Bob Dellar

  • Clarissa, a catfish and the Frankenpike.
    From the minute the bite alarm announced her presence on that beautiful late summer morning to the bitter sweet moment I watched her great, golden shoulders slide back into the pellucid depths of Marsh Lake, I knew I’d been in the company of one of nature’s rarities, a real gem.
  • The River Prince: An Encounter With A Wye Barbel
    This was my very first trip to the Wye and I have to tell you that it’s as impressive a river as I’ve ever seen, truly magnificent.
  • Two PB’s In One Day! I must be dreaming…
    Then the old warrior came, and by God he fought. He wasn’t pretty but I was very, very pleased to meet him, my biggest tench ever at 7.4lb.
  • Casting Like A Dead Man: My Feeble attempts At Fly Fishing, Plus A Near Death Experience.
    My first trip to Corrib, a vast glacial lake covering an area of sixty eight square miles, was a highly enjoyable, but fairly frustrating soirée into the deep and windswept end of wild lough fishing.
  • A Useful Brother In Law, Or How I Started Fishing.
    My swim was next to a gnarled willow amongst a drift of nodding Bulrush. It took me a while to set up my fishing tackle as I was so enthralled by the teeming life around me.
  • The Night of the Five Pound Tench
    It was indeed a beast. I couldn’t believe it at the time and even now, forty three years later, I still can’t believe it. A five pound tench in 1978 was a very large fish.
  • The Carp and I. Part 2
    Despite my reservations about modern-day carp fishing, I still find them a fascinating fish. It’s their propensity for huge size, wiliness, sheer power and, let’s face it, breath taking beauty that attracts me to them.
  • The Carp and I. Part 1
    In a flash my attention was centred entirely on the fishing as the red bottle top crashed into the rod butt and line zipped from the reel.
  • Stour Diaries: Two Sessions To End The Season.
    So off I went with my new Shakespeare 10ft trotting rod, (great for small rivers), a pint of mixed and my dog Indy. It was a bright day with a brisk easterly wind but the river itself had some colour and a bit of pace so I was hopeful.
  • A Tale of Four Weir Pools
    I’m drawn to weir-pools, from boy to man they’ve always held a fascination. It’s their differentness, and the fact they add mystery and potential to a river that for the majority of its course flows evenly and true and then there’s a weir, like a twist in a novel you didn’t expect.
  • Call of the pike part 2 (with a chub thrown in).
    There is something compelling about pike. Of all our freshwater fish their call, for me, is the most insistent. They are the black-eyed death-dealer of our fresh waters, the equaliser, the remorseless destroyer without whom natural balance would falter.
  • The Call Of The Pike Part 1
    Painting: Ice river by Bob Dellar