The Lake #8 Which bites best

Bites! They are whole reason we go fishing. I know sometimes we say otherwise. Like when we roll out that old line 'It's just nice to be out in the countryside', which we all know is code for I blanked, but where I blanked sure looked nice. Given a choice I feel sure any angler if they were truly honest might admit that they would take a single bite rather than have a morning fishing in the pond located in the back right corner of the garden of Eden. The other thing we cannot deny is that when we are out enjoying the countryside we are surrounded by a plethora of fishing gear, that we probably sweated like a hog in august just to get to the bank, and if we were just out to enjoy the vistas we may just be minus all that.

Bites though when we get them are wondrous thing,s which we have given as many names as we have thought of ways of getting them. Nods, dips, runs, tugs, pulls, twitch, bangs, jerks, whatever you want to call them they are essentially the moment that establishes a link between us and our quarry and also the thing we desire most.

Now I for one believe there is no such thing as a bad bite. It is just not possible. Fair enough there are bites from things you don't really want to catch, but as they nearly always end in a wriggle they can't be bad.

For me perspective plays a large part. By this I mean where and how you got the bite. On commercial lakes stuffed to the reeds with starving carp a float that spends as much time under the water as it does above expected, but on a half frozen river in the depths on winter a single slow pull from a wild chub is an exciting surprise.

Some bites have now become cold and heartless. I myself spend so much time sitting behind electronic bite alarms that I sometimes ignore and forget old methods that have put many smiles upon my face, and whilst under the digital spell of the bite alarm it was precisely when this occurred to me.

What is my all time top five favourite bites? I thought it over for a while  and here they are in reverse order.

5.  The almost secret swirl of a surface feeding carp as it engulfs your bait.   

4. The 2ft twitch from a barbel in a warm witching hour.

3. The hoop of a big chub on a freezing river.

2. The sliding away of a big bulbous pike float on a chilly autumn day

1. The lift float bite from a tench on a misty lake on a summer morning

Just writing all five has me yearning to do them all and as my number one is aptly convenient right now I could not resist no matter what the consequences.

So on a summer Sunday morning I walked down to the misty quiet lake with little more than a rod and chair and after gently throwing in a little bait I sat and waited for fate to come my way.

There is no better sight

Hello

Here we go

Hold fast

Not yet

It's going

Strike, Jim!

The purity of the lift bite is amazing and what makes it stand out above all other bites is the amount of time it takes to develop. From the first hint that a fish is close by, then the rings that emanate from the float as your bait gets mouthed. Then when slowly the float rises before sliding away and you strike. Every aspect of it can be enjoyed and savoured before you connect with the powerful fish.

I had no thought that I would employ this tactic on the lake, but time on the bank has taught me otherwise and I have the cold aloofness of the bite indicator to thank for that. As whilst I have waited and used my ears to keep track of them, my eyes have been free to peer into the clear water and decipher closer goings on deep within the weed only feet from the bank.

After watching and savouring that wonderful bite I landed what for me, so far, has been the capture of this folly. It was not a giant and I did not have to wait 48hrs to catch it. But the capture this tench means probably more to than any of the other fish I have caught on the lake so far and maybe ever will.

Now strangely as I warm in the intermittent sun, I dream of autumn days pike fishing and frosty January mornings filled with the reek of cheese paste, when just one single amazing bite will do.

The Lake #6 I can't sleep

I always knew night would rule over day on the lake. So confirmation that the shoals of big slabs silently drift over the lake come night, hoovering up any and all bait in their way, came as no surprise. This brings with it a unique problem; we humans are programmed from an early age to sleep for an average of eight hours, rather inconveniently right when the best fishing on the lake occurs.

However modern angling has changed. We now have all the comforts and gadgets to enable us to spend nights on the bank not as anglers did twenty years ago, sleeping under a canvas sheet with lumpy ground grinding deep into our spines, waiting for a folded piece of tin foil to jerk up to the rod. This is long forgotten, as is sitting up all night shivering. Instant erect shelters and comfy bed chairs alongside electronic alarms allow us to curl up warm in slumber until that super bright LED light cuts through the dark, and silence is shattered by repetitive beeps. When with no thought of temperature change you jump into the night like an exciting child having snared Santa Claus in a dastardly trap.

I have all these comfortable things and I have trodden this Morlock life before, as the best fishing is to had when normal people slumber. A routine is developing as is familiarity with the lake; arrive late afternoon, bait up cast out, set up camp, then get my head down until the wee hours when the feasting begins.

At least that's what I thought when I slipped into my sleeping bag the other night. Turned out there was a fly in my ointment as I could not get to sleep! 

I feel sure others have endured the sensation when you lay on your bed knowing that sleep is needed to withstand that sapping unnatural night time activity. Your body knows it should be asleep, and you are forcing yourself to remember to clip up on that tiny marker on your line, so you can hit that sweet spot blind in the dark, just so you can go through it all over again should another fish falls for your rouse.

