A colourful birthday slapping.

Over the weekend I turned thirty six and it being my birthday all ideas of me doing any chores or DIY were summarily nullified. As per normal when asked by my better half, family and friends what I wanted to do for my birthday I responded with, 'I want to go fishing'. As no one was really going to question me on my birthday it seemed I was free to do exactly as I wanted, and given it was a bit of a nice weekend with a bank holiday at the end, it seemed it had a chance to turn into an impromptu fish-fest.

So after fulfilling my bill paying duties on Saturday morning I grabbed my ready-prepared gear and headed off into the Warwickshire wilderness to stalk some carp on my friends quiet woodland lake. Though I did have to make a stop on the way to pick up a prize which I found out I had won only a few days ago. 

Any regular readers of this blog might remember last year I spent a large part of my summer fishing a venue I referred to as 'the lake' and for those who had not put two and two together already, the lake to which I referred to was Coombe pool fishery. I was lucky enough to win a free season ticket with one of my huge catches of bream that was topped off by a 10.2lb specimen. Prior to this revelation I really was unsure if I was going to return to Coombe after a successful season last year. But this prize has decided that for me and now ticket in hand I find myself planning for those sleepless slimy nights of bream fishing, and for the amazing dawns when the promise of big tench is almost too much to bear.

After finally leaving the bank holiday weekend meleé of Coombe country park, a short journey found me in the pure peace and quiet well away from the throngs. From the path leading down through the coppice I could already sight a few dark shapes cruising in the afternoon sun. Unusually the fish on the surface were not in the dream state they are often found in here in mid afternoon, and were in fact quite twitchy. It only took one lap of the lake  before a viable candidate was located two feet out from the bank browsing along a small reed bed. 

A cast was made and as if sticking to the script, the fish slowly drifted toward my sinking free lined bread,sucking it in and blowing it out in one deft movement before moving off. I tracked it down the bank to where I found it now only inches under the surface close to a small willow tree. This time a floating bit of crust seemed more appropriate. But after casting it over the fishes head and drawing it close, the fish clocked my ruse and slid away. Only moments later as I waited hoping the target might resurface right under my bait I spotted a chunky fish moving very confidently in the direction of my bait. There was no doubt about the outcome of this encounter! A mouth opened, the rod bent and the pin screamed as it made a very impressive run right across the lake.

This fish fought so hard I did wonder if it had some barbel in its lineage. When I finally slipped the net under it the solid common had a tail which stretched out was as big as the widest bit of the fish, which explained the insane fight that had left my thumb cramped from breaking the pin.

Four or five more fish were landed before they all seemed to disappear off the top. After spotting a disturbance over in a shady bank I moved up on them using the knee high nettles and shadows of the trees to mask my approach. This enabled me to stand only feet away from the fish as the patrolled along a lily bed between me and them.

Most of the moving carp seemed to look like other things might soon be on their mind, but just in the lillies to my right I spotted a very odd face poking from under the pads. It did look like this fish was in that hot summers day trance they get in, but it did seem a viable mark. I hooked on a tiny bit of crust no bigger than my thumb nail and lowered it onto the surface about a foot away so the slight tow would carry it into position. It worked a treat; the crust drifted naturally into place and after flaring its nostrils the fish moved ever so slowly to meet it. The suction was so slight the bread span round on the nose of the fish without going in. Then it seemed to hold it just in its lips for a ages before finally sucking it in.

Whether my strike was to light or whether it was too deep in its comatose world to know what was going on I could not exactly say. It just swam very obediently into my waiting net. I remember thinking that was very odd then as I lifted the net it suddenly woke up and went berserk trying to swim off in the net. Eventually I did manage to calm it down enough as to dare to try and get a photo as it was well worth a snapshot.

The fish had other ideas though, and I had to show this series of shots my friend Rob took of me getting a good old birthday slapping as the fish tried to do one over my shoulder into the undergrowth.

It's a bit wriggly!

Oh god it's trying to get over my shoulder!

Now it's vibrating like mad!

