A competitive foray #2

With a week to go till the CRT event I really wanted to get out to further sharpen my skills and try and put some theories to the test. After stewing for a few days over the performance I had put in on the match stretch along with some other performances team mates had put in on the venue as well, it was clear this was going to be a hard match. Add to that 124 other anglers all being on the same bit of water and this was starting to look like a real challenge. The best option for practice seemed for me to go and fish the same canal only just off the now out of bounds match section; hopefully it would be similar in performance and get me more in tune with the fish populations of the canal, rather than say fishing the Coventry, which is fishing much better it would seem.

Practice  for the CRT International

Venue = LACC sections Radford bottom lock - Fosse way bridge

Total Length = 230cm

Best two perch for CRT quota = 48cm
Three of the four zander for CRT quota = 76cm
Score for CRT =  124cm

First of all my hook up rate increased massively once again fishing the dropshot rig. Of thirteen fish hooked I landed eleven which worked out to be an 85% conversion rate of hits to fish. That figure just served to further boost my confidence in the change of hook pattern I had made. As explanation I should say that I changed from an Owner mosquito hook which has a beaked point, to a kamasan B420 sedge hook which is exactly the same shape as a dropshot hook apart from having a straight point instead of beaked, which I believe offers a quicker hook purchase in the bony predators mouth and less chance of skidding along before gaining purchase. Secondly, after this practice something really clicked in my mind as to what I would be looking for to do well in this up coming CRT match and that was...

2 x 25cm perch for 50cm
4 x 25cm  Zander for 100cm
0 x pike (As there are so few pike I felt it was pointless targeting them)
Total = 150cm

This I felt was an obtainable score under very hard circumstances on an already hard venue given the fish populations. But this was just a theoretical target, achieving it was another thing...

Canal bream fishing.

I feel as if there has been a subtle change in in my fishing recently. I suppose it's one of those organic changes that occurs throughout your fishing as time goes by. I can distinctly remember just wanting to catch any fish at all as a youngster, then as I grew older the natural progression was that I wanted to catch lots of fish and as a result of that I focussed more on that match fishing style. Then with the capture of the occasional larger fish I transcended to chasing specimens and that leads me to where I find myself now. You see right now I don't feel that urge to at any cost catch the biggest fish I can, but instead find myself more motivated by method of capture i.e. catching pike on surface lures, tench on lift floats, carp on alarms or as the case was in this recent session canal bream on the feeder.

What sparked this latest method quest off was a comment I made in conversation where I said that even though I had owned and been using a Shakespeare mach two wand feeder rod for many years, I had, instead of using at as feeder rod, been using it as a margin perch rod on the canal using its stiffest tip. The idea soon grew in the angling cortex of my brain to actually take my mini feeder rod and some micro feeders to a quite well bream renowned area of the Coventry canal and play out my bream fishing micro feeder fantasy, which I promptly did.

It just happened that I also had a new multi feeder arm for my chair I thought would be great to try out as well and with both arm and rod in tow I nipped off down the cut and parked myself opposite the infamous hawksbury marina. I figured to go gently at it and after clipping up the feeder set right in the mouth I the marina I made five casts with a loaded feeder to get my eye in and kick start the session before I found myself setting the rod down with a gentle curve and waited for the bream to appear.

I didn't have to wait long for the skimmers to show and within fifteen minutes the tip pulled round and I landed my first close to a pound. Three more identical ones followed before the shoal moved off.

Although I was already targeting an area  around a meter and half wide it soon became obvious that the fish seemed happier to feed in the slightly deeper water at the bottom of the shelf (spot A). They seemed to occasionally come up onto the shelf (spot B) if I waited long enough but the bites took ages to materialize, as where on spot A there was instant interest. This became so evident, that if I missed the sweet spot by even a foot and a half I would recast straight away.

