The view from above.

For some time now Google maps and Bing maps have played a very active role in my angling. Really, I don't think there's many dinner times go by when I don't at some point have a little looky-loo on one of the two online maps to scope out somewhere I might be planning on fishing. Google maps I find best for just general scrolling in satellite mode and for when I want to have a look over a bridge here or there to see what the cover looks like on a canal. Bing maps is my go to if I want a bit more detail, as it has that rotate option that is sometimes made up of four images taken at different times, which can occasionally offer a gem of an image that makes me go wow! One of the best examples of this was a few years ago when I was scoping out a lake I was about to fish for tench. The Google option was OK, but when I found it using Bing maps and rotated the image a couple of times a view of the small lake came up which had been taken on a calm sunny day when the water was gin clear. Every gravel bar, weed bed and gully was visible. Then a few days later I found myself on the lake opting to fish a gully between two bars where I was sure a week's worth of prevailing wind might have inclined the tench to patrol. The result was me smashing the place up and landing a load of tench all from that one spot at the bottom of the gully.

Back to the point. I was sitting filling my face with couscous, hummus and some rather tangy feta one day last week as I worked my way along the Grand Union canal tow path in Google maps, when I spotted a feature that looked irresistible. Even on the screen from a few hundred feet above it looked the perfect predator holding spot. The only fly in the ointment was that I was already planning a morning on Napton reservoir to see if I could winkle out any perch or pike. A small diversion on route though could give me an hour to check and see if this newly located area might have any mileage predator-wise.

On the day when I arrived the conditions were less than perfect, with wall to wall blue skies and the blazing sun chasing away the cold quickly. The canal was very coloured and the wind whipped down it, keeping the water constantly moving. The movement of the water though actually for once played into my hands, as the feature I was targeting was an opening to a marina on the tow path bank. By fishing it from up-wind side the waters tow drew my dead bait rig perfectly into what, on a river, would be a crease. I suspected that this area at the mouth of the marina might be a magnet to predators wanting to ambush prey fish moving in and out of the opening.

I'd only been casting round a lure for a few minutes before the float which I had set over depth popped up straight, did a couple of bobs and began sliding off into the main canal. After waiting as long I dared I struck into a decent fish which went mental, zooming around the canal before heading back towards me, where I bundled a nice looking zander into the waiting net.

Not a bad first fish from a new spot.

After releasing that zander I got a bait straight back out on the spot and began casting around trying to find something on the lure. Last year I purchased some Diawa duck fin shads whilst in a Angling Direct store and for some reason I had overlooked them ever since. Normally I would have been using a lighter outfit, but as I was going somewhere else I had opted to bring my medium weight rod to try and fish some bigger lures, rather than the smaller ones I generally use on the canals. Having this heavier outfit seemed the perfect time to try out the Duck fin shads. They felt amazing, with the vibrating from the tail of the lure reverberating all the way up the line through the rod. With all the disturbance they cause I knew I would get hit sooner or later, and I did when a pike thumped the lure right under my feet. Somehow after playing it right to the net, the little bugger threw the hook by thrashing around, mouth open. It didn't matter though as three casts later I am sure the same fish struck again as I lifted the shad off the bottom. 

I was pretty chuffed with landing two canal beasties in under half and hour and was sorely tempted to bin off my Napton session and stick around, but I really want to try and unlock the code to the Napton predators as I think it has so much to offer. So I stuck with the plan and opted to return to this spot again soon for a dedicated session, hopped in the van a drove off to my original engagement

If you don't know or haven't fished at Napton reservoir it's a kind of heaven or hell type water. On its best day when the weather is fine and the fish are feeding it's wonderful. Good tench, big perch, savage pike and rare crucians that make your eyes bulge clean out your head. If it's cold and the wind is blowing it can be the worst place on earth and on those occasions even if the fish are feeding it can be near impossible to fish, or to keep warm for that matter.

There was a good wind blowing across both halves of the lake and although on any normal place this wouldn't of been an issue, here the breeze that caused the ripple felt ten times worse than normal. The water did have a slight tinge of colour to which is actually unusual for Napton.

