Close encounters of the furry kind.

Prior to leaving for the weekend I made the hard decision to not do any sea fishing when I visited Suffolk. I suspected it could be a decision I might rue, but truthfully I needed a rest. Like many, my work goes the floods and ebbs and the months leading up to this mini-break had not certainly been a flood. It can be hard to admit as a normally highly dedicated angler, but the idea of standing on a north wind battered beach on a late November morning really held little appeal right now. So with a heavy heart I concluded to leave the big guns at home and opt to just take the easy option filling a few hours of free time closer to warmth, chasing pike and perch in the marinas near our temporary home.

The marinas to which I refer for most of the year offer consistent sport of all kinds and the broad  which they flank has a very good reputation for pike... big pike! With this in mind I took along two outfits. One capable of handling any essox from Jack right through Jill, and the other was just a general float outfit intended to fill the moments between runs. I have in the past made absolute commitment to pike fishing and on such occasions after a few action less days have found myself considering buying cheap rod and reel combos just too break the monotony. So rather than over commit, it seemed best to edge my bets and try to keep my options open.

I never intended to push my luck after arriving by chancing a quick session, but my when other half developed a migraine after a run in with some overly bright shop lighting, all that changed. Hoping to save the first day of the break, she headed for the darkness of a curtained bedroom to try and sleep it off. So I diligently did as I was told and cleared off fishing to give JB some peace and quiet.

The broad was interesting to say the least. With the north east wind ripping across the broad it actually had proper white horses forming across its breadth. The marinas were not much better as the entrances, though small, are positioned on the north side, thus allowing the dissipating mini waves to coarse right in. For piking the conditions looked spot on and excitedly I shot a sprat into a gully where I was sure a pike might lurk. In the meantime I began plying some casters into the clear water hoping focus the roach I was sure that would be sheltering in the marinas.The cut and thrust of it was I could not buy a bite for love nor money. In the end as dark crept in I switched to my ever faithful perch rig to try see if any obliging perch were around. Luckily two tiny Sargent's saved the day just as dusk fell. Walking away I was shocked at my struggle to find fish when I had been lead to believe these marinas were winter hot spots for sheltering fish.

The morning after the night before I was up well before dawn. After the shocking lack of bites I knew I had to try a locate some decent populations of fish to try and eek any modicum of success on any front. The broad could not have been any more different to the previous days incarnation; the waves were gone and in the moonlight the surface was like giant mirror in the freezing cold motionless morning air.

This was perfect for my needs, as even the tiniest movement would have easily been spotted. Over night I had morphed into something like a carp angler trying to locate signs of feeding fish in order to know where to set camp. A whole hour was wasted on this fruitless endeavour, as not so much as fish fart was spotted. In the end I had no choice but to just go for it in what I hoped might be a productive area. Having the day before seen how clear the water was I totally re-rigged using what I thought might be an inconspicuous rig that incorporated a small crystal waggler and virtually visible line.

To cut a long story short I kept mobile and over the next few hours fished four different marinas trying to locate fish. And truth of it is that for my efforts I had managed to catch a single perch. Thinking these perch might be my best option should I manage a second short session around dusk, I quite literally puréed a handful of worms and pre baited two spots just in case I got back in time for another try.

With the days currently so short it was only fleeting day trip before I was back. My other half is a truly good egg and is very tolerant of my incessant need to angle. So she duly shooed me off to try and grab a few hours before the sun disappeared behind the reeds. It looked spot on conditions as I trundled towards the waters edge. The mornings blue sky had be replaced by unbroken roof of grey which now retained any warmth built up by the sun. A slight ripple constantly wobbled across the waters surface and I knew if any fish were going to feed it would be tonight as dusk came in.

I went straight to the baited spots and settled in. I had purposely baited the two areas so as I could fish them from one spot, thus removing any need for a time wasting moves. The broad had swollen up with the tide through the day and now I had an extra three feet of water on top of the mornings depth. My float fished pike rod was cast just onto the slope of the boat channel that ran along the centre of the marina in case any patrolling pike should come along. That set I went about searching out my pre baited spots. 

The first half an hour passed away quickly with no more than what I would call half a bite. I was beginning to think it was about to be a total wash out when something big swirled right at my feet. I stared intently a the fizzing patch of disturbed water expecting to see the flaring gills of a pike. That was all I needed to make moves to reel my dead bait in and reposition it right next to the bank. My pike rod was actually on my left hand side out the way of my float rod and so when I picked it up I had to pass it from one hand to the other. It was as I did this that I heard the water splash again. Instantly I stopped what  I was doing. After uncrossing my arms looked down past my feet and came face to face wiht not a pike, but an otter!

