It ended in psssssst.

It seemed like we all waited so long for the rivers to come good and then finally just before the end of the season they did. But there was to be no final hurrah for me. My river season ended like a silent fart, hardly noticeable but defiantly there. I don't mind admitting either that the downfall of my finale was largely due to my attitude.

Two weeks before the whistle blew I was able but hardly inclined to fish the river. Normally from Christmas right through to March fourteenth I develop a slow romance between myself and the river which is founded on freezing days dace and chub fishing when other anglers are deterred by the cold. This year with the floods this brief relationship never came and even when the river came on-line I found myself disconnected from the rivers and feeling my river skills were... well, a bit rusty.

My actual final outing saw me head to the Warwickshire Avon in search of big dace. This session had originally been allotted for me to join a friend fishing a small yet reportedly over-productive river where the dace are nearing special proportions. But as these arrangements are susceptible to we were unable to meet up due to other commitments. So I headed to a faithful old section of the Avon instead.

This is a difficult thing to write about in reality. It's one of those times when I was not lacking for bites or action and should I have not turned up to this float fishing party with two feeder rods I feel sure I could have filled a keepnet with enough dace and roach to give Alan Scotthorne an erection. But the reality was that for all the sport available I could not magic a twelve ounce fish from the millions, and I mean millions of two ounce fish. 

A couple of pike turning up did form some interesting bends in my nine foot feeder rod here and there, but disappointingly I found my self running out of bait late in the morning and not being that bothered that I had to pack up and leave. Coincidentally my running out of bait happened not a moment too soon as more and more anglers showed up late on to try their hand ending their seasons with a bang and by the time I crossed the river there were at least ten others upstream of me, which is the most I have ever seen on that bit of river in years.

Then came a lucky twist to the day...

After joining my good lady for a peramble around a spring kissed park and late lunch in a nice restaurant, I  happened to hint on the way home that given it was such a lovely day it would be a fantastic evening to be out fishing. Fifteen minutes later and I was on the road debating whether to head back to the river or drop round my friends lake for a cheeky session. Not wanting to go through the mill again with the river I opted for and hour lift float fishing with my chub gear.

The hidden pool was deserted when I arrived and even the irritating Canadian geese which have turned up to breed were being quiet for once. As I tracked round the edge of the water I came across an unusual sight for early March; in the last corner of the lake to catch the warm evening sun carp were hanging just under the surface. The water was obviously quite warm here and basking in the spring sun seemed quite popular with the pools residents.

I stood there thinking 'I can't... can I!'. Well it turned out I could! Starting slowly I broke the crusts of a slice of bread before breaking them again into small bits and then flicked them onto the surface. I love watching carp sometimes, it's like you can almost see what's going on in their heads. The crust drifted closer and one by one the carp stirred out of there slumber. At first one just nosed the crust but then soon enough sucked it in. Then another did, and another, and another. Once the first big slurp of the year occurred they all woke up as if someone had rung the dinner bell.

My gentle baiting soon became aggressive and the more bait that went in the more carp seemed to rise from the depths. Soon there must have been twenty or more fish sucking and slurping and the time had come to cast out. My free lined crust lasted a very short time on the surface before a small mirror took it. It was at this point that I was reminded it that even though these carp were feeding like it was a summer day, it was still only early spring.

That first fish hardly fought at all, it was almost as if it wasn't fully awake or it didn't have the energy for it, as it just skated weirdly straight into the net. Though after that first fish and more free bread the fishes activity increased and they woke up a bit.
Seven more followed in this my earliest surface session ever and although none of them will ever break the British carp record most were in nice condition and certainly lifted my fishing spirits after a mediocre last session on the rivers that ended in a psssssst.

Getting all Ahab.

'I'm not saying I am exactly like a certain stove-pipe-hat-wearing-wooden-legged sea captain, but I have developed a few fishy obsessions over the years and it's only coincidence that some of those obsessions have been about large white fish'

For three hours I had moved slowly up and down the same thirty feet of heavily wooded bank and in those three hours I had barely made five casts. It was a little more than three hours ago that I gave up trying to fish through the crazy crew. You see, when I had arrived in the spinney and first viewed the water from the top of the path I had seen it was black with carp warming in the afternoon sun, and I was more than a little excited to get going. The first hour was a blur of insatiable feeding on the carps behalf and they never got bored sucking in the morsels of bread I was flicking onto the surface. It was just a pity that I was getting bored. It had only taken about twenty small fish for me to start thinking this is just too easy, as all carp caution was null and void today after a day baking their brains in the sun. 

