Getting all Ahab.

'I'm not saying I am exactly like a certain stove-pipe-hat-wearing-wooden-legged sea captain, but I have developed a few fishy obsessions over the years and it's only coincidence that some of those obsessions have been about large white fish'

For three hours I had moved slowly up and down the same thirty feet of heavily wooded bank and in those three hours I had barely made five casts. It was a little more than three hours ago that I gave up trying to fish through the crazy crew. You see, when I had arrived in the spinney and first viewed the water from the top of the path I had seen it was black with carp warming in the afternoon sun, and I was more than a little excited to get going. The first hour was a blur of insatiable feeding on the carps behalf and they never got bored sucking in the morsels of bread I was flicking onto the surface. It was just a pity that I was getting bored. It had only taken about twenty small fish for me to start thinking this is just too easy, as all carp caution was null and void today after a day baking their brains in the sun. 

It was about this time that as I stood beside a very sparse tree a huge pure white head slowly rose from under all the other fish and sucked in a single cube of crust, before sinking back below with a loud slurp. That was it for me, all other fish were forgotten; I had to have this white whale.

It would seem the frenzied sound of the other carp feeding was responsible for drawing the attentions of just about every fish in the lake, but caution kept some of the bigger ones holding back and underneath all of the others, only rising occasionally to engulf a the odd freebie here and there, and always out of range or in a awkward place. This one great white ghost though was betrayed by its colour, and  I could see it under all the other fish circling around. Its mass was unmissable  Not quite a twenty but it had to be close; this fish had graduated from the ranks and was now up there with the biggest of the pool.

The sun had been shining all day, and now it blazed down on me. I had to keep my hoodie on as the cream t-shirt I was wearing had made my presence obvious once already, and I needed to be close as possible to track this ghost as it was swimming so tight to the bank. So I stood sweltering, steaming up my Polaroids in my camo hoodie trying as best as possible to keep still and blend in with the back ground so as not to disturb my quarry.

Eyes and hands now operated totally independently  My hands cast a constant stream of small bread chunks   out onto the water by just flicking my wrist. My eyes though kept tabs on the faint white zeppelin which moved round with intent. It had no set routine to its movements, but after the first hour I had noticed it would feed on two totally different spots. At the tree where I stood there was an undercut it would glide into, then from this undercut its head would appear slowly. If a bit of bread was in the vicinity it would be sucked in for sure. But the problem was that the smaller fish in the melee would grab anything on the top no matter how far they had to travel to get it. This had resulted in me pulling out of many chances just to stop one of these interlopers spooking the ghost.

The other spot was further down the bank in front of a small reed bed. Three feet from the bank was a small clear patch about two feet round in the leaf litter, which I suspect was where someone had been disposing of leftover bait at the end of a sessions. I watched the white fish and a few other larger fish stop over and investigate this patch every so often. In watching this I realised that if I wasn't feeding the mob on the other side of the tree then all the noise they were making did not attract and keep the bigger fish going round in the area. Once the slurping stopped the fish underneath, including the ghost, drifted away with the mob.

Knowing this I began feeding larger amounts of bread onto the surface for a shorter period of time and then slipping down the bank to see if the bigger cautious fish were on the spot. In the next hour they only stopped on the spot twice and then only briefly. Eventually I dropped a free-lined bait onto the edge of the spot where I could see the bread against the dark bottom, then moved as quickly as I dared back round the tree and tossed a liberal amount of preprepared bread onto the surface. I could hear the slurps quickening as I went back and crouched close to the bank and picked up the rod. Then I watched as a small carp boldly swam up and picked up my bait. Hoping to try and dissuade it, I gently tugged the bait back which sent the culprit into a sudden panic, flying out of the swim along with several other fish including the ghost.

After that disaster I began the process of stirring up the mob all over again. I hadn't been at it that long before out of nowhere the ghost went back into the undercut at my feet. This was it! it was in there all I had to do was drop a bit of bread onto the water. All fingers and thumbs, a bit of bread finally got hooked up and gently I lowered it onto the surface only inches from the bank. Then a pair of lips appeared and the bread silently disappeared and I struck. My vintage speedia wailed the finest sound known to man as it bolted out into the lake. Worryingly though it came under control a bit too quickly, and all too soon a small common surfaced. I would never take out my frustrations on a fish but I was mad hell with this one. I managed to steer it away and landed it in a quiet corner unhooking it quickly in the net and dipping it free unable to even enjoy the sight of it.

