All new perspective.

"Oh how much time I have wasted in the past"

I knew that when our long awaited bundle of joy came along there would be some time constraints added to our lives. Truthfully I don't think I have ever underestimated something so much in my life before. Three weeks ago young Brody arrived and ever since, time has been sucked into the black hole that is a new baby and I and JB for our parts have stood joyously smiling with teary eyes, shoveling our love and attentions into being there for him whilst barely noticing the world go on around us.

But as everyone says you begin to get used to the extra effort and ultimately life starts to settle down. I for one have now begun to have at least enough time to wipe my arse correctly and have lengthened my showers from three minutes and forty two seconds to a frivolous four minutes.

It wasn't that long after the lad arrived that JB suggested I might like to use a modicum of my paternity on myself and go fishing. Now at still less than two weeks in it seemed she had either gone insane or just wanted a little time alone with the kid without a worrying/annoying father sticking his oar in. Either way she offered and I accepted, although I must say that the only way I could console myself to actually leave was to convince myself it was an actual necessity, so as to keep my skills sharp should society collapse and I need to provide my small family with valuable protein by way of buckets of small zander and perch from the canal.

After literally tearing myself away I ended up sitting in Jeff's courtyard for an hour drinking tea then fishing for a further hour on the cut whilst looking at my watch. I reckon I caught a few fish but truthfully I didn't care as I just wanted home.
Then a mere three days later I was out again after waking for the boys six am feed. This time things were a little more relaxed and successful though once again my heart and mind literally were somewhere else.

It's worth mentioning at this point that I have made some adjustments to my fishing to help ease the transition of being a parent and an angler. Regular followers of this blog may have noticed that my fishing has gone from an all round approach aimed at many species to a focused one targeting some specific species. I can now see that this concentration on lure fishing is going to pay me back in spades as both of my most recent sessions were never planned and on both occasions I just grabbed a bag, rod and net and was fishing within half an hour. Hopefully this bait-less tack will continue to help me be the angler that I am and the good father that I want to be in the very packed schedule that is parenthood.

For now though I am a still primarily concerned with little more than my new amazing boy, but saying that a few fishy thoughts are beginning to creep back into my head, and I can't deny already earmarking a little Shimano lure rod I've got that looks just about right for a toddler to use as a float rod.

The Lake #27 No one could resist.

I am but a man, and a fisherman at that! So it was never going to be long until I returned to the lake and to that tench spot where the fishes incessant circling has transferred from the water to my mind. Only twice had the sun risen and set set before I again found myself walking the path through the chest high grass down the the bank. It was still hot and humid even though the sun was dipping towards the ancient wood on the opposite bank. Only one other angler was on the bank and he wasn't fishing. I stopped and chatted to him for a while about the lake, or more importantly the excessive weed currently blooming, in which he was trying to locate holes to fish using a marker float set up.

With the bank deserted and silent I took the time to actually watch the water for a while before deciding where to fish. Undoubtedly there was fish all over the area and it took no time at all to spot signs that the resident tench were once again on patrol and feeding. In the end I decided to fish the southern most swim and my reason for this were purely down to the aesthetics of the swim.

Flat calm summer night, those lily pads and a slow sunset, that's just angler porn.

Everything was going to be the same bar one change, the rig! It might sound odd that even as happy as I was with the bold bites I have been getting from the tench using a small piece of quill, blob of tungsten putty and a size 8 hook set up lift float style, that I still felt a change could bring me even better fortune. You see the tench bites are so obvious it wouldn't matter what float I used. But the thought that maybe just maybe if I fished and baited one area long enough a rare crucian carp might happen along had crept into my head and this was the perfect night to fish a lighter rig as there was hardly a breath of wind.

It was Jeff and Keith (when Keith still fished) that extolled the virtue of this rig to me, and I think it was Phil Smith who advocated its use to them before that. But whatever the provenance it works amazingly well. The rig comprises a sensitive Drennan antenna float with the very last cocking shot positioned as close to the lake bed as possible and the last two inches of line to the hook on the bottom. By doing this it works just like a lift float and registers lifts and dips, both of which I strike at. With tench the float shoots right out of the water and with crucian it generally rises slowly up as the weight is taken off that last shot. In the water on this occasion with these conditions it was working brilliantly and looking a treat!