Both of us calm again!

The next day saw me heading off tench fishing to a local lake which is normally very good to me. All too often I find myself sitting behind buzzers waiting for my rig to do the business for me. Today though I had a load of maggot as bait and had also dusted of a fourteen foot power waggler rod which I wanted to see was in working order for a trip later in the week.

So unusually I found myself sitting tight to the bank regularly firing maggots at my black topped crystal waggler which sat statue like about three rod lengths out. As romantic of a session as I wanted to be, it turned out to nothing of the sort and I was forced to sit watching tench fizz appearing randomly around my swim as my float did nothing whilst other anglers down the bank managed to land a few using methods I would normally use. This Sunday session ended up being a total write off for me even though I knew there was feeding fish in my swim they seemed rather reluctant to take any of the baits I was offering.

The next day I had a score to settle and after chucking the float gear away and tooling up with my normal two rod long range kit I went back to find a wonderful breeze whipping up the surface of the lake. On still days you can spot the feeding fish on this venue, but on windy days they get their heads down in a big way as I was about to see once again.

I had only been cast out ten minutes when Baz turned up in the car park before coming down my way to see if the swim he was after was free. Then as he walked past me rushing back to get his gear my right hand rod jerk into life. The stuttering run ended in nothing, but then as I recast that rod the splash of the feeder caused another fish to bolt through my other line causing a screamer on my other rod that too ended in nothing.

When I had finally got both rods recast and Baz had also got settled in I popped over for a quick word. This inevitably ended up in me doing a sprint back as my one of my rods again melted off attached to this lovely gal.

Up until about eleven it was pretty regular action for me as most casts got some attention within twenty minutes. Four more tench hit the net and another found freedom in the shallows to my right after performing a spectacular kiting run. A small carp pulled exactly the same trick on me to by also flying into the bank where I found myself playing a fish on forty plus feet of line only three feet form the bank.

After my action piped down news reached me that Baz had just landed a mid double common which he was just setting free when I arrived. Not wanting to be away from my rods too long I made a comment I knew Baz was waiting for... The last time I told him I thought it was only a mater of time before he landed a good one from this lake, he landed a twenty plus fish! And after uttering some similar words you will never guess what happened!!!

Yes he landed another one and this time it was a spectacular twenty pound six ounce Ghost common which I was lucky enough to get to photograph for him. He was buzzing as we got some cracking shots of this rarely caught fish which he really deserved to catch.

What away to end a fish-filled birthday weekend, by seeing this wonderful fish fall to one of my friends. Three sessions in three days and a load of cracking fish crossing the cord... I reckon I could get used to this and it almost makes me want my birthday to come round quicker if it wasn't for the fact I don't want to wish my life away, as there are not enough hours in one life time for me to go fishing.

The Lake #2 steely stares and a useful discovery

It was only a few hours before that I was writing of the lake and now I was standing next to it again readying myself . The rush hour journey as always drives me mad and being keen to get into peace and solitude had only heightened the whole experience. It's not that I was desperate to be fishing, more I was desperate to be out of the city away from cars and noise. 

Although one reason for me being here was to fish, the other was to watch the lakes routine as it rolls slowly from light to dark. This for me is the most important time of the day. Call it what you will, the witching hour or that special time, but to be by water when the harsh light of day suddenly refracts less, you stand a chance to see things that all day have remained hidden. I've seen this on so many places when the sun dips onto the horizon end everything starts to move. Flat water becomes dotted with the rings of a million tiny fish, carp occasionally breech and lovely shoals of bream or tench roll gayly on the surface, and for the avid angler, they reveal their location.

I remember fishing on a pit one summers evening with a peacock quill lift float. My wriggling worms had only attracted the attentions of a few small greedy perch. As the light faded I looked out over the water and spotted a single fish roll directly in front. This was followed intermittently by others. By the time I had seen ten or more I had reeled in and was shimmying up the bank behind. At the top my jaw fell slack! In front of me the water was black with bream just under the surface. They were so tightly packed only the fish at the edges of this great gathering had outlines. I remember thinking at the time that giving a running start I reckon a good distance could be accomplished running across the backs there was so many of them. All afternoon I had sat beside that lake without so much as hint of what was out in front of me before that one change heralded this mass appearance.

