Old gold - part one.

Obsession has been my fuel the past hazy few months as the country has burnt crispy in the incessant heat of June, July and August. This obsession was born long ago and it's something I ruminate on traditionally over the long cold winter planning for the summer months. You see I think I am inclined as an individual to always dream of the seasons to come for some reason. For example, when it's hot I dream of cold crisp mornings and winter fishing for chub or pike; whereas on a cold winter day when I can't feel my hands I cannot help but think of baking hot days and summer fishing for tench and crucians. I don't know whether it's because I am a natural dreamer or whether it is simply because I am English that makes me like this. Whatever the reason, I know that this winter just past I dreamt of nothing but massive ancient old crucian carp. So much so that I feel sure that if telekinetic power is real then I cleared several spots of debris ready for fishing in summer through January alone just by thinking about them as much as I did.

I suppose that if you are reading this then by now you'll have a good idea of where this is going and what I have been doing since the start of this season and you'll have realized that by 'old gold' I mean the few rarest of fish that inhabit Napton reservoir. The whole situation seems this year to have been intensified by my failure last year to bank even one of those precious crucians I so much desire and seeing others catch one here or there was a very bitter sweet experience indeed.

The start of my obsessive campaign was an odd one as not long in I actually caught a crucian carp and quite a big one at that. But this elating experience left me in a unexpected position of target achieved very quickly. It was at this point when I suddenly found myself thinking, do I just leave it here and go and do something else, or do I actually take that as a win and follow the path of obsession for the summer and try for more. Even after catching my target so quickly it seemed too much of an anti climax to walk away at this point and even knowing how fruitless the summer might be crucian wise I made my decision to go with it and continue to obsess, safe in the knowledge that I had already caught and therefore could not fail from this point on. So with a crucian in the bag I went headlong onto this campaign to try and catch another crucian carp from Napton and thus spent most of my summer watching a float bobbing around in the clear margins of this moody venue.

I think that the fact that I adore tench fishing, love catching them on a float even more and that they are most of what you catch in this venue is a rather happy coincidence for me, and this tends to keep me pretty occupied as I angle after a crucian carp throughout the summer months. How many tench I have caught over the last three months or so is unknown. If I was to say on a bad session catching two or three might be about right and on a good day ten to fifteen is quite common, then I am sure it would be about right. I suppose therefore given the shear amount of sessions I have done this year then hundreds of tench have fought hard in the margins under my bent rod.

I have grown to love my 15' Greys Toreon rod so much this summer

I must have seen every sort of tench that swims in this water, from big females to tiny males. Happily I can say it seems that Naptons tench populations are in a very healthy state; even with some of the older fish looking a bit battle scarred there are loads of pound plus fish both home grown and stockies coming through to replace them.

One of the best captures of this campaign has to be a huge male tench, which along with looking quite young and very fancy with his huge fins, weighed in at close to six pounds. Now although I've always thought that old tome that female tench grow to twice the size of males to be a little of an over exaggeration, I do know that females grow bigger and this could point to there being some near double figure tench produced from this venue in the future.

Just recently I sat fishing at Napton and I spent some time trying to calculate the numbers of mornings, days and evenings I have spent at there. It took some time and brought back memories of all sorts of things, from seeing the otter chasing all the birds off the water, right through to the guy who thought the goose shit crusted banks were the best place to woo his lady. I've driven the country lanes so many times that I reckon my car could do it of its own accord. I've seen just about two thirds of the types of weather you can experience up there; from thunder storms to temperatures so hot that the air almost burned going into your mouth. And hand on heart it's been one of the best summers fishing I have had in years. I have thoroughly enjoyed it. Surprising to me as well is that I still feel as obsessed at this point as I did at the start, as the sun set once again on wonderfully tench filled failure of a crucian session.

Catch up part 3 - Searching for a speck of gold.

Summer fishing for me is all about tench and crucians. Occasionally carp take my fancy and the river calls me away, but for most it's all about warm early mornings, hot summer nights, bubbles around floats and the sticky smell of sweet corn on my hands. With my tench and crucian mojo now in full swing it was a happy coincidence that a trip south to the Marsh Farm fishery with my good friend Martin Oxley had come around. It's been a few years since I originally went and it was Martin's first time but both of us had high hopes for this little trip. 

