The Lake #1 Fishing with caged flowers

In the week just passed, the itch in my mind caused by my walk round the lake has turned into a rash that is now red raw from mental scratching. It got to the point where I had to remind myself of my patient and simple outlook towards this endeavour in order to stop myself over complicating things when I did finally arrive.

Soon enough though I found myself atop the grassy hill looking down towards the lake in the early hours of the morning on a cloudy and dull day. As I retraced my tracks back down to the lake the grass did not fold softly beneath my floating feet as before, for this time I was slung heavy with tackle, like some beast of burden; a few weeks free from lugging this around had given my body time to forget how heavy my fishing tackle can feel.

As we anglers often do, I had conceived visions of where I would make my first casts. This was not due to some mouth watering feature such as an island, because the lake beyond the bank is quite simply as featureless as a plain piece of paper. Instead my choice of spots was more governed by the simple attractiveness of what would be to my left or to my right. But as always with preconceived ideas they never work out, and upon rounding the bending approach to my spot, a dew covered bivvie was sighted.

Further down the track through an arch formed between two old oaks I had seen an quint little glade with short mown grass, which days before had caught my eye and now carried all hopes for my morning ahead.

Quiet and uninhabited upon arrival my second choice seemed the perfect place to begin this journey. I paused for a moment before passing down under the trees into the bank side glade. I like to think this was to take in the beauty of this place, but in actual fact it was more to do with me figuring where to place my feet on the bare earth leading down to the waters edge so as not to start the day on my bottom.

The first thing that hit me as I ventured out of the trees was that this was not in fact one little spot but the gateway to a sub bank which boasted four neat swims amongst one continuous reed bed. The second thing was what looked like a small chicken wire cage half way down the path about the size of a loaf of bread.

What animal would be so fierce that it should need it's own cage to protect passing anglers, I wondered. Maybe an out of control cricket or a shrew with an attitude problem was contained within. I had to investigate! Upon closer inspection no savage miniature animal raged within the wire. Rather it was seemingly filled with grass. Not until my nose was within inches of the wire did I spot the tiniest of pink and white flowers poking from within. The cage was not to protect me but to protect it from mine and others clumsy great size twelve feet, or possibly from the millions of rabbits which inhabit the area. 

The imprisoned tiny flower was an orchid no bigger than the top section of my finger. Call me a pansy but it seems a shame to me that something so rare and beautiful and wild should need to spend the rest of it's life behind bars. I actually decided to fish next to the little caged beauty and all through the day I pondered it in its little cage as my rods fished silently away close by.

My intention for my first trip had always been to attack from the off and although my initial intent for a twenty four hour session had been sidelined for the sake of my still niggling back, I stuck with my plan firing some twenty five cricket ball sized balls of mixed munga loosely around a marker float some sixty yards out by way of invite to the lakes illusive populations.

I would love to say that my ingenious ploy heralded an instant response but that would be no more than a common lie. Instead I sat snugly tucked under a convenient ash and watched as the wind built up through the morning and the ripple turned into waves, white caps and all.

Four hours in I was thinking I had over cooked it with my Dunkirk style approach, until the briefest of bites indicated the presence of something of the scaled variety. Thirty minutes later another dithering bite turned into a slow and steady run. Lolling round on the surface right over the baited spot out in the lake this had to be a bream and it was! sixty yards out fighting like a wet sack full of silt. A mighty fight it was not. But a mighty fish it will be one day.

Deep, long and young, this was great start to a new campaign. 8.3lb was more than I expected when I dragged myself out of bed this morning. If this is an average sized fish then I may not of been as mad as I thought I was when I handed over the money for my ticket.

Covered in a liberal layer of slime I sat smiling at what can only in this lakes terms be deemed a successful session. I have taken so so many blanks on this lake that a bite alone can be considered success. But that was not the end of it! A second dithering bite was struck too early before I again hooked a second bream. Although smaller by a third this fish was that oddity that seems only to exist in the world of abramis brama.

The poor and rushed picture gives enough of the bizarre phenomenon of the two tone bream. I have never fully understood why every so often one bream amongst a shoal of most likely siblings should be half light and half dark.

They were definately getting onto the feed towards noon but I had a date with a red head so was unable to reap the the benefit of what I had sown. However two fish and a few bites in a five hour toe dipping on this frugal old lake is certainly a good way to start, and bodes very well for up and coming longer sessions. And as for the poor little caged flower, I will stop by whenever I pass by just to have a look and watch it blossom.

3 Days on the old red eye.

I love tench and I love them for many reasons too. For me they are the most strangely attractive fish that swims in our waters. Dark greens to black and golden yellows are all set off by that bright red eye, which I for one cannot look at enough. Not only is it what they look like that makes me love them so much, but what they stand for. It's simple! They are the banner men of summer. Carp and bream can both be caught all year round but old tinica tinica disappears over the long cold winter. Sure a rare one gets caught in the cold but most stay hidden in slumber. I have read numerous old tales where savage winters and constant ice have destroyed entire lakes by suffocating all other fishes except tench. Their survival seems always attributed to their supposed habit of burying themselves half in silt and mud. Lying dormant until they are the only ones who remain and then the tench phase of that lakes life cycle can begin.

