time fast approaching midnight and not as much as a tremble of the rod top in over 4 hours of fishing, I was ready to call it a night, any self respecting Barbel that could stand the music was sure to have not been quite so keen on the mega blast fireworks. Something from somewhere in the inner mind just reminded me thou it was still Friday the 13th but in not many minutes time it would be the 14th, so “sit it out Ade” it said “what will be will be”

Almost smack bang on the stroke of midnight the music stopped and apart from a few stragglers who very quickly cleared, peace was at last restored to my little part of the Wensum valley. The fog was now very thick, very heavy dew coated everything, my feet were quite cold and I was glad of a cup of Tea from the flask in an attempt to warm myself.

Without warning after sitting motionless for almost five hours, the Harrison was suddenly smacked hard against the rod rest then pulled over into an alarming curve before the butt finally whacked the frame of my chair. A firm strike met with the power surge of a hooked Barbel, I slid out of my chair and down to the waters edge collecting my landing net as I went Once by the river with my left hand I went to switch on my headlight which after a quick fumble I found wasn’t actually on my head, another fumble around my pockets found it wasn’t in them either. By this time the hooked Barbel was fast approaching being ready to net, something I was going to have to do without the aid of a light.

After you eyes have adjusted to the dark it is surprising what you can actually see in the dark, in this case I could see enough of the outline shape to see I had hooked what I thought was a Barbel of around 8lb. It took 3 attempts to get the fish in the net, but finally it slid over the rim of the net and into the folds of the mesh, I lodged the net into the bankside vegetation and secured it with a bankstick, so I could rest the fish while I prepared things for unhooking and to weigh the fish.

I found my head torch lying next to my flask; I must have taken it off as I enjoyed my tea and cake a few minutes previously. With mat, sling and scales prepared I returned to the water and lifted the net, only to be met with a much firmer resistance than the 8lb estimate that I had earlier mentally given to the fish. Once on the mat it soon became obvious the fish was something special, other than some well healed otter damage to its tail it was in superb condition.

The scales surprised me even more as once I had seen the fish I had upped my estimate to around 14lb. when they settled at 16lb 3oz I had to check twice, but the second weighing agreed with the first and a weight of 16lb 3oz, what a fish. I know that having seen Barbel in the flesh to just short of 18lb I am very privileged to have witnessed such a site for those that have never been lucky enough, believe me it is something you will never forget. For me the most impressive bit is once rested and ready for return the sight as the fish swims off is stunning, it leaves me with a cold chill running down my spine.

After a couple of self takes with the digi, the fish was safely returned, I reflected on what had been a very strange night. Friday the 13th the live band, the fireworks and a 16lb Barbel to finish the night. The thing that troubled me the most was when I thought how I may have behaved differently had I have seen the size of the fish, but somehow I had left my headlight by the flask and netted it almost blind.

I often let things trouble my superstitious mind which in a strange way completely contradicts my other strong feeling “Que sera sera” (what will be will be)

Words and pictures by Ade Kiddell