By keeping on this specific spot and cast regularly the skimmers a perch kept coming intermittently and I hoped it was only  matter of time before I hooked into a better bream. I think the slew of boats which had been conspicuously absent all morning pushed more fish off the main track of the canal and into the sanctuary of the marina, judging by the string of liners I got soon after they passed. Soon enough my scaled down helicopter feeder rig snagged something better and the tip wretched round. The little wand must have looked very impressive bending right over as I played the wet sack in and the rod nodded occasionally. before I slipped the net under a nice looking bream between three and four pounds or so.

I was really pleased with how this session went. It was only a short session as the boats once they got going soon forced me off the canal, but in the time I did get to fish I had ten or more small 10oz -1.6lb skimmers, a hand full of perch and roach and one single proper bream. Most importantly though the scaled down canal feeder method worked a treat with the tiny feeders, helicopter rigs and super light rod. I definitely want to get back to the same spot again to chuck a few feeders around as this area is well renowned for tench as well as bream up to very respectable canal sized fish, especially as I had so much fun on this occasion.

Happy to be back.

With the rivers now closed and my diligence to try and eek every opportunity out of them over, I find myself returning to the canals. Frankly it's about time because I get the distinct impression that I was wasting my time a little trying to wring anything out of the river as neither fate, luck nor skill seemed to be on my side at the end there. The canals though, they're a different matter entirely because my angling is born of the canal and the murky water which dissects the land holds comfort for me with its familiarity and mysteries. At this time of year when the hedgerows flanking the cut begin to spark back into life with white blossom of hawthorn, I find myself never more satisfied than when walking a tow path to go fishing when dawn breaks or heading back in the dark with the smell of wood fires from moored boats drifts along the canal in cooling night air. All in all I am happy to be back in this world of muddy paths, unexpected surprises and dog shit.

In my mind I have a map. It's a rough map of scribbled lines and marked around those lines here and there are poorly written notes. If anyone could read those notes apart from me they'd say unintelligible worthless things like, chub/night/worm/shallow. They are things that only anglers would want to know, but to me they are invaluable. On this mental map you see are twenty-eight years of fish captures covering the Coventry, Oxford, Ashby and Grand union canals. Over time the map has become bigger and the scribbled notes have covered it more. Often I have thought about drawing it out, but I always conclude that there would be no point as no-one would want to read it so why bother; I can always look at it in my head and recall a spot to go if I want to angle after a certain fish; And recall I did, a place to go for my first session back and it was a big perch I fancied.

It was Friday morning and the sun shone on my face as I skipped down the banks of the Coventry. The wind though was cutting hard down the stretch right onto the bend where I wanted to fish. The canal looked in perfect condition with a nice tinge of colour whilst still having six to ten inches or so of visibility. After land mine check I quickly set up stall before plumbing the depth of a line just off the shelf. After flicking out the un-baited rig I busied myself chopping six fat worms into little chunks before adding some casters in my pole pot. By the time I had finished, the float had settled onto the line it would always go to in line with rod tip. Baiting up on the very tip of the rod with the pole pot whilst the water was not towing, you can assume that the bait will go straight down then once it starts towing, be left to right or right to left, the scent trail and goodies should remain on the same line even it moves either way.

Conscious of the low water temperatures, I went small with the baits to begin with and cast a lob tail over the baited line and sat down to wait. This was never going to be fast and furious session and I had to wait forty-five minutes for the float to finally show signs of fish be present. A single slight dip caught my attention and I waited for the light pole float to slide away. The light nine foot road bent over as if attached to the bottom and there juddered over even further as the culprit attempted to escape in a series of big boils in front of me. Caution and a light clutch soon brought it round to the net and my canal escapades had begun with a cracker of a perch. 

As I said before this session was not exactly action packed and to anyone reading, the details of a middle aged man shivering on the tow path would be boring. But what the session lacked in quantity it made up for in quality, though the single zander I caught on my dead bait sleeper did not rank high on the chart of quality fish!  

