Canal carp - a crisis of confidence.

Everyone who fishes canals will have some kind of tale or tome of canal carp to tell. I suspect it's the linear nature of canals that helps information travel down them to be dribbled like honey into people's ears by passing travellers. Personally with all the time I've spent on canals I reckon I must have heard thousands of stories about monsters hiding on the far bank cover over the years. The truth of the matter is that all canals contain carp, be them born or bred, dumpers, stockies or escapes, they are there and beyond all the bluff and bluster you hear about how to catch them there is one single box to tick in order to attain success as far as I am concerned; location. Quite frankly you could fish in a carpy looking location for the rest of your life and not catch a single fish if it is simply not their chosen home.

With regards to location, I can think of six spots on three different sections of canal that I have either seen or caught carp from. I have spent a fair bit of time on these spots in years past and as much as I reckon the fish have probably grown, I'd like to find a few unknown fish to me, so I have started looking at few more likely spots with supposed form to target. The first is a very well known supposed carp haunt of the Grand union were fish of preposterous sizes are reported to swim and I gave it a look on an evening session recently when the weather was fine enough for carp.

I like to keep things simple when carp fishing and on the canal, rigs hidden in PVA bags are always the way to go. Firstly you can cast them into any tiny space you want with little fear of tangles, secondly they sink slowly without the lead burying in the deep silt that can line the bottom and thirdly they are great for fishing for one bite by presenting a concentrated pile of smelly bait. All that said it seemed on this occasion my simple tactics might not have been reliable, as I did not generate anything near a bite in five hours. I had a few liners but definitely no contact with the rigs, which was concerning. Without dwelling on a blank I moved on to the next session along with my new compact kit.

I feel I should mention the new set up I am using this season for carp. You know I've always felt taking twelve foot carp rods and big reels down the cut to a bit of overkill. Then a while ago I bought a 9ft Nash dwarf rod for stalking carp and after seeing how great this little rod was I invested in a second one and matched them up with a pair of Korum KXI reels. I then bought a specific rod bag for the Dwarf rods which is not much over three feet long and also carries my 36" carp net with handle that splits into two. All the rest of the stuff I might need packs into my Korum day sack which leaves me with a kit so compact that no spot is too far away.

My next canal session was a disaster and that was pretty much all my fault. I agreed to meet Mick on a very reliable section of canal where he was going to fish for zander and I for carp. Anyway to cut a long story short I decided to hang out with Mick and have a chat rather than head straight down to the banker spot. As nice as it was catching up with Mick, it allowed some else to get on my spot. Frankly I was shocked as I have never seen another carp angler there ever and here was one right where I wanted to be. When I arrived and after chatting to the other angler I set up shop a little way up the canal  in a spot of lesser quality which produced zip all once again.

Confidence in any sort of angling is key in my opinion and at this point I had none. Worst of all though I had opted to use a new bait for this canal carp caper and as good as it smelt to me I wasn't sure it was doing the business. I expected those starving canal bream to be on it like a tramp on chips and so far I was saving a fortune on bite alarm batteries. With this crisis of confidence in both bait and me I had no choice but to have a session on somewhere a little easier. So with a spare afternoon off work I went over to fish Jubilee pools, or specifically horseshoe pool.

These pools suffer a bit of an image problem if you ask me and some of that is down to their name I reckon. Though referred to as pools they are in fact pits where sand and gravel were extracted from along with Ryton pool and Meadow lands. Should they be referred to a jubilee pits then certainly in carp fishing circle they would command a bit more respect than a lowly old pool. That aside Horseshoe for one looks like a gravel pit if you look beyond the wooden stages that line the lip of the pool like teeth. And the fish do behave more like gravel pit fish as they swim around the clear weedy water. The only way this pool differs from most gravel pits is in stock density. Being the coffer fillers they are, the controlling club keeps them well overstocked with fish as to please the day ticket paying masses. Weirdly though the fish seem to exhibit different habits. The small carp are nearly always lingering in the upper layers of the water, where as a totally different size class patrol the margins like nervous submarines, and it was those nervous submarines that I wanted to test my confidence out on.