With baking weather predicted for the day the pair of us set off south about as early as I like to be out of bed, to make the gates of Marsh Farm for opening time. Our organized start and clear journey saw us first in the queue with half an hour to wait before the hallowed gates were opened to let us onto the well manicured banks. It was actually very quiet angler wise and after paying our day ticket fees we had the choice of most of the Harris Lake to choose from. Picking a peg on this lake is not an easy prospect with so much choice on this occasion. In the end we headed for a pair of end swims where the wind had blown most the flotsam off the lake and several tench were obviously rooting around, judging from the fizzing along the scum line.

From the off I stuck by my plan which I had pre-formulated prior to coming down; bait a tight area close to a feature, fish an over-sensitive rig on that spot and hit even the slightest movement of the float. For a proper tinca head like me, Marsh Farm is a winner even if I didn't catch my target crucian as the tench are actually the pest fish in this lake. Literally you can observe them approach your bait by watching the small patches of fizz rising intermittently ever closer to your hook bait. This was exactly what happened pretty much immediately after I cast out for the first time. Three or four different fish where quickly homing in on the bait before my Drennan antenna float rose gently up out of the water and I struck. This tench cleared the swim in two violent charges back and forth over the baited area and scattered its compadres far and wide.

It seemed as the morning ran on that the all the fish seemed reluctant to stop in the shallower water we were fishing at the end of the lake. My swim had been devoid of fish since that first tench had smashed the place up and the obvious lack of fish had me itching to move to new pastures. Martin though had had several crucians roll on his spot and was keen to press on with his swim. After a quick recce up the bank I located a swim with a large lily bed tight on the right had side of the swim. The sun was now high in the sky and baking down and this cover seemed the best option to keep the fish going.

A couple of exhausting yomps later me and all my kit were settled in the new swim and fifty inches of umbrella was erected to offer me some shade from the savage rays. The plummet revealed a decent depth just the other side of the pads and a tempting mixture of ground bait, pellets and casters were potted out to the edge of this feature. It was a perfect spot as there was little more than eighteen inches from the rod tip to the edge of the pads and this enabled me to fish as if I were using a pole while using a rod and this was something that would soon come into play.

It wasn't an easy afternoon given the steamy temperatures but there were bubbles rising intermittently from my swim and I was certain a crucian might well slip up. The bottom of this swim must have been different, that or the tench feed differently here as I wasn't getting any tench fizz at all but every forty minutes or so I would receive a very tentative bite, that every time seemed to be a crucian , but always resulted in a screaming reel and a chunky tench battling it out with me all over the swim.

I might not have been getting anywhere near the target for the day but as far as I am concerned catching tench on a float close in is about as much fun as you can have on this fair isle on a day like this in my opinion. The condition of these fish as well is a credit to Godlaming Angling society as everyone is perfect and fighting fit, which considering the popularity of Marsh farm is a real feat. The size of the fish I was catching was pretty mind boggling too, with an average of four pounds plus and some easily over six pounds. Even without any crucians involved just travelling down to Marsh Farm is certainly worth it when fish like this are on offer all over the complex.

I never did catch that crucian from Marsh farm, but a few days later I was back on the crucian hunt in my home county of Warwickshire. This time I was fishing the lunar scape crater that is Snitterfield reservoir. Traditionally Snitters, as many people call it, holds a stock of old stalwart crucians that have lingered in its depths for years. A little while ago the controlling LAA began a stocking program. At first a few native fish were extracted and a small number of young born of them were released along with their parents back into the pool, but more recently an injection of new blood was added and batch of spritely newbies were added and I was keen to go back and see what was going on with the crucian population. 

Having heard of large bags of crucians being caught I was hoping it wouldn't prove hard to tap into the golden vein. Snitters never changes much apart from the fish populations which seems to go up every year. I used to use maggots when fishing here but nowadays maggots can't even get halfway down to the bottom there's that many fish. Unusually this venue has a habit of producing small tench. These tiny bars of soap were introduced along with the most recent crucians, but unlike other venues where small tench just disappear until they are over a pound, these tiny green menaces have been caught constantly since stocking. The little buggers do great impressions of crucian carp by giving tiny lift bites and circling fights. Between the tench and the silvers I couldn't keep a bait in the water long enough for a crucian to find it.