After the manky zed I only received four more bites. One bite I totally missed, another resulted in a miniature version of the first perch albeit only six ounces in weight. The next one was by anyones standard, a fish with some potential for years to come.

The last and final fish of the session was in the nicest possible way a football of a fish. It felt heavy in the water and in the net looked like a slab. When I picked it up and looked from above I couldn't believe its girth and just had to get a shot of a perch you could put a saddle on and a really tiny monkey, like a marmoset, could ride. 

I do love these shape of perch. Sure, I like all big perch but I love the big round ones that look like real life versions of the stuffed ones you see in glass cases rather than the long humped back ones, and it was the perfect way to finish a hard but very rewarding session with my second fish of the session over two pounds.

Two days later I found myself on a different tow path twenty or more miles away from the first. This time I  scoured my mind for a suitable place to try for a big roach and the Grand Union seemed to fit the bill. Armed with a bag of fluffy white bread crumbs tainted by a hint of a morish but mysterious flavour simply called 'big roach' and a few slices of a better than normal quality bread I hoped might attract a better sort of fish, I headed to a spot with form.

My diddy and faithful nine foot canal wand was tucked up at home and for this occasion I was once again armed with fifteen feet of carbon that I am quickly developing a close relationship with. The reason I'd bought along my Greys 15ft was I wanted to fish in the same way as the previous session only further out. So far this rod seems to be living up to the expectations of the manufacturer in that it is rated for lines between 2-8lb, which I thought a wide set of post to perform well between, but so far so good. Its not so much of a rigid beast as it knocks off smaller fish and when asked, the power of the rod progresses right down the blank with plenty of power. This time I was putting my faith in it that should a roach over a pound and half or even two come along then I should be confident in my gear.

The roach fishing did not go to plan! Saying that I did catch a roach but at a mere four ounces I felt almost shameful trying to photo it and instead simply flipped it back to grow bigger likes its siblings. Luckily for me I still had the remnants of the previous sessions bait and had by way of insurance been potting a few bits of worms and casters a rod length down the tow path in the margins. After sitting for three hours staring at a float which had moved only once I was more than ready to have a look for a perch or two, which after all was what I normally fished for here and were my target when big roach have turned up in the past.

Having already established the margin swim was a few inches shallower than the track swim beforehand, a quick adjustment of the float was all that was need before I lowered a lob tail on the spot. I watched as the cocking shot sank the float down so only the red tip showed above the water. My eyes barely had time focus on the float before it quickly vanished and I struck into a good perch. It feels a lot different playing a big perch on fifteen feet of rod rather than nine foot, but as expected the soft tip action cushioned every lunge and my third two pound perch of the weekend was soon in the net.

The insurance spot it seemed was alive with fish using the bank as cover and a string of smaller perch and a single zedlit which came off filled my final hour. With only six worms left and a sprinkle of casters, I baited up one last time before resting the spot whilst checking nothing had slunk back onto the roach line. Fifteen minutes and three barges later it was time for one last go on the margin spot before I had to get off. With a fresh half of worm on the spot I waited with the preposterously long rod resting across my lap as the float bobbed in the ripple only a foot and a half down out under the tip. I didn't have to wait long though before the float moved away from the edge and sank out into the canal. Once again the rod bent satisfyingly over as boils rose on the canals surface. This was another big fish and as much as I wanted rogue roach the fight didn't seem quite right. Finally spines broke the surface followed by stripy back. A few twists and turns later the white of the belly showed and big mouth appeared at the edge of my waiting net; My fourth and final two pound perch went in the net and helped to turn what was a disastrous roach session into the second perch red letter day on the trot.

Back at that itch once again.

What is there to blog about the lower Itchen fishery that hasn't already been blogged? It is almost a right of passage for any Midland blogger to make pilgrimage there, as we come from one of the places in the UK with no genuine access to grayling. Go west into Wales and there's grayling, go North and there's grayling and if you go South and there shit loads of grayling. So I suppose it makes sense that those of us from the grayling void would want to go to the best place to catch a grayling and thus fly South in the winter to do so.

