The Lake #26 Bookended tench.

I had watched them feed from quite close up only days ago so I knew where they were. For hours I studied the knocking lily pads and patches of fizz that rose as they perused morsels of the lake bed. At first it had all seemed to be the random movements of  multiple tench which I suspected were in the area. As always though time told, and after two dawns and two dusks when I was unable to fish for them but could watch them, I was able to decipher a definite patrol route. It wasn't a big patrol either considering the size of the lake. Starting at the north end of the little circuit they were making, the tench seemed to be moving in small groups along the shallow margin sending up puffs of coloured water as they did, till they arrived at the start of the lily pads. Immediately as they came to the lily's, the first three pads on the corner leaves would knock and signal their arrival. Then they seemed to move away from the shelter of the lily's and track along them about two feet out. As they came to the gap in the lily bed all noticeable evidence of their presence stopped until they again came along side the next jutting patch of pads. The next stretch of lily pads was the biggest on the route and most times the fish lingered here a while sending up tempting signs that they might be feeding beyond the covering of round leaves. Slowly the groups would move out and at the very last pad turn and come back into the margin where I could actually see them sometimes. After that they seemed to cut diagonally across to the nearest reed bed before moving out of sight only to reappear fizzing along maybe twice as far out as they had before. It took me a bit of careful plumbing up to figure that they were following a very slight marginal shelf back from the southernmost point of the patrol up to the north where they would begin all over again.

Three days it took me to put all that information together as it wasn't just one lot of fish moving around the route. I'd tried to count as best as I could but the most I'd seen within a small space of time was nine possible tench. Knowing where they were was only half the solution as they did seem to be feeding as they went, but judging by the lack of interest the two carp anglers had got in the days they were pitched up in front of the paroling fish with a margin rod each, these tench weren't into big baits at all.

I am sure JB noticed me drifting off into la la land pondering my move over the following few days, though if she did she was good enough to not mention my mooning. The biggest problem was the general shallowness of the areas in question. I had thought about targeting the slightly deeper back run they took to get back to the northern end. The problem here was that I had already discounted using even light bottom rigs as the random patches of weed sprouting from the bottom would only mean a line cutting through the swim somewhere and so a float rig seemed the better option. But the light float rig stood no chance being fished on the further line due to the excessive filamentous algae blowing up the lake which would destroy my patience very easily.

It had to be the close in line and it had to be one either end of the patrol that I would fish. That way if I did hook one I had at least half the water in front of me open so as I had some area so play the fish on the light tackle. As for bait it was to be a sparing affair. Corn struck me as a bit too obvious in the shallow water and maggots wouldn't linger on the bottom long enough to attract their attention. Casters though were light enough to sit on top of any silk weed and a little helping of pungent but unobtrusive ground bait, should lure them down.

Three days after leaving I was back again at first light. Just about the only thing moving on the bank was the bloated mosquitoes returning from their night raids on Bivvy's along the bank. The dawn chorus was under way and as I carefully took the short cut across the top of the giant rabbit warren on the slope down to the lake I did spy a couple of pars of long ears and the odd white tail before they shot back down some hidden hole. The lake was flat calm with wisps of mist rising off it but as yet no fish dappled the surface. Although I walked through many pegs I only stopped once to admire the cadged orchid that had popped out of it's chicken wire prison and now was beginning to flower freely above. 

I knew even if I saw something tempting as I tracked along under the trees that I wouldn't stop, as I only had one area in mind. One of the carp anglers still remained where he had pitched up seven days prior at the south end of the patrol route. The north was free and this was were I crept down to the bank. Not wanting to create to much of a disturbance I had brought my pole and pole cup along for some stealthy baiting. In the full light of day I wouldn't consider sticking an alien shadow over the shallow swim, but in the half light I knew it should go unseen. Three pots of fine uncompressed ground bait with a good helping of casters as well before I retreated back to the trees to watch and wait.

The rod was barely assembled when the first fizz broke the surface. With the baited spot on a clear gravel patch not two rod lengths out now undeniably occupied I tried my very best to quietly get as close to the only bit of cover available. There was no need to for plumbing as I had noted the various depths of the areas and so all I had to was slide the thin peacock quill two inches above the second ring of my rod. Now all I had to do was cast! The first cast went no where, it was as if something was hampering the line coming of the spool. Still trying to keep hidden checked the entire set-up only to find the line going around the rod at the join between the two sections. A quick twist and I was ready to try again. This time the pea sized ball of rig putty dragged the line and float just beyond the target clear patch and all I had to do was hold back whilst lifting the rod to get the bait spot on target.