After walking round the lake a bit and finding most of it empty of anglers, I fed four swims on one bank where I had seen a few groups of bigger fish nosing around. These bigger fish love nothing more than coming into the margins in the evening and mopping up all the discarded bait, and that's exactly what I wanted my freebies to look like. After putting out a handful of corn in each swim along with a few broken boilies and whole boilies I waited and watched to see which of the four swims offered the batter chance. Random fish kept coming into all of them but one swim had a couple of groups of fish the others didn't repeatedly stopping by, so thats where I decided to set my trap. Once all the bait was gone I quickly nipped in and set up my rods and alarms on the path leading into the swim. There was a large clear area all around the platform so carefully placed one rig on the further edge of the clear spot and the second right under the platform. After making sure my line was pinned down tight to the bottom by a few blobs of tungsten putty and a small back weight I re-baited with more broken boilies and corn and retreated well away from the peg. 

The fish were soon back and I waited a good hour before the water finally erupted and the alarm screamed as a fish found my sneaky two halves of boilie bait and sucked it in. It took a while for the fish to fully get its head round its circumstance and when it did the rod really started to bend.

After an epic tussle which destroyed the swim and my other rod, I finally dragged the net out of the brambles and slipped it under a stunning little common which filled my confidence jar close to the brim.

After I released that low double a few swims away I returned to carnage. In the panic of the fight everything had gone everywhere. My second rod was lying on the floor with the line still over the buzzer. There were mats, selfie sticks and half the contents of my bags strewn all over the floor. As I walked towards the second rod on the floor the alarm beeped once and thinking it was about to go off I froze. From just at the edge of the swim I could see a real strange group of fish had drifted into swim and were picking up odd bit here and there. There was a golden tench, a tiny common carp and a huge mirror. I would have said they had all arrived separately until the golden tench moved off and its buddies followed it. Quickly I got both rods out a again this time with a PVA bag on each. Both were in same positions as before when I saw the golden tench reappear followed by its two carpy friends. None of them dipped onto the baits but they all paused a moment as they passed over them. I watched those three fish drift in and out again and again, each time the mirror seemed bigger.

Soon my time was running out and worst of all their confidence was building with the more time they spent in the swim. With little over thirty minutes till I had to be off the water I watched as the two carp homed in on my close in bait. I watched willing them to dip down towards it... then Bleeeeeeeeeep the moment was shattered by the bite alarm I watched confused as the two carp shot off to the left and my line on my right had rod surged out into the lake. Whilst watching the fish I wanted to catch near one line someone had snuck in and taken the other. It turned out to be a very boisterous common not to dissimilar to the other apart from this one was rushed in a bit which meant it was very lively on the mat hence the crap selfie with it.

This trip to Jubilee pits was well served to boost my confidence in both what I was doing and in the bait I have decided to use. Now all I need is the weather to warm up a bit and I should be able to start homing in on a few canal targets myself.

Everything except the terrapin.

I lay warm and curled up in the quilt next to JB and listened to the wind driving the rain into the window beyond the foot of our bed. One of the trio of alarms it takes for me to get up had already gone off and woken me. Waiting for the following two I kept peeping over the edge of the quilt in a vain hope that the rain would miraculously stop now I was awake but it never did. All too soon the two chaser alarms came and went and still I lay there ruminating on my reason for getting up. I must have been mad thinking I would go out fishing in this weather. At this point I must say I am by no means a fair weather fisherman, but I am a fisherman who hates getting wet before I've even started. As long as I can get entrenched in a moment of dry I am happy.

My only opportunity to get out this weekend had already morphed form a crucian session to a tench fishing session as the wind and rain hardly seemed conducive to fishing delicate float rigs and certainly was not the classical crucian conditions I wanted. Still laying bed I was torn between the dry warmth of my current position or damp morning and maybe a cold fish. It was a memory which set me right though! Somewhere from the back of my mind I conjured the recollection of a session on the same water on a very similar day. That day I was the only one who ventured to that lake and it really paid off. I remembered even under the brolly I got wet the rain was driving so bad, but the pay off was worth it as I caught loads of really big old tench. After psyching myself up I quietly whispered out 'who dares wins' so as not to rouse JB and dived out of bed.

Two weetabix and a stop at the shop later I was sitting in the car waiting for the rain to momentarily stop so as I could make a break for and run the deserted path to the vacant area I wanted to fish. Eventually and conveniently the rain stopped and I made my move.