Not wanting to recount exactly blow for blow such an epic voyage I think this time the pictures will have to recount  much of this trip as not only do I not want to bore any readers with every tiny detail, but also I can barely remember everything as the day was so busy. Needless to say it began with an awfully early start in Coventry when I awoke prior to my alarm going off at four am and looked out of my window to see a light scattering of snow dusting my street. This winter theme was to dominate the day ahead. After thawing the car and making the trip over to my companion for the day, Mick's, house we whizzed through the traffic to arrive at the river not that long after the sun came up.

As both myself and Mick were of the same mindset to make as much of our day as possible we both agreed that we would please ourselves on this session and just link up for a spot of lunch around midday when Mick had promised a steaming hot lunch to power us through the day.

Being as it was freezing and that truthfully I quickly get bored of it, I opted to begin by trotting on the upper reaches to get the monkey off my back and bag a grayling on the float before pulling out my favoured feeder gear and smashing the place to bits.

First blood on the pin was beautiful grayling from a side stream.

Next bite came of course from a trout, albeit a good one.

After an hour trotting a few winding swims I finally worked my way down to an area I really fancied chucking feeders full of maggots into. Having already caught fifteen or more grayling up to a pound and a half I hoped to possible winkle out some of the other coarse species in a deep bend. So I put away the float gear and got on with the vulgarity of plying copious amounts of maggots into this sacred water. After relentless amounts of small grayling the trout arrived, though their identities as always confuse me.

Brown trout?

Sea trout?

Mick eventually passed by wrapped up against the freezing wind and much to his credit continued successfully trotting plenty of fish out of swims which I can honestly say I would have passed by, thinking them too shallow to fish.

With lunch time approaching and having caught an entire lifetimes worth of small grayling I opted to move back upstream towards the car and lunch. On the way down I had spotted an interesting looking side stream that entered the main river I quite liked the look of. The straight deep run directly above the junction looked prime for possible dace action so I ditched all but my float rod at the car and crossed a rather rickety bridge to access the run... my effort was rewarded...

My best grayling of the day at 1.10lb

Mick lived up to his promise and around lunch time the scent of frying onions began to drift over the fields through the chilly wind towards me. Sadly at the time this delectable scent was reaching my nostrils I was engaged in trying to untangle the line from the back of my centre pin after I had foolishly not engaged the ratchet having caught a fish. Ultimately the line was ruined and the bloody ratchet system collapsed and ended my trotting for the day.

A wonderful sight for a cold and hungry angler after a mornings fishing.

My afternoons plan was simple. Drop right down river to target a swim I have fished every visit to try and catch a decent chub or even a big roach which inhabit the lower reaches of the fishery. Luckily Mick had something similar in mind and so after loading up the car we made the savage journey down the heavily rutted road towards the weir at the bottom of the stretch to get as much fishing in as we could before the light went in a few hours time.

As per normal the maggot feeder drew copious amount of small grayling onto the line I was casting on and I hoped that all the action would sooner or later get the attention of the chub. In the end all I could catch was grayling all afternoon right up until my maggots ran out and I switched to the bread feeder with a pinch of flake as bait. My first cast and the tip wrenched round and I was attached to something good...

A rather fresh sea trout, I think?

The dark was soon upon us and after trying for so long I held out well on into dark for the rod to show any signs the chub might be about. Not long before I had to be packing up I detected a slight nod of the white rod tip in the dark. Moments later I was hooked into a very hard fighting fish which kept low in the water. After a hard fight unable to see anything the fish eventually came to the surface and a big set of white rubbery lips could be seen at the end of my net.

4.10lb of mint Itchen gold

Not long after I landed it Mick turned up and helped me take picture in the dark using an amazingly bright light. Happy with my last cast chub, we packed up and headed off to the local pub for some warmth, a drink and well deserved meal.

Gear death hell.