I persisted though and pushed on fishing through the tiny tench and silvers until finally not long before I had to leave the float did a little lift and I struck into a lovely little crucian that was quite literally ten times smaller than the last one I caught, but certainly was the speck of gold I'd been after.

Challenge accepted.

So the sun once again rises on the dawn of a new fishing challenge and this year I am in it. It's been a few years since I was involved in one of these blogger fuelled cannon ball runs to establish bragging rights over a few brethren. When I was asked by George Burton off of Float, Flight and Flannel if I fancied taking part I pondered the history of the challenge for a while before confirming my entry. You see I was one of the original four who pioneered this madcap challenge in its infancy along with Keith Jobling (now full time fitness fanatic and lothario), Jeff Hatt (now an international art forger know as Le Hatt) and Brummie Pete (still lives in Birmingham). Back then the challenge was simpler, rather local and fuelled by beer, oh and every year Keith won because he was the only one of us prepared to commit his entire life to beating everyone into submission. Now though this newer more complex challenge is populated by many more anglers from all over the country and makes the old challenge look a bit like village cricket match, rather than a premiership season which it has become. The top challengers are now younger and even thirstier for success and I suppose from what I have seen watching from the wings these last few years, the challenger to beat, or the Chelsea of this group if you will, is James Dension off of James' Angling Adventures. And I quite fancy joining the pack of old dogs baying at his heels to depose him from the winner's podium.

I was quite excited for the whistle to blow and the challenge to begin as the clock rolled over midnight on the 31st of April. Mind you I had already predicted that on a session the day before I would bag something which would have made a lovely first fish on my score. After choosing a brutal swim on a local reservoir I battled it out for a full three hours throwing maggot feeders cross wind onto a spot I stuck with all morning. Finally after freezing half to death on the back of the wind, my bobbin lifted positivity as my alarm sounded some definite fishy attention. Fishing a heavy rod on windswept water did nothing more than make a dull battle even fuzzier. As I stabbed the net towards the fish I was certain it was a good rudd, turns out it was a great roach of 1.10 which would have been so useful twenty four hours later.

It actually took me twenty six and a half hours to get back to the reservoir and in that time the wind had swung round from an easterly to a north easterly. On arriving I was struggling to find a peg on the bank I wanted as the bank holiday crowds were very much in it for the day. In the end I found a corner peg in the shallows of the water. It was vacant apart from the angler in the next peg who had decided to cast a sleeper carp rod across the swim to some reeds. Stubbornly and with a little griping to his mate he got the hint that I was just going to cast across him if he didn't remove it from what was now my water. Really I had no problem with the situation apart from he was fishing a rod specifically after carp but only had with him one of those small match pan nets, which would have been about as much use as a tea strainer should he have hooked a actual carp.

The fishing on this evening session was more than a bit slow, really I had expected the fish to come on the feed as the day settled down and the sun sank towards the horizon, but it took ages for the residents to get onto the bed of red maggots I had spombed out, or to find the method feeder loaded with pungent groundbait I was casting at any nice looking spots or rolling fish. It was the arrival of the rudd and small perch which signaled the change. A few smaller six ounce rudd and a hand full of perch got the alarms beeping as they moved over the patch of feed, plucking at my maggot hook baits as they did.

Once the action started it soon became almost rhythmical. Fill the feeder, cast onto the clip, sink the line, set the bobbin, wait five minutes then beep beep beep. All was well and good until a tench turned up and kited from one side of the swim to the other on a tight line. After struggling to slowly draw it back and scooping it safely into the net I was unhooking it when the second rod came to life, bending round to the right as a self-hooked fish struggled to rid itself of the rig. I didn't quite get to it in time before the fish was off and I was striking into thin air, but I had one in the net already so I wasn't too disappointed with my fish proper tench of the year, albeit a right rum looking bugger.

With the sun setting the temperature sank further putting an end to an all too brief feeding spell. In the end it wasn't actually too bad of a session to start the challenge with. I'd had to work hard in still awkward conditions but my perseverance had come good with a few nice rudd up to 10oz, load of well marked perch and one really rough tench which all add up to a few points on the board. 

