River Colne 30/12/07 (Blast from the Past)

Fresh air, peace and quiet, thinking space and a chance to relax - all the things guaranteed to be AWOL on a typical Christmas day. Hence, why when the opportunity arose for a couple of quiet hours on the river bank today (26/12/07), I leapt at it. Various factors had conspired in the run up to the festive period to prevent any piscatorial adventure, so this was doubly welcome.

The day started with me trying to find my light trotting gear, I found everything eventually, except one thing. Where the *?*£ are my stick floats? I know I have some, I've put them somewhere safe, together in a completely logical place. I just wish I could remember where. Ho hum, an emergency lash up with some pole floats was thus in order.

As I climbed into the car and scraped the ice off the back window, one has to say that the omens were not overly good and the low temperature warning on the car did little to encourage me. Still it's better than another day indoors.

A short drive to the venue, and it was time to get the gear together. Via careful planning and a bit of frugal packing I'd manage to take the bare minimum of gear. Namely, one telescopic rod and reel, landing net and handle, one small rucksack with one small sandwich box of tackle, one bait box with a few red maggots, some hooklengths, camera, scales and catapult. That's it. I like travelling light, there's a nice feel to it and somehow it feels more natural.

I walked around the nearby lake on the way to the river. The ice covering half the surface of the lake did little to encourage me. But still I was out of the house…

I arrived at the first river peg, found about 6 foot of water on the stick float line, pinged in a few maggots and had a few trots through.

Nothing. Then the occasional snag on the bottom and the odd twig. Then some more nothing.

I dropped a few pegs further down. With much the same result.

I passed a few pleasantries with another angler at this point, one of half a dozen or so souls I met in a few hours. I was not alone in my midwinter madness.

Continuing down below the weir and the story was much the same. The pegs were shallower and a bit boily in places, but the result was the same. No bites, no fish, nada. The colour of the river was very grey and I guess the extra flow and salt off the roads may not have helped. Still, I persevered as I continued my wander down the stretch.

I skipped a few pegs that didn't look great or were difficult for casting until I found myself down on peg 17. This had slightly more depth and bit more even flow so I had my usual dozen casts with the stick to see what might be about. Just when I thought it was all over the float went down, and for once it was not a twig or the bottom. The resultant dace, was to say the least, rather paltry. Weighing all of half an ounce it put up a sterling fight as I swung it to hand. Not a monster, but not insignificant - I had saved the blank!

No more fish followed so onwards and downwards I continued, more twigs, more snags until I found myself at the peg opposite the pub. I don't know why but this peg just seemed to hypnotize me as if drawn by some giant alcohol-fuelled magnet. Weird.

Third run down and the float dipped in exactly the same place it had dipped on the previous run-through, I struck expecting the bottom but felt an uncommon resistance. And then it pulled back. Keeping low to the bottom the fish came up the swim towards me, eventually showing the stick float, but refusing to surface. It sat and fought in the current for a few minutes and I wondered what it might be. I also wondered what I should do, 0.08mm line (a little over 1.7lb breaking strain) and a size 20 hook does not bode well for bullying tactics.

Shortly the fish rose, gave a flick of tail and went back again. Looked like a chub. Nice. Next time I was ready, landing net in hand ready to get it… and missed. Bugger, but at least the fish was still on. What felt like hours, but was probably just seconds passed before it surfaced again and this time the net did not miss. Yes, lovely chub.

A quick weigh and a couple of quick photos and the fish was returned to it watery abode. All 4lb 8oz of it - chuffed. I don't catch a lot of decent sized chub generally, and almost never in the winter, so this was more than welcome.

Only time to try one more swim before I had to call it quits and head back home. Nothing at all, except for the attentions of the local cheeky robin, a fed him a few maggots and started the walk back to the car.

It had been a pleasant few hours, a bit of peace and quiet, a couple of fish, some fresh air, some exercise and break from the norm - all for the price of a few maggots and a bit of spare time.

And all inside the M25 - who could ask for more?

October Weight (Blast from the Past)

Had a very pleasant session yesterday (14-10-07) on Willows Lakes near St Albans. I won't describe the venue in detail here, but this is where I often go when I'm looking to bag up and fancy a few fish, with the main targets being the bream with the odd carp thrown in for good measure.

I arrived at the venue at about 0710 and proceeded down the right hand side of the match lake to find many of the end pegs free. This was quite a surprise as these are normally full of bivvies (especially on a Sunday), but not to look a gift horse on the mouth, I quickly got my gear on the bank and started setting up.

