A perfect moment of good froggy fun.

My nose wrinkled up as I paused on the old bridge at the head of the lake and my inner monologue became an outer one even though no one was in the car to hear it. "Ah shit!"

It is literally amazing the carnage a flock of Canadian geese can cause. The flock of thirty or more which were currently ripping up the lawn beside the little forgotten lake had churned what should have been a clear shallow estate lake into something that resembled a run of the mill commercial pond, with their mindless munching. Still though I would persist as it was a warm late summer afternoon, I practically had the whole pool to myself and the thought of a hot blooded jack pike chasing down my lure was all I could think of.

I'd already walked from under the drooping ancient willow near the bridge all along the lawn and crossed the stagnant feeder stream at the head of the lake. For all my nosing and staring all I had seen was a shoal of ten small roach lipping tit bits that had collected along the dying lily pads at the mouth of the stream. Now I was walking slowly along in the darkness on the old path under the trees behind the island. Two months ago you couldn't even see the water for all lily pads that had sprouted in the shallow water. Now though autumn was only days away and the once tough round green leaves that hid the lake had lost their buoyancy and rotted, half sunk in the turbid water. 

Bar two perplexed looking ducks and a panicky Moorhen, the water behind the island seemed devoid of life until I passed behind a hawthorn tree which sprouted from the edge of the path. Stopping just in the realm of cover I peeped round into the weed. This was perfect two Jack pike floated still as stone, head to tail in a clearing in the half dead pads.

If one pike floating in the weeds was a prospect, I was sure this was a cert. Before I moved back behind the tree my mind ran an inventory of the lures in my back pack. Third box down...top row...in the forth section from the left. That was it, the only thing I had which I could pull through even dying weed without getting snarled up. Sure enough the amphibian equivalent of the eighty's sex doll, the weed free frog lure lay hidden under a small tangled mess of plugs in the exact section I predicted. Not wanting to lose this opportunity I dived straight in grabbing the whole section load of lures as gently as I could and feeling several sharp pricks of trebles as I did. Moments of violent shaking soon loosened the lures and the single frog fell onto the floor. As fake as it was I knew that this was all I had that stood a chance of attracting those torpid pike out of their trance.

Trying not to rush, I threaded the frog onto the clip and set the clever wire weed guard into place. Leaving my bag leaning against the tree, I pushed my net across the floor towards the edge of the lake, without  stepping out from behind the tree I leaned out with the rod. I knew casting such a light lure from high up the bank was a risk, but I also knew any movements could send the pike darting away in an instant.

With a determined flick the less than aerodynamic frog arched through the air, landing a good ten feet past the little pikes. Gently I tightened up on the line lifting it off the surface and began steering the frog on course towards the gap in the weed. Using some gentle lifts of the rod I, in my clumsy way, tried to imitate the movement of a frog as best I could. Three inches at I a time I dragged the frog closer and closer until eventually it rested on a pad at the edge of the clearing.

This was it I took a deep breath and pulled the lure into the kill zone. At first it was all real time slow motion as the smaller of the two fish just tipped forward and sank like a submarine out of sight. For a moment I thought it had all gone bad but then I tugged the frog again and the second jack turned slowly towards it. I pulled again, sure it would strike, but the fish paused as the frog stopped. So I pulled again and the water erupted as the pike attacked.

I'd hardly had chance to strike before my yellow line cut across the shallow water cutting through every lily pad as the pike ran away and I tightened down on it. The fight was never going to be a glorious one and even after we laid waste to a large ecosystem and the pike was in the net, I knew the most satisfying part of this capture was by far the strike.

A very special thing

I am by my own admission a heavy user of fishing tackle. Put it this way, it is not often that once finished with an item that it is afforded a second life via purchase or give-away. But I must say I am not an abuser of tackle either, it just that I choose the items I want carefully then fish them to death using them in a multitude of ways. Generally speaking what happens is the item of tackle becomes worn out over a prolonged period then it fails in some small way. It is then repaired a few times before I arrive at the decision that it has had it.

There is one exception though! One special item of tackle which I have cared for over all others since the day it came into my hands. Sixteen years ago to the day, I turned twenty one and on that day JB gave me a gift that was a fishing rod. Up until this point most of my gear I had been using was borrowed or very cheaply purchased and therefore was rough to say the least. This rod though was another thing. It was light, long and it came in a fancy bag.

It's not often that an item of tackle actually improves massively how you fish. Sure they make you feel extra confident and the like, but truthfully they don't make an epic difference in most cases. This rod however marked that step from rubbish gear to proper gear for me and hand on heart doubled my cast. If it wasn't for the water I was fishing I would have never known either. You see we were always were aiming to fish the very end of a huge lily bed that emanated from the public bank on Coombe pool. The whoosh that fibre glass and over-flexing carbon made would be all you'd hear from us on a Sunday morning as we tried to hit that sweet spot at the end of the pads. Then the first time I took a shot with my new Diawa tornado-Z thirteen foot match rod I literally cast past the end of the lily's and almost twice as far again. I can actually remember looking down at the rod and declaring my love there and then.

I just happened that Coombe pool was in a good phase that year and me and my new rod tore it limb from limb fishing wag and mag at the end of those pads. Every Sunday I would underarm four or more Jaffas of Van Den Eyned out into the lake. Then in between catapulting out gentles I would be casting and striking at the plethora of species that were attracted to the bait. Almost every week we'd fill a net with roach, perch and skimmers. Add to them the few slabs we would pinch and the occasional big perch or roach and we were in heaven.

Coombe shifted phases and I moved on with my faithful rod in tow. From commercials to the broads and right up natural streams high in the welsh mountains I fished them all with this rod. Carp, trout, pike and eels it seemed able to handle them all when they came along. It was me that changed though! My love of fishing grew and changed then other species demanded stronger tackle, then I wanted to catch bigger fish and that meant specialist tackle. All the time though this rod was hidden away back in it's fancy bag waiting for me to pick it up once again.... and I did.

After years ignored I needed float rod to trot for grayling and the super light Tornado came out of retirement. Our relationship was rekindled and with my new passion for fishing pole floats under rod tips for crucians and tench it seemed like it would never end and it didn't. Though now I am careful with this special thing and I find myself not risking it as much as I did in the early days and use it mainly for smaller species. Saying that you cant always choose what you catch, like last year when a rude near twenty pound carp snuffled up my bait intended for crucians. The Tornado proved it was well enough made and still in good enough condition to win that battle.

More recently I've been using it to pry some delicate feeding tench from a rediscovered water and it as always it never lets me down. Bending from butt to tip it seems to just absorb the violent runs whilst reminding that there is so much fun to be had with a light float rod rather than sitting behind buzzers propping up Avon style rods

It only seemed right that sixteen years after receiving it as a present I should find myself sitting fishing with it on my birthday. As I waited for the next soft biting tench to lift my float I sat back and remembered some of the wonderful fish, amazing places I've been and great times I have had with this rod. The memories I recalled were so cherished and made me so happy it actually bought me so much genuine joy that I had to contact JB and thank her again sixteen years later for buying me such a special thing.

And again, thank you JB :)