All set up and ready to go the previous visit here to Ryton pool came back to mind. So I opted to fish one rod short over a few loose balls of bait and fish the second as a prospecting rod at range out in front of the island where the wind was battering into. It was a slow start in truth but I was confident I was in the right area and that bites would soon enough come.

Even though the small silver fish were obviously finding my baits it took two hours for the first run to arrive. I half wondered if it was the tow of the water that was lifting my bobbin on my prospect rod at first. But after letting it rise slowly right into the buzzer the line carried on moving and began taking from the reel very slowly. Low and behold it was a fish and not a bad one either! Being as it was my best tench of the year so far I thought a nice tench selfie was in order and that's when I realised that I had neglected to put my camera in my bag for the first time in years! So for this session I was going to have to rely on my ageing phones camera.

The pictures didn't actually come out half as bad as I thought they might. But I've enough experience of sods law to tell me that today I would probably regret not having my proper camera to hand...and only too soon that was confirmed.

Even with the wind trying it's best to hamper my cast I managed to deposit the feeder back within reasonable proximity to the previous successful cast and it worked a treat within fifteen minutes the alarm bleeped into life and a second tench was on and this signalled a run of six more fish of around three to five pounds and culminated in a broad six plus female.

The close in line quite literally lay dormant as all the action seemed to be coming on this occasion from literally the centre of the lake. That was until I had a very stuttering take again on the long line. I had only just picked up the rod and bent into a solid fish when the inside line whizzed off. I was in half a mind to try and pick up the second run, but the fish I had on seemed to be developing into something a little more serious. The second run luckily became a dropped run which was terribly convenient as the fish I was playing was not playing ball. I really wanted it to be a massive tench but I knew it wasn't one in reality. A few people have asked me why I take such a large net tench fishing on Ryton in the past. So here is my answer... 

At nearly sixteen pounds this classical Ryton football would have never fitted into some the nets I see people using when tench fishing on this pool. My right hand is actually hiding how much this fishes gut hung down. Other than the slight nick in its dorsal fin it was absolutely mint top to bottom and thank god I had no one fishing to the right of me as the little bugger kited right into the bank and would have wrought havoc if anyone would have been fishing there.

Really after catching a mess of tench and that carp I was thinking I should be making tracks as I was already a bit overdue leaving. But I couldn't help chancing one last cast into that over productive area and thank old Isaac I did. I had just nipped down the bank to speak to another angler quickly when my alarm receiver bleeped once. At hearing that single bleep I made my way back to the rods. Nothing happened for a while but I still hovered, the thinking it would go off any moment. Slowly the bobbin rose then dropped back six inches sending the alarm in spasm. Thinking it was a drop back I struck and felt some solid resistance. I was waiting for it to steam off as I suspected a second carp had found my bait, but it just slowly started to come closer with pressure. My next thought was it might have been a decent tench, but the tench normally bang their heads a lot in Ryton. My next theory of what I had hooked was a bit out there! There have been a couple of terrapins caught by anglers in this pool over the years and on was even quite a large one as well. As my quarry got closer I was really getting quite perplexed by its identity and wouldn't of been surprised if a snapping mouth with my hook in it appeared out of the water.

I know it's a bit of a Loch Ness monster type photo. But this is one of the Ryton terrapins I took a few years ago.

What actually surfaced was just as surprising as a terrapin... It was a bream! and a good one at that. Now it might sound weird to be shocked at the presence of bream in anywhere, but at the tench dominated Ryton big bream are like hens teeth. According to legend a small shoal of less than ten big old bream have been in this pool for donkeys years and they very rarely get caught, hence my shock.

This one certainly fitted the bill. It was practically blind in both eyes through age and scales that stood as tall as they were wide and long. Even being as obviously old as it was it was in relatively good condition. Back in its prime I am sure this fish would have weighed in as a double. One thing that I did notice was that unlike all the bream I caught last week, it showed no signs of spawning tubercles if it was a male and was carrying no spawn if it was a female. So can only assume it was well past breeding age.

I have to say I was really honoured to catch such a Ryton rarity and it seemed a perfect way to finish a great session.

