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The Silence of the 'larms

Geoff Maynard

We were in bad need of a holiday and a short Monday to Friday trip was all the time we could spare. My friendly fishing guide Nick Rowe operates on the lower Ebro and he could equip us with all the extras that the airline weight restrictions forbid. So Maggi and I packed the kids off to their respective other parents and took a flight to the sun. Yes, sunny Spain, but to an area without raffia donkeys. Instead, this area has those monster catfish that I love to catch.

A couple of hours in the air and Barcelona was under my feet. We picked up the cheapie rental car and sped south down the empty motorway to the Ebro delta. I love that drive. With the Mediterranean coastline on our left and the plains and mountains to our right, even I had trouble getting lost. We made good time and two hours driving put us in the sleepy village of Aldover.

Nick and Rosie gave us a welcome lunch and a cuppa, then off we sped to the river. Nick took the lead in his car towing the vital boat. He wanted us to bivvy up in a certain swim which is in the shade - far more important than finding a swim with catfish. After all, as he explained, all the swims have catfish, only a few have shade. This tongue in cheek explanation sounded reasonable to me and true as his word, Nick did us proud. The swim did have both, and as a bonus extra it came equipped with an angler too. Luckily the guy was about to quit anyway so we pitched camp forthwith.

The angler was an Englishman. Or spoke English. Sort of. It was Kirk Booth (instantly christened "Captain" behind his back) from the northern heathen lands of Stockport no less, and a CCG regional officer to boot. Kirk had managed only one fish from this swim in the ten days that he had been there, but what a fish. 110lbs of screaming pussy. His alarms had been silent for most of his trip. I did some quick reckoning and realised that if I did as well as he, then I should get a 55lber - I only had 5 days see, whereas he'd been there for 10. Well, it made sense to me!

I was a little cocky as I connected up my new electric pump to the air-bed and powered it up. I love technology and this was my new toy, designed to save me energy with the footpump. As the compressor thumped away, I nonchalantly wandered over to continue my interrogation of the Captain, who was only too pleased to relate his experiences. I recognised every third word as "beer" but much of the rest was lost to me. I was just thinking that it's time someone invented an electronic portable translator for regional dialects when an explosion lifted me off my feet and threw me into the air. Well.. okay, but I did jump I can tell you. The air bed had exploded.

A slightly less cocky Maynard sheepishly finished setting up the camp under the disapproving gaze of his wifey. Nick came to my rescue and explained to Maggi that we could easily get a replacement in town later on, when the siesta was over. Meanwhile we had to catch some baits. We set up the feeder rigs and set to it, side by side. We jabbered away for some time catching up with each others news and, as we always do, inventing schemes which would make us the equal of Bill Gates within a few days. The problem is that Gates don't go fishing, we do. We debated this point at length as darkness crept up upon us. So anyway, as we finally came to the conclusion that it really didn't matter that we were relatively poor as we catch more fish than him, we realised that it really was quite late. 2 am in fact. And we hadn't caught anything! Had a damn good chinwag though, about 6 hours of it!

Nick drove off into the dark to get rolling-pinned by Rosie whilst I went back to the bivvy. Of course Maggi was asleep on the remnants of the air bed, so I crashed out on the hard ground behind her. She wasn't quite asleep though. As I drifted off I heard her mutter.. "I'll get you for this Maynard!". Hmm. She did have a point. It was very uncomfortable and I resolved to address the air bed problem first thing next day.

Instead of which of course, I went fishing. Nick arrived with a box of worms and we got straight into a shoal of tasty little crucian carp, all in the 1lb to 1.5lb mark. Perfect baits. By lunchtime we not only had a net of baitfish, but we had also managed to set up two catfish rods with baits positioned out on the edge of a drop-off by the main flow of the river. Luvverly. Rosie arrived with toddler Amber and as the females did their thing with the food preparation, Nick and I decided to go for a quick trip in the boat. "Be back in 30 minutes luv". Nobody believed it.

Nick took me upstream to the most perfect catfish swim I have ever seen anywhere. Totally inaccessible except by boat. Gently we nudged the boat up against some fallen half sunken trees and tied it up. Nick had brought 2 of our precious crucians with him and he baited my rod first. As I dropped my bait into the main flow of the current, I put the reel in freespool and behind me I heard him curse. The other bait had leapt to freedom in the hooking process. Oh well, I thought, it could be worse. It might have been my bait that had been lost!