So this was why I was here, to fish yes, but also to learn more. Only thing was that with the summer solstice just passed I had plenty of time to wait till night drew in, but other fishy goings on were watched as I waited. Two different carp anglers arrived at a bleached old tree that has laid in the lake for as long as I remember. One even donned his chest high waders before sliding into the water bucket in hand. He scooped copious amounts of something around the snag before teetering back to the edge. Then shortly after he went a graceful pair of swans arrived and upended, mopping up probably every morsel over the next two hours.

I watched the lake go through just about every possible scenario of light levels. From sunny and warm to cloudy with a decent ripple but not a thing moved during the entire time I was there. I stood vigil, my eyes fixed on the water, and the lake stared back. Quite honestly it felt like a shoot out scene from an old western movie, when the two gun slingers stand ether end of dusty street waiting for the other to move. The only thing that was missing was tooth picks and tumble weeds. In the end it turned out to be a real stalemate! I was unwilling to look away and it never made a move and that included bites.

There was still a hint of light on the lake when one of my rods rang loudly in the darkness but as I moved quickly towards it I caught a glimpse of dark shapes bobbing over my swim. Those dam tufty's and their flipping great memories had snuck in silently and were now taking it in turns to dive onto my bait.

Another angler I know, who shall remain nameless (unless he wants to admit it)  uses a green laser pen to scare wildfowl from over his baits and remembering this inspired me to try something. My camera has a very bright flash that practically blinds me when doing night time self takes, so I flipped up the flash and positioned myself behind the reed bed in front so as to not get too much flash on the water. I even aimed it up off the water before firing it off. Low and behold the whole flock took to the air in panic, never to return.

Only after night fell and the owls began to hoot from the old wood over the lake did I detect a few small fish flipping close by on the surface. But those tantalising rolling fish never appeared and nor did any crashing mighty fish in the dark. Nothing had given itself away and this session ended in stalemate.

Walking through the desert.

The glorious fishing of a blog ago seems like an oasis in my mind now. Since then I have spent a charming morning seeking forgotten gold on the periphery of carp fishing, where chances are few and far between! 

On that trip my theories held fast and later rather than sooner treasure was found. Though our chances were lost in the blink of an eye. Sometimes however failure reaps its own rewards, and to see a good friend brimming with excitement and glee even though he lost of a fish was, in it's own way, reward enough. That was one of those moments you remember for life.

That day the cloud hung low over us. But since then it has evaporated and I like everyone else has found myself baked by the sun. I will not moan about the weather as we Brits are so easily inclined. But as I stumbled through the week like desert rat looking for Casablanca the game has changed.

A spur of the moment mid week jaunt to the sandpit where the sun usually does no harm to the tinica chase, was a farce. On arrival the usually still surface was being thrashed to a foam in a cyprinid interpretation of Sodom and Gomorrah. This gave me the distinct feeling that any efforts offered may be somewhat fruitless.
The morning dwindled away as I watched the spawning carp orgy against any and all exposed tree roots.
As is often the case with fishing when you can see a lot of fish, you just can't catch any.
Following the spawning carp as the jettisoned another generation were epic shoals of rudd feasting on the temporary bounty.

Whether the tench too were scoffing up carp spawn in favour of my baits is any ones guess. By early afternoon the temperature had soared to a uncomfortable 29c and the still hot air forced me off the bank.

I did return later to see if the cooling night brought them onto the feed, but the effects of this heatwave seem far reaching and even the witching hour seemed quiet. Or so I thought...

Just before I packed up in the half light I heard a couple walking down the gravel path behind me. Actually what I heard was the chap noisily barking down the phone about an unpaid debt. 

When they came past they obviously spotted me against the edge of the water and came over for a chat. The normal pleasantries were exchanged and obviously he had fished in his younger years which he explained at the top of his voice.

