In honour of others joy.

At Napton reservoir there are those who fish for carp, those who fish for tench and then there are those who pretend to fish for tench but are really hoping for something much rarer. I think the reason that those of us who pretend to fish for tench but are really after something else persist with this ruse is simple; we would be categorized as mental by others or even think ourselves mad if we admitted we were after crucian carp. 

Napton is rife with tench no matter what anyone says; literally at times you would think the bottom was paved green. Once a friend of mine, Pete, said he fished 24hrs for them and literally caught something stupid like over a hundred fish. Conversely the crucian numbers in Napton could probably be counted on a single human's fingers and toes, which in a water of its size makes them the proverbial needle in a haystack. They are the ghosts of the lake as far as I am concerned and quite often their presence seems more rumour than truth. Over the years I've heard whispers on the bank that there is little more than fifteen of them in residence and no one seems to know when or if they were stocked. I even spoke to a chap well in his sixties who said he used to catch them when he first fished the lake as a young man. Things like this seem to indicate that this small group of crucians could be very old and if what I have read is true they are quite capable of living this long. How old they are aside, catching one of these ghosts takes time. Keith off of Warks Avon is quoted as saying it took him over forty years to catch one and look what it did to him...

 ...Considering how lucky he is catching target fish then that means we normal lucked folk are in for a long wait!

It had started as any normal Napton session would; arriving very early, struggling to get a level seat position and the wind blowing in my face. This time Andy had joined me and was set up down the bank. I actually ended up back in the swim I'd fished the week before with the ripple coming onto my own bank and even though the conditions were due to deteriorate throughout the morning, the fish it seemed were on the feed. 

The tench were having it and my score with the hard fighting red eyed demons of this lake was soon settled. By fishing my usual fine tackle over a bed of Bait-Tech super G ground bait laced with casters and corn, the float soon lifted. I don't know whether I'd forgotten how hard tench in general fight or whether these particular fish are a just hard fighters, but every one hooked certainly tested the gear to its limits and more in a few cases. Disappointingly the first fish I landed had some very severe damage to its mouth from either being tethered to a rig or being mistreated by some heartless angler who consider them trash fish. Either way the matter of how the tench are being treated by certain types of anglers fishing the lake will be raised next time I see an official from the new controlling club.

Although the rain came in soaking me to the bone, the tench sport just got better and better through the morning and fish of all sizes were continuously moving into the swim and rolling all around the area of the lake we were fishing. Some were old warriors and others, like this one, looked perfect as if they had never been caught before. Seeing these younger, cleaner examples seems to indicate new fish are coming through and the future of the Napton tench fishing looks good.

Somewhere in the rain the session changed in a big way when Andy breathlessly shrieked he had a crucian on. I shit you not, from down the bank I could see a grown man shaking as he repeatedly said "Please don't come off." When that net lifted around that bar of gold you'd have thought that Andy had just scored the winning try for England at the Rugby World Cup. I don't think I have ever seen him so happy with a capture and I have to say I was over the moon for him as it was the most stunning old creature I have ever laid eyes on.

It wasn't his biggest ever crucian but I think it was possibly the best he'd ever caught, and why shouldn't it be when he's been trying for ten years to catch one of these Napton Ghosts. All I can say it well done mate, you deserve it.

Really that should have been the perfect way to end this post, but I could not not include this string of shots I took of Andy releasing the fish back into the clear water, as it is simply the best group of photos I have ever taken, and what is shocking is that I used my camera phone to get them!

Off she goes.

Gently and gingerly does the trick.

When I went back to Snitterfield the other night I had the preconceived idea that as dusk crept in it might be the best possible time to ambush some big crucians. On a more idyllic evening that might well of been the case, but the night in question was less than idyllic by far. The day leading into the night was a real doozie. Swirling winds and interment squally showers had cooled not only the air but the water too.