The more I thought about it the worse it got as I lay in the dark waiting. Every so often I would look at the super bright screen of my mobile phone to check the time, only to see it was only a ten or more minutes later. My brain it would seem could not switch off. I could hear every rustle in the undergrowth around me. Every hoot and screech from around the lake. A tawny owl even took residence in a tree down the bank for a good half hour where it called constantly. The fact that I knew sooner or later fish would arrive too compounded the problem, as I had the stupid idea that come a specific time the fish would magically begin to feed. My mind and nature were combining forces to keep me awake and it was driving me slowly mad.

The time when I suspected it would begin passed and an hour beyond it a light flickered feet away from my now glassy eyes. At the first sign I flipped open the sleeping bag. At a definite double bleep I sat up and by the time the bobbin moved I was fumbling for my shoes in the dark.

Solid and kiting to the left it felt a good fish. Slowly and subtly resisting it came closer to the bank. But at the string of the net I thought I had caught the smallest strongest bream in the lake. Then as I lifted the net what my eyes were seeing turned out to be different to what my arms were lifting. When I unfolded the net it turned out my tired eyes were definitely lying to me.

Another eight pound plus bream was my reward for staying awake most of the night. The capture came as quite a relief after all that waiting. Though now the idea that I was about to spend the next few hours hovering round in the chilly night air as bream after bream grubbed around my swim seemed a little daunting in my current state. It took me a couple of casts to hit the clip and land the bait in an area I felt happy with and then I lingered for a while expecting more action. But nothing happened! 

It is amazing how well we humans can hear in the dark. The buzzing of a mosquito which is normally inaudible in daylight can be pinpointed as it homes in on our body heat in the dark. It took all of three such flybys to get me heading back into the safety of my sleeping bag where, with the air of expectation broken, I drifted into a satisfied slumber.

I don't think the bream showed up after that odd lone fish or at least I never heard my indicator sound anyway as I slept. But just light broke a different bleep woke me. 

The whole time I have been fishing the lake so far I have fished two totally separate set ups. Of four rods two are angled in the direction of bream, tench  and carp. The other two are rigged to catch pike, perch and eels. The two sets of two rods are purposely fished on different indicators. The red light alarms for the omnivorous fish and blue for the carnivorous critters. Both sound very different from each other which helps along with the lights to differentiate them at night.

The only thing is that so far all action has originated from the red team. Which left me rather surprised when I heard a different sound as a run occurred. I can't deny that when I heard it, that I didn't jump straight out of bed and head half asleep too the wrong set of rods and wonder why I could hear a run but not see movement.

It did quickly click that a drop off indicator was lying on the floor and line intermittently was peeling from my open spool on my most left hand rod. Picking it up and clicking on the bale arm I could feel the fish moving away.The culprit made quite the swirl in the shallow water as I struck. Then came clear of the water moments later shaking it's head violently like summer pike tend too.  

Not massive but finally after fishing dead bait rods for over a month on the lake a predator had found my bait.
Next time out I think I will give the fish baits a miss and dedicate both of these blue team rods to the humble lobworm with the hope that I might chance upon a eel or two which I know for a fact have lingered in these waters for hundreds of years.

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. 

Only getting silver

Quite honestly I don't know who is more confused right now, me or the fish. In moments between casts into the sea, I thought as a snooker player does about what moves I may make when I returned home to coloured rivers, the scent of damp leaves and mobs of crow cawing from roosts in the woods. Only problem was it was still bloody summer when I got back and all my plans do not fit well with this late heat wave. 

I really want to fish for autumn quarry as does Andy, but no matter how hard we tried to think of something that may be fruitful we found nothing that we thought would be truly productive. So in doubt we crashed Lee's trip and went crucian fishing on October the 2nd...

I do love a nice estate lake and once long ago the lake we were visiting was one, although now it is shadow of what it probably once was. We arrived in pitch black and after checking the notice board for booked pegs (honestly) we set off towards the dam wall.

It certainly looked the part and according to both Lee and Andy this lake held a good population of Crucians right up to big, so I set out my stall accordingly; light floats capable of detecting shy bites, centrepin reels and a veritable smorgasbord of baits.

Mine was a corker of a swim and looked perfect for a Crucian or two, but it seemed it was also perfect for skimmers, which plagued all three of us all day. At 10 oz - 1lb each they were a match anglers dream, but for three midlanders seeking gold they soon became a pain up the arse to say the least.

Confidence on all our parts of catching Crucians was high so the quid for the biggest trophy was put on the line for the biggest of the day, though sadly  unlike Andy and Lee, I never managed to root gold from all the silver. Until he had to head off Lee was on route to take the trophy north for a stint, but Andy fluked a mucking great fish just before we left to steal Lee's thunder.

Seeing it in his net I thought he'd nobbled a two but on the scales it fell a little short at 1.12lb - still enough to keep the trophy south of the M42 nonetheless.

I feel bad saying this as the owners of this lake are obviously working very hard to try and make a nice fishery(which is a credit to them),  but it is rather heavily populated with carp anglers who seem to think they are fishing on a much larger lake than they are, and show little to no concern for each other, never mind the few visiting anglers trying to scratch a few fish from amongst their web of lines.