I turned my attention back to my float, now 60 foot downstream... somewhere... "Where's your float" asked Nick. It was gone and the line was beginning to peel off the reel at a very fast rate of knots indeed. I stood up, pushing the lever forward as I did so, and struck. Whump, the rod arched over. The fight was on. Nick freed the boat and we started drifting downstream to where the action was. It really is amazing the power of these fish. Although I was using an uptide rod with a multiplier and 44lb line I was not too sure that I was well enough armed, but eventually the fish was on the surface and Nick deftly netted it with a landing net of his own devising. By this time we were only a couple of hundred yards from our base camp so we motored over and beached the boat with grins all over our faces. The girls couldn't believe it. We were actually back when we said we would be!

The cat went 56lb and was a fine start to our catting trip. With the photo's done and the fish returned we settled down to a fine lunch courtesy of Rosie. It was really pleasant sitting there by the river, the brilliant white braided lines from the rodtips slicing though the air to the lemonade bottles positioned out on the edge of the mainstream. We use these bottles as buoys. Moored by strong line to a heavy rock we drop them in at places we feel to be good ambush points. Then we tie our end rigs to the bottles using light line as break-away links. More on this in another piece - I'm just trying to explain why there are lemonade bottles floating in the swim!

With lunch over, a netfull of baitfish and a catfish already to our credit, Nick and I went in search of an air bed. Leaving the women to natter and watch the rods, we drove into town and did the rounds of various supermarkets and camping shops. We must have been away for only an hour or so, as we got everything we needed without any problems. When we returned we had a surprise in store. As we pulled into sight of the bivvy, Maggi and Rosie were punching the air. They had caught one! Garbled breathless accounts came from three different sources as little Amber was keen to get in on the act too.

Apparently, as far as I could make out, what had happened was this: Five minutes after Nick and I had left, the wind picked up and started to twitch the lines. Each buzzer was giving the occasional chirrup but then one went off and didn't stop. At first they thought it was just the wind but a huge crash out in the river made them re-think. Maggi picked up the rod and struck but the fish had gone. They reeled in, the weak-link being broken and discovered a sad looking crucian. Feeling sorry for it they put it back (like you do when you're a mother) and as they did so the second rod went off. This time there was no mistake. Maggi picked the rod off the tripod, struck and all hell was let loose. Not being used to the equipment, somehow she had knocked off the anti-reverse and had to play the fish on backwind. God knows how but somehow she managed to bring it to the bank where Rosie waded in and gloved it. Together they managed to get the hook out and Rosie even managed to put a stringer on it! When we weighed it the fish went 73lb!

I don't know about you, but I think that was quite some feat. I know that it sounds sexist but these two ladies managed to successfully accomplish what the majority of male anglers would cock right up. Mind you, I can only imagine the way it really went. Something like this perhaps:

"Ooh. Did you hear that?"
"Ooh yes. My washing machine sounds like that sometimes. I think it's the programme but Geoff says it's just a washer"
"No silly. It can't be a washer. The machine is a washer"
"Oh well perhaps that's what he meant. Anyway he said he's going to get Mr Ridley to look at it"
"Oh. There it goes again."
"Oooh yes. It's not stopping. Maybe that's broken too. I think we'd better get Mr Ridley to look at that as well".
" I suppose it could be a fish biting"

They look at each other. Then shake their heads.
(Together)"No"

"Well it's still not stopping, and it's making an awful noise. Do you think we ought to take a look?"
"Hold on. I'm just finishing doing my nails. There. Right, come on then"

They approach the rods.
"Oh. It's stopped".
"And the line has gone all floppy"

They look at each other and giggle like schoolgirls

"I'll reel it in then shall I?"
"Okay"
" There. Ohh, I've caught one!"
" No silly, that's the bait, they use little fishes as the bait"
"Ohh. Isn't it a pretty colour, poor little thing"
"Yes. I've got curtains just like that in the bedroom"
" What, all slimy?"

More giggles.

"Let's put it back.... Oh my gawd ! - the other ones going off now!"

And so on. Makes you think don't it? Anyway, that was the highlight of the trip, though not the biggest fish. I managed to pick up a couple of other catfish over the next couple of days with one at 82lbs and a new personal best going at 89lbs. I lost a few too but all of these were all from the boat. The alarms on the bank-fished baits remained uncommonly silent. They probably couldn't get a word in edgewise!

The best of the bunch at 89lbs