Having gotten my first session on the river out of the way and gained a bit of confidence, I jumped at the chance to get out again. This time, I fancied a different stretch. Referring back to the google earth map I put together of all the local nigh fishing spots, I soon found the one I was looking for.

When going through the painstaking process of finding each stretch of river and adding it onto the map, one piece in particular caught my eye. Whereas most sections were located near towns, alongside major roads, and often opposite resedential or built up areas, one seemed to be in the middle of a huge forest and accessible only by a tiny track you could barely make out on the ariel photograph - perfect!

Once again armed with a sheaf of maps, directions, local regulations and the all important ‘drivetime’ playlist on the ipod, I set off in the car out into the wilderness. Of the hour and twenty minutes I spent winding my way through the French countryside, only 10 or 15 minutes was spent on roads that I couldn’t leap across with a fair run up, and where meeting another car involved a heart churning test of faith: swerving into the overgrown verges and hoping to god that there wasn’t a drainage ditch concealed beneath the vegetation. Exciting stuff.

On my arrival, after a steep descent into a valley, I stepped out of the car and was hit by the smell of burning rubber. Not my tires, I hoped, and instead something to do with the larger electricity dam I was parked up next to. With map in hand I wandered down below that dam and found the river. It was a beautiful sight, but one that brought mixed emotions. Clearly this stretch was very hard flowing, and judging my the white water frothing away, pretty rocky and snaggy - a far cry from the narrow pleasant stretch I was on the week before. Thankfully, my confidence was restored as I walked further down; though the river remained fast, it became wider and looked infinitely more fishable. After a few words with a local roach angler to check I was on the right stretch, I headed back to bring the car down and take a closer look.

After some deliberation I settled on a swim that gave me access to the widest part of the river. On the far bank there were overhanging trees, and in front of me a sandy slope that dropped off suddenly and gave way to the main flow of the river. After unloading all the gear and starting to set up my first rod, I took a moment to stop and think carefully about what I was doing. The ground underfoot was very wet, and i’d seen a sign upstream warning about sudden changes in the water level. The weather was hot and clear, but I decided to move a peg further down, where there was much more of a drop between the water and the bank - Mr Cautious as ever.

The new peg was narrower, and it took my heaviest leads to comfortably hold bottom. Even then, the inescapable bow in the line caused by the weight of the current took some getting used to - even with my rods as high out of the water as possible. In truth it was a frustrating afternoon; the sense that I was out of my depth taking on a flow like this was exacerbated by the increasing closeness and humidity. Still, by around 6pm I had my rods positioned and had baited with heavy balls of method that I hoped would make it to the riverbed before breaking up and scattereing the boilies inside them. Hoped…

Around this time another angler arrived and set up in the swim I had first looked at. A young French carp angler, we soon got chatting and he showed me some pictures of fish from that stretch. There were some lovely fish there, and although he said the fishing was difficult my spirits were bouyed. I watched his approach and it wasn’t far different from my own, so at least I wasn’t making obvious mistakes.

The evening progressed and rain increasingly threatened, but failed to arrive. I recast the rods and upped the lead size on one to around 220grams. This was a makeshift job of two smaller ‘trilobe’ leads strapped back to back, but it seemed to hold much better and I was actually feeling quite good at this stage. A big ‘donk’ on one of my rod tips, and a fish crashing upstream served only to further my optimism.

As darkness fell rain arrived, along with some lightning off in the distance. The rain was never heavy, and so when my left hand rod signalled a bite I was up and out of my sleeping bag in a shot. Heart in my mouth, I lifted the rod and was gutted to feel no resistance - my first bite and I missed it! I recast and was just lying on my bedchair waiting for my heart rate to reach normal levels again when my other rod signalled a slow, steady take! Strike, again, nothing. Gutted. I recast and tried to work out if I was doing anything obvious wrong.

It turns out I was, by failing to notice that the river had risen 6 inches and turned into a raging torrent! The young lad next to me had all four of his rods wiped out shortly after both mine ‘ripped off’ again, and it was then we noticed his pod on the verge of disappearing in the increased flow. Where I had planned to fish was now underwater - boy was I glad to be in a safer swim nextdoor.

With both my rods reeled in, even a 300gram lead wouldn’t hold in this, I slept well and woke at first light next to a angry, swirling chocolate coloured beast, that resembled in no way the same river I had fallen asleep next to the evening before. The French lad was already packed up and sleeping in his car, and I was glad when he emphatically declared the river “Impechable!” - saved me the nagging doubt that I just wasn’t up to it.

So, defeated by the conditions - brought on by heavy, heavy rainfall upstream, I set off back on the windy road home. If my first trip had been a learning experience, this one had been doubly so. It was that which kept a smile on my face, despite the odd involuntary shake of my head at the bad luck of it all. Never mind, next time!

Stumble it!