I just stared at this perplexed looking furry faced critter and it stared back. For a moment I thought if I moved it would just disappear but as I slowly lowered the rod to one side it just looked at me unconcerned. Now I took my chances and reached into my bag for my camera which was positioned just under the unzipped flap. In the time it took my damn camera to make that beboopboop sound the very relaxed otter sauntered along the tyres which prevent moored boats from hitting the concrete bank, sat down and began cleaning its paws. Still not bothered by my presence it went about its business as I manoeuvred myself to try and get a good shot.

It's surprising how hard it is to get good shots of these fidgety creatures. Being in such a flap just to catch a shot I never thought to flip my camera in multiple shot mode and instead tried to just get as many as I could manually with that irritating processing pause between each shot costing me valuable time.

After allowing me only moments to get one decent shot of it about to dive back, the otter slid almost silently into the water. With it gone I just sat in shock thinking, did that just happen. Then from behind a row boats I heard a big splash and ripple soon emanated into open water. I knew the chances of me getting any bites now was about as likely as me winning the lottery, so I concluded to retrieve my gear and go off and see if I could get any better photos before the light went.

For the next forty minutes I followed the otter all around the marina as it dived again and again working its way methodically under the boats. Once I had it targeted I actually found it very easy to track, as when they are under water otters seem to send a constant foot wide stream of fizzing bubble up to the surface. Every now and again a head would pop up and I'd try to snap a shot which ultimately ended up with me having some twenty or more shots of where the otter once was. However I was surprised to see how little the fellow actually caught. Assuming I am correct in thinking that otters have to surface to eat, this one caught a single roach of maybe two ounces and found what I can only assume was a small bunch of zebra mussels in the entire time I was watching it.

It was boredom or lack of quarry that seemed to inspire it to move on and this resulted in my second really close encounter. Quite relaxed and really not bothered by this camo clad beast that was staring, it wandered straight up a boat ramp to within feet of me, before turning tail and wandering off down the path.

It looked like it was about to dive back in on the opposite side of the marina but then suddenly veered off . After rolling around under a speed boat drying its self off on the concrete it just got up and tootled off into the buses close to the marina.

After my excitement had died away later in the evening I pondered the encounter. I know that on small/medium big fish rivers it seems likely that otters have undoubtedly had an effect, and that on unprotected carp fisheries it's like an all you can eat buffet for them. But on these massive open water ways I suspect life is not going to be as easy as grabbing an overfed carp from an over stocked fishery. The otter I had seen was having to do a lot of work for very little return and I truthfully think that it and others present will make little difference on such a massive waterway. In no way did I actually ever think that this otter might be responsible for the poor fishing. In fact quite the opposite! It actually showed me there were fish hiding away in the marinas, just that my tactics seemed unable to catch me any of them.

With one last chance I seriously went hardcore to catch some fish. Float boxes were turfed out and the lightest float I had was threaded onto my line. Scratching around I located the smallest size hooks I had and the bread bin was raided. Then at first light I gently plumbed up the very area where I had seen the otter close to the boats, before half throwing and half spooning two handfuls of bread slop in. I had no choice but to actually fish bread punch. Yes, me, the one of the agricultural rig, fishing slop and punch in a desperate attempt to catch fish. Anyone who has knows me knows that me fishing punch is like a gorilla riding a really tiny little bike! But what the hell, needs must eh?

Lo and behold it damn well worked. After only moments of that tiny speck of bread sinking, the float dithered before half dipping and bang, a little roach.

I have never been so happy to catch a little roach as that one, and it didn't stop there either. The next three hours saw me doing a rather convincing impression of a match angler. Constantly trickling in small amounts of bread slop to cloud the water with shower of tiny particles kept the roach moving. The float was barely still and even with me hitting only one in five bites I managed to build up a respectable amount of precious silvers.

Thinking back now I was exactly right about me regretting not doing some sea fishing, but I did manage to relax whilst still catching some fish in the end. As an angler I know I am are meant to be a venomous hater of the now demonised otter. But I have to say that  my close encounter where I could practically smell the fish on ones breath actually has to have been the highlight of my trip away. Even more controversially I have to be thankful for it turning up, as had it not I would have never had known there was actually was some fish present.

A perfect start.