Immediately the float was signalling all the right things from the bottom of the lake to the surface. Twice the float slid side ways as something slowly brushed against the line. Now I just needed to do was wait for that proper bite to occur whilst ignoring the multitude of knocks and taps. Then perfectly the float did a couple of nervous bobs before lifting up and falling to the side.

It was like a mine had gone of under my float! The water just seemed to grow in mass before a bow wave shot out from it. If that wasn't shocking enough the instant commotion caused several other fish to bolt out of the shallow water all heading in different directions. Any fish that finds itself hooked in little depth goes berserk and this tench was no different. It made four or more savage runs out towards the centre of the lake and me holding the rod low and trying to stop it reaching the weed beds just made it swirl on the top. For the sake of any fish I caught Id purposely brought a particularly long landing net along so as pulling capture into the inch deep edge could be avoided and soon enough I slipped my first lovely Coombe tench into my over extended net.

With all the disturbance I honestly thought not a single fish would still be patrolling and the sun was about to be the wrong side of the trees so it was unlikely I would get a second chance. So happy with my capture I resolved to leave it alone for the day, but not after rebating all along the patrol route with a return the following morning in mind.

The World Cup put pay to an early start so it was evening before I found myself marching back to the prebaited area. I knew all the bait would be long gone, but hopefully the fish would have committed the smell of it to memory. The bank was deserted with even the carp anglers seven day vigil over, so rather than go back to the swim at the north of the patrol I instead opted for the southern turn. Fishing here closer to the lily bed would enable me in the bright sun to again use the pole pot to bait up accurately using the cover of the pads to mask it looming over the swim.

Almost right on cue I spotted signs of movement further down the pads just as the sun began to drop towards the horizon sending shadows half way over the lake.  I didn't wait to for signs of feeding on this occasion as I wanted my bait in place before anything turned up to feed. The tench began fizzing right on cue about three feet along the lily line from my float and it was an agonising watching the patches of tiny bubble rising intermittently ever closer to my bait. Then once again my float rose from the water just after a massive fizz clouded around it. I never waited for a millisecond before lifting the rod swiftly up to my left in the vain hope it would head away from the snags. Heaven be praised, it went the right way and straight away I was up leaning out with the rod at full stretch trying to stop it heading round the corner. This fish did one massive hard run before turning round rolling on the top and coming to the bank like a aged bream. I thought at first maybe it was just a little fish that had gone mad until an open mouth and red eye appeared round the reeds  then I saw its fin and flank, but then it just kept on coming into sight. This was one of the longest tench I have ever seen and although the angle I was holding it at in this self take doesn't show it very well, it was as long as I am wide.

As with the session before, the commotion caused by hooking a fish in shallow water caused any others to disappear. Though this time they melted away rather than stampeded off like the last time and then I to like the fish packed up and melted away home. Right now I find myself satisfied by just catching just one decent fish at a time and given that every bite counts on this lake it kind of makes a little sense walking away after such a catch rather than hanging around wanting to catch a bag load and whining when it doesn't happen.

But before I left I once again deposited all the bait I had left along the patrol route knowing full and well it wouldn't be long before I was back again...

The lake #24 Infectious enthusiasm.

My wings are feeling a little clipped at the moment regarding transport and thus I did not feel like travelling far. At times like these either the Sowe or lake become my go-to venues, and as the Sowe is doing a very convincing impression of that chocolate river from the 1971 Willy Wonka film, the lake won first place as my chosen venue. But! and that's a big BUT! I know that right now that the predator fishing is probably best described as... well, not good. 

Even though I fancied a little bit of piking I did not have it in me to wait all day for one run. So I thought it would be nice to take just one predator rod and my new favourite little feeder rod and go down to the brook pool to just have a bit of fun bashing bites whilst maybe fishing out a few errant pike to relocate back to the lake.

I do love an Autumn walk around the banks of Coombe pool. With such a differing mix of tree species, the season gets dragged out in a slow riot of Autumnal shades. As I kicked the leaves along the bank I must have passed at least eight pike anglers all eagerly awaiting their floats to bob or alarms to squeal. They all seemed in high spirits although I suspected when I passed back later they may not be in such good moods...

