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 #20 Hola tenca

I have been on holiday for a week and when I say holiday I don't mean I was sunning myself on some Mediterranean beach. Though it could be said I was living and working like a Spaniard! With the temperatures knocking close on thirty degrees I have spent my time slaving early mornings and late evenings building a new patio, whilst in between taking siestas away from the midday sun. Somehow I have managed to avoid sun stroke and now have an beautiful new bit of stone sun deck that catches the early morning heat a treat but is perfectly shady come the evening.

Even with labouring to be done I still managed to find time to squeeze in a few fishing trips here and there. Though in all honesty they have been much of a muchness in this savage heatwave. Thrice I visited the Avon in search of a barbel. On the first two attempts I got the distinct feeling I was wasting my time. On one of those sessions the eels, of which I am seeking on another venue but not the river, were so ravenous that anything I cast into the river seemed to attract them. Meat, pellets, boilies were all devoured by them and although one of the many usurpers was a respectable two pounds plus, they inevitably ruined my session. The next time it was bream who would not leave my baits alone and no matter how big the baits were they in the end managed to engorge my bait and hang themselves up.

My best chance I think came when I paid a visit to the BAA stretch of the Avon at wasperton. After arriving and finding the pegs I fancied occupied I opted to fish a large run of willows on the opposite bank around two thirds the way up the stretch. With no one insight I fished right at the top of the trees in a slow but covered swim and was able to tuck my bait under the cover and trickle in bait without fear of having anyone else drop below me. 

It was one of those nights when the conditions felt very right. With the sun gone the air was cooling, and not long before dark crept close my rod tip nodded a few times indicating possible interest. As I crouched excitedly behind my rod waiting for a bite was sure was about to come I caught a rolling thumping sound which seemed to be getting louder. They appeared fast a flash dashing down the field behind the trees and straight towards the willows I was fishing. That old saying of tread quietly meant nothing to this excited string of horses and as they thundered past my rod tip arched over bouncing back and forth as unseen fish scarped out of the swim. 

All that was left after they passed was what looked like a dozy old Irish cob scratching its arse on a tree, whilst I sat agog at what had just happened. By waiting till well into dark I did scratch a couple of tiny chub which came back into my swim as the dust settled.

Though I considered other outings the only firm plan I had made was to do the night at Coombe again at the start of the weekend. Eels once again my target species I trudged my kit around to the early pegs on the Lindley bank. It's not a long way, but it ain't an easy way either! Even with a well mown path the general unevenness of the ground topples even the best stacked barrow. Hence I carried my kit in two trips.

After a fruitless previous visit on a different part of the lake, which in hindsight I think may have been a little featureless, I set up in a the more feature filled narrow section of the lake hoping it might be a little more conducive to eel fishing. Just down the bank was an excited carp angler who upon arriving had found a large group of basking carp in residence and who informed me the area was alive with fish of all species. This seemed just right to me a duly I set up slowly aiming to cast out an hour before dark.

It turned out to be another duff night of eel fishing although I have to say it was by no means quiet. Having made the decision to only fish worms I soon discovered much to my annoyance that the large numbers of fish out in front of me were all determined to eat my bait, no matter how small they were or how big my baits were. From the moment I cast out till the time they had pecked my worms to bits my bite alarms constantly bleeped. Fishing baits off the bottom made no difference and by two in the morning I had been casting repeatedly all night and all I had to show for my efforts was a single shocked bream.

With wanting to catch no more than a forty winks, I in the end gave up and left them to the worms until the buzzers fell silent. After awaking naturally around six I decided to recast and let the rods fish until I was packed up ready for home. Once again the buzzers began and disheartened I began to strike camp. But! Just as I had my head in the shelter folding up my bed my left hand rod sounded a slow but constant take. Its always the way it is just as your about to leave something takes an interest.

I don't think I could believe my eyes when the small but determined fish surfaced out past the reeds. It was another Coombe carp. Anyone who does not know this lake will think me a little mental for getting excited by such a small carp. But quite truthfully I have heard of carp anglers fishing for years and never catching one and here I was with my second albeit a tiddler.