I was pleased to note significant quantities of bubbling going on at about 30-40m out, which I assumed were bream, so I decided to follow my usual plan of trying to draw the fish on to the pole line with a backup plan of going out on the feeder is this failed.

Initial attack was a pot full of 4mm pellets at 11m, and set up suitable rigs while this had a few minutes to settle. Although we are well into the throws of Autumn, the weather has been mild, so my initial plan was large expander pellet attack on heavy gear, dropping back to smaller pellets if bites did not materialize.

Rig was therefore 0.20mm line, 1.0g Drennan series 6 float, 3 x no.1 shot and a size 8 Drennan barbless carp feeder hook with a 12mm expander pellet. The peg was between 5 and 6 feet deep, so although the float may seem heavy, the venue is very exposed and so heavy ripple can develop quickly. Experience has proven that a heavier rig and the option to drag the bait on the bottom is a good idea.

After a few minutes, a few knocks and a few air strikes, I finally made contact with a fish and the no.22 elastic started to emerge from the pole in the classic 'that aint no bream' pose. A brief fight later and a common carp of 7lb 8oz was in the landing net. This was a very encouraging start, 0745 on an October morning and the carp were feeding. Bites continued without ever being rapid and further carp of 7-8 and 8-0 were added to a 2lb skimmer in the first hour. (Now you see why I use the heavy gear). The fish were happy to take big baits, even in October, so I persevered and tried to make the most of it.

Bites continued for the next few hours, but then the problems started. Liners. One of the problems with the venue is that a lot of fish come through the swim at mid depth and because of the weight of the bait, you often get very good looking line bites, you strike, you connect, the elastic zings out and then it all comes pinging back spooking several fish in the process. Today was no exception…

More potted in feed helped the problem by drawing the fish down, but did not eradicate the problem entirely. But despite the problems of foul-hookers I continued to amass fish. The odd bream (typically 2-3lb, but the odd smaller one) punctuated one of the better carp sessions I've had on the lake, 3-4 fish an hour mostly between 6 and 9 pound really started to accumulate my overall weight. Two 12 pounders, both mirrors, helped also and as the day progressed the weight was really starting to build.

However, the liners continued to frustrate. Changing the feeding pattern, the depth, the elastic, the rig did not help at all. At some point it felt like I was losing 2 carp for each on landed, although I suspect the true ratio was closer to 1 to 1, annoying. 

So, after a very dull last hour, highlight of which was the capture of a stunned looking 4lb tench, I finally gave in a packed up. I had had a really good day, the best October weight ever for me at 193lb, but still left wondering what might have been. What should I have done, if only I'd landed a few more of those liners… then what might have been?

The Tench Lake (Blast from the Past)

July 2007

Following on from last week's 'thoroughly enjoyable session' I felt a change of scenery was in order, so I decided to do something a bit different. Having located another of my new clubs' water I snuck off on Friday evening for a few hours targeting some rather elusive, although pleasantly sized tench. My source in rumour control (or the local tackle shop, if you prefer) stated that the fish were a good average size, with the smallest fish usually starting at about 6lb. However, catches were few and far between with one or two fish in a short session considered to constitute a good day.

So setting off in high hopes I found myself, and after an unpleasantly long walk in muggy conditions, ensconced on bank of said venue, a smallish, but mature, gravel pit. It was going to be difficult - clear water, overhanging bushes, heavy weed, an awkward wind and a stiff breeze meant that catching would be tough.

To cut a long story short, it was. The first hour passed easily enough fishing the waggler with corn or maggot to the side of a large set of lily pads, but bites were not to be forthcoming. So, plan B, the pellets 10metres off in the right hand edge which had been producing so many promising bubbles, was employed, nothing there either. This was closely followed by plan C, the tactic of chasing the bubbles under the tree to the left, this, unfortunately, was also met with a similar result.

So rotation was the order of the day, when suddenly out of nowhere the float went down, a sudden strike, a faint moment of resistance and the waggler suddenly propelled over my right shoulder by the straightening rod. Slightly encouraged it was time to persevere, re-feed, re-focus and re-examine the waggler as it settled in the surface film with the promise of more action to come.