Only problem was that the sensitive presentation was working a bit too well and that combined with the increase of silver fish the lake seems to have going on at the moment meant I had a busy night. The hungry little mouths were up for anything no matter how big. I started off fishing double caster before quickly moving onto a grain of corn... them two grains of corn... then a red worm... then half a lob worm and finally a whole worm. It really didn't matter what I cast out in the end as they ate everything I chucked and truth be told I just couldn't get past the horde to try and catch a tench.

A few days later I was back on an impromptu session and the conditions though good had changed. The wind had picked up and the light set-up had no chance of working with the wind imparting some hardcore tow on the ninety acres of water. So back to the heavier lift float I went. The smaller fish were about and even in some pretty torrential down pours they stick their noses in quite a lot. It was as I took a moment to stretch my legs in a momentary break in the weather that I stood high above my swim against the trees and sighted random puffs of muddy water. The tench were certainly about it was just any normal signs were being masked by the heavy ripple cutting across my swim.

The fish seemed to be lingering off the edge of my baited area and as so often with fishing a small change in the location of my hook bait brought an instant reaction by way of a classical lift bite. Even in the heavy ripple I saw the two nervous twitches of the quill before the float sailed up lolling over to the right in the wind. 

The result was another big long female that battered around the shallow margin destroying the swim entirely. Though I didn't care one bit as catching yet another stunning Coombe Abbey tench was the perfect way to cap off what had been a bit of an arduous session which I spent sheltering under my new brolly hiding from what can only be described as some biblical showers.

I had to go back the morning after the night before. Having a fair about of bait left over and some unmixed bait stashed in my bag, I once again had deposited as much bait as access to back onto the areas I was fishing at the end of the session thinking the fish would undoubtedly be around come the dawn.

My prediction was right and upon arriving I crept up behind some cover and straight away spotted three tench within on feet of the bank. I truly thought I was going to be home by eight. How wrong was I! Even though they had certainly come back in overnight and were definitely sticking around with persistence they did not want to get their heads down at all. No fizzing no puffs of silt and defiantly no bites occurred a all. Not until the sun broke over the trees behind me. I thought it was going to be a wash out in truth as the sun normally hitting the water kills the fishing, but toady was different.

The moment those warming rays spread over the shallows the fizzing started. The only thing I could fathom was that the water had cooled with the previous days showers and the cool night had kept the temperature low. Then with the water being so shallow the suns rays penetrating it must have just sparked them back into action. 

I missed the first bite somehow and then the second one was a bit of a weird rising and sliding at the same time. I was only in contact with that fish very briefly and I suspect I'd actually foul hooked a passing fish. Happily though it seemed that the very slight commotion hadn't cleared the swim. A bit more baiting and waiting and finally I received a clean and definite bite. This fish went insane when the line tightened and luckily I had set the clutch light enough for a gudgeon to pull line off of it, because the first charge in made out towards the weed in the centre of the lake had me thinking I had a monster on. Of all the tench so far this one was fought the hardest and really made me think it would be my first male that I would find in the bottom of my landing net. Wrong again! it was probably the smallest one of this Coombe campaign so far but what she lacked in length she made up for in depth and sheer determination.

So my one-tench-a-session vibe continues as does my constant baiting of the spots for now. I know some people might question my willingness to keep bating the swims and repeatedly going back for single fish sessions and truthfully I have questioned it too. But every time I think about it I come back to the same conclusion that this is Coombe and I am putting good fish on the bank every session which as far as I can recall from my experience is unusual. So as the former terminator of California once said "I'll be back"

The Lake #26 Bookended tench.