After they left I began packing up in ernest as the Canadian geese began squawking before dark fell. That was when I heard a rather odd squawk amongst the normal ones, that came from somewhere over the lake.

Then I heard it again and again and again! Peering through the dark scanning around I finally spotted the origin of the noise. The passing couple it would seem were not just out for a quiet evening stroll. They were in fact out for a noisy night liaison and I was party to it. At that I threw the rest of my kit away and headed off in the opposite direction. 

In the car on the way home I explained my story to a bemused Jacky who offered up the suggestion that maybe I was not an unwitting witness but instead possibly an reluctant element to their nocturnal activities, which I will say left me feeling a little used!

As the heat wave continued so did my staggering through the fishing desert. It was my first trip to Linear fisheries and even with less than ideal conditions I was optimistically hopeful. I mean whenever you go fishing it's a 50/50 chance of catching, right? So why not risk it at a place that could make your dreams come true.

Linear proved to a real eye opener for me. It's depth, clarity and weed came as no shock as this is what you expect from gravel pits. But we had been there less than five minutes and walked past two pegs when we spyed two 20lb plus carp eagerly circling the margins, doing a little pre spawning dance.

The area we fancied already had what looked like a battalion worth of kit piled high in it by a couple of blokes who were in for the long hall. So a challenging walk round the lake produced a couple of likely looking swims.

As for the days fishing it stayed true to the current rhythm we all seem to be experiencing right now. But for me this trip was a learning curve beyond everything I have ever seen before.

My morning was spent peering over a reed bed whilst my rods fished silently away nearby and I was ready for a move. Luckily just after I had been to scope out potential new swims, two anglers who had just spent forty eight hours fishing a point swim moved off after taking only one fish between them. To me it seemed the right move. With a four foot margin dropping away to twelve feet to my right and a shallow bar emanating straight out of the centre of the swim I could make the best of both worlds.

The first carp that passed me as I knelt on the edge forcing a bank stick into the sun baked mud stopped me in my tracks. It was only three feet away and had thirty pounds written all over it. With both rods out I stood against a bush right on the bank and gawped. This area seemed to be an intersection in the lake and the fish were on the move in a big way.

The best way to describe the scene before me is simply like this...

20lb

20lb

15lb

10lb

10lb

10lb

30lb

30lb

10lb

20lb

10lb

15lb

20lb

25lb

10lb

stocky

stocky

stocky

stocky

20lb

30lb

20lb

whoooa! 40lb

10lb

stocky

20lb 

The whole afternoon I watched carp till my eyes were sore from wearing Polaroids. One specific spot of my swim became the focal point for my aching eyes; three rod lengths out was a clear patch in the weed where the gravel was polished by a thousand sucking mouths.

By now I had noticed a marked difference in the behaviour of the carp. Some were intent on following each other keen to spawn and they moved fast, oblivious to everything. The stocky's just charged round like a gang of teenage boys. Some of the mighty old fish drifted slowly inches under the surface without a care in the world. All except for the spawning fish had one thing in common - they would not so much as put a fin over that clean gravel. Even if it meant going out of their way to go round it they did. But one group stopped just as they broached the edge of the gravel. They had blatantly caught the scent of the four jaffas of mixed goodies I landed on it whilst the coast was clear. But they would not venture on.

It wasn't until a smaller shadow drifted carelessly in and had a few mouth fulls that they appeared off the back off the bar. The smaller fish had me more excited as it was what I was here for. At half the size it was a huge tench but it took only three or four mouth fulls at the most before drifting on it's way. The carp however did not move an soon cleaned the patch off without so even touching my hook bait.

I tried every bait I had from boilies right through corn and ending up at worms. But these were cheeky fish. Me dropping bait right on their heads didn't bother them one bit and even my lead plopping in never vexed them. Then I started seeing the passing fish were slowing and investigating their lake-mates activities.

At seeing that I quickly changed onto a small zig rig and cast it onto the edge of the patch. 