Using a ten gram jig and various colourful lures I worked my way around targeting any features first, followed by covering open water. Even in the normally perch filled spots I couldn't land myself a nice Sargent. I reckon on this occasion the size of the lures I was using might have worked against me and using smaller lures may have incited at least some attention from smaller fish, but really it wasn't small perch I wanted.

Having worked all the more comfortable water with no interest of any kind I had no choice but to fight it out and stand toe to toe with the wind. With the breeze coming straight into my face, any direct casts were cut short by more than half and any angled casts streamed out my braided line in a massive loop. It was hard work in truth, but having caught nothing on more sheltered bits of the lake I hoped there could be something on the windward bank.

With all the rocks that have found their way out into the lake from the bank it can be confusing actually getting a bite. I'd bumped into several convincing rocks with the lure and struck at them before I got another distinct bump, this one however turned into a fish. My first little Napton pike of the year was freezing cold and covered in leeches.

Although it turned out to be the one and only fish of the Napton half of my session, it actually feels pretty good to finally get some predator action from this lake. Maybe now the weather is warming up the perch might once again turn up and you never know, I might even dust off the float fishing gear and have a crack for the tench and dare I say....crucians, later in the year.

The Lake #31 Leading a double life

I've been a little preoccupied of late as this years campaign on the lake has coerced me into leading a double life as an angler. By day I am mild mannered Daniel Everitt tench angler, but by night I become an obsessive predator chaser that lingers round silently in the dark willing any of the three zander, two catfish or five eels that I know for sure are in the ninety acre lake to eat my bait.

God honest truth I am beginning to look like a carp angler I am I've spent so many fruitless nights on the bank. I've even got this short over night session down to a fine art! I finish work for the day, zip home, grab my gear and five minutes later I am on the bank. Within an hour of finding a peg I am set up, baited up and cast out...

 Within an hour and a half I am brewing tea whilst scoffing food...

The moment dark falls I am in the sleeping bag cuddling up to my sounder box...

Hell I even set my alarm for around one in the morning so I can get up have a tiddle and check I haven't missed anything, then recast to ensure fresh bait is on offer. After another five hours of kip it's up with the lark, cup of tea, pack of belvita and then break camp.

I strip away and pack everything away in a specific order leaving my rods and net till last. By half seven I am in the car on my way home, by nine I am bathed and ready for a day with the other half and the session is done.

This double life I know seems to be borderline compulsive behaviour, as frankly it is returning very little catch wise. But from what I have seen with carp anglers also partaking of this madness I haven't even scratched the surface. One chap I know has done thirty nights on Coombe and on the thirtieth night he landed three pure bred English commons with linage which likely goes back to the twelfth century. Now although I am not after these hens teeth thoroughbreds, I am angling after something just as rare. So I have asked myself, am I prepared to continue returning to the banks of the lake again and again enduring blank after blank just so as I can have the tiniest chance of a massive zander, an eel that could swallow a tennis ball or even a cat that had been filling up on bream for the last few years might eat my bait? The answer all ways comes back yes.

But! and there is always a but! I know that I have ignored the rivers for over two and a half months and it weighs heavy on my mind that I should not waste opportunity's to get on the river before the leaves fall from the trees. So I think I may have to try and restrain myself or at least change how I spend my fishing time before I begin regretting missed chances on other good weather venues and rue giving in to that one driving force that seems to power anglers...Obsession.

The Lake #30 Quick change.

With me spending so much time on the banks of the lake I had become oblivious in large to what was happening before my very eyes. It wasn't until I took a little break from my bank side lingering and stared at a couple of other bodies of water then came back, that I saw a noticeable change.

I was only away for a little over ten days, in which time I had grown bored of the repetitive playing of carp and annoyed with the incessant nibbling of silver fish on two heavily stocked venues. I needed to get back and feed my obsession once again. Dumbstruck is the only word I can use to describe how I felt when I returned for another night. To some the changes that had happened might seem inconsequential, but for me what I was seeing was of vital importance.

On my last visit the weed and algae that is to be blooming and using all the nitrates deposited during the floods, had formed a definite boundary at a particular snaggy tree. Now though, the weed had resumed its march across the water and patches of it not seem to be spreading out further into the main body of the lake. I don't believe the weed itself is necessarily a bad thing, but saying that, where the weed blossoms the water clarity increases and the fish have no love of this clear water with so many predators around.