As I travelled the short distance home the presence of all those fish kept coming back into my head. On the session I had just fish they were no more than an annoyance. But if I was to return with lighter set-ups and if they were still in residence, maybe I could make a little hay whilst the sun shone. It is not that often that you find this water coloured up and with fish willing to feed with such gay abandon in day light hours. So I decided to return to the area within twenty fours hours with a good nights sleep in between.

The day between the two sessions bought to light an uncomfortable truth I hadn't realised! Not being a massive fan of mosquito repellent I try and avoid using it where ever possible and instead rely on mosquito nets and staying well covered where possible. I had as far as I was concerned been very diligent on this occasion. Turned out I hadn't been so careful as I first thought... No less than twenty seven red lumps arose all over my body. My left hand which must have been uncovered for some time well led the way with eleven bites all in a row. Some horrid critter had even bitten me through my trousers which I didn't think was even possible. But far the worst of all was a single bite just under my left eye brow which I suspected might be troublesome and was, as you will see later.

Sunday morning I returned and luckily no one had moved into the area. Maybe the news a carp had been caught hadn't got around as normally one whiff of a carp coming out and the carp lads are running for the area. I even got back onto the exact spot and even dropped a bait onto the same clear patch I had found in the weed a day ago.  

Not wanting to over do it I baited one long and one short spot lightly and plopped a method feeder on each. Initially I fished popped up corn on both rods but from the general liners and nudges on the feeder I was getting I soon switched over to bottom baits. Fish were topping all over the area and soon enough the bream turned up and I landed three well conditioned fish up to seven pounds. The last of which I did a self take of. It was after I had recast and went back to have a quick look a the photo that I realised my left eye was more than little swollen.

After seeing that picture I suddenly became aware that my eye was well on the way to closing up with the swelling and maybe I might need to seek some attention before it got much worse. That was until I had a screaming run on my inside line. That run came to nothing but that combined with a tench rolling over the fresh cast bait confirmed I would take my chances and stick it out for a little while longer.

There was certainly tench around and the were certainly driving me crazy fizzing all over my baits whilst not taking a single one. Desperately trying to garner a hook up I went through the entire choice of baits available to me until I finally switched to the last few remaining lob worms I had from my ill fated eel session just passed.

Whole or split worms got interest but never produced. It wasn't until I cut a worm into small sections and threaded it onto a hair rig that I cracked the problem. It was only skimmers that fell foul of this rouse first but just after I decided it was my last cast three different tench fizzes surfaced all at once and I held off leaving...

The bite was one of the worst I have ever had jingling the bobbin up and down a few times and when I struck it felt like a skimmer had once again got hooked up. Half way back, which wasn't far at all the fish increased power tenfold causing me to quickly loosen my drag. A big swirl on the surface changed my mind on the culprit and I then suspected a small tench. It did a pretty spectacular run at the reeds next to my swim then turned and swan straight at my already submerged net. The fight had only been seconds and suddenly it was over the net so I lifted quickly shocked at what had just eased over the cord.

"eeeh!" those were my exact words as I looked into the net. I wasn't long but it was like a breeze block across the shoulders and when I lifted the net it was satisfyingly heavy. Then on the mat it was so deep and perfect I could hardly believe my eyes or eye for that matter. There has been reports of some big tench caught at Coombe this year and I saw a few swimming around the season just passed but this looked huge. Then when the scales stopped flickering I was really pleased. A new PB tench of 8.2lb and the fact that it came from this rock hard water and it was so perfect made it so much better.

I never cast out again after that as even though the fish looked amazing in the photo my eye seemed worse. So after packing up and yomping back to the car I headed off to spend the rest of the afternoon at the walk in centre waiting to see a quack to get to treatment for my eye.

The lake # 17 An adventure on June 16th.