With the fishing season long gone I always turn at this time towards my old favourite the tench, which on a few select lakes dominate. My first foray onto another pit last time out was in my opinion a little premature, and resulted in a failure which dented my confidence momentarily. 

I have a grand plan for the summer and for this grand plan to stand a chance of working, the rigs I use must be honed fine as fine can be; the venue for my summer plan takes no prisoners and any bites must be converted at all costs. So not only am I using this official off season to get in some well appreciated tench fishing but I am also getting used to these new rigs and practising fishing at range, which is another must on this new venue.

Day 1

The sand pit looks great. A lot of the banks have been cleared over the winter but soon enough the brambles will be again hindering casting. The wooded bank is my destination and I knew even before I got here that the wind would be blowing right to left, coming in from the north east. The tench in this lake seem to feed well in certain areas when the wind whips up the lake, so I settle on a swim that allows me to cast right to the start of the ripple which will hopefully carry the scent of my bait across most of the lake.

I am not baiting a big patch in the hope to get a horde of ravenous tench on it. Instead I am probing fishing small patches of bait tight to my hook bait, using the theory that a group of fish may chance upon it as they saunter along the top of the bar I am cast upon.

Low and behold it works and my first run of the day starts with a single bleep before the alarm goes wild and the spool spins out of control. At distance everything feels massive for a moment but soon enough it turns into a  pretty standard size female of around 3lb.

Over the years I have fished this water I have realised there are two distinct strains of fish which only differ in one way; colour! There is no size or shape difference, just colour. The dark green fish and the washed out fish. Why there should be these two different I can't fathom. I originally suspected two differing stockings, but they seem to be all ages of both strains and of both sexes. The split does seem weighted more in the favour of the dark fish, but the differing strains still remain a mystery.

 Chuffed that my rig is working, I cast again back into the general area and soon after the other rod hurtles off identically to the first. A single bleep, then beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!

This hookup ends badly when the fish throws the hook in my right hand margin. Perplexed I repeat the ritual to cast again. I was right to be perplexed! The next two come off as well and doubt now creeps in over these new rigs. With four runs and only one converted into a fish I rack my brain for the fault in the rig and how it's going wrong. Luckily the bites tail off and gives me enough time to think about the problem.

The penny drops when I realise that every fish has been lost as I apply side strain to stop them getting into a snag to my right. There is nothing wrong with my rig, it's when that rod goes low that they come off. Instantly I see the problem: I am using a self hooking rig with a short hook link and a barbless wide gape hook which has a shank not much longer than the point. It is almost a circle with a piece missing. When I hold the rod low it reduces the amount of hook point penetrating, so when the fish turns it can flip the hook off quite easily.

The answer is simple; keep the rod up at all costs thus keeping the hook embedded as deep as possible. This itself we all know is easier said than done as when a fish dives into something you have to try and pull it out. To stop this issue is stupidly simple. As I am fishing at range, time is on my side, so I simply steer the next fish into open water whilst its out in the lake by pulling towards the snag, which automatically sends them other way.

It works a treat and the next three fish hit the net with total confidence and everyone becomes a winner.

Although most of the fish are a little under the average size it would seem the past winter has done them no harm  as every one is in perfect condition.

The last fish of the day comes as I linger as we all do on the bank. All my kit is  packed away apart from both rods and the indicators on which the rest and my net which is next to them. I stand between the packed and unpacked willing a rod to go off one more time. 

Just as I reach for the left hand rod to go the right one beeps then squeals...

5.9lb is a bit more like it.

Day 2

This is a stolen session no doubt. With crappy weather coming in later in the weekend, Friday is designated a day of gardening. First I dig and construct two new beds at the end of the decking where a super kitsch row of privet are to separate wood from grass, before planting a neighbour-blocking pear tree to complete our mini orchard. Then I help Jacky plant a few other things before diving into the huge pile of reclaimed wood destined to become raised beds, which I hope will be done soon enough for them to be filled with earth and planted with my autumn favourites, pumpkins.

All that done and I drop the bomb. "You won't mind if I nip out for a short one would you" ........ "Thanks B.  Any chance you would drop me off?......"

Turns out my lack of moaning and hard work paid off, because within the hour I was back in yesterdays spot and the same rigs sploshed in at range.

My luck at getting out was not however reflected by the weather. The wind had swung round and now a freezing wind chills me and the lake from the north west.

Luckily I did hold and release one small female back into the lake, but after that the only action seemed rather half hearted.

Day 3

Saturday there was no fishing as my good friend Rob came down from the Cotswolds. Himself a keen angler he was quickly roped in to come back the next day with me to hang out and act as camera man.

I could not believe my luck, the same swim was free and I knew Keith had fished it the day before and bagged a load of fish. Three days worth of bait was enough to get me walking a bit quicker than normal to get it.