I feel this new challenge will serve to motivate me to doing a few things I haven't done for a while and certainly get me going after some species I have neglected the last few years, and you never know with a bit of luck to go with this motivation maybe, just maybe I can keep up with the favourites before until the sun sets on this challenge. 

In honour of others joy.

At Napton reservoir there are those who fish for carp, those who fish for tench and then there are those who pretend to fish for tench but are really hoping for something much rarer. I think the reason that those of us who pretend to fish for tench but are really after something else persist with this ruse is simple; we would be categorized as mental by others or even think ourselves mad if we admitted we were after crucian carp. 

Napton is rife with tench no matter what anyone says; literally at times you would think the bottom was paved green. Once a friend of mine, Pete, said he fished 24hrs for them and literally caught something stupid like over a hundred fish. Conversely the crucian numbers in Napton could probably be counted on a single human's fingers and toes, which in a water of its size makes them the proverbial needle in a haystack. They are the ghosts of the lake as far as I am concerned and quite often their presence seems more rumour than truth. Over the years I've heard whispers on the bank that there is little more than fifteen of them in residence and no one seems to know when or if they were stocked. I even spoke to a chap well in his sixties who said he used to catch them when he first fished the lake as a young man. Things like this seem to indicate that this small group of crucians could be very old and if what I have read is true they are quite capable of living this long. How old they are aside, catching one of these ghosts takes time. Keith off of Warks Avon is quoted as saying it took him over forty years to catch one and look what it did to him...

 ...Considering how lucky he is catching target fish then that means we normal lucked folk are in for a long wait!

It had started as any normal Napton session would; arriving very early, struggling to get a level seat position and the wind blowing in my face. This time Andy had joined me and was set up down the bank. I actually ended up back in the swim I'd fished the week before with the ripple coming onto my own bank and even though the conditions were due to deteriorate throughout the morning, the fish it seemed were on the feed. 

The tench were having it and my score with the hard fighting red eyed demons of this lake was soon settled. By fishing my usual fine tackle over a bed of Bait-Tech super G ground bait laced with casters and corn, the float soon lifted. I don't know whether I'd forgotten how hard tench in general fight or whether these particular fish are a just hard fighters, but every one hooked certainly tested the gear to its limits and more in a few cases. Disappointingly the first fish I landed had some very severe damage to its mouth from either being tethered to a rig or being mistreated by some heartless angler who consider them trash fish. Either way the matter of how the tench are being treated by certain types of anglers fishing the lake will be raised next time I see an official from the new controlling club.

Although the rain came in soaking me to the bone, the tench sport just got better and better through the morning and fish of all sizes were continuously moving into the swim and rolling all around the area of the lake we were fishing. Some were old warriors and others, like this one, looked perfect as if they had never been caught before. Seeing these younger, cleaner examples seems to indicate new fish are coming through and the future of the Napton tench fishing looks good.

Somewhere in the rain the session changed in a big way when Andy breathlessly shrieked he had a crucian on. I shit you not, from down the bank I could see a grown man shaking as he repeatedly said "Please don't come off." When that net lifted around that bar of gold you'd have thought that Andy had just scored the winning try for England at the Rugby World Cup. I don't think I have ever seen him so happy with a capture and I have to say I was over the moon for him as it was the most stunning old creature I have ever laid eyes on.

It wasn't his biggest ever crucian but I think it was possibly the best he'd ever caught, and why shouldn't it be when he's been trying for ten years to catch one of these Napton Ghosts. All I can say it well done mate, you deserve it.

Really that should have been the perfect way to end this post, but I could not not include this string of shots I took of Andy releasing the fish back into the clear water, as it is simply the best group of photos I have ever taken, and what is shocking is that I used my camera phone to get them!

Off she goes.

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...

Reel it in chap

It's hard to openly admit you have been doing things wrong. So with a pip in my craw, I confess. "I think I've been doing it wrong". You see after returning back to as far from the sea as you can get in this isle, I began tench fishing in earnest. Now I suppose a week of lead chucking could in some tiny way be to blame for my fishing faux pas but as well I have to point some of the blame on the modern fishing influences. Sometime recently I wrote the words 'chucking feeders into the stratosphere' and those words after last weekend kind of haunt me.