The clear water now extended right into the area I had been fishing and visibly there was a serious lack of fish moving around in the gin clear water. After seeing this I took the time to track along the bank with my Polaroids on until I found a little colour. As soon as I found that wonderful tinge of brown I began seeing topping fish and other fishy signs, and I knew I was where I wanted to be.

Though the night ahead fishing would be given over to the pursuit of more predatory fish, I couldn't easily forget that last sessions tench and how they homed in on my bait. So I planned to try and replicate what I had done before. Once set up and ready to cast out soon as dusk fell, I mixed up a pungent stew of fishy fodder and deposited it onto a clear patch of silt about the size of a small car located close to my right hand margin. I then went about casting out two dumbbell rigs laden with massive writhing lob worms.

I'd had one bait out in position for a little while whilst I tweaked the second rig and just as I had the second rod held aloft ready to cast I had a strange stuttering run. I have to admit I was a little perplexed at what was going on and had to check that I hadn't done something stupid, like catch the line on my leg in the tight swim. It did turn out to be a run, but once again my strike contacted nothing.

In the end I finally got both rods cast out tangle free and bobbing nicely in the ripple. That's when I took the time to reapply more weapons grade strength mozzie replant, not that it did any good! The little buzzing bastards instead of targeting my repellent covered hands and face instead went for my legs and feet, through my trousers might I say! On one leg and foot alone I took nine bites. Worst of all I missed the very tip of my nose and that now has a healthy clown-like glow where something had bitten me.

The night again yielded nothing, though I did get another dropped run which added to the two others I have had in the last two sessions, which makes me think the rig I am using needs fine tuning. I am thinking that something is not liking the resistance on the rig and if I want to find out what that something is the rigs needs to be more free running.

Anyway, morning soon arrived and happily as the sun rose on a new week I was standing on the banks scratching my arse rather than fighting my way to work through the Monday morning traffic. And what a view I had.

As if to add some substance to my perfect Monday morning the tench too had shown up, and were happily rooting around on the bait I had deposited the night before as way of insurance should the nights fishing have been as bad as it was. Getting one of the dumbbell rigs out of the water proved to be a bit of a task, as the night before I had not given any thought to how I might retrieve three ounces of lead with a quite large poly ball contraption attached. There was no way I could leave it in the water as I knew any hooked fish would certainly cut thought the line as the line was actually going right alongside where the tench were feeding. In the end I had to set the reel in free spool and hold the rod as high as possible whilst traversing round to the next swim in order to remove the rig without dragging it through the fish. 

To say the water I was about to cast into was shallow would be a gross understatement. When I came to the edge and nestled down into the damp reeds I could actually see individual tail patterns swirling on the surface from up ended tench. It took less than ten minutes for me to slip the net under my first one and after quickly returning that a way away from the swim I was quickly cast out and into another. Those first two fish were fairly average ones of four or five pounds but I knew with them feeding so hard that I could probably root out a few more so I didn't bother taking pictures and wasting time.

The tench did seem to drift off the spot for a while after the second fish but soon enough they drifted back sending up plumes of muddy water and patches of fizz. Having kept a bait on the spot I sat waiting as they homed back onto the free food, and sure enough the float did its little dance and I struck into a better fish. Some of the tench the lake has produced the last month or so have been have been immaculate but this one could only be described as perfect.

The fun wasn't over either! As after seeing more tail patterns on the surface I cast back onto the still buzzing spot eager to get another. This time the float didn't dither or dally one bit, it just shot out of the water like a rocket. Before I'd even had chance to strike, the clutch of my reel was squealing like a stuck pig. At first I was chuckling thinking I had some insane little male tench trying to turn me over. So I put a bit of side strain on and lent into it and that's when I realised that this was no tench attached to the end of my line. After easing off as much as I dared I watched as my line cut diagonally off to my left and as the the line zipped away a huge trail of bubbles emanated in it's wake. With only four pound line connecting me to the fish there was little I could do to stop it and all I could hope was that I could just hold on. But that wasn't to be as the fish decided one of the large new beds of weed was it best option. I braked the spool as much as I dared but in the end the strain was to much on my delicate float gear and after after a violent jerk the line was suddenly floating disappointingly in the wind. Strangely though I hadn't actually been snapped off and it would seem that the hook had pulled from the mystery fish. It would have been nice to land that fish and seen what it was that had been drawn in along with the tench, especially as I know I could land just about most tench on that tackle. Which leads me to believe that I am sure it was a big old Coombe Abbey carp.