This was worse as I could see the bait high in the water and the fish just passed by it again and again. That was until I walked off to get a drink. I returned back to my sentry duty but could not spot my bait under the ripple. As I walked to my left a bit the alarm went off and the reel span like mad. Just as I wound down on the fish I could see one of the small stocky's shaking it's head violently trying to dislodge the hook which it did!

The zig produced nothing else but the interested few were still intermittently dropping onto the clear gravel patch. So back out it went to no avail. A couple of liners and one dropped run on a popped up lob worm was all that side of the swim produced for the rest of the session.

As the end of the day drew ever closer I did have a good tench roll right over the top of my deep water rod. This did have me hovering over right until it was time to leave.

Even with one lost fish and one dropped run I can honestly say this was not a disappointing trip. For one I had two more runs than anyone else on the lake that day and the sight of all those carp was just so amazing any angler worth his metal would have had there eyes glued to the lake like hawk. I walked away happily from linear just as the sun began to burn the water and already I am thinking a trip back after the distracting breeding season is over will certainly be in order. 

A case of the runs.

Ever had the feeling that you are on a run? You know, it's that time when you everything you do is right. You could cast a bait into a puddle on the pavement outside your house and land a twenty pound carp or just generally turn up to any old lake and bang a monster first chuck.
Now although what I caught last week were no record breakers they did give me the feeling that I was a member of the golden rod club. Paradoxically this weekend I have landed back in reality where my golden rod is snapped, I am soaked, my back hurts and the Avon once again falls into the shite and barren category.
I know, as we all do, that highs and lows are integral to stimulate passion. for if you do not have one or the other you automatically become apathetic about what you do. But honestly, to fall so far in one foul drop has been a smack in the face and worst of all it has come from my beloved Avon. And after I have been faithful to the last this past winter.

Like many my mind has been filled with the romantic notion that I to could chance a chubby barb before the bell rings time on the season in not much more than a weeks time.
My first step into the blank void it was nothing more than a bird-like reaction to spring. The weather had warmed us all to the point of breaking into song and the seemingly stable double figure temps proved too much temptation, resulting in me charging off into the sunset to angle after lovely golden barbel. When I left the car the handy thermometer highlighted in green told me the temperature was a balmy 12c. When I returned less than three hours later it said 2c. In between twelve and two degrees I sat in the dark and stared vacantly at two tip lights for no apparent reason. I did worry a little when the normal buzz of activity of rolling fish never happened at dusk. I dismissed it as nothing, though thinking back, that was probably a good indicator.
Every time I have caught here, there has always been a rise of some kind. Maybe I would have stood a better chance a day or two earlier as I get the distinct feeling I was late of the mark hitting that mild spell.

My second trip was ill founded from the start and again the Avon slapped me as a result. This session carried a hundred memories of fishing in my childhood. Freezing cold, water running down my back as damp maggots escaped my bait box. All the crappy suffering that make up the cliché's of our sport rolled into one stamina sapping session. It rained from the moment I awoke till the moment the last bit of kit was shoved in the car boot and I went home to sulk in the warmth, fishless and f***** off.

But as I have said before these are downs which punctuate the ups. So rightfully I should feel challenged to return with renewed vigour and make one last attempt to woo something special onto my hook before the fat lady breaks into song.

Well we will see next time won't we.

A tale of two new lakes.

I have been a member of LAA for a few years now and most of the waters on our club book have had at one time or another felt the tender touch of my feet, bar one. I have heard much from my fishing companions of this lake, which is often ignored by anglers who get distracted by its bigger sibling the island pool at Jubilee lakes outside my home city of Coventry. 

So for the first time ever on Sunday morning I stepped through the wooded hollow that hides horseshoe pool from the thronging masses that frequent its neighbour and for a moment as I stood looking out over its still mist shrouded water I may have fallen in love, for a short while.

Any ideas of fishing were quickly thrown aside with my fishing gear and the camera was pulled from my bag as I had to share my first sight of this pool.