Then in happened, the float went down, the strike, a firm contact, and then, that moment of delight that spurs us on, that promise of a personal best, the one that got away, that childhood dream, a record, a picture in AT, a gorgeous green flanked beauty was, hopefully, making its way towards my landing net. The fish had other ideas, it decided it was going to be a three ounce perch and no amount of visionary thinking was going to change its opinion on the matter. I was devastated.

In fact, I was to be devastated again, and again. And a short while after that, again. In fact over the next hour I proceeded to be devastated a total of six times, before a combination of insect bites, from midges with fangs to match Esther Rantzen's, and failing light led to the termination of my short session chasing these less-spotted tincas.

I will be back. If only to see the kingfishers again, and once hopefully to see one fishing rather than the usual high-speed glimpse of electric blue as they skim by with effortless grace. Or maybe to see the 'one way warbler' that kept flying by from right to left - how does that work? And why never from left to right? Or maybe to dream further of those olive-skinned beauties and soak in some of that rare British countryside that had eluded me that evening.

I will be back.

Thoroughly enjoyable session (Blast from the past)

Originally written July 2007

Had a thoroughly enjoyable session on a new venue for me yesterday and thought I would share. Having had a rather disappointing session on Saturday morning at a local commercial-type venue I decided a change was in order and headed down to a local club lake for Sunday afternoon.

I'd not fished the venue before (I'd only seen in once in the dead of winter), and having gathered a few snippets of information from the local tackle shop, so I thought what the heck, I would fish pellet on the pole and see if the rumoured bream and carp would show. I'd been told not to expect too much, whilst there were a head of both bream and carp in the venue, it was far from commercial levels of stocking. In fact the advice was, go fish the far (shallow) end, it's a bit slow, you should catch on pellet although expect a good wait between bites and it's about 3 foot deep. A quick check on previous matches showed the 20-30lb was a typical winning weight, so bag-up city it most definitely was not.

So arriving at about 2:30 in the afternoon I headed off to the far end of the lake and one could not help but notice the large carp-shaped things cruising just below the surface. Quite a few fish, low doubles I'd guess including some very attractive looking ghosties. This was encouraging, although the 'no surface baits' rule put paid to the obvious tactics.

Suffice to say I got to the peg, potted in a few pellets to kick start the swim and got busy getting organised. Initial set up was a longish rig for plumbing up. I plumbed up, it disappeared, 3 foot, indeed. A quick rig set up on the bank and we were back in business, with 15 foot of water.

Hmm, note to self: I must teach the folks in the tackle shop how to count, if only they'd make the same mistakes with the pricing.

Anyway, just before 3pm I was ready to fish. One 11mm expander on the hook, ship out, feed the main line, feed the swim by the snags in the left hand margin and wait. And waited, and then, I waited some more.

After about 15 minutes I started to get a few knocks on the float and a few bubbles in the swim. Not proper bites, but the sort of thing you get when there are fish milling about, but not really feeding. After 3 or 4 air strikes (the type when you strike into nothing as opposed to the type over Afghanistan) which I assumed were small skimmers, I struck and finally made contact. The fish came up in the water like a dream, to a point about 3 foot from the top and followed me in as a shipped back, giving me all the tell tale bream signs, I slowly eased the pole back when somehow the bream underwent a metamorphosis into an angry common carp that suddenly decided that an excursion to the left hand snag was greatly preferable to having to look at my face.

Despite my best attempts to lose the fish in one of its three forays into the roots, I finally slipped the landing net under a lovely, dark common that just touched 7lb on the scales. Well that was a nice bonus I thought.

So back it was out again, a few more pellets, and following another wait, a repeat performance (with a little less root action), another, almost identical common of 6lb 8oz. At this point an hour had passed but with only two bites and lots of knocks I decided to change the hook size down and go in again with a soft 6mm pellet on the hook.

20 minutes later, bite, strike, lots of elastic and after initially minor runs an explosion in the water saw a spirited ghostie on the end of the line. Despite its early indications or a gentle fight, this was one carp that was not going to surrender easily, but nevertheless and despite numerous misses with the landing net, eventually it graced the bank, a gorgeous ghostie of 13lb 9oz.

Another carp, and suddenly bream started to appear, give or take all about the 5lb mark, as bites became more frequent and my ongoing tally of weight started to tick over at an increasing rate. Never rapid, never one after another, but definitely no longer having to wait 30 minutes for a bites, the odd carp and a few that escaped (probably foul-hooked in the deep water).