I had watched them feed from quite close up only days ago so I knew where they were. For hours I studied the knocking lily pads and patches of fizz that rose as they perused morsels of the lake bed. At first it had all seemed to be the random movements of  multiple tench which I suspected were in the area. As always though time told, and after two dawns and two dusks when I was unable to fish for them but could watch them, I was able to decipher a definite patrol route. It wasn't a big patrol either considering the size of the lake. Starting at the north end of the little circuit they were making, the tench seemed to be moving in small groups along the shallow margin sending up puffs of coloured water as they did, till they arrived at the start of the lily pads. Immediately as they came to the lily's, the first three pads on the corner leaves would knock and signal their arrival. Then they seemed to move away from the shelter of the lily's and track along them about two feet out. As they came to the gap in the lily bed all noticeable evidence of their presence stopped until they again came along side the next jutting patch of pads. The next stretch of lily pads was the biggest on the route and most times the fish lingered here a while sending up tempting signs that they might be feeding beyond the covering of round leaves. Slowly the groups would move out and at the very last pad turn and come back into the margin where I could actually see them sometimes. After that they seemed to cut diagonally across to the nearest reed bed before moving out of sight only to reappear fizzing along maybe twice as far out as they had before. It took me a bit of careful plumbing up to figure that they were following a very slight marginal shelf back from the southernmost point of the patrol up to the north where they would begin all over again.

Three days it took me to put all that information together as it wasn't just one lot of fish moving around the route. I'd tried to count as best as I could but the most I'd seen within a small space of time was nine possible tench. Knowing where they were was only half the solution as they did seem to be feeding as they went, but judging by the lack of interest the two carp anglers had got in the days they were pitched up in front of the paroling fish with a margin rod each, these tench weren't into big baits at all.

I am sure JB noticed me drifting off into la la land pondering my move over the following few days, though if she did she was good enough to not mention my mooning. The biggest problem was the general shallowness of the areas in question. I had thought about targeting the slightly deeper back run they took to get back to the northern end. The problem here was that I had already discounted using even light bottom rigs as the random patches of weed sprouting from the bottom would only mean a line cutting through the swim somewhere and so a float rig seemed the better option. But the light float rig stood no chance being fished on the further line due to the excessive filamentous algae blowing up the lake which would destroy my patience very easily.

It had to be the close in line and it had to be one either end of the patrol that I would fish. That way if I did hook one I had at least half the water in front of me open so as I had some area so play the fish on the light tackle. As for bait it was to be a sparing affair. Corn struck me as a bit too obvious in the shallow water and maggots wouldn't linger on the bottom long enough to attract their attention. Casters though were light enough to sit on top of any silk weed and a little helping of pungent but unobtrusive ground bait, should lure them down.

Three days after leaving I was back again at first light. Just about the only thing moving on the bank was the bloated mosquitoes returning from their night raids on Bivvy's along the bank. The dawn chorus was under way and as I carefully took the short cut across the top of the giant rabbit warren on the slope down to the lake I did spy a couple of pars of long ears and the odd white tail before they shot back down some hidden hole. The lake was flat calm with wisps of mist rising off it but as yet no fish dappled the surface. Although I walked through many pegs I only stopped once to admire the cadged orchid that had popped out of it's chicken wire prison and now was beginning to flower freely above. 

I knew even if I saw something tempting as I tracked along under the trees that I wouldn't stop, as I only had one area in mind. One of the carp anglers still remained where he had pitched up seven days prior at the south end of the patrol route. The north was free and this was were I crept down to the bank. Not wanting to create to much of a disturbance I had brought my pole and pole cup along for some stealthy baiting. In the full light of day I wouldn't consider sticking an alien shadow over the shallow swim, but in the half light I knew it should go unseen. Three pots of fine uncompressed ground bait with a good helping of casters as well before I retreated back to the trees to watch and wait.

The rod was barely assembled when the first fizz broke the surface. With the baited spot on a clear gravel patch not two rod lengths out now undeniably occupied I tried my very best to quietly get as close to the only bit of cover available. There was no need to for plumbing as I had noted the various depths of the areas and so all I had to was slide the thin peacock quill two inches above the second ring of my rod. Now all I had to do was cast! The first cast went no where, it was as if something was hampering the line coming of the spool. Still trying to keep hidden checked the entire set-up only to find the line going around the rod at the join between the two sections. A quick twist and I was ready to try again. This time the pea sized ball of rig putty dragged the line and float just beyond the target clear patch and all I had to do was hold back whilst lifting the rod to get the bait spot on target.