The brook I must say did as it always does and fished well. A constant stream of veracious roach, rudd and hybrids found my scaled-down feeder rig and quite quickly I found myself carrying a small pike up to the lake. The second jack came along as I was supping my cup of tea not long later.

It was as I was considering heading for home that two silhouette,s one large and one small, appeared over the top of the ancient old sluice that drains into the lake. At the time I was watching my dumpy float bobbing around close to the wall, only half concentrating when I heard my name called through the trees. It turned out that the figures above were in fact readers of this blog who have followed my adventures on Coombe with some interest. Soon after we exchanged initial greetings, a young fellow called Gabe burst through the undergrowth, rod in hand, exited to cast into the confluence pool.

As Gabe cast around the pool catching a mix of roach and perch I stood chatting to his father. I have to say that the young chaps enthusiasm was infectious. It was very refreshing to be reminded of how keen young anglers can be in these  modern times when children are so easily distracted . He actually bought a real smile to my face with his antics and I couldn't help but be reminded of my own formative angling years.

Gabe, with a pike we caught

It was a pleasure to meet Gabe and his dad and I hope that his enthusiasm for fishing continues in the future. I also hope he gets his wish and catches the tench he so much desires next year.

After I left the my newfound acquaintances fishing the little pool, I walked back along the leaf strewn path. I don't know whether kicking leaves as you walk is a proven to help contemplation, but it seems to help me reflect. So as I tempted the dog poo gods and kicked leaves, I began to muse a train of thought Gabe had prompted. Of late I hardly see any young anglers at all! In fact I reckon I could not recall seeing any more than ten, tops, within the last year. 

I know I don't fish too many commercial venues which I am sure have larger populations of young anglers, but even so you would expect to see a few here and there. When I was growing up there wasn't a single body of water that didn't seem to have a group of kids fishing on it. I suppose times have admittedly changed and parents can't just let young kids go roaming around as I used in my youth, and that the technology addicted generation have become a little reluctant to leave the the proximity of their WiFi connections  But I am left in no doubt that young anglers might actually be becoming a rarity, therefore what future does that hold for our sport? Will the number of anglers dwindle so much in the next thirty years that we will see big manufactures starting succumb to lack of buyers in an over-inflated tackle market. Will Danny Fairbrass be seen in some Essex dole queue,  or will Peter Drennan be seen be begging outside Starbucks?  I actually suspect not, as something else comes to mind. Unlike young anglers I have actually seen a lot of new adult anglers. By that I mean people who have taken up fishing a lot later in life. People who may of had a dabble as a youth and didn't continue fishing but have actually had another crack later in life only to find they enjoy it and go on to take it up properly. And I suppose that's even better for our tackle companies as older anglers have more money than kids. So no need to worry Danny or Peter, you might not be for the poor house just yet...

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As an afterthought I do think that we as anglers are actually doing our best to encourage youngsters interesed in the sport. Andy, my regular fishing companion, often takes groups of budding young anglers fishing through his school. I've followed Rob Thompsons passage to becoming an qualified angling coach on his blog http://www.speci-angler.co.uk/2013/10/angling-coach-nurturing-future.html and several other friends/bloggers encourage their children and friend's children to go fishing. However still I am willing to bet that there are loads of kids out there who like myself had little access to angling who would love to have a go. Unlike me they will never have the freedom to just go off on their own, as sadly our society has changed so irrevocably so that it's just not safe for them to be out alone. And that makes me very sad for those would be brothers of angle.

The Lake #22 The queen is gone! Long live the kings.

Hanging fearlessly mid-water in the shadow of the old log she bristled in a state of constant readiness for the attack. For years now she had been the number one, the apex predator of the confluence pool and the arrival of the log in the very centre had only cemented her position further. Some time during winter just passed it had been lifted from its resting place high up the brook by the swollen waters and drifted slowly down to the pool. After a few days churning aimlessly round in the eddy, the water level fell as the rains abated and the log had grounded on the silty bar just off the main flow. Though its resting place was pure chance, the log was perfectly positioned for the pike and her brethren to use as an ambush point, from which they attacked the flashing silver shoals of prey that darted back and forth constantly.