I had been umming and ahhing for quite some time prior to the weekend over what, where and when I should fish on the first day of the season. Both the river and Coombe pool made tempting prospects and I even at one point considered the shotgun start on Coombe, then packing up at lunch time and heading down the Avon to fish till dusk. Sense however prevailed and I shelved that insane idea as after all, I am just one man.
My biggest quandary in this venue toss up though was the crowds. Facebook had been alight for weeks with proclamations of intent as well as statements regarding weeks of pre-baiting, and frankly I wanted no part in this blue cross sale like madness. Before now I cannot deny getting caught up in this fervour, and like many others I have gone out tooled up with half a years worth of bait weighing me down after rising in the middle of the night, to run down to the river or lake and chuck the whole lot in as a fanfare plays in my head! And how often has my June 16th ended up being a rather inglorious phaaaarp. Well the answer to that is far too many times.

So fully expecting my favourite river haunts to have their highest bank side populations of the year, I opted to instead take it a little easy, rose at leisurely hour and drove all of a few miles round the corner to Coombe, with the intention of just squeezing in somewhere and enjoying the day with no real expectations in some seriously beautiful surroundings.

Although I had taken one illicit sneak peak a few weeks earlier and kind of knew what to expect, the sight that met me as I looked down over the meadowland towards the age old lake framed by ancient English woodland was nothing less than resplendent. Hoards of swifts whirled overhead in the blue sky, dropping effortlessly at unimaginable speeds towards the ground before pulling up at the last moment and skimming down the hillside towards the lake. On my slow descent down the narrow mowed, track rabbits of all sizes scattered in every direction. All apart from one cheeky youngster no bigger than my fist who nonchalantly carried on munching on what must of been a very choice tussock of grass.

I left my tackle leaning against the fence while I went to investigate the bank, as on my descent I had spotted many alien olive domes hidden amongst the bank side vegetation. My suspicions that it might be a little popular were correct, though I didn't really care as there was enough spaces for me to squeeze in here or there and try and ply a meagre two rods for a tench or a bream.

In the end I settled not too far from the gate with a massive reed bed to my left and one or two spare swims to my right. Nestled alongside a few trees on a newly mown patch I looked over one of the widest parts of the lake, which shallowed very slowly from the bank. I knew I would not be casting a lot, but the casts I made would have to be long to put me into decent water.

Not long after deciding on my swim I found myself sitting back looking over two rods at the lake on which seemed to sit every possible type of waterfowl, including a gaggle of peeved looking greylag geese whom suspect I may have evicted from the peg upon mu arrivel. A pair of reed warblers busied themselves in the big reed bed as another unseen and much larger bird rooted around deep in the rushes, annoying them.

I hadn't even noticed the time passing quickly as I sat absorbing the atmosphere of being back in this amazing place. Before I even knew it ten o'clock approached, and thoughts of a move began to creep into my head. Another swim that I had seen was free and soon began to seem a better option, for a tench at least. So slowly I tidied up getting ready for an imminent move. The sound of a land rover engine was heard well before I spotted Joe the head honcho slowly drive along the track behind me. I think I must have been the first angler he encountered that wasn't sitting behind three carp rods and he stopped for a chat on our favourite subject, tench.

We had only been chatting for a short while before he quickly pointed out over the water towards a patch of flat water in the ripple where he had just seen a carp roll. Tracking his arm to the area about seventy yards out, I looked just as he said, "...in line with that bushy tree on the other bank." My mind had hardly time to compute the information that it was pretty much in the area of one of my rods when the indicator screamed into to life and the reels spool began spinning.

'It couldn't be!' was all I could think until the I lifted into a far too aggressive fish to be a bream. I'd have loved to think it was a massive tench, but that carp rolling was just too telling. Trying to keep my cool, the drag was quickly eased to cater to the seemingly unstoppable first run. The fish was a long way out which gave me enough time to prepare for its hopeful arrival close to the bank. Joe reeled in my second rod to clear the path, and not long after I realised it might not be an easy job getting a hard fighting carp to cooperate and come down the channel between the reed beds lining either side of my swim. The thought that if it did not play ball I might be going for a paddle soon became a reality as it swung hard to my right. That was it! I began rooting in my pockets and throwing valuables onto my seat. Wallet, car keys and like were all tossed out. By then the carp had made up its mid that the bank was its only chance of escape and in doing so confirmed I was getting wet...