That title reads like the name of a bad death metal song and my most recent outing went down about as well as a bad death metal song. Worst of all though it was totally my fault as for days prior I had been planning on going to one venue and at the last minute changed venue due the recent drop in temperature.

I was initially planning on going canal chub fishing to a spot on the Coventry that seems to hold a few nice ones. Then the day before I went over the Coventry early in the morning and saw ducks walking on the bugger, so decided flowing water was going to be a better option. Now, I have been thinking of doing a bit on the LAA Lido stretch as I have heard on the grape vine that the dace fishing is pretty good down there and lots of silvers means lots of predators, which we all know I can't get enough of. But then in a moment of proper stupidity I thought 'oh what about that bit of the Leam above the town. I've been meaning to check that out'. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it was the wrong decision, but still I went along with the idea which turned out to be a decision I would regret.

Early in the morning after a short drive I found myself crunching across frozen ground towards the river. The sun had just broken over the horizon and golden light spilled all of the Warwickshire country side. The Leam looked resplendent in golden light with the banks shrouded in a hard frost. Literally it looked like a cold beer on a hot day, it looked that good.

How could I go wrong...

It was pike I was actually searching for, as I have heard the narrow upper sections of the Leam hold some quite good pike. So keeping mobile I opted to fish a large sea dead bait on a float rig in any pikey looking slacks or margin I could find. And to keep myself amused I took along a light lure rod and a load of lures to fish with in between landing double figure pike. To all intents and purposes this was going to be the case; in the very first swim I landed a couple of nice perch on a dropshot rig, my float bobbed a couple of times before moving off downstream. I struck and the half mackerel bait was ripped clean out of whatever took it. Hey ho, what can you do, you don't hook'em all and I had still had those perch...

It was in the next swim it all began going so terribly wrong. With my float-fished dead bait positioned nicely in a eight foot deep margin I happily fished away casting my lure rod all over the swim until I found a snag and promptly snapped off. So I set up again and noting where the snag was, avoided casting there. Two casts later I was snagged and promptly snapped off again. This time after tying on a new leader, new jig head and a new lure, I moved swims.

Once again I got the dead bait out in a suitable spot and started casting around. First bloody cast this time and 'doink', straight in a snag and the result as you can guess was new leader, new jig and new lure gone. So for the third time in less than fifteen minutes I was setting up again. Oh, and I moved swims!

By now I should guess you can see where this nightmare is going, and if not, I won't waste time with every detail. Needless to say over the four hours I fished I lost no less than eleven jigs plus lures, along with leaders and a two dead bait rigs. I was the single biggest lost of gear I have ever had. Worst of all is I couldn't honestly say that I knew how the river was fishing, as I had spent most of the morning crouched in front of my rucksack setting up instead of fishing.

The good thing I could honestly take away from this session is that I know now this bit of the Leam is more snag that water and that I should under no circumstances cast any more lures in beggar! And that's putting it politely...

Just one fish.

All the local canals seem to really be waking up a bit now after a sputtering spring thing. I think it was three weeks ago that I saw the first little fish dappling the surface on the Grand Union. The zander might have spawned and now seem firmly on the feed and the catch rates are reflecting this. Perch though are another matter! A couple of outings ago I caught one solitary perch which was ready to pop, it was that full of spawn. Since then though the temps have risen so much that I was sure as hell the perch population should have got their mating done with.

One canal that I have neglected a bit lately is the Coventry as the general lack of a hard winter season did not benefit it at all. Usually when we get a good consistent winter the Coventry responds well and fishes consistently. In previous years when the temps have been up and down I have found that the fishing can be very patchy, even on normally reliable areas. Hence I have purposely been reluctant to fish there.

The warmer weather got me thinking that maybe it might have settled down and that the perch might be feeling a little peckish should they have spawned. It was a bit of a sputtering start for me on the day after an early wakeup call from my boy resulted in me turning off the alarm to glim a little more kip. In the end though I did get there and did fish, although the fish seemed hard to find or should I say, hard to convince to eat.