I think it is worth mentioning that on previous visits to Ryton, I had bumped off a worrying amount of the fish I hooked. After examining the rig on each occasion I had found that the hair rigged fake plastic corn bait I had used was folded round into the bend of the hook. Although it wasn't masking the hook in any way I fear it being twisted into the gape of the hook may have interfered with the hook penetrating or may of helped the hook pivot out of its hold. So I made a tiny and simple modification to my rig by way of adding a small section of silicone tubing that was threaded onto the hook link and then hook before tying the knot-less knot. I feel this certainly helped towards my success on this occasion as not one single fish came adrift during the fight and every hook hold was either in the bottom lip or corner of the mouth.

A nice pair of tattys.

It always has and always will make me a little sad to see fish with mouth damage. Unfortunately this is a largely unavoidable side effect of angling in such a densely populated area.  If I lived right up in the highlands or possibly on a reed island deep in the broads I feel sure I probably would never see such things, but here in the very centre of England there is enough anglers actively fishing to keep a substantial amount of fishery owners clad in barbour, and with so many anglers, angling accidents will always happen. Whether it is a poorly made rig that cracks off mid cast or just the ubiquitous unseen snag, the fact remains that baited hooks get left in lakes and they continue fishing even if no one is attached to them.

I have to believe that it is accidents that cause these hideous injuries to the fish I love because if I did not, so much anger would well up inside me at the thought that these injuries were avoidable that I would probably have a 'falling down' moment before never fishing again.

Though this said, the thing that caused me to write this blog does have a slightly tainted yet happy ending, I think.

Not long into my latest tench foray I had a timid run on a rod fished way out into the early starting lake I have been fishing on.  The fight was as exactly as I would of expected for a tench of this size. The fish itself seemed perfectly normal until it came to the net cord, and just as it did I got a view of a very odd face. It was like when a human shaves off their eyebrows and it changes their face, and you can't for a moment reason why this is until you realise it's the one tiny element missing that makes them look odd.

Something was missing from this fish which made it look from a little way off like it only had half a head. It wasn't until I got it on the mat and took a close up gander that its lack of bottom lip became obvious. Now it's not a common sight on this lake, and the moment I saw it something clicked in my mind. I had seen somewhere before a fish with a terrible injury not that different to this. I can't for the life of me remember if it was Roger or Baz who caught it, but sometime in the last two years one of them landed a tench whose mouth had been split down the middle by what looked like a tethered rig.  Seeing this fish I wonder if it might be the same one all healed up, and in the best possible way I hope it is, as at the time of seeing that picture of that injured tench, I remember thinking 'that fish will never make it'. But if it is the same one she was obviously feeding quite well and considering her lack of lower lip she was in great condition.

I feel kind off ungrateful saying this but somewhere in my mind I hoped the suns warming rays would be shaded off the water by the promised impending cloud cover. I know we need the sun to warm the water and I know we have just spent months whining about the cold, but I was feeling a little selfish on this trip as it was my only chance to fish for a few days, and the water warming could wait a few more hours whilst I fished, for all I cared.

I did get into a couple more fish before the sun got very bright and the very last fish to snaffle my critically balanced bait was hugely long female that I again thought I recognised it.  Last year I saw the bailiff of this water, a man now simply known as Blakey, catch a fish that looked very similar to mine with practically the same worn down tail, at around seven pounds. The only thing that puts doubt in my mind is the weight difference. Because on my practically new and very much checked scales it weighed 5.1lb. Even given that she was exceptionally lean all over I not sure if  a tench is capable of being almost two pounds lighter just after winter than it was in the middle of last summer.

Identification and weight quandries aside, this was still my biggest tench of the year so far and one I wouldn't mind catching again in around, mmm... the start of June would be nice.

Walking through the desert.

The glorious fishing of a blog ago seems like an oasis in my mind now. Since then I have spent a charming morning seeking forgotten gold on the periphery of carp fishing, where chances are few and far between! 

On that trip my theories held fast and later rather than sooner treasure was found. Though our chances were lost in the blink of an eye. Sometimes however failure reaps its own rewards, and to see a good friend brimming with excitement and glee even though he lost of a fish was, in it's own way, reward enough. That was one of those moments you remember for life.

That day the cloud hung low over us. But since then it has evaporated and I like everyone else has found myself baked by the sun. I will not moan about the weather as we Brits are so easily inclined. But as I stumbled through the week like desert rat looking for Casablanca the game has changed.

