Down the hill round the corner and back up again.

I fear my finale at Napton may have been over dramatized in my mind. You see the way I kind of saw it was like the ending of some cheesy nineties movie, where upon beating all odds I had succeeded and was now walking away into the sunset having won the heart of the beautiful love interest with my dry wit and steely good looks. It was in reality me having caught the crucian after spending an inordinately large amount of time sitting next to a lake where I had over many months chucked in more sweet corn and ground bait than I feel comfortable admitting to. All that aside I had to walk away down the hill back into the valley of normality as I had practically given zero attention to the river and quite frankly risked missing an entire season on the Avon.

Honestly I don't think I had missed much by the general whining I had seen on social media about the lack of water. One thing I had read far too often, much to my chagrin, was how many top level barbel chappies were condemning other anglers for barbel fishing in the heat wave and making it very clear that barbel were unable to deal with the stresses of being caught in such conditions. Now I know these people only had fish safety in mind and good on them for sticking with their conviction, but the question that came to my mind re this was, what makes barbel special? Surely any species be it barbel, gudgeon or chub that is used to existing in highly oxygenated water is not going to appreciate getting caught in the heat. I suppose the answer to that is simple now I am reading it back and that is that they only care about barbel and all other species are merely pests to them.

Anyway on the subject of barbel I did find myself back on the river. ONCE THE HEATWAVE HAD ABATED, fishing for barbel. With the temperature down and a bit of extra water in the river I headed up to Barford to see if those hard fighting berties had come onto the feed. Joyfully they had and not long after settling into a favourite spot I got exactly the sort of bite I was after. Straight away I knew I was into a barbel but during the fight it steadily grew smaller and smaller until I landed a perfect miniature barbel of not even two pounds...

I couldn't quite believe it at first as I have rarely seen these youngsters before and the average of this area of river is generally 4-10lb in weight. Would you believe that on my second cast the PVA bag must have barely melted before bang, I was into another and then another straight after that! Things actually seem to looking good for this stretch of river with a few young healthy fish coming through the ranks for the future.

I returned to the river a few days later to search for the rumoured big preds that hide in the slack shady water on one of the sections I fish. Again and again I hear of this area producing big zander but after searching round all last winter I am none the wiser of the location of these phantom fish. Hence I wondered if I might be able to pin some locations down by mooching round with a lure rod in the summer. The cut and thrust of this endeavor was that none of the water I expected contained seemingly any predators. By chance I gave some of the faster swims a go and instantly was rewarded by a super charged little pike nearly ripping the rod out of my hand as it tore into my savage jerk bait that wobbled across the current.

I was really starting to feel the river now and I took the opportunity to search out a new section of the Upper Avon I had been tipped off about. Not wanting to go into specifics I have been told something very rare indeed swims in this secluded area high up the Avon. It's a rumour I have heard a few times from different sources, but all these rumours share a similar location and this was where I headed for a few hours one night a while ago. It turned out to be a cracking little secret gem where no one seems to fish; given its difficult access and it's that lack of attention, it could be the sanctuary of a real treasure. On this first foray though all I could catch were chub. The smallest being mere ounces and the largest maybe three-four pounds in weight.

That little bit of river has captured my attention and the possibility of what it holds make certain I will return to try again and again on its deserted banks. The weather though tells me the rivers are still way off their best and the conditions are more conducive to tench fishing, and the thought of what seemed to be big tench rolling at Napton drew me back. Really I didn't want to go back quite so soon but what I had seen was too good of an opportunity to turn down. Over my many hours lingering on the banks staring at floats bobbing in the edge I have watched some of the carp lads baiting their little hearts out. I have witnessed this so much in fact that I can now distinguish between brands of spods/spobs just from the sound they make flying through the air. But one spot that two or three of the syndicate members are baiting has become very obvious to me and time and time again I have watched big tench rolling over this spot. So armed with a couple of one and three quarter pound Avon style rods, as it is quite a chuck, and a marker rod, I went to have a lookie loo at what was attracting all this attention.

All it took was a bit of walking out on the banks and few casts and I found a large clear spot in about ten feet of water. This was obviously what the carp lads were aiming for and it was more than likely that all the bait was not just attracting carp. For me though I didn't have time on this occasion to spend two hours filling it in with bait, so I instead went for a more opportunist approach and clipped up two method feeders at the distance and cast them onto the spot laden with fishy ground bait full of chopped 10mm boilies. Casting every fifteen minutes soon rang the dinner bell whilst tainting the swim with enough bait to interest fish whilst not pre occupying them with large amounts of food. I'd only made three casts before one of the buzzers sprang to life as a small tench made off with the bait.

A few casts later I got a big drop back which brought the left hand alarm stuttering to life. This wasn't a tench given by the lack of fight and I kind of hoped it was a huge roach. When it eventually surfaced I saw much to my suprise my first ever Napton bream. Literally in ten years plus I have never caught a single bream and here I was with very young looking four pounder.

Where there's one bream there's others and few casts later I second received a big drop back which saw me hooked into a much larger fish, and the dull heavy fight told me another bigger bream was on its way in. As per, the fight was nothing to write home about but once in the net this fish was special for a whole other reason. Literally this fish looked a hundred years old with nobbles front to back. It was lumpy and bumpy and very calm, like an OAP fish. In its hey day this must have been some fish and it certainly had to have been a double figure fish. Now though it had gone past its prime maybe ten years ago and was probably lingering on undisturbed in the depths waiting out its life munching softened boilies moaning to the skimmers about the war.

Although extremely happy to have firstly located some big bream in Napton for future reference I now find myself thinking are those big fish I have seen rolling on this spot the big tench I thought or a shoal of bream that I think is massive tench. I suppose it's just a case of fish and find out, mind that might have to wait as I broke one of my rod tips putting it back in the car after this session and replacing these rods is not a high priority right now so it will have to wait until funds dictate.

Old gold - part two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.