Warwickshire Avon - Brouhaha and Befuddlement

I'd not fished this stretch for a good while, and as I walked down the field with the rod over my shoulder, it felt like I was visiting an old mate I'd somehow neglected. The river had that familiar look about it, clear enough to show every crease and shallow, yet carrying just enough pace to make you believe something decent could turn up at any moment. In winter the place screams chub, proper old warriors that sit in the steady glides and only betray themselves with the odd swirl under a drifting crust. Summer can be even more exciting, because when the bread starts travelling downstream untouched and then suddenly disappears in a confident sip, you know you've found fish that have forgotten how cautious they're supposed to be.Of course, the trouble with chub is that they rarely give you many chances. One fish slips up, the rod hoops over, and the rest of the shoal seem to hold an emergency meeting before vanishing into thin air. I've lost count of the times I've thought I'd cracked…