It’s the end of November as I’m penning this article, and we’ve just come out of a cold spell, followed by a wet and windy storm; this probably sums up my year.
The Trent was still high and raging through into March. I had to venture to the River Wye for the first time in over 35 years to get some much-needed time on the river bank. Catching lovely bags of mixed silvers on the float, something I desperately needed to do for my sanity.
I had hardly fished since the previous October, with the rivers being so high, and I’d really missed being able to run a stick, waggler or bolo down a stretch of river.
Two lovely days fishing over two separate weekends had got my mojo back, and a personal best barbel back on the Trent certainly made up for all the lost time I had forsaken.
With the close season upon us, I had two major plans to try to achieve.
Firstly, I had taken on the responsibility for maintaining and improving the banks of four major stretches of the Trent, along with my good friend Richard Sullivan.
There was plenty of work to do in maintaining existing pegs, sorting out old ones that had got overgrown, and creating new and exciting pegs which could potentially be hidden gems not previously explored.
Richard and I put in some seriously long hours, but it was all worth it and very satisfying, especially spending so much time on the river bank over those spring and early summer months.
Secondly, I had plans to take people out on the Trent, and help them to catch some special fish on the float, which is my favourite sort of fishing that I love to do; however there was one special friend in particular that I was desperate to take out and for a good reason.
His name is Karl Routledge-Wilson, and if I said he was a bit of a character, then that would certainly be the understatement of the century.
Karl has led an absolutely remarkable life, from being an appointed member of the Royal Court, a Magistrate, a Justice of the Peace, a Reverend and a highly respected clinician in psychology and psychotherapy. He has many other titles and attributes, and nearly as many letters after his name as there are in the Ukrainian alphabet; but upon first meeting him what is most striking is Karl’s old English eccentric appearance and demeanour. He has a fantastic handlebar moustache and such a debonair and colourful wardrobe, that he could make a blind man go even more blind!
What makes Karl truly stand out though is his wonderful personality, one where he doesn’t really care how others perceive him, and he’s one of the very few people I know who is actually totally himself. He is extremely kind in his persona and with his time, wise beyond a hundred other people’s years, and regales the most extraordinary true stories that only a person with such knowledge could possibly tell. His professional encounters and insight with some of this country’s most gruesome murderers, alone, is worth an expensive dinner and subsequent talk. His tales as a JP and as a Magistrate are just as compelling!
He’s a truly wonderful friend to have, and I enjoy his scintillating company tremendously.
To be honest, we are a bit of a dangerous pair together if we’ve had a couple of sherbets, with sometimes very dark and dry wit coming right to the fore. Think of us as Statler and Waldorf, sat up in the balcony of The Muppet Show theatre, and you won’t be far wrong.
Unfortunately, several years ago, Karl was diagnosed with a terminal cancer, and with losing his late wife to cancer after his diagnosis; he has bravely lived his life the way he wants to without regret.
It is one of the many great things I admire about him. I’ve helped on occasions with lifts to train stations and airports etc, to enable him to pursue his travelling goals and visit the many places and friends he’s wanted to see.
One day a few years back, Karl told me of a sad story of a day’s fishing he had had with his father when he was a child, that was so miserable it would bring most people to tears.
Karl had a rather complicated relationship with his father, and unfortunately, his father was a bit like the weather that day, cold and unwelcoming. It basically consisted of sitting under an umbrella in all day long rain, catching nothing, and hardly a conversation was had the whole time. Not a pleasant experience at all, especially for a child. As Karl knew I was an ardent fisherman who absolutely loved getting out into the countryside and catching fish, we tried to hatch a plan that would hopefully alleviate such a negative childhood memory.
Unfortunately, over the next couple of years of trying to sort it out, it never quite happened. Diary clashes, the weather, or river conditions have never been quite right. However, this summer I was really determined to make sure that this was definitely going to happen. I wanted Karl to truly experience what fishing is all about and what having a barbel on the end of your line really feels like.
We picked the date of the 10th July, and only a hurricane or a biblical flood would stop us. As it turned out the Trent was on a slow rise, and just about peaking. The weather could’ve been a little kinder temperature wise, however on the banks of the Trent we were and on my most favourite and beautiful of stretches.
I wasn’t surprised whatsoever when I actually picked Karl up and that he was dressed so splendidly in tweed, with a wonderful hat to match. The obligatory tie, not a bow one as he sometimes wears, and some green slacks finished off the outfit. Understated for Karl in general, but the grouse foot in the hat was a nice touch. He didn’t quite have a hamper, but a decent sized bag with a couple of clinking bottles of Prosecco were duly handed over, and I put them in my cooler bag with the frozen hemp. A new first for the bag and for me!