My first session after tench I hit the bank early and my first, like every cast of that session, involved me firing two method feeders as far as my Avon rods possibly could. On that occasion I had four runs and landed only two average tench from a very prolific water. I didn't think much of it to be honest and just attributed the poor show to the wrong conditions or some other external factor.

In the days between my first and second session I pondered if I may have gone a little over board using what in retrospect might be more of a late summer bait rather than an early summer bait. Hence on trip two I switched from a less fishy high food content mix and to a more sweet mix and minimal feed option. That session was worse! I took only one fish and had two half-hearted enquires. I left that second session scratching my head as I had seen other fish getting caught around the lake and I knew the bait I was using has in the past caught fish in near sub-zero temps.

Sometimes when the fishing is too easy I get a bit put off truth told and conversely any challenge quickly become obsessions. True to form I became a little fanatical about the quandary before me and believing my bait was good I started considering the dynamics of my rig. But truthfully I have landed literally hundreds of tench on the method rigs I use so I really did not think that was my problem. By the time of my third outing on the same pool fishing in the same area, I was still no closer to what I thought was the answer. I again set up stall in a similar area though this time I had four other anglers down the bank in sight. The session went exactly the same was as before and by mid-morning I was only two runs and one tench in and thinking this was going to be another disappointment. It was around then that I was scanning the pool looking for a move when I spotted a bent rod. I watched as the gentleman in question netted a tench. Two casts later a second came from his spot only a slight lob from the bank and it clicked! I had fallen foul of myself and outside influences. Could it be so simple as I was fishing too far out at the end of my cast?

After retrieving one rig and recasting it a quarter of the distance out I sat back and ran through my previous two and half sessions, only to conclude that yes every single cast had been aimed towards the centre of the lake. I had barely enough time to finish trying to kick my own arse before the indicator sounded a much more savage run than I had heard since tench fishing began this year. The insane head banging and general spryness told me a small male tench was on the end of my line and rather than pull him onto the bank I left him in the net to unhook; I never even lifted the net out before recasting both rods onto a similar line to begin a final two hours of activity.

It's almost embarrassing to admit that this small change where I quite literally reeled it in a bit on the cast had made such a gargantuan difference but it did. It wasn't total madness but there was a marked increase in the regularity of the runs and from scratching one fish in the first four hours the tench came along like one...

Two...

Three...

Four...

I bumped two others off as well trying to get them in a bit quick. Really I could hardly believe that with all my years of fishing I had been so stupid as to miss a very obvious answer to getting bites.

Truthfully I have to accept all blame for my mistake and as frankly it only affects me then it's neither here or there. But I can say that since Sky has begun replaying the carp fishing back catalogue on Discovery I have, as always, been feeding on a visual diet of long range casting intermixed with articles in magazines were shots of bent rods pepper accounts on catching ‘em far out. I suppose this brings to admit I have in some way been influenced by the media, which sounds terrible now I've written it, BUT! who amongst us can say they haven't been influenced themselves in some way. It may of just been a fancy solution to what is a pointless problem or just a shiny thing we go out and buy, but either way we can't deny that in this modern world media easily influences what we do, how we fish and what we buy.

A fine balancing act.

Over the past few years a lot of my blogging brethren and friends have ventured to the hallowed banks of Marsh Farm in search of big crucians. They have all done this as it is one of the only truly viable fisheries where anglers stand a chance of connecting with specimen true crucian. Why until now it is that I have not found myself looking over this meticulous manicured fishery I do not know. But just last week the opportunity arose for me to tag along with Martin Roberts and Jeff Hatt on a foray down south for a mid week session, and frankly it would of been rude for me to decline. 

After an inordinately early start and disconcertingly easy passage along the M25 we found ourselves at the gates to our venue for the day. Only problem was that they were looked and not due to open for another hour as our journey had been predicted to be a little more hassle than it actually turned out to be.

