The lake #18 Taking advantage

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

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

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

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

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

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

New for 2013 Chris yates MK1 session shelter

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

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

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

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

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

The lake # 17 An adventure on June 16th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Winters coming

Robert has returned form a summer jaunt to the island of Antigua and it's surrounding islands, where he has spent the last few months in search of some very rare reptiles indeed. With him travelling down from the Cotswolds for the weekend visit there was no doubt we would be getting out for a session. We had already discussed the river, which he as well as I, had experienced was not on top form. After knocking a few ideas around we decided to check in on a section of canal that I have not yet visited this year. This perch paradise as far as I am concerned is amazing, and it can normally be relied upon to yield two pound perch or two. 

Although I have not spent any time on it so far, the need to check in now and again is always at the back of my mind, as in the next few years I have the feeling that this water will move from amazing to sublime. The only question is how long will it take for those twos to become threes!

For this trip our pairing was to become a trio. Initially the intention had been for a traditional up before light Sunday morning job, but the reports of a weather front coming in heralded a change of plan, and Saturday afternoon spent in the autumn sun seemed far more appropriate. The third musketeer on this occasion was Jacky. Normally her joining us on any fishing trips is reserved for the summer, but the civilised nature of the target area and a bit of gentle persuasion on my part coerced her to come along for the ride.

We stepped onto the tow path in the warm afternoon sun and really it felt like any other late summer day. But today was the autumn equinox and the nights just lately have begun to nip, so plenty of extras layers were stuffed into bags. After I had lead our precession along the canal to a suitable spot, we pitched up and set about business.

No high tech poles here, just powerful float rods and floats capable of suspending whole worms inches off the bottom. I had also brought a dead bait outfit along, to fish in a depression on the normally uniform canal bottom, which has in the past yielded zander.

It did not take long for my float to slide away as the first perch made off with my worm. Small but a perfect miniature of its fore fathers. It certainly stood a chance of becoming a giant too. Rob was next with a good sized perch which fought very hard with the last of its summer vigour.

All I could mange to start with was sub pound fish. But soon enough ripples of attention emanated from the top of my dead bait float which had sat dormant over the depression. A few more bobs and it began moving away towards the opposite side of the canal. When it had submerged fully my swift strike connected a small zander which also fought rather hard zipping around the canal.

There was no doubt the bites today seemed to come in waves for some unknown reason. After nothing floats would suddenly start dancing one after another. After more small perch and a tiny zander which liked the look of my worm, I pondered if the fish were holding close in and venturing out here and there. Dropping my rig close under my feet the float never settled before slipping away attached to my best perch of the day.

That fish back, the dead float again awoke. However my impatience this time got the better of me and all that came of that bite was a bare hook. The zander were in the swim and a couple of dropped runs later hooked a fish that really fancied a ruck. 

Even in the net, and as we got a picture it was mean and bristling. As I released it it made a right fuss, thrashing the water as it went off. I would not want to be anything smaller than six inches within a mile of that one.

Again the bites slowed and all that seemed bothered was the odd small perch or zander, until my dead line started travelling side to side. This was no fish, or it was at least no fish with fins. The crayfish had crashed the party and thought my dead roach was the hors d'oeuvres. A new bait bought a fresh run and this fish did not mess around. One bob and the float was gone. I so wanted it to be a good zander, but what we want and what we get are never the same thing. This fish was far too powerful for even a big zander. It was definitely a pike - not massive but still nice to see. Pike as far as I am concerned are the only thing that have suffered from the introduction of zander into our canals. There is no doubt less of them around compared to when I started fishing, but it is nice to see one come out of an area stuffed full of zander

All too soon the sun began to near the horizon and the air began to chill. The warmth of the day was gone, as was the warmth in our toes. Cold and hunger joined forces to shoo us away for the night and we packed up as the last vestiges of light burnt the horizon.

Walking back it seemed a different season entirely. The canal had fallen quite for the day and night beckoned. The sky now glowed a hundred colours; pink, cerise, coral, fuchsia, magenta and indigo. Almost too many to comprehend.

Smoke now curled from the iron chimneys of narrow boats moored along the still water. The wood smoke scented the crisp evening air as the people inside warmed themselves. We would not feel warmth until the car doors blocked the last bird calls of the day.

The journey back was a sight. All three of us were silent, as the amazing sunset stretched out before us. Only when the fluorescent glow of the city robbed us of the night sky did we speak, reality shaking us from our daydream.

The Lake #2 steely stares and a useful discovery

It was only a few hours before that I was writing of the lake and now I was standing next to it again readying myself . The rush hour journey as always drives me mad and being keen to get into peace and solitude had only heightened the whole experience. It's not that I was desperate to be fishing, more I was desperate to be out of the city away from cars and noise. 

Although one reason for me being here was to fish, the other was to watch the lakes routine as it rolls slowly from light to dark. This for me is the most important time of the day. Call it what you will, the witching hour or that special time, but to be by water when the harsh light of day suddenly refracts less, you stand a chance to see things that all day have remained hidden. I've seen this on so many places when the sun dips onto the horizon end everything starts to move. Flat water becomes dotted with the rings of a million tiny fish, carp occasionally breech and lovely shoals of bream or tench roll gayly on the surface, and for the avid angler, they reveal their location.