Much like the log, she and hundreds of other microscopic pike had found their way down the brook into the pool. As per normal they had been gorging the tiny daphnia close to the surface to feed their constant hunger. In doing so they had inadvertently strayed too close to an invisible force which had sucked them against their will down into the brook. Many died in the initial  fall, others were taken from above by stabbing birds that appeared from nowhere, but those who survived made their way into the pool where other predators waited.

The years passed and as they did perch, kingfishers and cannibalism all took their toll on the little pike. But she soon had begun to exceed her brothers and sisters in size and now she too had become quite partial to eating her kin. Now after many turns of the seasons only three of the originals remained, her and her two smaller brothers. The smallest of their trio had moved off over the shallow water for easy pickings in the small pool by the wall. She though was too big to dare  try the journey. Only three nights past she attempted to get over shallows only to get stuck in a panic in the dark. But that was all forgotten now as some other disturbance had focused her and her scared brothers attentions on the pool in front.

Not long after dawn, out of the blue a bounty of tiny red grubs had fallen on the water. The silver roach and golden rudd were quick to harvest this bounty and in no time at all they were in a frenzy. With the nights growing cold their hunger had increased and such a wondrous source of food could not be ignored if they wanted to survive the winter, so they fed with unabated gusto. It was that activity that raised the attentions of the pike, but it was the vibrations of panic that made them strike. It was a thrashing perch that brought the little male out into the open, but it was the second one he sensed that he struck moments later. For a small fish it resisted more than normal when bitten but a few savage thrashes and it was his. It was her turn now! The small male had circled round to swallow his meal under the log and so any panicked fish were hers and hers alone. It took a while for it to happen again and when it did the panic was too far off for her to strike. Then moments later a sulking perch skulked back into the deep water all spines flared indigent at its ordeal. Before she could chase the perch a silver mass of terror flashed above. Without thinking she struck, grasping the fish side-on before turning back to the bottom. She too felt the resistance stopping her from swimming away but a surge of power brought a sudden end to it.

As she went around the log swallowing her meal she passed the two carp and their tench companion mooning in the roots of the undercut bank. Neither paid the other much heed as size had removed fear from all parties. The panic continued on and off but it wasn't until the last meals had stopped wriggling in their stomachs that the pair re-set into attack positions  Again the small gung-ho male attacked first, missing his target as he swirled high in the water. Then something fluttered down through the water not far in front of her. It didn't flash and it wasn't panicked, but its wriggling attracted her and its size decided it. It had been a long time since she had eaten worms, but it was food and she wasn't about to pass up a free meal of this size. Unlike the speedy thrashing fish, the worm would not make a hasty escape so calmly she drifted forward stopping only inches away. Focusing on the gently writhing worm she manoeuvred herself into position before calmly opening her mouth enough to suck in the worm. As she turned off slowly back towards the log she felt a stabbing jolt in the side of her mouth and sudden resistance prevented her from moving. Unaware of any real danger she didn't panic and just hung motionless. Slowly she began moving backwards, then as the surface neared she bolted off towards safety  Again and again she made a bid for the log but time and time again something prevented her escaping  Now her panic rose as she did in the water and her surges to escape became more frantic, until finally her energy gave out and the force pulled her towards the shallows grew.

The one last ditch attempt to escape at the sight of the strange foreign object she was drawn towards came to nothing. She felt something rise around her before the normal comforting water dispersed under her and she found herself pulled into a cold alien world. Moments later she felt herself laid down onto something soft. It was then that the predator appeared in her eye line. Survival took over and she thrashed violently but this just drew the assailant onto her where it grabbed her by her chin. With her mouth forced open she felt the pain in the side of her mouth twist then fade, then again she was laid on her side as the predator loomed over her for a while. Suddenly the alien thing engulfed her again and she felt herself moving. Light and dark was all she saw for a while then it just became light, bright light that was blinding  Then water rose around her and she could again breathe. Confused but happy that she was back in her world, she rested a moment before drifting slowly away. But this wasn't the pool, it wasn't even her world this was bigger, a million times bigger. Caution took over and she moved slowly to the safety of some weed to figure out this strange new place.

"I've got you this time!!!"

The jack pike had been plaguing me all morning ever since I had first deposited those first hand fulls of maggots to inspire the fish to feed. I had lost a few fish already to the pike and they had chased many more. I'd had to tie on new hooks when other had been severed from my line my the razor sharp teeth of the jacks. But finally one had actually taken my worm and it seemed like I had a clean and honest hook hold on one so maybe my light line would hold just enough for me to land it.