The general look of the day ticket lakes was much as I expected it and whilst waiting for the tackle shop to open so we could obtain our tickets we took a amble around the lakes to scope out possible pegs. Harris lake I think was always going to be where we fished, as according to most information, this was where the better sized crucians reside. But I for one wasn't expecting the sight that met me! At seven thirty in the morning with a heavily overcast sky filled with incessant drizzle and a decent ripple I could see not only into the shallows but right down to the marginal shelf and beyond. 

From everything I had read and heard regarding the day ticket waters at marsh farm I had built up a picture of margin fishing in well coloured water, whereas this looked more like gravel pit water, where the idea of getting a crucian into the margin may have had to involve me getting camo'd up like a sniper whilst hiding in the undergrowth all day.

As I waited in the queue for my ticket my pre-planned tactics seemed all wrong, and seeing a bait fridge loaded with casters I began reforming a different plan of attack. So loaded up with my gear I headed to the windward end of the lake accompanied by Jeff, away from every other angler on Harris. Here I knew it would be hard to contend with the ripple, but my thinking was that that ripple might offer me some cover in these clear water conditions.

The next step was to follow a little of Jeff's sage advice. He had said to me that one of the best sessions he had had here was when he simply found feeding bubbles and fished that swim. So we did exactly that and after locating what looked like a few feeding tench about two rod lengths out I plonked myself down in the swim close to opposite a gap in between two islands. 

It was by no mean an easy start to the session as I struggled to settle. The wind cutting from my right was not only cold for the time of year but also made presentation impossible. When I had set up my rigs before arriving I had been banking on fishing the margin using a pole float to show all those slight touches associated with crucian carp. That rig never got wet and was superceded by a canal dart with a very fine antenna, which too was cast aside after it would not hold position with a hint of line on the bottom and got dragged under when laid on heavily. The next candidate was a crystal waggler which would hold bottom when laid on hard but with minimal line on the bottom slowly drifted with the ripple.

I was losing all hope of getting any where until I found a small Drennan tench float hidden at the bottom of my float tube. This was perfect. The fine peacock antenna was stabilised by a bulbous body well under the surface. The combination of me locking it in place with float stops so I could put all my shot low down the line, and the three inches of line on the bottom was enough to combat the worst tow. Finally I was fishing comfortably for the first time on the session and now bites could be indicated by dips and rises. I was performing a fine balancing act in the worst of conditions. 

With having to fish a few rod lengths out I had to depend on the casters I had purchased from the onsite tackle shop. Normally I like to fish soft pellets for crucians but they stood little chance of staying on the hook in these windy conditions, and the last thing I needed was no bait on my hook when everything already seemed to be against me. My regular catapulting of shells through the air attracted not only fish to my swim.

This cheeky sparrow obviously had many mouths to feed as she danced under my chair all day picking fallen casters here and there.

As I found out marsh farm is not only renowned for crucian carp but tench as well, as I banked fifteen through the day whilst bumping off one or two and getting snapped off by a few as well. But the best by far was this immaculate chuck of a female which gave me a right run around and ended up stuck in a bush in my right hand margin. Luckily for me Jeff appeared just in time to help me scoop her out in a less than dignified manner.

The crucians unlike the tench were a different and awkward matter entirely...! From very early on in the day I suspected their presence in my swim and although that seems a blindingly stupid statement in a lake renowned for them, the fact remains that they were giving little away bar a few different bubbles. Tench fizz is my pornography, it really gets me excited. But those exciting fizzes of bubbles can only be tench. Individual small bubbles rising though is a great sign of feeding crucians, and I had a fare few emanating from my baited patch.

Slowly but surely my constant feeding of a pouch full of casters began to garner me some interesting bites. Even fishing a heavy rig at two rod lengths out I just detect the slight rising of my float. I must of struck at twenty of more hardly perceptible bites and a couple of tench sail aways before my float raised a good inch and half out of the water as a fish mouthed my bait. Half expecting it to slide away attached to another tench I waited, but the float just sat cock eyed and I had to strike. I wont lie and say I did not think it was a tench as it surged away sounding my lightly set clutch. But then low and behold a miracle happened and it gave up, surfacing for a quick roll in the ripple. I had been quite blasé about fighting the tench but a flash of real gold stopped me in my tracks.