It was about this time that as I stood beside a very sparse tree a huge pure white head slowly rose from under all the other fish and sucked in a single cube of crust, before sinking back below with a loud slurp. That was it for me, all other fish were forgotten; I had to have this white whale.

It would seem the frenzied sound of the other carp feeding was responsible for drawing the attentions of just about every fish in the lake, but caution kept some of the bigger ones holding back and underneath all of the others, only rising occasionally to engulf a the odd freebie here and there, and always out of range or in a awkward place. This one great white ghost though was betrayed by its colour, and  I could see it under all the other fish circling around. Its mass was unmissable  Not quite a twenty but it had to be close; this fish had graduated from the ranks and was now up there with the biggest of the pool.

The sun had been shining all day, and now it blazed down on me. I had to keep my hoodie on as the cream t-shirt I was wearing had made my presence obvious once already, and I needed to be close as possible to track this ghost as it was swimming so tight to the bank. So I stood sweltering, steaming up my Polaroids in my camo hoodie trying as best as possible to keep still and blend in with the back ground so as not to disturb my quarry.

Eyes and hands now operated totally independently  My hands cast a constant stream of small bread chunks   out onto the water by just flicking my wrist. My eyes though kept tabs on the faint white zeppelin which moved round with intent. It had no set routine to its movements, but after the first hour I had noticed it would feed on two totally different spots. At the tree where I stood there was an undercut it would glide into, then from this undercut its head would appear slowly. If a bit of bread was in the vicinity it would be sucked in for sure. But the problem was that the smaller fish in the melee would grab anything on the top no matter how far they had to travel to get it. This had resulted in me pulling out of many chances just to stop one of these interlopers spooking the ghost.

The other spot was further down the bank in front of a small reed bed. Three feet from the bank was a small clear patch about two feet round in the leaf litter, which I suspect was where someone had been disposing of leftover bait at the end of a sessions. I watched the white fish and a few other larger fish stop over and investigate this patch every so often. In watching this I realised that if I wasn't feeding the mob on the other side of the tree then all the noise they were making did not attract and keep the bigger fish going round in the area. Once the slurping stopped the fish underneath, including the ghost, drifted away with the mob.

Knowing this I began feeding larger amounts of bread onto the surface for a shorter period of time and then slipping down the bank to see if the bigger cautious fish were on the spot. In the next hour they only stopped on the spot twice and then only briefly. Eventually I dropped a free-lined bait onto the edge of the spot where I could see the bread against the dark bottom, then moved as quickly as I dared back round the tree and tossed a liberal amount of preprepared bread onto the surface. I could hear the slurps quickening as I went back and crouched close to the bank and picked up the rod. Then I watched as a small carp boldly swam up and picked up my bait. Hoping to try and dissuade it, I gently tugged the bait back which sent the culprit into a sudden panic, flying out of the swim along with several other fish including the ghost.

After that disaster I began the process of stirring up the mob all over again. I hadn't been at it that long before out of nowhere the ghost went back into the undercut at my feet. This was it! it was in there all I had to do was drop a bit of bread onto the water. All fingers and thumbs, a bit of bread finally got hooked up and gently I lowered it onto the surface only inches from the bank. Then a pair of lips appeared and the bread silently disappeared and I struck. My vintage speedia wailed the finest sound known to man as it bolted out into the lake. Worryingly though it came under control a bit too quickly, and all too soon a small common surfaced. I would never take out my frustrations on a fish but I was mad hell with this one. I managed to steer it away and landed it in a quiet corner unhooking it quickly in the net and dipping it free unable to even enjoy the sight of it.

I walked back slowly thinking I could not face the build up again if another small carp was going to force my hand and spook the ghost off. Kneeling on the floor behind the with my rod under my arm I baited my hook again and as I did I saw the ghost move slowly past me down the bank in the direction of the spot. In a momentary reaction I swung the bait towards the patch spot. How I knew the combined length of my rod plus the same amount of line would reach the spot was anyone's guess. I suppose it just seemed about right.

As I stood slowly behind the tree I could see my bait sinking slowly and the ghosts demeanour change. It had seen it for sure and it was going for it. Its weird that you can sometimes tell when a fish is about to eat your bait, and this one was. It moved steadily towards the now stationery bread with a second fish in tow. Then it slowed and the second fish was now level. Both heads dipped, both mouths sucked, and I hoped that the ghost had won. The bait was gone and I had to strike. I flicked the rod up and at that moment the water made that sound it only makes when something big displaces a large amount of water. The rod buckled over and the pin screamed and it made for deep water. My breaking of the spool with my left hand turned the fish and it kited right. That's when I saw the white shape under the surface seemingly attached to my line.  Back and forth the line went and every now and again a yellowish tail or white mouth broke the surface before it again surged away. Eventually it slowed and began circling close to the bank. The net was dipped already and then it surfaced and the sight knocked me back!

