Andy Spreadbury's Fishing Blog

It’s twelve degrees this morning and I’m walking along the banks of the Stour. There are no other anglers present and it looks like I have the river to myself this morning. I start in my current favourite swim (where I have had fish before) but I notice the river looks to have fallen somewhat and the colour is dropping out; I can see the bottom from bank to bank in some of the swims and these are not great conditions. With me today I have some different baits to try: Cheesepaste, Lobworms, some fresh Bread for Flake, and the Krill paste on which I caught my fish last time. I start with a nice juicy lobworm but I’m noticing that because the river has fallen, I’ve lost depth under the overhanging bush on the far bank. Last time I was very confident in this spot - it was where I caught my fish - but today it looks too shallow. I think I shall have to fish further into the main flow; if I can see the fish, then they can see me. I persist with the worm and try it in several different posi

There are two things that irritate me. People who start a sentence with ‘So’, and use the word ‘Like’… Oh, and there’s a third - people who are unable to take a hint. So I’m sitting in my favourite swim on the banks of the River Stour. Along comes a fellow angler who introduces himself, unfolds his chair, and plonks himself down right next to me. I do not know this bloke from Adam but he talks to me as if we are long lost buddies. He asks if I have caught anything, which is fair enough and I am happy to report I’ve just got started; he seems nice enough but already I am worrying that he might be staying for the duration. He’s one of those who commands my attention and keeps tapping me on the arm to emphasise a point, particularly how, when, and where he caught a near record Chub from Toddler’s Cove. I’m beginning to get nervous. Coerced into endorsing his brilliant angling accomplishments, I am forced to abandon concentration of my quiver-tip to applaud his angling skills which I th

There were four other anglers on the bank when I arrived on the Willow Close stretch this morning. It was freezing cold to start with, 2º on the thermometer, rising to five by the time I got to the river. I tried to put a fair distance between myself and the other anglers since I figured so many lines in the water would not be a good thing and would scare away any self-respecting fish. I tried some of the same swims I fished last time and sticking to my pre-conceived plan, introduced liquidised bread to get any fish present interested. I was trying to hedge my bets; I admit to fishing punched bread in the hope I might bag a decent Roach but in the event none showed up and I seriously wonder whether Roach figure significantly in this stretch of the Stour. Hook sizes were ten and twelve. I lost a few rigs in the trees and it took me quite some time to get the measure of my underarm cast, but eventually I settled on this swim and finally (I think) began to form some understanding of wha