I remember fishing on a pit one summers evening with a peacock quill lift float. My wriggling worms had only attracted the attentions of a few small greedy perch. As the light faded I looked out over the water and spotted a single fish roll directly in front. This was followed intermittently by others. By the time I had seen ten or more I had reeled in and was shimmying up the bank behind. At the top my jaw fell slack! In front of me the water was black with bream just under the surface. They were so tightly packed only the fish at the edges of this great gathering had outlines. I remember thinking at the time that giving a running start I reckon a good distance could be accomplished running across the backs there was so many of them. All afternoon I had sat beside that lake without so much as hint of what was out in front of me before that one change heralded this mass appearance.

So this was why I was here, to fish yes, but also to learn more. Only thing was that with the summer solstice just passed I had plenty of time to wait till night drew in, but other fishy goings on were watched as I waited. Two different carp anglers arrived at a bleached old tree that has laid in the lake for as long as I remember. One even donned his chest high waders before sliding into the water bucket in hand. He scooped copious amounts of something around the snag before teetering back to the edge. Then shortly after he went a graceful pair of swans arrived and upended, mopping up probably every morsel over the next two hours.

I watched the lake go through just about every possible scenario of light levels. From sunny and warm to cloudy with a decent ripple but not a thing moved during the entire time I was there. I stood vigil, my eyes fixed on the water, and the lake stared back. Quite honestly it felt like a shoot out scene from an old western movie, when the two gun slingers stand ether end of dusty street waiting for the other to move. The only thing that was missing was tooth picks and tumble weeds. In the end it turned out to be a real stalemate! I was unwilling to look away and it never made a move and that included bites.

There was still a hint of light on the lake when one of my rods rang loudly in the darkness but as I moved quickly towards it I caught a glimpse of dark shapes bobbing over my swim. Those dam tufty's and their flipping great memories had snuck in silently and were now taking it in turns to dive onto my bait.

Another angler I know, who shall remain nameless (unless he wants to admit it)  uses a green laser pen to scare wildfowl from over his baits and remembering this inspired me to try something. My camera has a very bright flash that practically blinds me when doing night time self takes, so I flipped up the flash and positioned myself behind the reed bed in front so as to not get too much flash on the water. I even aimed it up off the water before firing it off. Low and behold the whole flock took to the air in panic, never to return.

Only after night fell and the owls began to hoot from the old wood over the lake did I detect a few small fish flipping close by on the surface. But those tantalising rolling fish never appeared and nor did any crashing mighty fish in the dark. Nothing had given itself away and this session ended in stalemate.

Special offer day on the Avon.

After a awful evening Zander session on the local canal mid week where I had eight runs over three swims, of which I contacted with only two fish and only managed to get one small Zed witinh six feet of the bank before it shook out the hook. I needed to feel that wonderful sensation of something pulling back that we all crave so desperately. So to satisfy this I did what all self respecting anglers would do and went bleak fishing. Yes bleak fishing. The only place I knew contained them for sure was Lucy's mill on the Avon. So Sunday morning I met up with Andy to go and check it out. Unlike my target for the day Andy was more interested in the normally prolific bream sport that can be had in the large eddy near the big weir so I left him there whilst I headed off up to the smaller weir to tangle with my mighty foe Alburnus alburnus. Before beginning my bleak bashing I put out a lob worm under an old school perch float to roam around over the cabbages that I could see under the water all along my bank to try and tempt a good perch or two. Before I had even picked up my other rod the float was gone. After striking I got a rather dull thumping response but the rod had a serious bend in it. A moment or two of confusion was soon explained when I spotted what had happened trough the clear water. A small perch had in fact taken my worm only to be itself taken by a jack pike. Normally when this happens the pike let go of the fish just as you're about to net them, but this one was particularly determined to keep it's breakfast. It must have thought it had caught the hardest six ounce perch in the river as there was no way it was letting go. As soon as it was in the net the stupid thing let go leaving the little perch no worse for wear and me chuffed as I didn't know it was two for the price of one day at Lucy's mill today.

After this amusing catch I got down to the business of my bleak point. It all went surprisingly well and from the off I was getting bites, though at two to the ounce and half of them dropping off it could have gone south. After only half an hour I weighed in to get an idea of how many would be needed to make the 4oz needed. The first batch went 3oz and then after a move to follow the ever moving shoal the second lot with a couple of bigger ones weighed in at 4oz giving me a safe 7oz of bleak and another challenge point in the bag. 

3oz

4oz

Not wanting to spend the rest of my session continuing to chasing tiddlers I decided to move down stream to fish near Andy. I would have stuck round to try for more perch but the pike attack had put a damper on that one. After arriving behind Andy he told me he had lost one bream but was being plagued by perch. So it seemed sense to try and add a few to my 12oz total so far. The perch never showed up but after a few casts with a feeder I picked up this mint condition bream

After this a couple of rather inconsiderate canoeists came down the weir and began doing Eskimo rolls right over where Andy had been casting all morning only to come under a hail comments along the line of "would you good gentlemen please have a little consideration for some fellow waterway users please" they duly moved on. But a little later a flotilla of young canoeists and their instructors turned up at the weir and totally ruined the morning. 

Though I do not normally have a problem with canoeists I would like to say that of all the waterways users they are by far the most inconsiderate obviously unless they are also anglers where they then do show us some consideration.