I would've gone down to just my boxers but never got the chance. Just my trainers were left neatly on the edge of the bank and I stepped in. The water wasn't cold which was nice, the silt however was deep. Six or eight eight inches squelched around my ankles and up my trouser legs, and the stink really made the moment. Years worth of rotten debris and gas bubbling up around me every time I took a step out into the the lake. I must have been twenty feet out from the bank before I got control of the fish and turned it round as it came within feet of the reeds. Of course then it charged straight at me, and I struggled to wind the line back on the spool quick enough. I saw it go past me not far out just before I turned to ask for a net. Joe was well on top of it and the net was already floating towards me. Two little runs and it was over. I had done the impossible and netted a June 16th Coombe Abbey lake carp.

It wasn't a monster but anyone who knows this lake knows that these fish are like rocking horse droppings. Better anglers than I have given years of their lives over to trying to catch one and not succeeded, and here I am on the first day of the new season holding probably a never before caught perfect little mirror carp from one of the hardest carp waters in the Midlands.

That was my first day made in one fish, though I never got to see it swim away as my paddling session has turned the normally rather clear water in a rancid silt soup. It was as we chuckled over the whole farce that I took stock of the disaster zone that was me and my swim. Looking at my chair where were all my valuables now resided and something was missing... Slowly reaching down into my left leg pockets I felt a shape distinctly mobile phone-ish and was about to start cursing when through the wad of now liquid toilet roll I felt the shape was thankfully my little key wallet instead. Luckily my phone had been in my fishing bag when I went for my paddle, thank god.

I think I may have made Joe's day with my little June sixteenth adventure and the capture of the first carp of the season. After shaking my hand he chuckled off back to his Landy and left me soaked from the thighs down standing in a swim peppered with goose shit and oh, what a state I looked.

This might seem totally insane to anyone who reads this but after I settled down and got dried off I decided to make that move after all. The fish I sought were definately not in the area I was fishing, and rather than recast and sit it out again it seemed the better option for me to head off towards that free swim right up at the top of the lake, where I knew I stood a much better chance of coming across patrolling tench.

My journey up the bank was just about as farcical as my little adventure prior to it. The news had already shot down the bank quicker than lighting that a carp had been caught, and carp anglers were all a fluster at the news. Everyone who I spoke to as I passed had heard it and they were flabbergasted that it was me and that I had moved straight out of the sacred spot. No word of a lie I saw at least one chap running off in order to try and drop in the now vacant swim.

Turned out I could not get into the swim I wanted as another anglers line was intersecting it, but I wasn't bothered; the next one along was free so I set up shop in the very first peg on the bank, well away from everyone else, and cast my two method feeders onto a previously productive line a little over half way over the lake where the tench often patrol.

By late afternoon the weather had gone from sunny to overcast and back again. All that had shown interest were two skimmers of a pound each and something that gave me a very promising run that stopped before I could get to the rod. It became what sessions at Coombe are all about as far as I am concerned, waiting! Through into early evening I watched the water like a hawk for all but one hour when I nodded off in the late afternoon sun. As I watched I did spot a tench or two roll out towards the opposite bank but sadly the line in which they were travelling was a bit out of range of my Avon rods.

Although it had not been a busy day bite wise as far as I was concerned it was more than a success with that chance carp capture. To be honest it went pretty well by first day standards and I really enjoyed spending the day on the lake. The fish I feel may of been in a little shock after months of no one on the bank then hundreds of people showing up and smashing a load of bait in hoping to bag a big one straight off. I know it will take a few weeks for the lake to settle down into a new routine and by then the banks will be a more sparsely populated and I will start getting a few nights in. One thing there did seem a lack of however was mozzies. In fact they were conspicuous by their absence! Both of the two swims I fished seemed rather void of any buzzing annoyances. Mind you my new organic insect attractors may have distracted them and drawn them off to their doom, like moths to a flame.