I was all alone as I crept along the causeway which intersects the lakes, not one other angler was present and neither was the owner John, who I had passed leaving as I arrived. We have known each other for so many years now that he has no problems entrusting the keys to the fishery to me and leaving me alone for the evening.
For the time of year it was relatively quiet on both pools. The constantly bickering Canadian geese were off in the farmers fields risking their necks to steal fresh shoots for a pre-roost snack. As for the other avian occupants of the trees, it was a little hard to hear their calls due to the remnants of the strong south west wind still howling through the trees that make up the spinney that surrounds the lake. But it was that wind that had drawn me to the causeway as I knew that's where the last warm rays of the days sun would fall, warming the water as it did.

As approached the first of the three snaggy areas I was headed for, I spotted two dark shapes sink slowly into the ripple and out into the lake. Maybe my presence had sent them off, maybe my stalking skills were a bit rusty after a few years away from such malarkey's. With only a bag of freebies in hand I stopped anyway to scatter a few sparing handfuls just off the snag hoping there may be a few unseen fish lingering around. Through my polarised lenses I could see the free baits slowly sinking out of sight. As the second handful sank, a shoal of rudd came firing through the falling baits, jerkily grabbing them as they. It must have been warming up if they were feeding so high in the water.

The next spot showed not so much as a oily swirl as I sneaked in. I watched for a few minutes before again baiting close enough to fish but not so close as I couldn't cast, before moving onto my third and favourite spot. What I found was exactly what I wanted. I believe on all lakes and ponds there is a quiet corner that is so often ignored and it is in that corner that more often than not that any flotsam and scum collects. On this woodland lake that scum line means guaranteed carp.

I walked purposely slow as I neared this last intend spot and as I did my eyes bugled so much I swear the polaroids raised off my nose a little. In amongst the skeletal branches basking in the sun were twenty or more carp of every shape and size. This was going to be tricky with so many fish in such a small area! So to start with I took a chance a flicked three or four floaters into the ripple and let them ride naturally in on the ripple just in case they might take some floating bait. Every freebie floated straight over their heads and into the scum unnoticed.  Next a few grains of corn were plopped amongst them, which did not go down well at all, sending a quarter of the fish flying out into the lake. After racking my brain and delving deep into my bag I found the small bag of micro pellets which I had been meaning to put back into the shed for ages. They hardly made a sound as they hit the surface then slowly sank. Some even rolled over bodies of the fish they were meant to attract. By the third handful something happened I have never seen. In total unison the remaining fifteen or so carp sank like submarines. They did not move backwards or dip their heads, they just sank out of sight.

Leaning against the old fence I could see all three swims. In the first the carp had seemingly gone, in the second nothing had been there in the first lace but in the third and my favourite, the water had begun to bubble like a cauldron. I tried to leave it alone but the temptation was just too much. A bait had to go in! A large pinch of bread which had been shaken up in the now empty pellet bag was flicked over the spot and drawn back across the surface. The float slid across the surface stopping a few inches shy of cocking  Sitting on the floor with the rod held firm in one hand and resting across my leg I pulled tension into the line with my free hand.

The instant that float cocked it began dancing like a dervish. Those carp were on that bait like tramps on chips and it was instantly clear that if I was not careful someone was getting foul hooked. Practically at the same time as I uttered those words to myself the float shot straight up before sliding off towards the back of the swim and I struck. The fish then paused as if thinking what to do before the reel screamed. In the first run  it made it to the opposite bank before turning and tracking the bank straight back, crashing right through all the still feeding fish sending them flying in all directions.

The carp in this lake are a real mixed bunch and could never be described as thoroughbreds  They have come to ether in dribs and drabs over many years. Some have been rescue jobs from other lakes, others are born and bred but one thing always remains certain, you never know what sort of carp had taken your bait and this rang very true when the charging fish had calm down enough to find its way into the folds of my net.

What he lacked in size it made up for in spirit and looks. It certainly had a hint of ghosty in it somewhere, although common carp seemed dominant  But like most fish that end up in this pool they seem to start reverting back to a wild like form after some time.

I always try to walk away from where I have just caught a fish like this and to all intents and purposes I should have gone off a tried one of the other two spots, if only just to give this one a break. However the water was still bubbling away as carp snuffled around in the snag sucking up the tiny pellets that were provoking their scent glands. Maybe the first charging fish had thinned out their ranks, but when I repeated the routine of casting over the spot and drawing the bait back the float this time hardly danced at all when under tension.