Eventually I did put down the camera and get on with some fishing but soon found that the area I had opted to fish was rather deep which didn't really suit the way I intended to fish today. This was no matter as I had forgone my normally back breaking pile of tackle in favour of a light stalking outfit so I could have a little explore around the pool to get to know her if you will.

From the moment the sun illuminated the sky the resident carp population were up in the surface layers and the bream and tench which also reside in this lake seemed rather uninclined to venture over my free particles towards my lift float rig.

As the morning wore on I moved around the lake casting close to any likely looking features giving each spot enough time to reveal any fish, alas to no avail.

Eventually I found myself on the spit of land which cuts into the centre of the lake. The sun was now high in the sky and had revealed to my polaroid clad eyes that the bottom of the lake seemed to be covered in a layer of silk weed. The clear feeding patches where fish had been feeding were evident and opted for one a rod length out.

After a further hour my float had little more than a pluck and the temptation to strip the weight from my simple rig became too great. I had packed a small bag of floaters just in case, but soon found what I had actually packed was a bag of sinking pellets with a layer of dog biscuits on top.

I didn't take long for the carp to investigate the plops the few freebies made and the ducks soon followed. One shoal of fish seemed more determined than the others and stuck around but seemed to have a good understanding of how to sort out the freebies from the hook bait.

Whilst trying to build their confidence into a frenzy I caught sight of a dark shape hanging round off the shoal a few metres. So I wondered whether this was my chance and cast a free lined pinch of bread close to it.

Sometimes it just looks right! The fish moves in a different way towards the bait and you know it's going to take it. Text book style it drifted in, sank down then as slow as you like, a pair of lips broke the surface and then all hell broke loose.

I just happened to be trying out a newly acquired Avon rod and this fish was fish was absolutely hammering it. Another chap called Mark who was floater fishing behind me and heard the screaming clutch appeared and offered to do the honours with the net. After a hardcore fight it finally appeared on the surface and it looked massive. On the bank it seemed even bigger and I still think it looks huge when I look at this photo.

20.12lb would do me fine and the decision was made. I wasn't going to get a better fish so I headed home.

The following day I decided to head down to another new lake at weston lawns fishery outside my old home town of Bedworth to hook up with Pete and Keith who had spent a night on the specimen lake chasing catfish.

I spent my entire youth scrabbling round the ponds and canals of Bedworth but oddly I haven't cast a line in this area for years. So driving back with Jeff in tow it felt like a real home coming for me. You know you're getting older when you can remember when the lake you are heading to was just fields. In fact as I navigated the drive I began to remember some of the times I spent in the very fields from whence this fishery sprung.

Weston Lawns is one of the new wave of commercial fisheries which cater for the ever growing appetite of the UK anglers and big carp fishing. Heavily stocked and heavily pressured the fish are certainly not as stupid as you would expect them to be. I joined Keith and Pete on one bank while Jeff headed straight for a reed lined area near the road that was alive with carp when we arrived.

The carp at first held little interest and my sole target was cats. I know to try and bag one in day light is virtually impossible but I have got to start somewhere. The cats never showed and chatting to one of the fishery lads he told me they don't come out regularly and mostly at night but we were in the right area.

Through the day I did get some interest from the local bream who were covered in spawning tubercles and very hungry.

Pete who was just down the bank bagged a massive perch which had just spawned at 2.12lb that only a few days ago would have been well over three. 

Mid afternoon both mine and Pete's rods that were cast to the island seemingly woke up and both of us got run after run but failed to land a single fish. A frustrating hour of constant runs where both of us thought we hooked a fish which came off and the mystery was explained when an angler to Petes left hooked a good fish. On the bank it turned out this was the fish which had been winding us up into a frenzy. The poor fish was trailing a rig and lead which had been snagging our lines as it moved up and down the island margins. The guy who landed it had not actually hooked the fish but caught the trailing rig and I am sure he will claim that one to his mates.

It was interesting to fish again in my home town but I don't think I am going to put to much time into this venue as a couple of others have popped up which look very inviting and have a good track record of daytime cat captures.