My first real inkling that a major change had happened was when I dipped a bait box into the edge to damp down some ground bait. The moment my hand touched the water I realised the temperature had fallen by a good few degrees. When I last dipped my hand in the clear water four days prior it was noticeably hot, like an indoor swimming pool. Today, although not shockingly cold, it was much cooler and that alone was enough to rise my suspicions.

When I cast my uber light pole float rig out over the weed the random wind towed it all over the shop and when set over depth by my normal inch or two, the movement was enough to submerge my delicate float. A bit of perseverance resulted in two respectable silver roach, but that in itself was a worry as if the marauding roach were over my bait then the crucians weren't likely to get a look in. A quick change of float was made. A still fine but slightly more weighty Drennan antenna would enable me to hold fast against the tow, whilst still registering those tiny hints of bite crucians give should they be able to get on my feed.

Re-rigged I swung a small cast over the spot, reeled down hard to sink the line and put the rod on the rest. Moments later the float rose a little, the tell tale bottom shot weight removed as a fish mouthed my bait, and in the blink of an eye it disappeared and I go to strike. But the rod never got higher than my shoulder as the fish powered off. As I was setting up the new float I had seen a patch of tench bubbles further down the bank, so I assumed that a good tench had moved onto my bait and was now attached to the end of my line.

Even using a light match rod, three pound line and size 18 to 2.8lb silver fish pellet hook link I thought if I went easy I could maybe, just maybe, land the fish. Moments later my idea it was a tench went out the window when I saw a white belly flash deep in the lake. Now thinking it was a small carp I reassessed my predicament and concluded yes, as long I am very, very careful I should be able to beat a small carp.

Fifteen minutes later my rod was hooped in a very worrying way and my line was singing as it cut through the wind. This was by far a much larger carp than I thought and my little 20" net was looking a little under gunned for the job ahead. Luckily Thad the bailiff was fishing not far around the lake and quick call had him scampering in my direction with a much larger specimen net in hand. 

How I did it I will never truly understand, but after a monumental and very careful fight I finally managed to get it onto the surface after a couple of abortive attempts. Fish always look smaller in water and as it passed over the cord we both exclaimed it might be a bit bigger than we thought. When we took a hold of the net and lifted, it suddenly looked huge. On my diminutive unhooking mat it looked even bigger... quite possibly a twenty. The scales don't lie though and after carefully zeroing the wet sling the digital display flickered between 19.10 and 19.12, before sticking on the latter.

I was in shock for the rest of the session, as was my swim which had not only been smashed to bits by the carp, but I suspect had also been cleaned out by its cavernous mouth. More ground bait and pellets were potted in but as the night drew in I saw no signs of crucians, and the only fish to pull my float under were a few overzealous  tiny tench. Mind you I didn't really care as the thought of that seemingly impossible capture more than made up for the lack of crucians whose activity seemed to have dropped right off with the fall in temperature.

The joys of fishing light.

My recent visit to Marsh farm has reminded me of how much fun light gear tench fishing really is. All too often I find myself fishing venues, or swims for that matter, that require me to use heavy set ups in order for me to constantly cast weighty feeders at range. Now don't get me wrong I'm not saying this isn't fun and it certainly is effective, but what I am saying is that the conduit of bite registration that is the buzzer, can remove us as anglers from interaction with the fish. When fishing a float however this interaction is just about at it's zenith and quite possibly at its most enjoyable.

The constant attention required of float fishing can more often than not enable you to see what is going to happen before actually happens. I think it is the focusing on the tiny luminous tip of a float and the surrounding few feet that draws us closer into the goings on in the water. A bubble or fizz, an oily swirl or a patch of colour in the water all serve to pre-empt the inevitable, or conversely, torture us to the point of paranoia over why we are not getting any bites when fish are obviously on the feeding whilst not eating our baits.

Then there is the language of the float, and that is a language that can be specific to any particular water. The myriad dips, rises and slides can indicate which species we are about to encounter before the rod even cuts through the air to finalise the deal. Ask yourself how many times you have watched a float dancing around on the surface of the water and before you have struck you have predicted out loud what the fish is.
I think that this visual translation is what makes makes float fishing so appealing to anglers. I don't think there is anyone who could deny that the sight of float coming alive after it has sat dormant for so long, is one of the most simply wondrous parts of fishing...