Everything had settled down nicely. Regular bubbles still broke the surface but the float was motionless. I was comfortable sitting aside the still barren bush. A tree creeper had just appeared on the trunk of a tree about ten feet to my left and it was as I watched it moving up the tree that I felt the line in my left hand tension slightly  My float was gone and the fish was off! I had not even got half a strike in before the reel sang its beautiful tune. This was exactly what I had been dreaming of during all those cold dark nights of winter. Screaming reels, floats sliding under and rods bending as if attached to ships. I could not help but smile inanely as I was in pure heaven. Then a pug nosed liner beauty made me even more happy.

I could not help but revel in the joy that was being in the right place at the right time. Two more smaller hard fighting commons and a rouge chub snaffled my bread baits from under the snag before what I thought was a tench took my bait. I will never know truly what it was as it threw the hook as its dark back broke the surface.

After that I had to leave the swim alone as six fish had smashed it up and the carp seemed to have been spooked away. Half an hour fruitless fishing in each of the of the other swims had me considering heading home, but I could not resist one last cast back in the original spot and I am glad I did go back.

The sun had disappeared behind the horizon and now the air temperature was dropping rapidly. Occasional bubbles still broke the surface around my float. I had not had one single indication of anything around my bait but I knew one or two stragglers still mooched around looking for leftovers. Then it came, the most perfect bite so far. The float bobbed once sending circular ripples out over the now still water, then jerkily the float rose clear of the water falling backwards. The fish then tuned and the float slid on its side across the surface before half cocking and sliding out of sight attached to this last but perfect chunky common.

It had been a sublime start to a summers carp fishing, exactly what I was dreaming it would be and now I can't wait to go again next week if the weather stays nice and  warm.

King carp 1.2p per pound

The carp point for the challenge had been something I kind of wanted to get out of the way for a while. It's not that I don't enjoy carp fishing. It's more to do with the realization that if I wanted any realistic chance of getting it I would have to go a carp stuffed commercial to do it, rather than do it in the romantic way I had pictured it in my mind ie. three good twenty's from some forgotten water. My original plan was to go back to old lanwarnes were I had previously done 49lb in a little over two hours but a phone call the night before put pay to that, as two matches were booked on the big lake. A quick change of plans and I agreed to meet Neil ( a old friend who is just rekindling his interest in fishing ) at five ways fishery near Wolvey which is the home of one of the most carp stuffed lakes in the area.
The day before I had sent a text to Keith proclaiming my intention to get the King carp point on only £1 worth of bait and I was very confident that this was possible. So Sunday morning I loaded up the car with tackle and enough smart price sliced white bread to choke a heard of ravenous petting zoo goats.

The peg was not exactly feature filled. Just thirty foot of dirty water with the tip of an island in front and a few overhanging reeds ether side. The rig was even simpler than that. 8lb mono with a big hook tied on the end.
My complicated pre baiting technique took all of a minute complete; tear up three slices of bread and lob them onto the surface.

Before I had even finished this mass baiting the early morning silence was broken by the slurps of a hundred  hungry carp, as fish of all sizes came up for breakfast. So began my assault! It took exactly one second for the first one to be on, one of the smaller fish of the day a 2lb common. From then on it was pretty frantic.

After an hour I realised that there was a huge mass of small carp lurking within feet of the surface, and my bread crust was being savaged off the hook before anything bigger got the chance to get a look in. I also noticed that some bigger fish would come up in reaction to the hungry mass. At seeing this I became very discerning and waited for the bigger fish to appear before plonking my bait as close to them as possible. This turned out to be a better plan and string of better carp sent my total soaring quickly.

A good average sized fish.

Five hours of continual playing of fish on the hottest day of the year so far was hard work. But as it neared dinner time I broke the weight needed and then I bagged a couple more for good luck

The weights added up like this 2,2.5,6,6,3,6.5,7,1,4,7,3,3,3,5,4,8,6,4 = 81Lb. During the day I caught loads of little carp under a pound in weight, but if I didn't think they were a pound I slipped them straight back not even bothering to add them to the score. This could have come back to bite me in the ass but it never did and I was content with eighteen decent sized carp for over 80lb or 1.2p per pound if you would. Though I was happy to bagged this point on my second attempt I have to be honest and admit it was a pretty ugly way of achieving a point and not something I will be rushing back to do in the future.

My aim to do it using under £1 worth of bread worked out a treat and after five hours of carp bagging all that was left was two thirds of a slice of bread or one large mouth full, which I ate!

The great white hunter.