I walked back slowly thinking I could not face the build up again if another small carp was going to force my hand and spook the ghost off. Kneeling on the floor behind the with my rod under my arm I baited my hook again and as I did I saw the ghost move slowly past me down the bank in the direction of the spot. In a momentary reaction I swung the bait towards the patch spot. How I knew the combined length of my rod plus the same amount of line would reach the spot was anyone's guess. I suppose it just seemed about right.

As I stood slowly behind the tree I could see my bait sinking slowly and the ghosts demeanour change. It had seen it for sure and it was going for it. Its weird that you can sometimes tell when a fish is about to eat your bait, and this one was. It moved steadily towards the now stationery bread with a second fish in tow. Then it slowed and the second fish was now level. Both heads dipped, both mouths sucked, and I hoped that the ghost had won. The bait was gone and I had to strike. I flicked the rod up and at that moment the water made that sound it only makes when something big displaces a large amount of water. The rod buckled over and the pin screamed and it made for deep water. My breaking of the spool with my left hand turned the fish and it kited right. That's when I saw the white shape under the surface seemingly attached to my line.  Back and forth the line went and every now and again a yellowish tail or white mouth broke the surface before it again surged away. Eventually it slowed and began circling close to the bank. The net was dipped already and then it surfaced and the sight knocked me back!

Turns out the ghost had lost out to its companion but the sight that met me was never going to disappoint.  Once on the surface it slipped straight into the net good as gold, and looking down into the net I was transfixed. It was close to ten inches wide across the shoulders and did not have a single scale on its entire body. She was the most beautiful leather carp I have ever seen first hand. She had that big carp look that indicates it could turn into a mighty fish, and from the looks of it had never been caught before. Even though she was still a little way off a mid double she was by far one of the most amazing looking carp I have caught in my entire life.

And it was more than enough to make me forget that white whale!

At last... a tench has come along. My lonely days are over, and life is like a song.

I don't mind admitting that just lately I have been biding my time a little, and now after much waiting and biding the weather has finally come around enough  for me to start some tench fishing.  And it's about bloody time too, as by my reckoning it's nearly a month later getting to this point than it was last year. I was beginning to worry I might develop a severe case of the DT's if I couldn't dig in after the doctor fish soon.

As warm blooded life forms that exist in an environment where the temperature changes quickly, I think we often struggle to relate to our cold blooded neighbours trapped in an aquatic world. Living in the thin air with warm blood means that we can appreciate the rise in temperature quickly as it increases, whereas our slimy friends under the water probably wont's see any marked change for days as their more viscous environment takes much longer to heat than ours. Where I think we struggle to relate is when the sun shines, warming our environment, we automatically assume that the water too has risen by however many degrees on a par with our own. This quite often ends up in the situation I am sure many anglers found themselves in this weekend just past, where they assumed the time was here to abandon slowly, slowly, catchy, monkey in favour of the 'have all this munga and get on my line' approach.

This past week the temperature had climbed by ten degrees, the sun now shone and every type of media in England ran stories heralding the arrival of Spring. Maybe if one of the weekly angling publications gave a crap about more than just filling their pages with adverts they might of ran a headline along the lines of 'Springs arrives! But the water is still cold so don't go mad lads!!!'

Even knowing the water was still cold, tench had to be my quarry for a couple of sessions this weekend, because luckily one of my favourite tench waters wakes up very early and good sport can be had at least three weeks before most other tench venues really get into the swing of things. It was with that in mind that I cashed in my one remaining lieu day so as I could spend an entire day on the banks of this early starter, and try and see how the land was lying now the belated spring had sputtered into existence.

To be frank I thought I had arrived before the fish had woken up as over the course of the first hour tales of woe from other anglers were conveyed to me. Add to that the generally silent nature of my bite indicators and the way my bobbins hung lifelessly and I was getting a bit concerned, as I knew if the fish were in the mood it quite often happens pretty quickly here. I just needed a little sign of interest to calm me down...