The river was up a full two-foot plus, and I thought we’d have the chance of a few fish, although float fishing was out of the question that day. I managed to find a peg with a very gentle slope that was fairly easy to get down to. I got Karl safely ensconced in a comfortable chair whilst I baited up the swim quite close in, with a concoction of hemp, tares, cubed meat, pellet and the secret bait of the odd blackberry here and there.
After ten good bait dropper fulls in, it was time to cast out. I had pre-warned Karl to keep his hand on the rod at all times and that we might get a bite straight away. He’d had a gentle nibble on the first cast, but he swiftly put his already poured glass of Prosecco down, as a barbel took the meat hook bait off downstream with some alacrity. I asked Karl how he felt with the fish on the end, and he responded that he was alright but couldn’t believe how strong they were. I laughed and pointed out to him that I had mentioned it more than once or twice of how hard they fight. With a bit of guidance, Karl brought to the net a lovely fish of 4lbs+, his first fish ever which would hopefully help eradicate the memories of some six decades before.
Karl was absolutely chuffed, as was I, and although I wouldn’t normally take photos of a fish this size, this was a special occasion, and it was definitely warranted. The fish was rested in the water and then released after showing signs it was more than ready to go. A full glass of Prosecco toasted the success, and then it was back to the exciting business of catching more barbel.
No fancy rigs or anything for this sort of fishing. A heavy feeder rod, 12lb mainline, 10lb fluorocarbon hook length, with a size 8 hook, linked to a simple mini bolt feeder rig which can be free running. Nothing extraordinary at all.
Several more barbel followed on meat, gradually getting larger, and it was then I decided to switch things up a bit. I said to Karl, “Would you like to potentially join a special and unique club?” “What club is that?” he asked. “The Barbel — Blackberry club,” I responded. “Oh yes,” he said, “I remember you telling me about that. Will we catch one on it?”
I indicated that I was very confident that we would, and to be ready straight away. The cast was made and within a minute, the rod tip had bounced and then bent over, as another barbel tore off into the main river current. Karl played the fish very well, his biggest so far, on what was turning out to be a great day, despite the ever-increasing and slightly cold wind blowing in.
We decided on one last cast, because of the weather, and the rod immediately went again, with Karl’s biggest fish of the day at 7lbs 12ozs, a new personal best. The blackberries had proven themselves. All picked for free from the bushes that line the paths and the banks of this stretch of the Trent. It’s a summer and autumn bait that I would always use to get bites and sometimes get the largest fish of the session.
To cap off an eminent day, our friend Richard Sullivan had come down and fished a couple of pegs above us. He caught a lovely double figure barbel, which we photographed for him, and watched him gently release her back to the watery depths afterwards.
I was so happy for Karl to see such a fish, so he could ascertain how big they actually can get, and obviously get even bigger. We packed up quickly after this and made our way to Karl’s bar in Sherwood, Nottingham, called The Pillar Box. A lovely, welcoming place where many of us call home. We entertained the staff and customers with our tall stories of the one that got away, and also showing Karl’s prowess reeling in these lovely creatures and admiring their beauty.
A tremendous evening was had by all, and the videos and pictures from the day that capture the spirit and essence forever of what fishing is all about, and hopefully dismiss some ghosts from the past.
A conversation was struck up about actually making the “Barbel — Blackberry club” official and getting some ties and certificates made up. It’s an awesome idea, and Karl knows someone who can make the ties, obviously! I really want to carry this out so watch this space.
This whole story sums up why I really love what I do. Being able to show one of my best friends what catching a barbel is all about, was so satisfying, even more so that we were both able to dispel those horrible childhood memories for him.
Unfortunately, we weren’t able to get back out on the river together again this summer. However, we have plans to maybe try and catch them on the float in slightly more favourable conditions. I hope with all of my heart that we get to repeat this truly amazing experience, and if we’re really lucky, more than the once. I am truly grateful that Karl got to feel the buzz of having a barbel pulling on the end of his line. I know he’s extremely grateful as well.
I suppose this just goes to show that you really do have to make the time and the effort to make those special experiences and memories happen. It was an honour and a privilege to be able to do that for you, Karl, and I will always be grateful for you being a true friend.
Tight lines to you all!
Leigh
