Can you catch cod in the Bristol Channel I wondered? Apparently so.
Our adventure started at Littleton-on-Severn, down at Whale wharf and we were heading for what was affectionately known as The Pile of Stones. Danny Hill, amateur fisherman, had kindly agreed to take me on one of his autumnal fishing trips.
This part of the Severn estuary is a second home to Danny and this was the only way to get to the fishing grounds without navigating the pillar of the old Severn bridge.
We walked for a mile or so along the ridge above the Severn with views of both bridges, Oldbury Power station and only large flocks of geese and a cow for company.
Stakes sticking out into the river I was told were salmon runs to guide the salmon into the baskets. This was once a thriving industry.
Danny, clearly passionate about this area, enthused about the fact we were walking out on the sea bed, over shingle beds and pools. When we arrived at one little inlet which was too deep to cross or jump, he used it as an opportunity to explain the tides to me.
The importance of tides
“The Bristol Channel has the highest tidal range in the world,” he said, “it ranges up to 15 metres and this means up and down not 15 metres down the beach.
We’re going out on a neap tide as they’re better for fishing – not big tides like the spring tides.”
If the river Severn had a fan club I’d be a member. It’s a very beautiful part of the world. There’s a huge feeling of space and you can watch the weather rolling in. The bridges anchor it to the real world as the loneliness of the area gives it an ethereal, almost timeless quality.
Across the river under the bridge are the footprints of neanderthal children, fossilised in the rock.
The volume of tackle
A quill containing a tripod and two heavy duty channel fishing rods and a landing net is all that’s needed. Plus on Danny’s back was a box which doubled up as his seat, and contained food, worms and squid.
So what fish swim in the channel?
Danny told me that as well as cod there might also be conger eels, whiting and thornback rays.
The pile of stones
The place we were heading for suddenly became possible to reach. The tide had receded so far in just 15 minutes that it was hard to believe the water had ever been lapping around our feet.
We stopped and set up camp. Danny opened up his box and explained the techie side of fishing as he lined up the reel seat with the rest of the rod.
“I’m attaching a link to the rod. Just doing a simple knot. Go in there… turn it up through… double back on yourself like that… flip it over and fold it back through the hole. Once… twice… very strong!”
Then he tied a lead weight onto the fishing line along with the bait…
…this was the point at which I lost my cool. The sight of Danny ripping open a large package of ragworms came out of the blue and caught me completely off guard. Nothing like garden worms, these were bigger, fatter, flatter and very very wriggly. And there appeared to be hundreds of them…
“We’ve got a box of squid, frozen black lugworms and I’m just threading a piece of fresh rag worm onto the hook and tipping it off with and piece of black lugworm.”
He was ready to cast.
The meaning of waiting and the power of soup
Is this what fishermen are looking for? The calm stretches when the bait is fixed and there’s nothing to do but sit back, drink hot soup and watch for any nibbles on the line.
It’s not a bad way to while away the hours I guess and with the hope of bringing something home to eat at the end.
Danny stayed there for a further five hours and trudged back to his car in the fading light.
Sadly I had to leave before he had caught anything.
Later he told me that conger eels had been marching up and down the channel and after catching and throwing back sixteen of them, he called it a day.
On this occasion the cod may have got away, but there’s always another day.
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