The snag was the problem. It had appeared after the winter floods and had annoyingly got stuck just about in the centre of the pool, essentially cutting the pool in half. I knew the tiny tench I sought to transfer back up to the lake liked to hang out along the under cut bank like there big relation that I had seen hanging around with the carp. But with the snag now in between me and them, I could not risk casting beyond it as I knew fish would get tangled under it. So I had resigned myself to fishing the main part of the pool in front of the snag in the hope that I could draw the tench up to me instead.

Saying that, the snag wasn't the only problem. The water level was low and it had concentrated all the fish into a very confined area, pike included, and they were having a field day in the shallow water. Although we have had rain here and there, it would seem that not enough water had fallen this summer to keep the lake topped up enough to keep the spillway flowing and this was reflected in the brooks. The brook to my right was reduced to only two foot wide strip that hugged the bank.

And the brook that entered the pool opposite me through the wood with its dry pebbles had seemingly become subterranean.

Even with the low water level the fish were in the mood to feed as the nights had grown a little colder with the on set of autumn, and even with the few fish and hooks lost to the pike I had already landed a slew of nice perch up to a pound and half.

But now I was hooked into something much bigger after my rod tip had pulled slowly round with intent. My light feeder rod bent double as it seemed that my hook had found safe purchase after one of the pike had taken my worm. The three pound line was holding as my lightly set clutch allowed enough leeway for the little pike to run but not snap me up. Now it was a case of just going softly until it was tired enough to land. I could see it hanging in the clear water before it surged off towards the snag yet again but this time it gave up half way there and it looked like the fight was soon to be over. On seeing the net in the water it did that classic one last surge to escape the net that pike always seem to do, but that came to no avail.

In the net and as I rested it onto the mat the fish was calm as you like. But when I bent over it all hell broke loose like I was about to eat it. So I quickly chinned the thrashing little pike opening its mouth to see where my lucky strike had set the hook. Just as I thought the barbless hook had caught home just in the scissor,s and upon trying to dislodge it with my forceps I found there was no way that one was coming out in the fight. A quick wiggle and it was out and the fish was unhooked.

I had to get a picture of this immaculate little pike and as I did I dawned on my that maybe this one might be getting a little to big for the confluence pool. I had in the past put any smaller ones back into the pool but this one was way bigger than those. The bailiff had told me before that any bigger fish could go back up to the lake from where they originated and this one would make a fine addition to the pike populations of the giant pool above.

It's only a short journey up the ancient man made bank up to the lake so I put her back into my net and scarpered back up the bank to the concrete outlet. After resting her in the water she soon righted herself and hung in my net. I knew it would be a bit of a new world for her in the massive lake, but as she slowly swam down into the weed to rest before going off to explore the place of her birth, I hoped she would have the opportunity to breed and start the whole cycle again.

Sitting on the point that dominates the pool I poured another cup of tea and watched the water settle. Already I could see one of the other small pike attacking the roach in the clouded water I'd stirred up. As I sipped the hot brew from my old tin mug I wondered whether now she was gone maybe one of the other two smaller pike I had seen this morning might rise up to become the king of the pool, now that the queen was gone.

The Lake # 21 one in a million cast

I paid an unusual visit to Coombe pool one night the other week. Though me going to Coombe for an evening session is not actually that unusual, what I went to do was! You see on my last few visits there has been some different goings on afoot.

To fully explain this I must go back in time a few years. As I have said before, the lake that is Coombe pool has loomed large in my life ever since I was in my early teens and I first cast into it's difficult water. Back then it was a different place entirely. Just fishing a simple float rig in the edge twenty years ago would bring a veritable cornucopia of fish. As I grew older and found myself in my late teens and early twenty's my angling had evolved as had my tackle and around 1997 (I remember that year specifically as on the way there one day I heard on the radio that Princess Diana had died) fishing a waggler at the end of the lily beds over a good bed of ground bait you could fill a net with skimmers, bream, big perch, tench and roach that went from 'ugh' right through 'oh my god'. I don't remember when it happened for sure, but some time after this the sport seemed to just evaporate. I do remember a year when skimmers became so prevalent that the water boiled with them. From then on the things just got harder and the once great bream water of yesteryear seemed to decline away from its former glory.
On and off from then till last year I and many others dipped their toes into Coombe's water and again and again we all walked away vowing never to return. After many years of fishing away from Coombe I began to gain some perspective on how hard other waters can be and I think it was that idea that got me pondering Coombe again. Then last year by fishing 'bait and wait' tactics I realised for myself that the were still in Coombe, it's just their habits and environment had changed. Before in the wonder years Coombe always had a distinct tinge of colour, the sort of colour that has self respecting barbel anglers speeding towards rivers like tramps towards chips, whereas now most of the time it resembles more of a gravel pit style water, with gin clear water and excessive weed growth. But this might have come full circle now, as on one occasion last year the water coloured up and suddenly the fishing went mad and now this year, for the second time it seems on the same path.

