It must be my lucky day

A damp and misty morning broke over the pads, though the rain had finally stopped. I reeled in the rods and was on my way home before 5am. bacon sandwich and a cup of tea, and a few hours of sleep in a proper bed to prepare for the main event... Target... a wild brownie.

I was more knackered then I expected, and though I set the TV to wake me before 9am, I had dozed through the news and Saturday kitchen was well underway before I could eject myself from bed. The weather forecast had shown that, despite a heatwave drifting into the south, there was a band of rain that would be sitting from Derby to Manchester for most of the day. I didn't therefore hurry too much to get my mission underway. Its about 45 minutes from my house to Matlock Bath, though I decided to go via Gerrys of Nottingham to top up my maggot stash which added a bit to the journey. It was about 2pm before I passed Masson Mills, Arkwrights masterpiece. He had been drawn to this place by the same entity as I... the beautiful river Derwent.
  Parking in Matlock bath during the summer is best described as a nightmare... I think the only place you can find a space (that allows more than a couple of hours) is the large carpark at the North end of town by the train station. Even then it took two circuits before I could slot into a recently vacated space... You also need to steel yourself for the parking charges, all day costs £5. Leaving all the kit in the car I took a stroll down the parade alongside the river, spotting two nice trout holding station at the top end of the stretch without even really trying.
This bit of the Derwent belongs to Matlock Angling Club, membership costs £40 per year, and if I lived 20mins closer would be a ticket that I would probably consider buying. Fortunately the "lovers walk" stretch, which runs on the east bank from opposite the Midland hotel to the Willersley boundary wall can be fished on a day ticket for the princely sum of £5 english pounds. Tickets are available from the newsagents on south parade, though its a bit like a secret society, there is nothing in the shop to suggest they sell the permits, but on request the book is produced from its "behind the counter" hiding place, and ticket no 482 was traded for a small print of Elizabeth Fry.
Returning the car, I collected the tackle, and was crossing the Jubilee bridge at a bit before 3pm. I had brought trotting and feeder gear, though I felt that I should really be fishing the fly for the first game fish in the
 A-Z. That choice was however not on the table as there is a "no fly fishing" rule in place here. As I tackled up with a medium sized chubber float i'd decided to start on a size 16,  fishing straight through on the 4lb stroft. After a couple of dozen trots I had missed a few bites, so quickly switched to single maggot on a size 20 on 1lb bottom to try and find out what they were. On the first cast the float sailed away and I was connected to a lively fish that splashily zigged around the river, catching the attention of onlookers on the parade and bridge. There is something a little odd about fishing with an audience, but I didnt really care, I had come for a trout, and by god I'd got one, mission accomplished and I'd only had a wet bait for 15 minutes...

After bumping the hook a couple of times I soon hooked into another brownie, more or less the same size, though in my opinion more prettily marked than the first.

 After releasing that one, and a few fruitless casts, a legion of geese accompanied by a few intimidated ducks started churning up the swim, frantically hoovering up bread which was cascading from an excited toddler on the bridge. Rather than rebait with maggots, I pinched a piece of flake onto the hook, and as the waterfowl departed flicked the float out to the site of the prior commotion. It was less than 10 seconds before the float sailed away, and a suprised brown trout broke clear of the water , before zipping towards the middle of the stream, ripping line from the slack clutch. My heart was in my mouth, it was a nice fish, maybe knocking on 2 lbs, but the excitement would be short lived, either he threw the hook or the hook pulled from an insecure hold. either way my anguish was shared by the quietly audible "aah!" from the audience on the opposite bank as the rod fell slack.
The commotion  seemed to have killed the swim again, though I picked up the greenest minnow I have ever caught... eventually the bites were to return, and a pair of maggots were grabbed by another strong fish. This led me a merry dance, ragging me around the swim as I struggled to get it under control on the fine line. A brief view of the fish as it swirled led me to believe I was connected to a grayling, and a very good one at at that. I will never know for sure, as the line eventually parted company with the hook. Two good fish lost... not a happy bunny!.
Returning to my initial setup of a size 16 staight to the 4lb mainline, I would not feel undergunned for the next specimen...Once more the float sailed away and a fish was on.  I could enjoy the fight much more without the nagging fear of a break, and it was a god job, as this was another spirited grayling, not as large as the one I had earlier lost but a nice fish nevertheless. this one was worth weighing, chalking up a worthy 1lb 3oz.

It took a while before the swim woke up again, and at 5pm a third brownie fell for the double maggot offering. I had already slowed down the feed rate in response to the lack of bites, and as the next 20 mins passed withot incident I reckoned that I had exploited this spot for long enough... and anyway, my task was pretty much complete.

Before calling it a day I decided to have an hour or so stalking, the clear shallow water should have been ideal, but despite a disciplined effort I failed to spot any fish I could cast too. Reaching the top end of the river I saw a splashy rise three quarters of the way across, and optimistically covered it with an upstream cast...

It didnt' work, probably just as well, as the treacherous decent down the bank if I had hooked a fish would have been difficult to pull off without a splashy end. I was leaving the car park at 19:07, and back in the house by ten to eight. I bolted down some dinner, and after a few minutes of the telly decided I wasn't spent quite yet... I loaded the car with all the right gear to have a stab at the carp in Beeston weirpool, and with Brown trout done, the next challenge was a bullhead... I dared think for a moment that I might pull off a double, but put the thought from my mind with a dose of realism... cop a bullhead on the first attempt... no chance... doesn't mean its not worth a try though...
  Reaching the weir as the light faded, I found the swim I wanted taken. A quick chat with the squatters revealed that they had taken a 17lb carp on luncheon meat a few hours earlier. "Damn!" i though to myself "so close".. the compromise was the next peg up, which happened to be the one I had caught a bullhead in last year. I flicked my secret bullhead rig into pretty much the same spot as the last bullhead come from, and worked the rest of the weirpool with two rods on boilies.
It was pretty dark when everything came good, I darent believe that the fish I was swinging to hand could be a bullhead, but as it crossed paths with the beam of the headdtorch the unbelievable truth was revealed in all its glory. A bullhead!. "You beauty!"..."You F***in' beauty!"... I was shaking with excitement. The smallest fish of the season, yet the one I was happiest to catch. The hook was a little deep, but the capacious gob of the little sculpin allowed easy access to disgorge. The micro species scales recorded my bullhead PB at 5.7g.

Thats one happy face!

As the fishy returned to its watery hole I began to reflect upon my day... what a day... what a lucky day. Now could I turn a hatrick and follow up with a carp, it was just after11pm... there was almost an hour left of the day. I took the carp rods more seriously, and worked them hard to try and turn out a cyprinid.  Much as the previous night I couldn't get any confidence in the presentation, whether it was weed dislodging the lead, or masking the hook and bait it didnt feel that a carp was imminent. I didnt really care though. At 7am on sunday morning I gathered my things and began the short drive home, still elated with the result... brown trout and bullhead in one day, one lucky day.
The thing  is... this was where my challenge stalled last year. The carp in the river would not comply with my essential need to capture them.. Once home my thoughts turned to this challenge ... after sleeping on it I would know what to do next!.