It's a hot afternoon and the sun seems the strongest it has been so far this year. Even sitting half dappled in the shade of two birch trees I am unable to totally avoid its burning rays. I know later in the day when the evening approaches the tree line behind me will offer me some early respite from the brightness and maybe to incline the tench to move, as most of the residents of this lake have melted away in the heat of the mid day sun.

One of the only signs of life on the lake come from the shoals of small rudd which ceaselessly move up and down the bank in front of me. They swim endlessly open mouthed gorging on microscopic morsels and every time they pass around my float it shoots up out of the water as they dislodge that tell tale shot from the bottom as they swim through my line in a cloud of silver gold.

Other than the rudd the only fish in sight are a pair of basking carp. Their black shadows betray them as the slowly cruise beneath the surface soaking up the suns warmth. Its the first time this year I have seen them bask here, but if the heat continues I know it wont be the last. I have often been tempted to try and thieve one from the surface, but the shear amount of water birds make that an impossible prospect, and today that as always it is only pipe dream.

My eyes focus back to the foreground and for a moment I panic and clamber my hand blindly for the cork handle of my rod. In the blink of an eye its hard to re-sight the orange float in the ripple. Eventually I spot it hiding between the light water of the skies reflection and the dark water a tree casts long across the lake and again I relax.

For hours I wait and even though nothing happens my attention never wains. I know a trap is set and also know it is set so fine that the merest of movements of that float would betray a fish. It is set so fine in fact that the tiny blue damsel which I can hardly see sinks the float down to a pin prick every time it lands on it. Half straining my eyes and half imagining it, I can see it barely keeping off the water as if stuck on a sinking ship. Then another blue damsel fly comes into its territory it chases it off, which causes my float to rise out of the water and every time I ready myself to strike until it returns and sinks my float back.

Not until the sun becomes hidden by that false horizon does the watery world begin to change. The rudd still gorge as they will well into the night, but the carp have gone. The water birds too have begun evening rituals. Canadian geese noisily take off  repeatedly circling the lake a few times before landing again and now a moorhen has appeared from the rushes and now clicks as it moves into open water. For the first time this year I can hear a cuckoo whooping in the trees on the other bank. The world moves closer to dark and the time is at hand.

The first fizz is slight at first. Nothing more than a hint of different water two feet beyond my float. Then it happens again further off to the right. I can track at least three different fish moving in a pod along the edge of my baited patch. They seem a little standoffish, only seem to wanting to test the water. Maybe the bright sky still perturbs them.
For over an hour I watch them linger temptingly around the free food. I was just getting used to the hints of bubbles when a massive patch of bubbles break the surface all at once in an audible fizz. Either the waiting has become too much for one hungry mouth or an interloper has just barged straight in head down. Now it is business time and my hand grasps cork ready to strike.

The float has risen and fallen many times by now, as multiple fish mooch around sucking in mouthfuls of fishy bait. But not one has been tripped up by my single grain of corn and now I wonder if they might be avoiding it. So, I wonder, should I make that change? I have fed nothing but highly flavoured crumb and corn. Looking down to my left I have two other choices with me. Tiny soft pellets which seem oh so small to me and a diced tin of salty spam which has stewed sweaty in the sun.

I decide I can't trust those tiny pellets so I reel in and bait up by pulling the hook through a finger nail sized cube and just twisting a little before bedding the nook in. The float and meat fly through the air  well beyond the action and I see the meat go into the water still on the hook. I dip the rod and reel hard to sink the line. The float stands very proud of the water and I envisage the fatty meat slowly sinking between those fish and as it does my float again settles until only the florescent tip shows.

