Old gold - part two

Should I go or shouldn't I bother was the question that bounced back and forth in my mind. It had been a busy weekend so far though; swimming lessons with BB early Saturday followed by breakfast in the pub with dad club, then a couple of stops on the way home before the true madness began. Being more of a fan of grubbing round near water than of formal occasions, getting glammed up for one of my brother's weddings was always going to a stressful occasion. Add to that the high temperatures and a three year old sans nap and you've got a rare heady brew. The wedding went well but never underestimate how tiring it is chasing an over excited child and his cousins around a country house in the mid summer heat. 

The next day was no cooler and our sanity came into question as we wandered around with the hordes at Jefferson Gardens 'Art in the Park'. By three pm I was in full doubt of whether it was even worth going out. I felt sure this heat would have the rudd in a frenzy to which they've been rather prone in these conditions. So straight away I knew it would be a last hour job but was it worth it in this heat...all the insects would be having a field day and no doubt the local kids would be swimming in the ressie in this heat, trying their best to make the evening news with their belligerent stupidity...'Bollocks to it', I thought-I had to make the effort if I wanted the prize. Even if I only fished for an hour or two it might be worth it!

I couldn't believe it when I arrived; there was no-one there bar a carp angler and a chap hidden in the reeds down the other end. I had kind of thought I'd arrive to a full car park and all the best swims taken, but here I was with the choice of every swim we'd been baiting up and the only thing effecting my choice was the conditions. Choice is the worst thing in these situations! I had four swims in mind and they all looked equally great. I decided to take my time in choosing, plonked my gear down on the path between the swims and began wandering back and forth between them, wearing my new Fortis glasses hoping something might come to light. 

It turned out half an hour just watching was the best thing to do. One of the swims had noticeably less rudd swimming round in it and that alone is an advantage at this time of year. I stood under a tree watching the water for a while and as I did, something big and golden rolled at the end of the reed bed I was watching. I couldn't decide if it was a big rudd or a crucian, but it was enough to get me fetching the gear to this swim and watching a bit more. Then again I saw another flash of gold as something big rolled further out. Now every time I have seen a crucian at Napton I have caught a crucian and to me it's a sign that they are up for it and all I have to do is get a bait in the right spot. This fish, be it rudd or crucian, seemed to be moving away from the swim I was in. That was it decided; the gear was on the move again before even setting up, to the swim at the opposite end of the small reed bed, thinking they might be going that way.

Fifteen minutes later and I was set up, plumbed up, the ground bait was down and the trap was set. Then the nightmare began. Every time my corn hook bait entered the water the mass of ravenous rudd descended on it, hammering it away before it reached the bottom. My only choice was to employ the loaf of bread I had bought along to pull in the hundreds of ducks that seemed to push the rudd away momentarily, buying enough time for me to carefully drop the bait in place.

Time was ticking away quickly and the rudd were doing there damned best to ruin this session. I wouldn't have minded but the majority of the rudd in my swim were around an ounce too two ounce in weight. I'd be happy with a few big ones here or there but this lot were just pike bait and were basically ruining my chance to actually fish effectively. The rudd went at it constantly the whole session but somehow I managed to get enough hook baits down to the bottom to root out a load of the small younger tench that have appeared recently, as well as a couple of very nice four pounders which had moved in under the rudd madness above.

Having spent so much time at Napton of late I have literally become a human sun dial and can pretty accurately tell at least how much more time I have left to fish. With the sun nearing the dam end of the lake I knew I had forty five minutes to an hour to fish before my gaudy float tip began to blend into the murk. Thankfully the rudd seemed to have shoved off or at least simmered down and now my float sat motionless protruding from the waters mirror-like surface. As I sat there willing either bubbles to rise or the float to slide away, I saw a disturbance just beyond my float indicating a fish had made a big movement just under the surface. It was as I pondered the culprit that a golden head appeared to the right of my float. It rose from the water in almost slow motion till half the fish was exposed to the warm night air before it did a little roll onto its side and disappeared...In no uncertain terms it was a crucian that head and shouldered by my float and instantly I knew I wasn't going home till I had one.

The moments after seeing that fish were some of the most exciting and joyful of my angling life. Bubbles now dimpled the surface and they were not those made by tench. These individual bubbles the size of peas rose and held on the surface film until three or four more rose around them, then they popped almost audibly. I knew it was going to happen; everything was perfect and then the float stuttered under like some pecking little rudd had made off with my bait. I struck expecting nothing and was surprised by resistance, and hard resistance at that. The fish zipped around just like the small tench had done before it but then began circling, holding deep. I dared not believe as I applied gentle pressure to raise it to the surface, but it did not want to come and it dived back deep sending oily swirls up to the surface. Circling again I applied pressure and somewhere in the depths I saw a huge golden shape through the clear water before it broke the surface, a huge golden slab of crucian carp...

I bent over to stare into the net and could hardly discern it from above, it's colour so well matched my net and the bottom of the lake. I could barely catch my breath after holding it so long and it seemed to be totally out of rhythm with my thumping heart beat. Thinking a moment, I stowed it safely in the margin and prepared a suitable place away from its environment for such special prize. The hook was removed in the net and then I lifted this amazing fish up and it suddenly grew bigger as it turned onto its side. On the mat it was huge, bigger than any other crucian I'd seen firsthand from Napton.

This was it! This was the fish I d had been searching for so long and there it lay in front of me nestled in my net atop my unhooking mat. For so long I have studied the previous captures by myself and other anglers. I collected images of all the caught fish and begun to see the individual traits of each. The repeat offenders have become known and with their identification the obvious signs of predation borne by their fins has saddened me. This fish though was new to my eyes and even though it bears the same wear and tear all of its generation does, it still seems sprightly. So long have I theorized that we haven't seen truly how big these fish could grow in this water and again and again I have spouted ideas that bigger fish still could remain un-captured in such a large water and now here I was with the crucian of my dreams in my hands, my heart again thumping, finding myself unable to stop smiling at the sight of such a resplendent fish.

Well this is it, the end of a crucian quest for another year. Going back after more would only serve to taint such a wonderful experience so it's best I think to let the sun set on this campaign knowing full and well that this winters dreams need to be of even bigger ones if they're to draw me back again next year. That's not to say though that I won't go back for a few sessions here and there at Napton, as I have seen a few nice tench rolling during my summer on its banks and of course there is the matter of those roach and pike which could do with addressing in colder climes.