The Lake #29 Some serious green.

It was still humid and hot and the sun only just still lit the lake as I watched a shoal of rudd nervously lipping at the surface. From nowhere a near two foot wide section of water right on the edge of the shoal just disappeared like a massive plug had just been pulled under it on the bottom of the lake, which was followed by a massive swirl. At first I couldn't fathom what I had just seen and instantly my float became forgotten as I stared intently as the shoal reformed. Obviously a large predator of some kind had just hit the shoal of rudd, but the attack just seemed different, strange in some way.
It took a while to happen again and before it did the shoal had done several turns around the swim. But as I hoped it might, once again a second hole appeared in the smooth surface of the water and this one was followed by a vortex , a swirl and the momentary view of an unmistakable tail! It was the sight of that tail which drew me back to the bank of the lake as soon as possible and this time I was proper tooled up!

I was in no rush as I leisurely set up sitting on my bed under the trees, as what I was hunting for is largely associated with the night and I still had a few hours till dusk. It was good I wasn't rushing as it gave me time to check and recheck my rigs and knots were up to the job. The Eagle wave hooks were spine tingly sharp as I ran them over my nail, the 60lb Dacron hook link and knots stood up to being pulled as hard as I could pull them and the knot that secured my 20lb line to the swivel was so good that the line wrapped around my sleeve covered hand I swear began cutting through the material of my jumper.

I was ready to go and I'd thought about this long and hard. I knew it was a sizable catfish I'd seen hunting in the margin a few nights ago and I wanted in on that action. Seeing it surface feeding had drawn my to use a dumbbell rig to suspend a bait off the bottom. But the only cat I had ever caught from this pool came to a bottom bait and that made me think my second rig had to be on the deck. The summer rules forced me to fish a massive load of worms as my suspended bait and as it was a fishy bait that tempted that first cat, I ladled in some very heavily scented munga to help attract a night prowling moggie to my two 30mm donkey chokers that was fishing on the bottom.

It was actually hard to get to sleep as I was quite excited about the night ahead. But somehow I did manage to drift off just as dark crept in as I lay stewing in the scent of some weapons grade mozzie repellant. The night it turned out was fitful. All night I was getting liners on my bottom bait rod and I knew it would probably be a shoal of bream mopping me out and that it would only be a matter of time before one got the monster pellets into its cake hole.

I only had to get up a couple of times in the night, once to deal with a foul hooked bream that was only just maturing from silver to brown. The only other real action of the night was the single bit of interest was that my six lobworms drew. Around 2am I had a definite proper pull on that line which caused the buzzer to signal a slow take which suddenly stopped. I did check the bait only to find three of the worms severed in half which I suspect may have been done by an eel.

Considering all the disturbances from my sounder box hanging above my head I actually got quite a good nights kip. So when the sun began to rise I was up and moving around. All had been quite for the last few hours of dark but as I stood rubbing the sleep from my eyes the bottom bait rod again sounded another liner. It was that liner that caused me to look through the light summer mist towards my baited area, and what I saw changed the game in a big way!

I had thought that before getting to bed I might have a go with a float rod, but the disturbance I had made chucking in bait put me off. Now though I was scrabbling to get that float rod set up. The swim looked like it had a pot full of alkaseltzers chucked in it. There was tench fizzing all over the area and they were really getting their heads down judging by the frequency of the rising patches of bubbles. Slowly and carefully I teased the heavy lead out of the swim before also removing the second rod just in case.

With the rig set a little over depth I cast the float out into the mist and drew it back onto the fish. The float was warning me by way of a myriad of dips and sways that there was quite a few fish moving around, and it wasn't long till I got my first bite. Nothing quite wakes you up as striking into a good fish and it ripping of like a marlin in the mist. This fish really went for it in the shallow water and was fighting harder than anything else I have caught from the lake in a long time. I took it very easy on the fish playing it lightly on the clutch as it again surged off and eventually it came towards my sunken net Just as I lifted the handle hard the fish rolled and I saw a black flank. The whole fight I was convinced I had a tench on but now with me capture hidden by the folds of my oversized net I was unsure of what I had just netted.