Finally it happens! The float first dips as the bait is sucked in. It rises a little at first as the weight is taken of the line. Then as the fish angles back to chew and swallow it,s mouthful my float rises confidently to the point where those two tell-tale shots are way off the bottom, and the float comes four or more inches prone of the water before lolling to one side. In slow motion I watch the line pick up off the water and the rod move into curve in one seamless movement. Then that moment of  pause before panic sets in and the fish streaks off.

Now it's just a case of going softly as is always the case when the poundage of line is outweighed by the poundage of fish. First the long surging runs are quelled by a well set clutch. But once that is over it becomes a battle in the margins were my finger adds fine tuning to the spool and the arch of rod cushions the head shaking. The fight is nearly over once the slapping of tails is heard here and there. Until one final run ends in a gaping golden mouth and my net engulfs the fish I have sat vigil for hours for.

And later when it is dark and I lie in bed, I know the vision of that float rising will be relived again and again, whilst the picture of that perfect float caught tench will send me to sleep with a smile for sure.

A fine balancing act.

Over the past few years a lot of my blogging brethren and friends have ventured to the hallowed banks of Marsh Farm in search of big crucians. They have all done this as it is one of the only truly viable fisheries where anglers stand a chance of connecting with specimen true crucian. Why until now it is that I have not found myself looking over this meticulous manicured fishery I do not know. But just last week the opportunity arose for me to tag along with Martin Roberts and Jeff Hatt on a foray down south for a mid week session, and frankly it would of been rude for me to decline. 

After an inordinately early start and disconcertingly easy passage along the M25 we found ourselves at the gates to our venue for the day. Only problem was that they were looked and not due to open for another hour as our journey had been predicted to be a little more hassle than it actually turned out to be.

The general look of the day ticket lakes was much as I expected it and whilst waiting for the tackle shop to open so we could obtain our tickets we took a amble around the lakes to scope out possible pegs. Harris lake I think was always going to be where we fished, as according to most information, this was where the better sized crucians reside. But I for one wasn't expecting the sight that met me! At seven thirty in the morning with a heavily overcast sky filled with incessant drizzle and a decent ripple I could see not only into the shallows but right down to the marginal shelf and beyond. 

From everything I had read and heard regarding the day ticket waters at marsh farm I had built up a picture of margin fishing in well coloured water, whereas this looked more like gravel pit water, where the idea of getting a crucian into the margin may have had to involve me getting camo'd up like a sniper whilst hiding in the undergrowth all day.

As I waited in the queue for my ticket my pre-planned tactics seemed all wrong, and seeing a bait fridge loaded with casters I began reforming a different plan of attack. So loaded up with my gear I headed to the windward end of the lake accompanied by Jeff, away from every other angler on Harris. Here I knew it would be hard to contend with the ripple, but my thinking was that that ripple might offer me some cover in these clear water conditions.

The next step was to follow a little of Jeff's sage advice. He had said to me that one of the best sessions he had had here was when he simply found feeding bubbles and fished that swim. So we did exactly that and after locating what looked like a few feeding tench about two rod lengths out I plonked myself down in the swim close to opposite a gap in between two islands. 

It was by no mean an easy start to the session as I struggled to settle. The wind cutting from my right was not only cold for the time of year but also made presentation impossible. When I had set up my rigs before arriving I had been banking on fishing the margin using a pole float to show all those slight touches associated with crucian carp. That rig never got wet and was superceded by a canal dart with a very fine antenna, which too was cast aside after it would not hold position with a hint of line on the bottom and got dragged under when laid on heavily. The next candidate was a crystal waggler which would hold bottom when laid on hard but with minimal line on the bottom slowly drifted with the ripple.

I was losing all hope of getting any where until I found a small Drennan tench float hidden at the bottom of my float tube. This was perfect. The fine peacock antenna was stabilised by a bulbous body well under the surface. The combination of me locking it in place with float stops so I could put all my shot low down the line, and the three inches of line on the bottom was enough to combat the worst tow. Finally I was fishing comfortably for the first time on the session and now bites could be indicated by dips and rises. I was performing a fine balancing act in the worst of conditions. 