The indicators of change started bleeping a few weeks ago when I fished two eel session on back-to-back weekends. On the first one I never got harassed that much, but Dave the chap fishing next to me got a lot of attention fishing maggot rigs. It was the next session that drove me insane as my worm baits got smashed up very quickly by small fish. Then again when fishing Coombe on few days later, the amount of small fish topping seemed rather excessive.

It was the intrigue to find out what was going on that drove me to go down to the bank only armed with a light feeder outfit, to try and see what sort of silver sods were harassing my bait. Oh and to have a crack at one of the most hair-brained things I have ever attempted on the lake and which I will only discuss if it ever works...

Knowing that the weed is romping up in the water I decided to fish a clearish area I know and to use dead maggots in both my ground bait and on the hook. The area was conveniently at the very limit of my light feeder rod so no clipping up or line markers were needed to hit the spot. It was just a case of firing the feeder as far as it would go.

I was very happy that my first cast resulted in a nice six ounce rudd but then I was not so happy when I cracked off my feeder second cast due to the line wrapping round the tip ring. Once set up again the next cast another rudd then that was followed by another then another then a roach. It went on like that all night and by dark I had put together a very respectable catch whilst confirming that yes the silvers were back in force or that they had never gone away. If they had always been around the current feeding frenzy must purely be down to the colour in the water as at the moment visibility is at around six inches tops.

It was towards the end of the session that the most amazing thing happened and I hit that one in a million cast. After missing a sitter of a bite I began reeling in and felt a dull resistance on my line. On several casts I had picked up some random bits of weed so that what I thought I had done. Turned out I had hooked something but not a fish or weed. I saw the three metres of line trailing from it first as it surfaced then it clicked I had picked up someones lost rig. No I couldn't be mine I hear you say. Well it was! I had managed to actually hook my own feeder off the bottom and the hook was in the feeder not on the line.

Since that session I have mulled over this upsurge in fish activity and concluded that the colour in the water correlates to the recent rains we had. Much like the rivers, Coombe colours up when extra water enters the lake via the brook in the park. As with many bits of river the fish come on the feed hard in these turbid conditions. Which is purely a confidence thing, as the fish in Coombe have more predators on their doorstep than most of the other fish in Warwickshire combined.

It was an interesting enquiry to say the least and after coming to my own conclusions I have to offer this bit of advice to anyone who might want to take advantage of this micro up turn in sport and relive the wonder years of Coombe "wait for it to hammer it down for a week then get on it!"

The lake #18 Taking advantage

Not wanting to commit to any night sessions yet due to the still high populations of carp anglers dug in around the lake with their masses of new season hope still fuelling them through blank nights, I find myself just fishing by dropping in here and there to test the water trying to get a good idea of what is going on below the surface on this poker faced water. To say this shallow and secretive lake is like no other place could be the understatement of the century. Considering you would be lucky to find a spot deeper than four feet, the water is so massive that it seems to take a long time to warm up and cools even quicker, hence the bream spawned just before the season started and the carp did so just five days ago.

Only now after three sessions of squeezing in between the myriad of bow taught lines do the bank side populations seem to be falling and I begin to have the choice of swims. Though I am not moaning... as I like many non-carp anglers who frequent the lake have much to thank the humble carp obsessive for. Coombe, as with other waters that are heavily carp fished, has seen an increase in the size of the fish that all that bait is not intended for. The season here on the lake being little more than a week old has already seen the capture of some very special fish... oh and two carp!