All was explained when I pulled up the net and revealed what the mysterious black beast was. Turns out it was a tench and a big old male as well, hence the hard fight. In the water it did look black but on the mat I could see that it was actually dark green fading into black.

Several years ago I caught a similar almost black fish from another estate lake and I even heard tell of a fish from the same lake years ago that was red. This fish was a real old warrior and as well as it unusual colouring had some of the most prominent pelvic bones I've ever seen on a tench. Kneeling down holding it in the water it occurred to me that this could be the grandfather of all the tench I have been catching lately and it was real pleasure to see the old gent cruise of back into the lake and to his harem.

I'd no sooner dried my hands after releasing the first fish that I looked up to see the spot was still very obviously getting hammered by the tench. I was straight back on it like white on rice and within minutes I had an odd sliding bite which I struck and felt a fish before it was gone. That was no bother though as they seemed still in a frenzy and were undeterred by any fuss I'd just caused.

The next fish I didn't miss, but it did send probably every resident of the swim scattering. It went instantly out of the swim before turning and hammering straight through the still feeding fish. In the shallow water the result was obvious. I reckon I saw at least ten other fish bow wave off in every direction as the hooked fish barged through them. Moments later I had the smallest tench of the season in my net and half laughing I did curse her for ruining my swim or so I thought!

I decided to take a chance and introduce the little bit of ground bait I had left whilst the swim was quiet. Simply I put four more loosely squeezed balls that I knew would smash on entry onto the spot. Knowing it might be a while before anything came back in I began breaking camp so I could get home and have bath before I had to be at work. The shelter was down and the barrow was half loaded before I looked up to see tench fizz once again appearing on the outer limits of my baited area.

Judging by the individual patches of bubbles I reckoned that there was four or more fish creeping back in quite tight line. Not wanting to cast a bait right onto them I quickly dropped what I was doing and grabbed the rod again. I managed to get the bait in place before they came right onto the spot and now it was just a case of waiting and hoping one of them would pick up my hook bait from amongst the freebies.

Soon enough they slowly moved in sending hundreds of tiny bubbles up as they methodically moved across the bait. I knew something was about to happen when the float began swaying from side to side. I was so in tune to what was going on that I was all over it when the float began to rise, so much so in fact that I struck before the quill even began to fall over as the fish lifted the small weight off the bottom. There was no savage run just solid resistance and slight thumping. The fish swung out to the left banging its head like a bream before the rod took a serious bend. The fish felt big and I was sure it was a tench but the fight was laboured and heavy. The culprit took little line from the spool really and just kept swinging from one side to another banging its head. Then when it swirled towards the surface the amount of water is shifted was epic. Time and time again as I drew it closer it just dived down causing massive areas of disturbed water before it finally rolled over and big yellow mouth and red eye popped up. Good as gold it slid into the massive net I had submerged in the edge. I did that thing we all do when you get something special in the net and lifted the net to draw the fish up whilst sticking my head in it and what I saw got my heart thumping even more than it had been before.

I thought it looked big in the water, then out out of the water it seemed even bigger. It was generally a large fish across the shoulders and in length, but this was easily the fattest tench I had ever seen before and straight away I knew where this was going. I was so careful with her as she looked like one of those fish that without the neutralising effects of water supporting her she was quite uncomfortable. I worked as fast as I could to get everything done and confirmed before finally I lifted up her awkward bulk to get a few quick photos of the largest tench I have ever been lucky enough to hold and a new PB which amazingly and to my joy was caught on a lift float.  

The Lake #3 Patiently waiting.

The water that makes the lake is clear, very clear. Add to that the fish are wise to our tricks and it can make a rather unsavoury daytime outlook for the dedicated few who sit sentry on it's banks. Certain inhabitants can be incited on cloudy days, but most seem dormant till night fall. This is why evening and night becomes   the focus of my attentions.

Upon arrival the sky was blue and as always, when hiking some distance, the sun beat down upon me as I laboured to the lakes edge. However just as I arrived, foreboding black clouds drifted towards me. Shelter became my only concern, with casting a distant intention; spending the entire night damp in the humid mozzie filled air that shrouds the lake does not appeal. Camp struck, the time had come for me to prepare traps and execute plans, as after all I was here not to camp but to fish.