Immediately the float was signalling all the right things from the bottom of the lake to the surface. Twice the float slid side ways as something slowly brushed against the line. Now I just needed to do was wait for that proper bite to occur whilst ignoring the multitude of knocks and taps. Then perfectly the float did a couple of nervous bobs before lifting up and falling to the side.

It was like a mine had gone of under my float! The water just seemed to grow in mass before a bow wave shot out from it. If that wasn't shocking enough the instant commotion caused several other fish to bolt out of the shallow water all heading in different directions. Any fish that finds itself hooked in little depth goes berserk and this tench was no different. It made four or more savage runs out towards the centre of the lake and me holding the rod low and trying to stop it reaching the weed beds just made it swirl on the top. For the sake of any fish I caught Id purposely brought a particularly long landing net along so as pulling capture into the inch deep edge could be avoided and soon enough I slipped my first lovely Coombe tench into my over extended net.

With all the disturbance I honestly thought not a single fish would still be patrolling and the sun was about to be the wrong side of the trees so it was unlikely I would get a second chance. So happy with my capture I resolved to leave it alone for the day, but not after rebating all along the patrol route with a return the following morning in mind.

The World Cup put pay to an early start so it was evening before I found myself marching back to the prebaited area. I knew all the bait would be long gone, but hopefully the fish would have committed the smell of it to memory. The bank was deserted with even the carp anglers seven day vigil over, so rather than go back to the swim at the north of the patrol I instead opted for the southern turn. Fishing here closer to the lily bed would enable me in the bright sun to again use the pole pot to bait up accurately using the cover of the pads to mask it looming over the swim.

Almost right on cue I spotted signs of movement further down the pads just as the sun began to drop towards the horizon sending shadows half way over the lake.  I didn't wait to for signs of feeding on this occasion as I wanted my bait in place before anything turned up to feed. The tench began fizzing right on cue about three feet along the lily line from my float and it was an agonising watching the patches of tiny bubble rising intermittently ever closer to my bait. Then once again my float rose from the water just after a massive fizz clouded around it. I never waited for a millisecond before lifting the rod swiftly up to my left in the vain hope it would head away from the snags. Heaven be praised, it went the right way and straight away I was up leaning out with the rod at full stretch trying to stop it heading round the corner. This fish did one massive hard run before turning round rolling on the top and coming to the bank like a aged bream. I thought at first maybe it was just a little fish that had gone mad until an open mouth and red eye appeared round the reeds  then I saw its fin and flank, but then it just kept on coming into sight. This was one of the longest tench I have ever seen and although the angle I was holding it at in this self take doesn't show it very well, it was as long as I am wide.

As with the session before, the commotion caused by hooking a fish in shallow water caused any others to disappear. Though this time they melted away rather than stampeded off like the last time and then I to like the fish packed up and melted away home. Right now I find myself satisfied by just catching just one decent fish at a time and given that every bite counts on this lake it kind of makes a little sense walking away after such a catch rather than hanging around wanting to catch a bag load and whining when it doesn't happen.

But before I left I once again deposited all the bait I had left along the patrol route knowing full and well it wouldn't be long before I was back again...

Memories and monsters.

Everyone has important places in their lives, places that can be integral to who you become later in life. This is one of mine... I spent so much of my formative years fishing this small area of canal that I certainly got to know the bank side very well. I caught my very first perch sitting on a big square stone that I suspect is still  buried under the patch of black berries at the bottom right hand corner of the photo. My first pike fell to a spinner cast towards the big hawthorn bush at the back of the pool. I suppose what makes this place such an important place is not what I caught here but is instead what happened here. This where I learnt to fish!

Standing in the quiet of the morning I could remember right back twenty five years ago to when I sat being scorched by the sun and when my old boot sale special float slid away and a small spiny perch came writhing towards me. Waiting for my lift I pondered what my twelve year old self would have thought if he would have known what I was going fishing for on this day. I reckon I would have peed my pants with either excitement or anxiety if my twelve year old self new what I was about to catch. Saying that even having done this before I still find it hardly believable myself now at thirty seven.