Suddenly the tally was climbing with the bream really starting to add to the weight, before I knew it I'd hit the 87lb mark, then along came a cracking 8lb common to make it 95lb. At that point a passing angler, who'd just packed up, came to watch me and the bites…. stopped.

A few switches later, inside line, deeper, shallower, different hook size, another foul-hooker screamed off before getting free. It was all looking like curtains as darkness was starting to threaten when I tried a grain of sweetcorn for change. (I'd tried this a few times earlier in the day with no success at all). The float settled and then was gone, another 5lb bream into the net and the 'ton' broken.

A few more minutes produced another carp of 5lb, before packing up and a quick drive home to a quick round of the, now, infamous "where have you been husband?" game.

So there you have it, a hundred pound of fish (11 bream & 7 carp) caught in just under 6 hours from a new water, and, I have to sense with a great sense of achievement. But, now in the cold light of day, I cant help wondering why…

Now I've caught bigger fish on the pole, and recently for that matter, and I've put together bigger bags of fish. I've caught faster and arguable fished better.

I did enjoy throwing a few pellets to the family of baby geese that kept passing through the swim. And there was a certain enjoyment from observing the kamikaze moorhen in the nearby tree that did not so much go for a swim as made a semi-controlled bellyflop from tree to water?

I did also have a sense of excitement during the session that I don't normally experience, was it the virgin water, or was it the snags that adorned both sides of the peg that made any bite an adventure waiting to happen?

Was it the friendly club members I spoke to on the bank, including the "I've never seen anyone fish the pole down here before" statement? (I suspect that might change) and the friendly shake of the hand and a "well done mate" as I passed the 100lb mark.

I don't think I know, I could sit and ponder this for a while, but d'you know what, I don't think I will. All I know is this that work today was slightly less objectionable than normal because of the wonderful sport we share.

I’ll be back

The passing of a legend (Blast from the past)

Today the carp world is mourning the passing of the carp fishing legend Nobby the Knobbler*.

Nobby was found floating belly-up in the margins of a secret syndicate lake this Monday and weighed in at 325lb 12oz – well above his previous PB. The cause of death in uncertain, but it is rumoured that Nobby may have had a heart attack after finding himself tethered to a braided rig that he had just cast out and had thus over-exerted himself trying to reach the steaming vindaloo in his bivvy.

Scandalous rumours circulating on the internet that he was found in possession of large quantities of pole lubricant and an unusually shaped black spod rocket "about his person" have been vehemently denied.

Nobby was a model angler – he rarely moved, he smelt of glue and many of the smaller parts did not quite fit. He will be remembered for his many nighttime vigils at all the ‘in’ venues of the carp world. Although he never did anything for anyone else, caught anything of note or was even basically sanitary, he was a legend in his own cesspit. Just to be in Nobby’s presence was too much for many carpers, and many a dedicated carp angler has been reduced to tears within just a few minutes with Nobby.

Several well-known tackle companies have clubbed together to purchase a new bin liner for the venue where he was found, but unfortunately none of the resident carpers knew what is was (despite the company branding), so it was left adorning the nearest hawthorn bush as a tribute.

Nobby will be laid to rest in the middle of Wraysbury reservoir in the traditional manner. A large dingy containing his remains will be rowed out to a featureless gravel patch in the middle of the night and then his remains will be dumped along with a good helping of pellet and boilies from his main bait sponsor.

The original plan, to suspend Nobby by his ankles using 1000lb braid from a nearby tree, whereby ensuring a steady trickle of maggots into the margins was decided against since the water has a strict no pre-baiting policy.

Afterwards a small wake is to be held on the bank near Nobby’s favourite peg “the sh*thole". Anglers are invited to leave there own marks of respect at the temporary shrine (a Lidl bag full of rubbish hanging from the tree) that was been left by wellwishers. Please feel free to defecate, urinate, belch, fart and litter the peg as you see fit – it’s what Nobby would have done.

Nobby leaves a wife, two teenage boys (one of whom he spoke to once) and 50kg of mouldy 12mm halibut pellets in the shed. Offers are invited for the pellets.

*Name changed to prevent the inevitable liable case

Quiet

Ok, so I've not been posting much recently. This has a lot to do with the fact I've not been fishing. Crap weather and a flooded local river (my usual refuge at this time of year) and put paid to my plans.

I have, however, found some of my old articles that I've written over the years in various places on the web - so I will be publishing some of these in the coming weeks labelled as 'Blast from the past'.

I hope you enjoy reading them.