I have grown to quite enjoy using a marker set up the last few years. Unlike some fastidious anglers I have watched diligently making detailed maps of the water in pencil, noting down the topography of the bed, I prefer to just feel around whilst trying to imagine what the underwater scene looks like. Major features and their locations are committed to memory and once I find something I fancy, a few repeat casts just confirms its suitability to my cause.

Certain areas of the lake are at the moment patchy with dense carpets of silk weed covering large areas. The clearer bits in between the swaths of dark green weed are made up of silt covered gravel and sand. The weed in the area where I had just made camp is apparently sparser. Between thirty and fifty yards out there was a band of pretty constant weed which faded out up to the sixty yard mark. Beyond that was totally clear as if a road had been cut through the weed. This was the perfect place for my traps to be set.

It has become evident to me already that fishing on the lake is a waiting game. Depositing liberal amounts of free food seems to always attract attention but inevitably you have to wait. On my first session over a week ago I offered up a large amount of bait which took four hours to mature on a cloudy day. Today a much larger deposit was going to be made as the whole night was mine, and I didn't want a poultry few balls to be ignored.

It takes a fair amount of time to ball up what I was about to chuck out into tennis ball sized globes. It also looks pretty funny sitting there all piled up like apples on a fruit stall - not that you would ever consider eating one - and when it goes in it makes a hell of commotion.
I think all men love playing with catapults. It is a throwback to childhood and I am no different. When I get my whoppa dropper catapult in hand I cannot help but start to form a wry boyish smile as if I am going to do something naughty. I had no intention of trying to be accurate. Instead I purposely loosely fired the balls out around the bright pink float bobbing on the surface, spreading the bait as best I could over a tennis court sized area, which would give a big target zone for blind casting later.

An hour and a half after arriving the traps were set and the waiting began. I had brought a copy of John Steinbeck's 'The Pearl' to pass the time, but the allure of the lake pulled my eyes away constantly, so reading was sidelined in favour of watching. If Jacky saw me doing this I know she would accuse me of just mooning. But I could assure her that my seemingly trance like state would have easily been broken by the slightest disturbance to the water. I had no idea how long I stared transfixed by the lake but eventually I got that strange sensation that everything other than the water was bending slightly too the right.
I knew this was to be a serious waiting game and day faded to dusk, then dark soon followed whilst I patiently waited. Soon enough I crawled into the warmth of my sleeping bag, with only the slightest hint of human left peeping out so as to avoid the mozzies.

Not until seven hours had passed and the lake was shrouded in total black did anything happen. Then a shrill electronic sound cut through the night and woke me from my slumber. It was as if someone had just yanked one of my lines then let go. Half out of bed I stopped still watching the red light a few feet away. Was it just a liner? Then it went off again as something moved slowly off with my bait. Striking into a fish a long way out into the lake in the middle of the night is always exciting. The initial solid resistance yielded quickly and turned into an odd sensation that something was swimming backwards! Straight away I knew it was an eel and this excited me even more as I do love a good eel. It felt a powerful fish and the rod bent in that healthy but not worrying way. When my head light caught a flash of white in the edge I was confused. That was until a pair of whiskers and a massive gob broke the surface.

I had heard rumours that the lake contained a few cats but to bag one on my first night on the lake was amazing. I have wasted plenty of time trying to land my first cat on heavily stocked waters not one hundredth this ones size, and here I was with my first one in hand on a lake I would never have thought would ever produce one for me.

Having never caught one before left me feeling like a kid again. They are essentially just a mouth and stomach attached to a massive tail, and this little moggy had been using that massive mouth to good effect scooping up my bait wholesale. Through its soft skin I could feel my hard packed freebies, boillies and all.

I hadn't even got back into the my sleeping bag when another bobbin dithered up. Another 8lb bream was dragged in from half way across the lake and in under fifteen minutes I had gone from dry and warm to cold and covered in slime. 