With having to fish a few rod lengths out I had to depend on the casters I had purchased from the onsite tackle shop. Normally I like to fish soft pellets for crucians but they stood little chance of staying on the hook in these windy conditions, and the last thing I needed was no bait on my hook when everything already seemed to be against me. My regular catapulting of shells through the air attracted not only fish to my swim.

This cheeky sparrow obviously had many mouths to feed as she danced under my chair all day picking fallen casters here and there.

As I found out marsh farm is not only renowned for crucian carp but tench as well, as I banked fifteen through the day whilst bumping off one or two and getting snapped off by a few as well. But the best by far was this immaculate chuck of a female which gave me a right run around and ended up stuck in a bush in my right hand margin. Luckily for me Jeff appeared just in time to help me scoop her out in a less than dignified manner.

The crucians unlike the tench were a different and awkward matter entirely...! From very early on in the day I suspected their presence in my swim and although that seems a blindingly stupid statement in a lake renowned for them, the fact remains that they were giving little away bar a few different bubbles. Tench fizz is my pornography, it really gets me excited. But those exciting fizzes of bubbles can only be tench. Individual small bubbles rising though is a great sign of feeding crucians, and I had a fare few emanating from my baited patch.

Slowly but surely my constant feeding of a pouch full of casters began to garner me some interesting bites. Even fishing a heavy rig at two rod lengths out I just detect the slight rising of my float. I must of struck at twenty of more hardly perceptible bites and a couple of tench sail aways before my float raised a good inch and half out of the water as a fish mouthed my bait. Half expecting it to slide away attached to another tench I waited, but the float just sat cock eyed and I had to strike. I wont lie and say I did not think it was a tench as it surged away sounding my lightly set clutch. But then low and behold a miracle happened and it gave up, surfacing for a quick roll in the ripple. I had been quite blasé about fighting the tench but a flash of real gold stopped me in my tracks.

It was undoubtedly a big crucian and the sight of it fighting me through clear water really had my arse going for sure. Then out of nowhere it just gave up totally and good as gold slid straight into my waiting net. No self takes were going to be struggled with on this one, so I was straight on the phone to get Jeff down to do the honours. Then who should turn up with him but my good mate Baz who had dropped by as he returned north after doing a job in the area.

Just seeing the fish resting under the water in my landing net I knew it was a PB but how big I could not say as I think crucians are a very hard species to estimate weights of due to their solid deep bodies. Baz though guessed it on the nose at 2.6lb just before it even went onto the scales.

That was it for me. If I did not catch another fish it would have been a great trip. But even after watching that one swim away in the clear water I looked up to see more crucian like bubbles appearing in my swim. For the rest of the afternoon I had them bubbling rolling and rising my float annoyingly just enough for me to strike but never enough for me to hit.

Finally after a slew of tench my float did a slight rise before moving left a little and my strike contacted another crucian of maybe ten ounces at best. This did however went some way to proving that a number of smaller fish were responsible for turning me over. Another hour later I hooked and lost what I am sure was a second good fish before I landed my third and final cute little crucian of the day.

I had set myself a packing up time so as to be ready to go when Martin, who had driven, was ready to go and just as that time neared Jeff strolled over for a chat. After a quick con-flab he turned and headed back for one last shot for a fish. Just as he turned tail a massive crucian came half out of the water only two feet from my spot. The sight of that certain three pounder turned my planned packing up into a very protracted affair, with my float rod staying firmly in position until the very end as I packed up everything else around whilst trying to watch the float out of the corner of my eye.

That big one never did grace me with a biet and nether did anything else. Even with my first experience of Marsh Farm being on a day when everything seemed to be against me, I know I worked hard to fish in a way I am not used to, and this hard work paid off landing me a whole mess of tench and the only crucians that were caught on Harris lake that day as far as I know. As for whether it was worth the long journey down from the Midlands. Well that's simple isn't it! First session there and new PB crucian, whereas on most waters you struggle to find them, if you can find a water that holds them. So yes, I will be back, and hopefully when I do return the conditions might be little more favourable.