This time I had brought some red maggots just in case the tench didn't fancy the bigger boilies. Same spots, same ground bait, but two different hook baits to feel them out with and I stood and waited. Something under the water had caught my eye on my last visit. Unable to resist I got the net in hand I grubbed around until I scooped it out.

The first year I fished this lake I spotted one of these carving up the bottom as it headed off into deeper water. This ones moving days were well behind it but it was full of bloodworm and some other unknown creepy crawlies. What did amaze me, was what had caught my eye was in fact the pearlescent patch in the centre of the shell and the sheer size of it. Alive this thing must have weighed over a pound.

My first run did not take long to turn up and the ripping run and hefty bend in the rod initially indicated a possible bigger fish. Half way in I realised it was in fact one of the crazy crew.

Great big fancy black fins and an attitude to match. Yep two pound maximum of mental case male tench.

Four more followed. The first two falling to the maggot bait then as the day warmed the boilies became the winning bait. Again though the fish seemed smaller than average, but in great condition. It took time for the bites to materialise but when they did it went exactly the same way every time. Single beep then onto a screaming alarm and spinning reel, then keep the rod high and in they come. After that initial spell of doubt I now know this rig will be coming along for the summer campaign on the harder venue as it works a treat.

After Rob chipped off back into the hills, the lack of sleep from the previous night's fish-talk took its toll, and I nodded off in my chair with my hood up. I must of looked hilarious to anyone watching when the right hand rod melted off. I went from asleep to awake instantly and for what seemed like an age my feet failed to get purchase on the floor in a rather comical way. It's a pity Rob had left as I know it does make him laugh when I am not concentrating, get a run from nowhere then and end up diving at the rod in some stupid manner!

Loads of birds but where's the cats?

I must be bleeding mad! Those were the words that echoed through my head as I sheltered under my all new 50" brolly on my first ever catfish chasing session. If dedicating myself to catching a big eel wasn't enough for me, I now feel like the angling equivalent of a bigamist as I add trying to catch a catfish to my already strained bank time for the summer months.

Saying this is my first attempt would be a lie as earlier in the year I spent a day with the lads on another venue; although the company was good the lake itself was awful and frankly I have tried to block it from my mind, so that one don't count.

This new venue is very attractive and even though its banks are worn hard by its obvious popularity it still retains a certain old English charm which appeals. Personally if I were the owner I'd empty it of all the annoying carp and even the cats then restock it with Crucians, Rudd, Tench and the odd eel and perch sealing it into the romance of English summer fishing. But as I am not the owner I will just try to winkle out a cat for now.

What this lake doesn't have in size it makes up for in features and chose a swim with a few nice ones to choose from. My first rod was cast into the shadows of a weeping willow.

And the second onto the edge of the only lily pads not on the edge of the lake.

I knew full well  before this trip that the lake contained a lot of carp, so bait wise I went well overboard and used giant baits to try and avoid them. My 40mm home made hali/tuna/crab boillies on one rod and a 3" Rudd dead bait on the other certainly kept the hordes off my hook baits and also kept my buzzers in silent mode.

If a lake has trees round it, it has a robin and I guarantee it will be a cheeky bugger for sure and this one was no different. When this this fella turned up like all fishing lake robins he was expecting a free feed of maggots, but sadly what I had to offer he couldn't carry off and as far a I know they don't like cuppa soup!

The session being a quiet one soon turned into an bird watching session and the next avian to catch my eye proved that not every bit of lost or discarded fishing line is deadly to birds, although it was playing with fire...

The bird parade continued all day with giant chickens strutting by.

Followed by some very noisy guinea fowl.

Midday the baliff came by on his rounds and stopped for a chat. After explaining what I was after he offered some interesting and believable info re the cats in the lake. Apparently there are only ten over double figures in the lake as far he knows but there is a large amount of smaller spawned fish in the one to five pound bracket, which are often caught on small baits aimed for the carp and one bait in particular seems to sort them out! So the last few hours of the trip I switched one rod over to a smaller bait and ran the carp gauntlet landing a string of small carp, but still no cats.

A few days later I returned equipped with the recommended baits and a lighter rod so I could split my my approach 50/50. One heavy outfit to target the bigger fish and a lighter outfit to float fish some of the secret bait off the ledge to try and bag a kitten.

Good god my heart started beating when the heavy outfit sprang to life only moments after being cast out. A slow run turned into a screamer! Something had made off with my my 3" dead Rudd........

My strike connected not with an immovable object I'd expected but instead vibrated suspiciously. Yes a 4lb carp had bona fide taken my dead bait and I was not happy!

To make matters worse it happened two more times on the trot and confirmed that a hungry carp will eat anything. The secret bait didn't work ether as every time it went in it to produced a carp. I even tried baiting a spot heavily with pellets and fishing off that spot hoping a kitten might be attracted to the noise and I could pick it off the edge but no it just brought in more and more effing carp.

Already I feel like just abandoning this whole cat thing as every venue I have looked for cats seems to have the same problem tonnes and tonnes of carp or should I say  tonnes and tonnes of crap.