matched rods jutted up over the rushes, set on a sea

I’m not sure exactly when Peter Drennan introduced the Super Specialist rod but I think it was the early to mid 1980’s when I bought my one. I remember telling the guy in the shop that I wanted a rod which could ‘handle a 10lb carp but will still be fun with a one pound perch’. The salesman’s eyes lit up and sparkled. “Have I got a rod for you” said he.That guy behind the counter went on to become my best friend and later my best man. Perhaps it was the sale of that rod that started it all off. You see, he never lied to me about it. Of course, he’s never stopped lying to me since, about all sorts of things, but that’s not the point. Pete flogged me that rod and I’ll forgive him anything because of it.I was looking for something in a rod to bring back the child in me. One fishing rod which could do the lot – as it had to when I was a twelve year old. The Super Specialist fitted the bill exactly. Since the fortuitous day I actually stuck my hand in my pocket and paid for the thing, I can honestly say I have never regretted it. It was there at Wraysbury when I landed my best ever tench, and again on the Stour for that whopping great chub. As promised, it has taken far more than it’s share of 10lb carp and given me loads of fun with 1lb perch. I remember it being slightly out-gunned by a 17lb 12oz tail-walking Thames pike but on all other occasions it has performed the task of ‘general purpose fishing rod’ admirably.In recent years my SS has been adopted as a barbel rod and has accounted for, well, quite a few of these giant golden gudgeon (said he modestly, first polishing then studying his fingernails). As a smaller perch rod or a bigger carp rod, it does leave a little to be desired but as a barbel rod it is ideal. The addition of a quiver-tip does nothing to detract, it’s perfectly designed for the task in hand.Four o’clock in the morning is not my best time of day, yet I do somehow manage to rouse myself sometimes for the chance of a fish. So it was last Monday morning. I crawled out of bed, fumbled about, somehow dressed myself, patted the wife and kissed the dog(!) goodbye. An hour and a half later I was on the bank of the river, crouching low beneath the rushes, now wide awake. Brian and Pete were already there, they had been there since the previous evening and Pete ‘d had several fish so far. Six barbel and one seven pound bream. That’s a big bream for the Kennet! I hope he has lots more. (And that I don’t). The barbel had mostly been on the small side, though all were “cracking fighters”. Brian had opted for the comfortable swim and was paying the price with not a bite to his credit.Peters mis-matched rods jutted up over the rushes, set on a sea-fishing tripod. One was an old glass spinning rod, I swear! It’s interesting to compare the tackle we use on the riverbanks with that seen on the carp lakes. A walk around the local carp fisheries shows that anglers fishing the lakes today are very fashion conscious and like to own all the latest tackle and accessories. To look at our tackle on the riverbank is a glimpse into Steptoes yard by comparison! We don’t seem to have a matched pair of anything between us, even our wellies are odd! Which, incidentally is why Brian went for the swim he chose. Everywhere else was a ‘wet’ swim.It was already clear daylight as I made my way downstream to a bend swim, ankle deep in the swampmud and guaranteed to provide a wet bum at some part of the day. It was prudent to stay low, I didn’t want to give any warnings out to the barbel just yet. I tackled up the first rod, my old friend the Super Specialist of course, and baited the hook. Keeping low, I lobbed the end-rig halfway across the river, into the fast water. The current caught the light lead and, before it had time to settle, swept it downstream. I fed line out, ten feet, then another five and another five. Engaging the pick-up, I watched the line straighten then tighten, the rod tip pulling over with the drag, the bait now swinging in close to the near bank beneath a raft of flotsam, formed where the overhanging bushes dipped into the water. A perfect first cast. For a change.Keeping low, I started to tackle up the second rod. This is an elderly mixed glass and carbon Thames feeder rod and I often couple it to a centre-pin when daylight legering. I don’t attempt it when fishing at night as, unlike my ‘tutor’, Alan (spit) Tomkins, I lack both competence and confidence with ‘pins in the dark. Today however I couldn’t find a centre-pin in the bag (c’mon, own up, who nicked it?) so I was fumbling around trying to locate a second fixed spool reel. I say ‘fumbling’ as that is exactly what it was. I have found that, providing you are stealthy, quite often the first cast on the river will produce a good bite. If that bite is missed then it could be the best chance of the day gone. So, with my eyes fixed on the rod-top of the first rod, I fumbled my way through setting up the second, threading the rod rings almost blindly. Of course I do look down for a swift shufty at every rod-ring, otherwise I am bound to miss one out or something equally silly and it was whilst looking down (as it always seems to be) that the bite came. The contents of my tackle bag gleefully leapt into the swamp-mud as I grabbed for the suddenly alive rod. I got it and with difficulty lifted it clear of the rest. Yes! Fish on! Who can describe that feeling – the heart wrenching rush of adrenaline surging through the veins. The dead suddenly alive, not as a zombie but as a resurrected athlete. It makes no difference how big your pot-belly is, for the instant you and that big fish connect, you become one of those track-gods.I have lost a fair few fish from this swim recently due to the fish kiting around to the left into a fallen tree on the far bank, or kiting around to the right, into another big snag on the near bank. This fish did neither. It just fought me every inch of the way back in the main current until it was in front of me. It took no line from the clutch and so I suspected a smallish barbel. I lowered the net into the water expecting to have the fish on the bank in a few seconds. As the barbel neared the net I saw its length for the first time, and it saw me. This barbel was huge! My beloved Super Specialist suddenly doubled over all the way, the clutch screamed and within seconds that barbel was back downstream beyond where I had hooked it, heading for the Thames. Ahh well. I could go into every gory detail but I won’t. Suffice to say that it was a very dogged fight indeed, carried out on my part with a very tight sphincter muscle. I had seen the fish and knew it was the biggest barbel I had ever hooked by a good margin. To date, I had taken several fish into double figures and a dozen or more close to it. This fish was something else though. I was on 8lb monofil line and in a very snaggy swim. So… When that barbel went into the net I sighed a bigger sigh that I can remember sighing for a long time, I mean like this. Sigheeeeyee. (Must see a doctor about that leak when I do that.)My scales had gone missing, trodden underfoot in the mud somewhere so I had to resort to using Pete’s scales. (That fact alone probably cost me half a pound) As we watched the needle slip around the dial, Pete noticed his rod tip wrench around. He struck and in short order a gleaming seven pounder was in his arms for the trophy photo. At twelve pounds and eight ounces my barbel was a new personal best and quite probably the biggest I will ever catch, or at least in the forseeable future. It was a great feeling. But I expect you’ve gathered that.The rest of the morning was a bit of an anti-climax. I hooked two more smallish barbel, and lost them whilst mucking about trying to get some rod-bending action photos with the fish under the rod tip. Clot. Then about 10 am I caught a crayfish, swiftly followed by a bream. At this point I decided that enough was enough. The barbel had departed so I decided to follow their lead and called it a day.

My second Personal Best of the season. Wonder if I can make it the hat trick??