Finally with the season seven days old I popped over for a few hours and found the banks practically deserted. I half expected to find a match was scheduled for the following day but it turned out hunger and need for proper sanitation had pulled them away leaving me free to take advantage of any leftover bait. Over the week it had become evident that some decent populations of fish were residing in a large swath of water pretty much centre of the lake. It was from this area that those special green and brown fish were caught. And why shouldn't they have been caught here after all, as it was this bit of water has received focus of the attentions of  most of the anglers, all depositing kilo after kilo of boilies hoping for carp, but in reality feeding bream and tench. So now as the sound of throwing stick drifts off on the wind it seemed a perfect time to take advantage and cast out to see what might linger over the top of all those lovely washed out boilies.

So finally alone and armed with the knowledge that what I sought was in the area hopefully eating old bait, I found myself looking out over an age old estate lake on a typical English summers afternoon. Of course by typical I meant wind gusting to nearly thirty miles an hour interspersed with sheeting rain; a sky that was one moment black and the next pure azure. The rain and changing light I could deal with, but the wind was coming in just the right direction to zip straight down the entire sheet of water, making for some interesting attempts at the seventy yard casts into the areas I had seen being feed.

It turned out to be a real 'wait for a window' weekend. Time and time again I found myself waiting for the tiniest break in the wind to punch my feeders out. Once that was done settling the line and trying to claw back the bow in my line became another job in itself. Then after every cast I was subjected to the the incessant random bleeps as the tow pulled up the slightest slack in my line.

Undoubtedly I would eventually get my line to settle and the buzzer to shut up and then yet another battle began. Shelter is one of man's simple requirements for survival. I used to have this amazing brolly which sheltered me and helped me survive. It was made of super light weight nylon and folded down to nothing even though it was 50"across. That gem is long gone and the brolly I own now is a C.....! I don't use that word lightly trust me. The umbrella in question was only meant to be an interim measure until I sourced a better replacement but somehow through this and that it stuck around and it has turned into the devils umbrella itself. Its heavy and floppy and given half the chance it with flip inside and stab you in the leg doing so. Just trying to keep out of the wind using this stupid contraption of an umbrella became a farcical fight and I am dam sure I heard a guy over the lake laughing at me. It didn't take long for my patience to dwindle and that evil folding devil to be discarded back to the quiver. I then field tested the new Chris Yates MK1 session shelter which in the light rain proved itself amiably

New for 2013 Chris yates MK1 session shelter

Somewhere in the slapstick carry on scene I did actually get onto the fish and it was a new and different tactic that got me some bites. After two or three hours of fishing the only thing to pull on the end of my line was the tow of the lake, and by then I was thinking that it was not going to end well. Knowing any drastic baiting would be foolhardy, I dipped into my bag looking for inspiration and found something straight away. Half a kilo of sardine and anchovy 10mm boilies that were tucked away in the corner and the sight of them made me wonder. If the carp anglers had been just firing out boilies maybe the fish knew the distinctive sound of them hitting the water was related to food.

Before beginning I recast both my rigs with boilie hook baits and a load of chops crammed into the method mix. With both in place I filled my pockets with baits and began slowly raining the boilies all over the swim... Then you would never believe what happened. After fifteen minutes both rods sparked into life even though there were no where near each other. They weren't ripping runs more dithering jangles. The bream had arrived! I did not leave adequate time for the first two fish to get snagged an struck at  nothing but after those I hooked my first Coombe bream of the year.

In my last two hours my buzzers hardly fell quiet as fish bumped into my line rooted around my feeders and sucked up my baits as the browsed over the swim. Two sub adult skimmers and five proper bream got landed that afternoon. The best of which was just under eight pounds and considering most of them were very slim after their recent spawning there was some nice fish amongst them.

It was almost a shame to leave, but I know there will be plenty more bream filled sessions later in the year when they have regained some condition as well as they inevitably stick their noses in when you're not fishing for them.

I suppose the thing that has me wondering now is, was it just coincidence that those bream showed up over those boilies or have they actually come to associate the sound of boilies hitting the water with tasty morsels peppering the bottom. There is no doubt that only boilie hook baits brought fish on this occasion as I tried other baits like corn and worms and they couldn't buy a bite for love nor money. I have seen on other waters when carp have learnt the sound of spods mean food and on bits of river where the sound of hemp hitting the water brings chub out of places you wouldn't think they hide in. But do these bream now know plops mean food and how big can they grow if they eat just about every boilie that lands in this lake?

A colourful birthday slapping.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a bit wriggly!

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

Now it's vibrating like mad!

Both of us calm again!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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