It was undoubtedly a big crucian and the sight of it fighting me through clear water really had my arse going for sure. Then out of nowhere it just gave up totally and good as gold slid straight into my waiting net. No self takes were going to be struggled with on this one, so I was straight on the phone to get Jeff down to do the honours. Then who should turn up with him but my good mate Baz who had dropped by as he returned north after doing a job in the area.

Just seeing the fish resting under the water in my landing net I knew it was a PB but how big I could not say as I think crucians are a very hard species to estimate weights of due to their solid deep bodies. Baz though guessed it on the nose at 2.6lb just before it even went onto the scales.

That was it for me. If I did not catch another fish it would have been a great trip. But even after watching that one swim away in the clear water I looked up to see more crucian like bubbles appearing in my swim. For the rest of the afternoon I had them bubbling rolling and rising my float annoyingly just enough for me to strike but never enough for me to hit.

Finally after a slew of tench my float did a slight rise before moving left a little and my strike contacted another crucian of maybe ten ounces at best. This did however went some way to proving that a number of smaller fish were responsible for turning me over. Another hour later I hooked and lost what I am sure was a second good fish before I landed my third and final cute little crucian of the day.

I had set myself a packing up time so as to be ready to go when Martin, who had driven, was ready to go and just as that time neared Jeff strolled over for a chat. After a quick con-flab he turned and headed back for one last shot for a fish. Just as he turned tail a massive crucian came half out of the water only two feet from my spot. The sight of that certain three pounder turned my planned packing up into a very protracted affair, with my float rod staying firmly in position until the very end as I packed up everything else around whilst trying to watch the float out of the corner of my eye.

That big one never did grace me with a biet and nether did anything else. Even with my first experience of Marsh Farm being on a day when everything seemed to be against me, I know I worked hard to fish in a way I am not used to, and this hard work paid off landing me a whole mess of tench and the only crucians that were caught on Harris lake that day as far as I know. As for whether it was worth the long journey down from the Midlands. Well that's simple isn't it! First session there and new PB crucian, whereas on most waters you struggle to find them, if you can find a water that holds them. So yes, I will be back, and hopefully when I do return the conditions might be little more favourable.

At last... a tench has come along. My lonely days are over, and life is like a song.

I don't mind admitting that just lately I have been biding my time a little, and now after much waiting and biding the weather has finally come around enough  for me to start some tench fishing.  And it's about bloody time too, as by my reckoning it's nearly a month later getting to this point than it was last year. I was beginning to worry I might develop a severe case of the DT's if I couldn't dig in after the doctor fish soon.

As warm blooded life forms that exist in an environment where the temperature changes quickly, I think we often struggle to relate to our cold blooded neighbours trapped in an aquatic world. Living in the thin air with warm blood means that we can appreciate the rise in temperature quickly as it increases, whereas our slimy friends under the water probably wont's see any marked change for days as their more viscous environment takes much longer to heat than ours. Where I think we struggle to relate is when the sun shines, warming our environment, we automatically assume that the water too has risen by however many degrees on a par with our own. This quite often ends up in the situation I am sure many anglers found themselves in this weekend just past, where they assumed the time was here to abandon slowly, slowly, catchy, monkey in favour of the 'have all this munga and get on my line' approach.

This past week the temperature had climbed by ten degrees, the sun now shone and every type of media in England ran stories heralding the arrival of Spring. Maybe if one of the weekly angling publications gave a crap about more than just filling their pages with adverts they might of ran a headline along the lines of 'Springs arrives! But the water is still cold so don't go mad lads!!!'

Even knowing the water was still cold, tench had to be my quarry for a couple of sessions this weekend, because luckily one of my favourite tench waters wakes up very early and good sport can be had at least three weeks before most other tench venues really get into the swing of things. It was with that in mind that I cashed in my one remaining lieu day so as I could spend an entire day on the banks of this early starter, and try and see how the land was lying now the belated spring had sputtered into existence.

To be frank I thought I had arrived before the fish had woken up as over the course of the first hour tales of woe from other anglers were conveyed to me. Add to that the generally silent nature of my bite indicators and the way my bobbins hung lifelessly and I was getting a bit concerned, as I knew if the fish were in the mood it quite often happens pretty quickly here. I just needed a little sign of interest to calm me down...