A spur of the moment mid week jaunt to the sandpit where the sun usually does no harm to the tinica chase, was a farce. On arrival the usually still surface was being thrashed to a foam in a cyprinid interpretation of Sodom and Gomorrah. This gave me the distinct feeling that any efforts offered may be somewhat fruitless.
The morning dwindled away as I watched the spawning carp orgy against any and all exposed tree roots.
As is often the case with fishing when you can see a lot of fish, you just can't catch any.
Following the spawning carp as the jettisoned another generation were epic shoals of rudd feasting on the temporary bounty.

Whether the tench too were scoffing up carp spawn in favour of my baits is any ones guess. By early afternoon the temperature had soared to a uncomfortable 29c and the still hot air forced me off the bank.

I did return later to see if the cooling night brought them onto the feed, but the effects of this heatwave seem far reaching and even the witching hour seemed quiet. Or so I thought...

Just before I packed up in the half light I heard a couple walking down the gravel path behind me. Actually what I heard was the chap noisily barking down the phone about an unpaid debt. 

When they came past they obviously spotted me against the edge of the water and came over for a chat. The normal pleasantries were exchanged and obviously he had fished in his younger years which he explained at the top of his voice.

After they left I began packing up in ernest as the Canadian geese began squawking before dark fell. That was when I heard a rather odd squawk amongst the normal ones, that came from somewhere over the lake.

Then I heard it again and again and again! Peering through the dark scanning around I finally spotted the origin of the noise. The passing couple it would seem were not just out for a quiet evening stroll. They were in fact out for a noisy night liaison and I was party to it. At that I threw the rest of my kit away and headed off in the opposite direction. 

In the car on the way home I explained my story to a bemused Jacky who offered up the suggestion that maybe I was not an unwitting witness but instead possibly an reluctant element to their nocturnal activities, which I will say left me feeling a little used!

As the heat wave continued so did my staggering through the fishing desert. It was my first trip to Linear fisheries and even with less than ideal conditions I was optimistically hopeful. I mean whenever you go fishing it's a 50/50 chance of catching, right? So why not risk it at a place that could make your dreams come true.

Linear proved to a real eye opener for me. It's depth, clarity and weed came as no shock as this is what you expect from gravel pits. But we had been there less than five minutes and walked past two pegs when we spyed two 20lb plus carp eagerly circling the margins, doing a little pre spawning dance.

The area we fancied already had what looked like a battalion worth of kit piled high in it by a couple of blokes who were in for the long hall. So a challenging walk round the lake produced a couple of likely looking swims.

As for the days fishing it stayed true to the current rhythm we all seem to be experiencing right now. But for me this trip was a learning curve beyond everything I have ever seen before.

My morning was spent peering over a reed bed whilst my rods fished silently away nearby and I was ready for a move. Luckily just after I had been to scope out potential new swims, two anglers who had just spent forty eight hours fishing a point swim moved off after taking only one fish between them. To me it seemed the right move. With a four foot margin dropping away to twelve feet to my right and a shallow bar emanating straight out of the centre of the swim I could make the best of both worlds.

The first carp that passed me as I knelt on the edge forcing a bank stick into the sun baked mud stopped me in my tracks. It was only three feet away and had thirty pounds written all over it. With both rods out I stood against a bush right on the bank and gawped. This area seemed to be an intersection in the lake and the fish were on the move in a big way.

The best way to describe the scene before me is simply like this...

20lb

20lb

15lb

10lb

10lb

10lb

30lb

30lb

10lb

20lb

10lb

15lb

20lb

25lb

10lb

stocky

stocky

stocky

stocky

20lb

30lb

20lb

whoooa! 40lb

10lb

stocky

20lb 

The whole afternoon I watched carp till my eyes were sore from wearing Polaroids. One specific spot of my swim became the focal point for my aching eyes; three rod lengths out was a clear patch in the weed where the gravel was polished by a thousand sucking mouths.

By now I had noticed a marked difference in the behaviour of the carp. Some were intent on following each other keen to spawn and they moved fast, oblivious to everything. The stocky's just charged round like a gang of teenage boys. Some of the mighty old fish drifted slowly inches under the surface without a care in the world. All except for the spawning fish had one thing in common - they would not so much as put a fin over that clean gravel. Even if it meant going out of their way to go round it they did. But one group stopped just as they broached the edge of the gravel. They had blatantly caught the scent of the four jaffas of mixed goodies I landed on it whilst the coast was clear. But they would not venture on.