I was very diligent about working along the stretch, methodically using several different lures in various ways all whilst fishing a small dead bait as a sleeper rod at the bottom of the marginal shelf to hopefully appeal to a zander. But even working very hard it quickly became clear that the canal was still not on form.

My one sole bit of action was as pure as pure can be. From a short distance away I saw what I was sure was tiny roach flipping out in a flat calm section of canal hidden from the wind. As I approached, two more small silver fish jumped out of the water. After quickly flicking through the lures I had to hand, I settled on a small silver glittery paddle tail grub which I cast tight to the far bank cover beyond the jumping fish. I must have cast and recast twenty times before the lure got hit on the fall as it dropped into the trench. It turned out to be a big perch which had taken my grub and what a fatty it was as well.

You could put a saddle on that!

One perfect hit from a perfect perch. I would love to say that I walked away and went home satisfied with my perfect moment. But the truth is that I combed that area again and again, hoping in vain that it might have been a shoal of big perch in the area, but I never got another touch.

It did however confirm that the Coventry canal perch at least haven't spawned yet, as this one definitely had spawn in it and had a very swollen vent. I can't deny being confused as I was sure as predators, the perch would have spawned already to give those little munchy baby perch a good head start.

I do love a bit of sexy rubber.

From the moment I first clapped eyes on the Fox rage spikey shad I knew it would be good lure for me. In my mind, all those nobbly spikes that make it look like a bedroom novelty set it apart from the other shad-type lures on the market. The spikes are designed to create extra disturbance as it wobbles through the water and attract more fish. Whether that is actually the case or not is by the by, as its the fact that I think it will catch fish and therefore use it more that actually makes it work.

There was one fly in the ointment with this pattern for me, and that was the size of it. At 9cm in the smallest size it might not seem a massive lure, but straight away when using them I always felt a smaller version would be deadly on the canals. In fact I can even remember saying as much to Andy when we were using them at first. But beyond cutting them down and using a modified one (which never worked) they have found themselves resigned to the lure box until the other day.

Whilst rummaging my way around the lure section in Lanes, I looked down at the bottom shelf and straight into a box load of the new 6cm versions in one of my all time favourite patterns. I had totally forgotten the Youtube video I'd seen about them a while ago and now here they were, all shiny and chrome at my feet. A quick Gollum moment crouching over them muttering something about them being 'precious' and I was taking a hand full to the till and thrusting my debit card to big Wayne behind the counter. 

Side by side they look even more a perfect lure and my reason for thinking this is simple... Perch! The 9cm version is just a little too big for the average canal perch to get in its greedy mouth. You see I am of the opinion that for every zander in the canal there is a hundred or more perch, therefore whilst you are trying to catch one zander you can send your confidence soaring by catching a load of aggressive perch. But if the lure you're using is too big then these little confidence builders won't attack. So if you use a lure which should catch both then god damn it you should be on for a good session, right!

And I was correct... I went down the Coventry and for the first time this year I left the small storage box of alternatives in my back pack. Bold as brass, I fished with just the new 6cm spikey shad red head and perch of all shapes and sizes loved them.

Small but aggressive.

In just about every spot I fished that morning I caught perch on the spikey and it soon just became a matter of time before the zander turned up, which they did. Casting tight into the cover routed out a couple of micro zeds before I hooked a slightly bigger one of about a pound. 

Though on this occasion there didn't seem to be any bigger zander around, I did finish off this first outing with some sexy new rubber by catching a very cute, but very angry micro jack pike.

All in all it was a great first trip out using a great new lure; I have to say it is kind of validating to know that I can see a lure and think, yes, that is going to work in this situation and turn out to be right. In fact I am so happy with them I have already asked when some other colour patterns in the new size will be coming in the tackle shop, because I can't wait to get out and use them again on the canals and the rivers.

The Lake #26 Bookended tench.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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