River rumble in flooded jungle

LOOKING through my old diaries, I can see that I predominantly fish for barbel in the autumn and early winter months.

- STEVE COLLETT

Don’t get me wrong, I love to go fishing in t-shirt weather, but there are many more challenges to face from September onwards. Autumn barbel fishing is not only about the contest between you and a‘Bertie’ (barbel), as it has the lot, becoming a big drama.

The days of strolling down the bank in your shorts, worrying about how much Avon Skin So Soft you are wearing to keep mozzies at bay, are gone. As are the days of just jumping in a peg and relaxing in a fishing chair, just like you would in your armchair at home, and sipping a cold drink.

It’s not all about wading through mud while wearing 20 layers of clothing, trying to prevent your face from melting in the wind chill.

Neither is it just about plonking yourself in a peg, as you’ve now got a mountain to climb, dealing with treacherous, slippy quagmires of mud.

Once you have negotiated the mud, attempting to get into a swim resembles one of those Oriental TV gameshows, such as Takeshi’s Castle, or BBC’s It’s a Knockout. It’s as if your rucksack and tackle becomes an inflatable chicken suit. It’s never a pretty sight.

Then when you are sitting comfortably, you breathe a sigh of relief: ahhhhh! You then get the rods out, thinking that everything else will be easy peasy. Think on, as you now see debris floating past your swim, and I’m talking about logs that resemble crocodiles and trees the size of cars, not forgetting to mention leaves. Sounds great, autumn barbel fishing, doesn’t it?

Well, it is great. It’s the whole challenge that I relish. It’s the smell of fires, the rustling of huge sycamore leaves, the autumn colours, the dodging of conkers falling from above your head, and trying to get a bite.

All of this is subject to the river not lapping over the shopping tills at Tesco, or just swishing over Dave’s Xbox in his living room.