It wasn't until a smaller shadow drifted carelessly in and had a few mouth fulls that they appeared off the back off the bar. The smaller fish had me more excited as it was what I was here for. At half the size it was a huge tench but it took only three or four mouth fulls at the most before drifting on it's way. The carp however did not move an soon cleaned the patch off without so even touching my hook bait.

I tried every bait I had from boilies right through corn and ending up at worms. But these were cheeky fish. Me dropping bait right on their heads didn't bother them one bit and even my lead plopping in never vexed them. Then I started seeing the passing fish were slowing and investigating their lake-mates activities.

At seeing that I quickly changed onto a small zig rig and cast it onto the edge of the patch. 

This was worse as I could see the bait high in the water and the fish just passed by it again and again. That was until I walked off to get a drink. I returned back to my sentry duty but could not spot my bait under the ripple. As I walked to my left a bit the alarm went off and the reel span like mad. Just as I wound down on the fish I could see one of the small stocky's shaking it's head violently trying to dislodge the hook which it did!

The zig produced nothing else but the interested few were still intermittently dropping onto the clear gravel patch. So back out it went to no avail. A couple of liners and one dropped run on a popped up lob worm was all that side of the swim produced for the rest of the session.

As the end of the day drew ever closer I did have a good tench roll right over the top of my deep water rod. This did have me hovering over right until it was time to leave.

Even with one lost fish and one dropped run I can honestly say this was not a disappointing trip. For one I had two more runs than anyone else on the lake that day and the sight of all those carp was just so amazing any angler worth his metal would have had there eyes glued to the lake like hawk. I walked away happily from linear just as the sun began to burn the water and already I am thinking a trip back after the distracting breeding season is over will certainly be in order. 

A tuft time this summer.

We all seem to be in limbo at the moment. As far the calender is concerned it is supposedly British summer time but the reality is that nature, like us, is a little confused about what season it is. Only a short while ago leaves started appearing on the trees as the sun shone, but after only the briefest possible time it stalled like a car with a wonky choke.

For me the time between the end of the official fishing season and the start of the new one is all about tench fishing and this year is no different. I cannot deny that I am catching but I have noticed that all the fish I have seen are still very lean and are not feeling inclined to get their heads down as yet. And this was again to be the case over this bank holiday weekend as I visited two different tench dominated venues.

It was the sandpit I pulled up at on Sunday morning and the sunny weather had me thinking it was perfect for a bit of it, as this lake too shines on a sunny day. I purposely fished an intermediate depth swim under the thinking that the near overnight frost may have seen them seek deeper water and that the early rising sun warming the shallows may cause a little migration. So what better place to set a couple of traps but on route from one to the other. I mean come on, we stop for breakfast on early journeys so why wouldn't a tench.

Early on in the year I stood back and thought hard about how I have fished in the past and came to the conclusion that this year my mantra would be to keep my techniques simple and quite honestly so far it has paid me back no end. With my tench fishing I have used only one rig so far and will continue to do so as it is working very well scoring in just about all conditions. So sticking with the plan I cast two method feeders onto the central bar to await a hungry tinica.

The whole lake seemed dead as door nail until mid morning when my first run screamed off. I think all the other anglers around the lake were quite interested as heads popped out of every swim to see what monster had caused such an epic run. It was off course the obligatory mental male carting away that did it.

Later things took a totally different turn when every tufted duck on the entire lake turned up attracted by my recast feeder. The little buggers went berserk for my method mix which admittedly contains a fair few seeds.

Before long they found the other one in the clear water not far away and both alarms began sounding.

No matter where I cast them the flock followed and I knew sooner or later one would fall foul of my hook and soon enough a run came. But not from a tufty! The culprit was a second small male tench of maybe two and a half pounds. This got me thinking... A quick trip up the step bank behind revelled that the grubbing ducks had caused such a fuss on the bottom that a patch of water about three snooker tables in size was heavily coloured. The risks were worth it and back on the spot I cast.