My lift turned up and soon enough we found ourselves walking round the well trimmed banks of the fishery I refer to as area 51. Being the sort of fishery it is, it's not like any one area is better than any other and this I suspect is down to the repetitive nature of our quarry. I won't claim to any kind of expert on sturgeon fishing, especially as I've only done it a handful of times myself. What I do know from watching them in ponds and on this lake is that they pretty much constantly swim round the perimeter of whatever pool they are in. Hence fishing is as surprisingly simple as fishing large cubes of meat close to the bank.

I say it's supposedly simple but I found myself in that uncomfortable situation where my companion for the day Andy landed one within the first half an hour then followed it up with three more before I even got off the mark. Although I am suspicious of whether what I had been doing made much difference or not, I had been filling my inside line in with pellets and repeatedly casting to an island margin hoping to sucker one of battle ships in but had not had any response from any kind of sturgeon.

To make matters worse I had what looked like a decent Diamond back constantly parading within a foot of the bank all morning. I did all I could and tried my very best to be patent. Why they seemed so nonchalant about my baits was becoming a worry and that when Andy being the gent he is offered me some of the vintage flavouring he was soaking his meat in. CLICK! Next cast with the new flavoured meat my right hand rod which I had also brought in close sprang to life. Straight away in the shallow margin I spotted a very familiar tail. That meat had only done the trick and attracted that dam diamond back straight onto my bait.

It was mid-afternoon before I had any more action. All day long we had been watching the pools resident carp population going berserk on any free bait we threw in. Even on a man-made lake such as this seeing the individual clouds of mud pepper the surface as hundreds of carp hovered up anything food. It was during one of these fits of carp frenzy that I a big grey tail broke the surface of the water. I hardly had enough time to state it was heading for my bait when the rod tip buckled round and the buzzer sang the alarm.

What I think sturgeon lack in cunning they certainly make up for with shear power. Before I had chance to wind down the free spool it was off. I was just glad it was only us fishing in the area as this warrior of a fish smashed around the margins turning both our swims chocolate brown.

Eventually I got it under control and into the net.  It lookedto be a good fish. However it wasn't until we go it onto the matt and out of the net that something became evident. It looked suspiciously like Andy's first fish. A small but distinctive cut on the front dorsal fin was the main clue. But on the scales it weighed exactly the same. The weird thing was with this recapture was that when Andy hooked it first thing it fought like a wet sack and after only circling once went straight in the net. Whereas when I hooked it, it went ape. After realising it was the same fish it dawned on us both that we now had the same PB on the same fish!

Two days later I had myself a very early start and nipped over to fish a lake I haven't fished on in well over a year. I've been hearing reports that the tench had woken up and I seemed the right time to check and see what was going on. I arrived shortly after first light and found only one other angler already there. With practically all the lake free I was a bit spoilt for choice, but soon enough I settled onto a nice reed lined swim with the wind moving across it.

On most places my tench fishing is centred around ground bait, on this lake though I have had more luck fishing maggots in the past and so my attack was based on previous experience. To cut a long story short it was not an easy morning. Although the small resident perch of this lake seemed rather enamoured by my bait I struggled to find the tench. It wasn't until I deliberately increased my casting/feeding that I managed to hook into a small but excited male.

Seeing the upped feed rate seemed to have garnered a response I continued in the same vain until finally I hooked a bigger fish. This one ran me ragged diving into every possible bit of weed within thirty feet of my swim. For a heart stopping moment it did get pretty well weeded up. But by keeping the tension on it I gradually persuaded it out and into my waiting net. Given the clear water of this venue the colour of this chunky six pounder looked amazing and certainly made all the effort it took to catch her worthwhile. 

Even though the fish was in spanking condition one thing is a bit of a worry. The missing section of tail looked very fresh and worryingly like a bite or tear. There was even evidence of scratches on the other side of the wrist in the fishes scales. Unluckily this pool sits adjacent to another water coarse that is certain to have otters prowling its banks and although I've only just gone back and can't be sure, there seems a chance there may be something else after these stunning tench other than anglers.

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.