Turns out the ghost had lost out to its companion but the sight that met me was never going to disappoint.  Once on the surface it slipped straight into the net good as gold, and looking down into the net I was transfixed. It was close to ten inches wide across the shoulders and did not have a single scale on its entire body. She was the most beautiful leather carp I have ever seen first hand. She had that big carp look that indicates it could turn into a mighty fish, and from the looks of it had never been caught before. Even though she was still a little way off a mid double she was by far one of the most amazing looking carp I have caught in my entire life.

And it was more than enough to make me forget that white whale!

Beauty and the beasties.

This past weekend I took my second step into  the commercial  perch fishing scene and quite honestly I can't make up my mind if it was a success or not!

Like many before me I have already started looking at your average £7 a day carp puddle with squinted eyes. My ears are open listening for those sacred words whenever I am in the tackle shop, hoping to hear one of the match men that hang around on a Saturday utter something about a whopping perch.

Then the other day whilst talking to a acquaintance of mine, who likes to spend his weekend wearing matching Preston innovations gear,  he mentioned that during some of the winter matches on a water he had fished, bonus perch up to four pounds had topped up several winning bags of blade roach. This was more than enough information for me plan a trip over to this popular venue.

The  only time I could spare this weekend was Saturday afternoon and with cloudy skies on the horizon and showers expected it seemed the perfect conditions. When I arrived at the featureless fishery with it's distinct slabbed swims I did stop for a moment with my hand on the car boot and ask myself, did I want to do this as it looked busy. But I had made the effort to drive there and if I backed out now I was too far to get to another lake in time. So I stuck with and headed towards the tip off pool.

When I got there I did not really have much choice of swims as thirty of the thirty three were occupied by serious men sitting on fishing boxes that would have given a transformer a chubby, throwing method feeders at the islands. The few free swims that were left as the did not give a clear cast to the island so were ignored but they did however appeal to me. Reed lined corners of which one had a all the scum of the lake collected in it and that what I went for.

After baiting up with a few handfuls of chopped worm and red maggots I sat back to watch the soap opera around the lake. I don't think one of the other anglers knew I was there dressed in green keeping off the sky line, whilst they all yelled to each other at the top of their voices.

Holy crap! I thought my luck was in when my float bobbed a couple of times before slipping away. There was that pause for a fleeting moment when the hooked fish computes the resistance and you have no idea what it is for a moment. But then the reel went into overdrive as a carp headed out into the lake. It did not take to long to subdue a pale and rather deformed near double, and neither did the next five or six. By now my presence in the corner had been acknowledged, as it would seem I had caught seven more carp than anyone else this afternoon.

By the third visit I thought I had sprouted a extra leg as I seemed to be the new attraction of the fishery. 'Wot you gettin em on mate?' was the standard question and they all seemed agog when I told them worms. I get the feeling that they thought I was using some new hightech bait developed in a laboratory by Japanese scientists that cost fifty quid a bag instead of the much maligned worm.

The cue of minging carp attracted by my dirty clouds of chopped worm sinking through the water seemed endless and they did not get better looking. Most looked like they had taken a swift right from Mike Tyson as they were stocked into the lake and one was the spitting image of Pete Burns. For those of you who don't get that reference follow this link http://igossip.com/gossip/Britsn_giggles_pete_burns_plastic_surgery_15_Minutes_Of_Fame/1349209

I thought the string of damaged fish would never end until I hooked and landed  this...

What a stunner!

I don't understand for the life of me how this was even in the same lake as the other fish I had caught. The only explanation must be that it had only just been introduced because it was perfect. Golden flanks slight red tinge to it's tail and it's mouth looked untouched by hook. I felt bad putting it back in the lake knowing what will undoubtedly happen to it. It would of been far better off if I would have tucked in my top and drove it down the nearest bit of canal.

As the light drew in it only got worse - the carp seemed insatiable. I did consider moving to one of the vacant spots, but every angler that left did the same thing and dumped any remaining bait in front of their peg before they left, which I knew would only serve to attract more carp onto it and maybe away from me.

By dusk I had landed no less than seventeen carp all 8 -12lb, and that's when it hit me. I had not got a single bite which I thought could of been from a perch. But I had just easily landed over a 100lb of carp in just over five hours on a bait most of the other anglers on refused to believe I was using. Maybe I should look into one of those qualifying matches for Fish 'O' Mania because 25k would be very nice and I would not look that much of a Muppet dressed in camo hiding behind a bush whilst all those match men sit three foot in the air in gaudy colours would I ?