The next belting run came from a very unhappy male tufty which I got to the string of the net before it shook my hook. but that episode scared of all of them permanently. Leaving me fishing the only coloured water on a gin clear lake.

Two aborted runs and a bumped off fish later and I finally found a better fish by way of nicely plumping female who got in on the disturbance caused by the ducks.

The fish seemed to drift off as the water settled but I was left with no doubts that all the fuss caused by the ducks rooting round for my bait was what attracted those curious fish to my swim when no one else seemed to be getting any action at all.

The next water on my weekend hit list makes the the sand pit look like a commercial fishery by comparison. A gin clear gravel pit with a smaller amount of much bigger fish that seem to hate bright days. Although we arrived in azure skies we knew that as convenient as it was to get on the bank, the lack of rain was not going to last and it didn't.

Not far round the lake as we searched out swims Andy spotted a big bream roll half way across the lake. As we stared at a patch of flat water between the ripples another porpoised, followed by another, and another. It was one of those things which instantly makes you forget the rest of the lake and we settled in adjacent swims at the bottom of the wind.

I have spoken to a friend who has been fishing this lake for a good few years and he told me that it is by no means an early performer. My last visit was well of the mark and the worst under possible combination of conditions. Frosty night, sunny day and to early in the year. But three or more weeks had passed and the lake was starting to look different, a little less stark if you will.

My simple tactics seemed perfect to try and pick of a fish here or there. Rather than banging out a load of bait. be that maggots, particle or ground bait and possibly send off any resident fish. I would again fire out a couple of strong smelling method balls laced heavily with  a cornucopia of small particles. To try and get just a single fish to find it and have a browse.

It took a while and it wasn't a bream but soon enough my left hand rod sung a happy tune as a tench found the sharp end of my hook.

This is a fickle lake and any fish is a good result. So this dark male certainly was welcome. The bream never showed again and the session became one of serious endurance as the weather deteriorated.

As I said before the fish in here feed much better with a cloudy sky, so the light conditions were perfect but the wind was savage cold and the rain only added to that effect.

Now I love fishing, but upon catching the only fish of the session I foolishly knelt on the bare floor to get my picture taken and forgot that I was wearing only my combat trousers and a pair of thermal leggings. My wet knees acted like a conductor for the cold and even sheltered under my brolly out of the wind I was bloody frozen.

We waited and waited for just one more bite which never came. At one point a eastern European who fishing down the bank appeared through the bushes carrying a huge tench which he wanted Andy to get a picture of him holding. This thing was big and long and he was well chuffed which anyone would have been. But it was only when I was brushing of some grass from the fish that I saw how thin it was. In top condition it would have made 8lb+ every day. Full of spawn it would have been 9lb but right now it looked mid to upper six. My own fish although deep didn't feel too chunky either. Combine this with what my friend had said and it looks like they are only just starting to stir, where comparatively the tench on the sand pit have woken and are just beginning to feed a bit more heavily. Oh and yes the big tench did go back before anyone asked right in Andy's swim in front of us both.

By the time it got round to midday I was hunkered down with my unhooking mat wrapped round my freezing legs. I had my hood up over hat and had pulled the cords so tight that only my nose showed. I was just waiting from a call from Andy who had ventured off to another swim looking for a bite to call time on this expedition on what I can only describe a classic bank holiday Monday.

There was only one thing that was going to warm up as the cold had begun to chill right through my flesh down to the bones, and that was getting home and supping copious amount of hot tea accompanied by Jacky's home made carrot cake.

My heart belongs to the sea.

It was always going to be tough this weekend and I knew it. I had awoken early to the sight of frost powdering the car. This felt like someone pushing me down as I struggled to get get up. You see for the last week or so my vim or vigour towards fishing has been... well, lacking. Truthfully I miss the rivers and although I am going through the motions and I am in need of some contrast. I need to get away! Luckily I am going away in little under five days time towards the edge of our island to once again fish the biggest and ultimate venue the sea. As I wrote that I just thought of something... although we think of seas as individual entities they are actually just one massive body of water that surrounds all land. So yes it is the biggest venue here on planet dirt.

What got me onto this topic was this: as I froze my protrusions off in the savage wind, the sun mocking me by burning away at twenty seven million degrees Fahrenheit whilst I froze in clear sight of it, I fell into a trace as I waited for a run, and watched the small breakers at the end of the wind lanes down the bank.