What joy just two bleeps can bring! Most times a single bleep means very little, on a windy day blame is easily associated to the waves for two bleeps, but on a calm day two bleeps means so much more than one. So with those precious two bleeps my entire demeanour flipped and confidence was restored. Something was there and it was inclined towards my hook.

I left it alone more than long enough, the whole time wishing it would tear away until so long had passed that I had to check the rig for some kind of failure. I held the hook up to the sky to check it was OK before I pulled it over my thumb nail and just as the sharpness grated through my nerves the other indicator sounded as the light bobbin jerked up an inch or so. That was enough for me to drop one rod and strike the other one in one fluid movement.

One hour and forty minutes in and my first tench of 2013 made its way in a rather subdued manner towards my net. Whether it took fifty yards for the fish to wake up or it was trying to lull me into some false sense of security was anyone guess, but as it neared the bank it went berserk and fought for easily ten times longer than it had taken to get it to where it was, until finally it passed over the cord and ended the winter for me. Though outwardly calm and smiling inside my head a raucous fanfare was under way in rejoice of this most important fish for me of the year for me.

The next fish turned out to not be a subtle as the first. Baz had turned up with carp in mind and was setting up just down the bank and it was while chatting with him as he unpacked his gear that my right hand rod went into what can only be described as meltdown. It was one of those moments when your bite indicator goes from silent to single tone instantly, and then I seemed to be running on the spot like a cartoon character trying to reach the rod.

Another lean female on the mat looked in great condition apart from some strange red patches which seemed stained into her skin. They were nether raised or open and did not seem to be detrimental to the fish. I wondered whether they were something to do with what they had been eating, but apparently it is something called red pest which is supposedly a harmless bacterial infection, according to Baz.

I had to wait four hours for the next spell of activity and this lead me to believe that the fish could well of been feeding in  short spells. The first of which coincided with the air temp going into double figures, and the second I suppose could be attributed to the time it takes for the first lot of food from the mornings feeding to be digested. Hence hours later the action began again after a hint of enquiry and a bit of wait another dithering bite emerged and third but pale female found the net.

It was me that was dithering this time as I packed away. Baz had just left and I should have been going but as per normal I had got to that everything I could packed away and now I hung around just in case. It turned out I was right and  just before I pulled the rods a forth fish took the bait. This one though smashed the lake up surging all over the shop and that can only indicate one thing. A mental little male tench to finish.

I returned Sunday for another crack but this was a different day all together  White horses rode over the lake and just setting up was a hassle with the wind coursing down onto the deeper bank where I was intent on fishing. I could of set up under the wind, but to do so I would of had to fish the shallower bank and the idea of trying to make long casts towards the deep water with the wind intersecting my cast seemed sensless. So I fought it out with the wind in my face.

The thought that this was about to be a total nightmare occurred to me as the first rod I had cast out repeatedly bleeped as I tried to cast my second. That was until the indicator made a few too many bleeps to be wind. The still un-cast road was gently stowed on the rests before I picked up the first and struck into my first fish of the day. The line had hardly settled and I was into a fish. It was the smallest one of the whole weekend, but you can imagine that it kind of got me thinking I was about to bag up.

Five hours and one dropped run later I sat wind whacked and flabbergasted at the lack of action. I had spent the whole morning being as proactive as possible. Some baits were left in situ for long periods whilst others where recast repeatedly and with much aggravation from the wind in an attempt to try and locate fish. 

It wasn't until noon had past that I hit a tentative pick up and felt visceral insanity that could only mean I was attached to another small male tench. He pulled out all the stops but happily my well tuned rigs and set up seem to be doing very well from the off this year and have so far left me six for six and culminated with me landing this minter.

Nothing massive came my way but this weekend proved to be a great warm up. Right now I have one hundred percent confidence in my rigs using the method feeder and I hope the same can be said when I change them for maggot feeders in a few weeks time. As for the tench, they all seem to have come through the winter no worse for ware. Unlike me who has piled on a few pounds scoffing starchy stuff in the cold they seem relatively as lean as they should be after such a prolonged cold spell, and it wont take them long to plump up as I hopefully slim down a bit.