What joy just two bleeps can bring! Most times a single bleep means very little, on a windy day blame is easily associated to the waves for two bleeps, but on a calm day two bleeps means so much more than one. So with those precious two bleeps my entire demeanour flipped and confidence was restored. Something was there and it was inclined towards my hook.

I left it alone more than long enough, the whole time wishing it would tear away until so long had passed that I had to check the rig for some kind of failure. I held the hook up to the sky to check it was OK before I pulled it over my thumb nail and just as the sharpness grated through my nerves the other indicator sounded as the light bobbin jerked up an inch or so. That was enough for me to drop one rod and strike the other one in one fluid movement.

One hour and forty minutes in and my first tench of 2013 made its way in a rather subdued manner towards my net. Whether it took fifty yards for the fish to wake up or it was trying to lull me into some false sense of security was anyone guess, but as it neared the bank it went berserk and fought for easily ten times longer than it had taken to get it to where it was, until finally it passed over the cord and ended the winter for me. Though outwardly calm and smiling inside my head a raucous fanfare was under way in rejoice of this most important fish for me of the year for me.

The next fish turned out to not be a subtle as the first. Baz had turned up with carp in mind and was setting up just down the bank and it was while chatting with him as he unpacked his gear that my right hand rod went into what can only be described as meltdown. It was one of those moments when your bite indicator goes from silent to single tone instantly, and then I seemed to be running on the spot like a cartoon character trying to reach the rod.

Another lean female on the mat looked in great condition apart from some strange red patches which seemed stained into her skin. They were nether raised or open and did not seem to be detrimental to the fish. I wondered whether they were something to do with what they had been eating, but apparently it is something called red pest which is supposedly a harmless bacterial infection, according to Baz.

I had to wait four hours for the next spell of activity and this lead me to believe that the fish could well of been feeding in  short spells. The first of which coincided with the air temp going into double figures, and the second I suppose could be attributed to the time it takes for the first lot of food from the mornings feeding to be digested. Hence hours later the action began again after a hint of enquiry and a bit of wait another dithering bite emerged and third but pale female found the net.

It was me that was dithering this time as I packed away. Baz had just left and I should have been going but as per normal I had got to that everything I could packed away and now I hung around just in case. It turned out I was right and  just before I pulled the rods a forth fish took the bait. This one though smashed the lake up surging all over the shop and that can only indicate one thing. A mental little male tench to finish.

I returned Sunday for another crack but this was a different day all together  White horses rode over the lake and just setting up was a hassle with the wind coursing down onto the deeper bank where I was intent on fishing. I could of set up under the wind, but to do so I would of had to fish the shallower bank and the idea of trying to make long casts towards the deep water with the wind intersecting my cast seemed sensless. So I fought it out with the wind in my face.

The thought that this was about to be a total nightmare occurred to me as the first rod I had cast out repeatedly bleeped as I tried to cast my second. That was until the indicator made a few too many bleeps to be wind. The still un-cast road was gently stowed on the rests before I picked up the first and struck into my first fish of the day. The line had hardly settled and I was into a fish. It was the smallest one of the whole weekend, but you can imagine that it kind of got me thinking I was about to bag up.

Five hours and one dropped run later I sat wind whacked and flabbergasted at the lack of action. I had spent the whole morning being as proactive as possible. Some baits were left in situ for long periods whilst others where recast repeatedly and with much aggravation from the wind in an attempt to try and locate fish. 

It wasn't until noon had past that I hit a tentative pick up and felt visceral insanity that could only mean I was attached to another small male tench. He pulled out all the stops but happily my well tuned rigs and set up seem to be doing very well from the off this year and have so far left me six for six and culminated with me landing this minter.

Nothing massive came my way but this weekend proved to be a great warm up. Right now I have one hundred percent confidence in my rigs using the method feeder and I hope the same can be said when I change them for maggot feeders in a few weeks time. As for the tench, they all seem to have come through the winter no worse for ware. Unlike me who has piled on a few pounds scoffing starchy stuff in the cold they seem relatively as lean as they should be after such a prolonged cold spell, and it wont take them long to plump up as I hopefully slim down a bit.