It was almost as if I could hear the waves breaking on the shingle. That was it. Watching for rolling fish was forgotten and I was off in la la land day dreaming of heaving lead over the horizon towards shoals of sparkling silver bass and golden cod.

As with all dreams they end only too soon and I know you will expect me to confirm a heart thumping run but no, the alarm screamed not, instead my bobbin jiggled up and down as if some annoying bream had sucked up my bait and was wallowing round in a numb panic, as they do. And that's when it hit - me the lake I was fishing is rumoured to only contain around ten to fifteen bream. The last one caught if I remember rightly was a mere double... Trust me the thought of that got me moving. My strike met no sack fighting fish but throbbed instead as if I had hooked something of the silver variety.

It turned out to be a female tench of around three pounds whose fight was as insipid as her outfit. I did hope to snap the little darling but after I had stowed her safely in the net and put her gently on the mat, she found just enough energy to perform a single flip into the air and back in the lake leaving me looking like a numpty.

After that I tried desperately to get back into my day dream but like those times when you are woken in the middle of a wonderful dream and are unable to get back to sleep, I could not get back to dreams of the rolling waves.

Later after a visit from Keith and his son Max I was considering a nap when my right hand rod did one. Half way through the fight with a tench my other rod seemed to wake up. At first I thought the fish had gone through the line but the moment the tench slipped over the rim of the net the other one sparked off.

This felt very odd indeed. It was powerful but not, if you get my meaning. It was kiting round all over the place and that made me suspect maybe a larger male tench was on the end of the line.

When it rolled on the surface it clicked straight away. The carp in this lake are freak shows! They are an odd stumpy strain whose single common trait through the ranks is a short stumpy body type. Most look like they have consumed a beach ball, and when I pulled this one out it was no different.

Lying side by side on the mat the little carp made the little tench look quite big, but the tench although unweighed was no way over two and a half pounds. Macabre interest made me quickly weigh the carp at just under 4lb.

I couldn't stop looking at this weird thing and the more I did the more it looked like a perfectly scaled down big carp. As I know how much carp anglers like to name their catches so I am going to take this opportunity to name this one. So from this day forth it shall be know as 1:10

After that bit of excitement I recast and willed the alarms to sound one more time before I went home and moth balled my coarse gear for a while, dusted off the beach caster rods before stripping the old line of my reels in earnest .

Impossible to avoid the inevitable.

The elation of my last session has now passed and all that remains of that high is stored in the cold computerised world. Occasionally though a warm memory creeps back and I smile with satisfaction as I picture it again.  

I have been in a ponderous mood all week and the question now, is what next?  How could any other experience stand up against it, other than smashing another personal best. So I find myself asking where can I go to catch say a 12lb bream or a 10lb tench, and then I answer myself and say 'don't be so bloody stupid Everitt, you know from this position the only way is down'. So the answer right now can only be to either accept second best and be satisfied with the forgettable, or gamble it all again with the chance to win big. 

With little or no wish to capture hollow spawned perch, the next targets in my cross-hairs are the aforementioned bream and tench. The latter of which I worry will still have sleep in their eyes and mud covering their buttery bellies. But still I cannot change tack, for the wheels are in motion and to the Tench pit we go.

Warm days have been here enough for me me to think I have an outside chance, but clear overnight skies see that when I wake frost clings to my lawn, and I make that noise a plumber makes before he tells you it ain't cheap. Again still I worry that we are going down the wrong track. My mood swings though as I read from the eye burning computer screen that both bream and tench were taken from the pit yesterday. So on we go over the top like soldiers from the great war destined to succeed or fail.

We arrive in the dark and are set up soon enough to enjoy sunrise which never looks better than when it is over misty water. This picture alone makes taking the gamble worthwhile, for I have forgotten this as I overwinter fishing rivers on grey days.

The sight of a green tench launching itself clear of the water not long in gave me hope. But my experiences of bright days on this pool which is so clear as you can see the gravel bars with the sun at the right angle, is that the chances of bites once the sun is up are minimal.

Two moves to try and search out hiding fish proved fruitless and I feel the gamble is lost. No fish will come my way today or anyone else's either. So what to do but sit back, let the spring sun warm my face, and drag back that memory for another cheeky smile.