We British love a bit of dreadful weather. Yes, let’s stop pretending we don’t, gassing about it is part of our national character. As the shock-tastic annual tabloid headlines suggest (the worst winter since what… the one you reported last year?), we love to act stunned, even though we live on a wet, windy island.

The faux panic is especially succulent. Two millimetres of dandruff-level snow and you can see them all prepping for armageddon down at Morrisons, while rapidly being called to cancel all non-essential journeys.

Talking of non-essential journeys, blizzard weather like we have at present is always weirdly tempting for a keen angler. There’s that suspicion that your favourite venue will be deserted. There’s also a natural curiosity that demands to know if fish are still catchable. And, naturally, with Instagram the crack cocaine of the 21st Century angler, everyone seems to want pictures of fish in the snow. But is silly-level winter weather actually worth bothering with?

There is no simple answer, I’m afraid. It’s very much a case of know your venues and pick species with care. If I had to pick just a handful of fish to target in seriously cold weather, pike, grayling, chub and rainbow trout would probably be the ones most likely to offer hope. Stable weather also tends to be best- in other words a steady spell of cold is better than right on a sudden snap- or that horrible situation when an already cold water gets a load of melting snow or sleet dumped into it. Heck, whatever I say, you diehards are going to have a go anyway, right?

I can remember a lot of numb, absolutely rubbish sessions over the years, to be fair. However, looking out of the window this week as my daughter gets way too excited at the slushy, Devon version of Frozen forming outside, I also find myself smiling at various fond memories of surprisingly good days. And I’m still alive and typing this, correct?

Big Freeze on the River Severn

Ok, so some sessions stand out more than others. One that was a lot of fun and unforgettable for the scenery was a fishing trip on the River Severn, ten or so years ago with Norbert Darby. It’s a mark of the man’s humour that during the drive up, from minus twelve degrees at daybreak, he was talking nonsense about dares involving swimwear. And what crazy scenes!

The Severn, for those who don’t know it, is a big and powerful river. This visit, on our arrival it had frozen from bank to bank through central Worcester for the first time in nearly 100 years. Being big silly kids, we loved it. On the bridges and railings, there were insanely big icicles, several feet long, the sort your inner ten-year-old picks off to use for sword fights. Other things we did between casts included creating armchairs out of snow (Norbert still proclaims that his was better and more comfortable than any Fox fishing chair- and probably lasted longer).

But what on earth were we even thinking of, travelling down with fishing rods? I can imagine being given a stern talk by someone from the AA, with a face like a wounded puppy. Not sure I’d do it all again today.

My abiding memory is that we scouted around looking for any slack we could to try and fish for pike, after meeting up with Norbert’s pals Jim and Dick. We found a spot on the outskirts of town that had some nice clear water close in and chanced our arm. I swear the cold does things to your head, because we also tried the bizarre trick of injecting our deadbaits with vodka. I’d read somewhere about this being a trick used in the far East of Europe, something to do with alcohol not freezing and allowing the oily insides of the bait to disperse far and wide.

Norbert probably thought this was a terrible waste. I, on the other hand, have no special love for vodka. I’ve been to enough Polish weddings and parties with my wife’s family to know what destructive, shudder-inducing poison it is. The weirdest thing was, it actually worked. Well, for one bite. Norbert’s float popped once and took a very slow walk. There was a sluggish fight and a lovely low double came to the net. It probably wanted the booze more than the protein. Brrrrrrr.

Poles and Pike Flies on the Somerset Levels

Another memorable session was on a slow-flowing river in Somerset. Looking back, I’m not sure how it ever seemed a good idea. It was brutal on the morning- snow everywhere and it had only risen to minus six as we tackled up. I remember being impressed with my mate Seb Nowosiad’s driving, never mind his dedication.

In a week when the media had been wailing and gnashing teeth, warning everyone that driving to get a pint of milk could be fatal, here we were, cruising happily down completely white backroads (if there’s only one thing you glean from this blog about winter fishing, it’s have a reliable vehicle, with proper tyres that have deep treads!). Seb had been working as a delivery driver at the time and never stopped. His logic was that if he was able to keep working, he was more than able to keep fishing.

The scenes were beautifully surreal. At the time, only a bit of mucilin from my fly vest stopped the rod rings from icing up entirely. I’ve since found that olive oil is even better, in a little spray dispenser- and can even be rubbed into your reel line or leader material (thanks, David West Beale).

To cut a long, cold story short, the fishing was surprisingly good. I had a total of six pike, all on a bright yellow fly. That joyous feeling of “I’m not mad- this is actually working!” made the catches all the more enjoyable. I think the biggest of the lot was about six pounds, but it was a wonderful session. I seem to remember there was a hip flask involved at some point- but this time it was imbibed rather than injected.

I can’t remember many similarly successful other trips in such crazy weather, to be fair. Lots with just one or two fish… or nothing, though! But what a feeling to succeed against the odds. This is the challenge of fishing. You and the elements, and you have to love a bit of adversity. In the last cold snap it got to minus four for a day’s piking on the Levels, with just one pike to show for an entire day- but a good one at 8-10lbs on a small shad fished low and slow.

If you’re mad enough, there is usually a way- and it usually involves running waters, where the pike are perhaps a little more active (and not under ice!). I still run guided pike fly and lure fishing sessions right through winter, most of which still result in a bite or three, if you’re brave enough!

Ice Fishing for Char

As bitter as winters can get in Britain, the most extreme fishing I have ever done has to be in Northern Norway, where ice fishing allows play to continue right through the grimmest days. Otherworldly doesn’t get close to the atmosphere. Had I not been with my mate Geir Sivertzen and a local guide, I wouldn’t even have been able to tell where the actual lakes were, because all you could see were vast fields of white!

Aside from using a big corkscrew drill and the shortest rod you ever saw outside a toy shop, the surprise for me was how shallow you could catch fish. Sometimes we would peer through the holes we’d made to spot our quarry in as little as six feet of water- and the target was the Arctic Char.

We caught plenty, frying the odd one in butter, drinking whisky and camping out on the ice in temperatures that dropped below -20! My beard and even my eyebrows actually froze while I was fishing… now that’s cold. But for more bonkers details and other bits of very unusual or downright daft fishing I’ve done over the years, you’ll have to grab a copy of my book Crooked Lines (treat yourself- it’s only a tenner). 

Until next time, stay warm and don’t forget to pick up the Angling Times for more of my writing this week. Current topics include how to turn following fish into takers, winter roach fishing and a hilarious conversation with a man who must be one of Devon’s most glorious angling gossips and liars…seven-pound perch from a pint-sized Devon backwater? You heard it here first!