My sleep for the night was over now because a shoal of bream had moved in and they had their heads down in a big way. Both rods cast on the baited area were constantly going off as the shoal noised around the swim, grubbing up my lines even though they were pinned hard too the bottom. The disco tech going on at the front of my rod pod at first was amusing, but all too soon I got the distinct impression that I was beginning to disturb others over the lake. Even with the volume right down the sound cut through the still night air like a gun shot. I had to turn them to silent and rely on the flashing led lights and the bait runners for indication before I was lynched. A slew of seemingly ever more slimy smaller bream slipped over my net for the next two hours before they just carried on through the swim and the bites stopped as quickly as they started.

Even with a good few hours sleep prior to the fish arriving I was knackered. I made what I now know to be two poor casts towards the spot, turned the alarms back on and crawled back into the warmth of my bed. I awoke naturally just as the sun hinted at it's arrival and the mist began to steam up of the surface of the lake.

Refreshed I got up and recast the rods more accurately onto the spot and it was a good job I did!

At first I thought the line was just settling as the bobbin slacked right off, but then it jerked up before hitting the floor. The strike met a seeming powerful fish that hugged the bottom all the way to the edge before trying to bore into a nearby bed of rushes. This fish felt like a tench until a huge humped back broke the surface.

Lying in the net it didn't look as big as the previous two eights I had landed but when I lifted the net up I got  that 'this feels a bit heavier' feeling, and sure enough it's weight laid across it's width. Laid on it's side it looked like a pig of a fish and was easy six inches thick. With a hefty weight of 9.7lb made it the best of the session.

Two more six somethings followed it before the swim died off again. These few fish must have been from a different shoal which arrived late to the party. Even half asleep I had noticed that over the night at least half the bream I landed were two tone. Phil from http://barbelblogger.blogspot.co.uk commented on my previous write up that the two tone colouration is believed to be caused by stress, and I wondered if the presence of cats in the water has anything to do with it.

When it quieted down, I again slipped off into the land of nod only to be woken again. This time however it was the warming and more importantly drying sun which filled up my shelter.

I felt how a cat must when it bathes in the sun contented by whatever mischief it has just perpetrated, satisfied at a good nights work.

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.

Last cat saloon!

Eskimos may have a hundred different names for snow but in the UK we have a million different types of rain. We have just experienced one of the dryest spring and summers ever, but suddenly things have changed and we are now experiencing in a rather wet prelude to winter. Sunday morning I thought myself rather lucky to manage to get out onto the bank, set up and cast all before the rains started. When it did, it went through the whole repertoire. We had mizzle, drizzle, showers, sheets, the stuff that comes down like bullets and even at one point it felt like it was coming back up into my face. But frankly we need it! Even this morning I heard a report that the EA have had to respond to fish getting stranded in deep pools on the river teme and were beginning to struggle for oxygen. So even though it has now finally begun to rain it could be some while before the rivers get back to their normal state for this time of year. 

This session I was well away from running water and had decided to take my last shot for a catfish. Although I could essentially fish for them right till the end of September when the mornings will have distinctive nip, my next few weeks will be spent in a rather more tidal fishery. So if I want a cat its now or never.

The morning passed uneventfully as I sheltered under my brolly awaiting my bobbin to rise and the buzzer to call. Andy on the other hand having neglected to bring his shelter and after deciding to fish tight to an island spent the whole time perched behind his rods getting showered constantly, even though I had invited him under my more than adequate brolly.

With one rod guaranteed not to get any attention from carp due to a very oversized bait I ran the gauntlet with the other by fishing worms on the edge of a bed of 10mm pellets. And that was the only one to receive any bites. After a few dropped runs where I suspect the carp responsible had suddenly realised that rig they in fact sucked in was the crudest they had ever encountered spitting it out in disgust, it finally ripped off with far to much venom for a cat. After tear arsing off like a steam train it fought like a bream with a serious weight problem, coming to the net a bit too easy. Even in the net in the edge it sat calmly in the folds. Then out the water it went berserk, thrashing around slapping me senseless with its tail.

It must of took ten shots to get a good one and that didn't count all the aborted attempts where it flipped just as Andy went to take a snap.
Once again and for the last time this year the cats have not shown, as previously mentioned I will not seek to catch one again. For when I return back to the Midlands I shall have other things on my mind. Like returning to the land of the 2lb perch and more Zander fishing on the Avon

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.