A few weeks ago I described a memorable day's fishing on the River Dart in atrocious conditions; it was cold, windy, and with cascading rain, but quite astonishingly eleven Mullet, five of which were over specimen were caught, including one of 6lb. 4oz.

 

The nearby River Teign also offers excellent Mullet fishing, but contrasts greatly in character.  Whereas the Dart is relatively deep throughout its length, the Teign is broad and shallow, moving into winding, muddy channels and streams in its upper reaches.

 

This is what happened on a recent session, when I fished there as a change from my usual venues.....

 

The tide was gurgling and foaming through the estuary mouth, white flecks lacing the greeny depths, as the current waved against the clumped patches of bladder wrack.  The plaintive cries of a group of Oyster Catchers pierced the empty spaces, as they flashed their black and white patterned wings, between the rounded patchwork of fields and water, on their way to the feeding grounds.

 

Higher up the estuary, imperceptible changes were taking place.  The water gently lapped at the bases of the dense stands of sedges and tangled undergrowth, slowly creeping up the stems and covering the muddy stones.  Occasional lazy swirls and dimples marked the passage of fish, fins cutting the water with fast widening "V" shapes.

 

Normally the water here was transparently clear, but following days of thundery rain, the visibility was almost nil, the colour of ox-tail soup in fact.

 

At least this sorted out one problem!  If I couldn't see into the water the fish most certainly couldn't see me.  I still needed a stealthy approach, and to keep movement to the minimum, but for once I didn't need to hide in a tangle of undergrowth.
 

 

I set up quickly, putting in some heavy balls of bread ground bait exactly where I was going to fish.  I had chosen a spot on a bend of the river where there was a natural eddy, meaning that I could fish hard over this area.  Other anglers are often surprised to see how close to the bank I fish.  Here I was fishing only 2 to 3 feet from the bank.

 

In such coloured water I could have elected to fish with a quiver tip and a ledger, but if possible I prefer float fishing.  The water at half-tide was only a few feet deep, but was rising rapidly with the flood tide.

 

A generous piece of very soft bread paste was wrapped around a number 8 hook and I dropped it into the swim.  Every few minutes I brought the bait out to inspect it, and a small handful of ground bait accompanied it back into the same spot.  The float had to be adjusted as the tide continued to rise, but all was still and peaceful, without the sign of a bite registering on my float.

 

Three hours passed with only the continuous sound of nesting Warblers in the banks of sedges, and Skylarks high in the sky.  The iridescent flash of a Kingfisher darting swiftly upstream and the shimmering Dragon Flies around my float were a welcome sight, but the float remained obstinately unmoving.

 

High tide was approaching and I was now fishing in water that was fully six feet deep, when the float flickered, half-bobbed, then sat still again.  Lifting it out, the hook was bare, but it was a bite!  A few minutes later, the float moved sideways; a fish had hit the line as it swam past.  The tension was mounting.  Sure enough, seconds later the float slid smoothly away.  A firm strike but the fish had gone!!!
 

Another missed bite.  With shaking hands I quickly re-baited.  I hardly dropped the bait in the water and the float bobbed then gently sank from sight.  This time the strike saw the clutch screaming line off, as a very big fish steamed off towards Teignmouth.

 

As it tore off downstream I used my finger to exert increasing pressure on the clutch in an effort to stop the first run.  The rod was 'hooped' into its full test curve and I was putting the maximum side-strain on the fish to try to turn it in its headlong dash.  Still it kept going with over 50 yards of line taken, and the power was immense.  Far out in the distance there was a huge swirl in the water and a momentary glimpse of  a great tail in the murk, then it disappeared.

 

For the next ten minutes battle was well and truly joined.  Something down there was sulking near the bottom  and every so often trundling off in ponderous and unstoppable runs.

 

I've had lots of big Mullet on light lines so all I could do was be patient and wait for the fish to tire.  Eventually, after some 20 minutes there were signs that the fish was beaten; the runs became shorter, and each time I gained a few precious yards back onto the reel.

The water was so thick that it was impossible to see what I was hooked into until it was almost below the rod top.

Suddenly, there was a huge swirl and a great golden slab appeared as the fish rolled on its side.  The mystery fish was revealed as a CARP, and a good one too, well into double figures.
 

The fish was played out and wallowing about.  Slipping the net underneath, there it was.  A beautiful yellowy gold Common Carp, long and lean and in perfect condition.  What a catch!  No scales I had could weigh such a fish, so after a quick photograph, it was gently returned , lazily disappearing back into the depths with a contemptuous flick of its great paddle-shaped tail.

Anything after that was going to be an anti-climax, but as the tide slowly ebbed away I continued to fish.  Patience has its its own reward and some two hours later a few tentative bites developed.  They had to be Mullet; sure enough, the float dipped, and I hooked a heavy fish.  This one tore off line and shook it head violently all the time.  Some time later, a beautiful fish, just on specimen weight, came to the net.
 

The water was fast disappearing and the bites had dried up, so it was time to go. Another memorable days fishing.

 

Every session of fishing is so unpredictable and no two days are the same.  That's what makes it such a great pass-time.
 

 

The capture of the carp set me thinking;  the area I caught it in was strongly tidal and there have been reports of Carp taken much further down the river towards the sea.  It would be interesting to know how tolerant of brackish/salt water these fish are.

Perhaps there is a marine biologist somewhere who could shed light on this matter?