The lake #19 Warm summer nights and baking summer days.

I fancy that Coombe pool fishery holds some monster eels. How can't it! It's a prime looking bit of big eel water. The only thing it has against it is the overflows exiting the lake. These two escape points could give any eels present in the pool an easy exit from the lake, thus so turning what I wish was a prison where trapped eels could balloon, into a... say hotel, where they can live the life of luxury plumping up on the veritable larder available, before slipping over the spillway once the itch to head off on a one way trip to the Sargasso takes hold.

For now though I am going to assume that this lake does in fact hold as yet unseen leviathan eels thicker than my arm. And why shouldn't I assume this as I know for a fact at least two eels reside in the lake as  I relocated them after finding them languishing in one of the drains. But these are not the only anguila-like leads that I have encountered over the last few years whilst fishing Coombe. Only two weeks ago reports of a four-pounder being caught from an area which looks very eelish graced my ears, and last year a trio of carp anglers reported nightly harassment when fishing with blood worm flavoured boilies at range.

All the information seems to point in the right direction and my gut feeling is that this lake has to contain more than just a few surprises. So all that remains is time - time spent on the bank waiting for a big old eel to sniff out my baits in the dark of night and rouse me from my (more than likely) dreams of eels.

The opportunity to do my first night had been a little pragmatic in arriving. You see whilst trying to work full time and fish part-time, I am at home removing and replacing what can only be described as a galleon worth of decking boards which make up the patio right outside the back door to our house. Its a beastly job, and as the good weather is here to stay and the impending date for the delivery of the new materials marches ever closer, I find myself lacking in time and excuses to sit lazily bank side waiting for night to approach. This in mind the ingenious idea to just actually sleep on the bank entered my head. 

It sounds perfect doesn't it? Get my gear ready the night before, go to work for the day, come home have a quick feed before back in the car with my gear head down the lake. Bait up/cast out then get my head down for the night, maybe land an eel here or there, then pack up head home and work in the garden all day ripping up bad wood...

Turned it was never going to be that easy or go that well. After huffing and puffing all my kit into the car I arrived at Coombe already sweating like I was wearing a fur coat in the Kalahari to find hordes of cars in the car park. By the time I had walked the bank, located an area full of small fry I fancied and packed my kit down the water side the sun was already worryingly low in the sky. By then I was in no mood to have to do what I was about too. But the gallon of wretched dead maggots wasn't about to spomb itself out any time soon. To top it all off the flavouring I was adding to the dead maggots is quite possibly the worst smelling additive invented my man and after I had sent multiple spombs onto two different spots the entire bank was humming with flies attracted by the stench.

Eventually after much business I found my toiling done and with one rod cast onto spot  far out in the lake which was liberally baited, and a second spot only a few feet off the bows of an oak tree which caressed the water, I went round to chat with and apologise to a very nice chap called Dave who I knew from another lake we both fish and who was bivvied up for a night of bream fishing just down the bank. 

Really I held no hope that anything would be forthcoming until the lake had been shrouded in dark for a good while. So when my inside line went off like a rocket just after dark I was little more than surprised. It never bleeped or stuttered once before melting off and forcing me to sprint through the narrow gap leading back to my swim. Even the excitement of a instant one toner could not override my expectant excitement of what might have consumed the quiet literally humongous ball of worm I had attached to my hook. Honestly how many fish are big enough or tenacious enough to consume four large worms cut into quarters before being threaded onto hair and hook?

The answer to that question so far is one... and a tench at that! some how this greedy male had been grubbing around over my lovely eel bait when it came across my golf ball sized bait. Where it proceeded to cram it in its mouth along with my size 2 hook and 40lb hook link.

Although it  was probably not what you could call a sporting fight on fifteen pound line and my three  pound rods, I should count myself lucky of the action considering the night ahead.

The warm night passed with little disturbance from anything under the water. The creatures above the water were a different matter entirely. As I tried to calm my mind and get to sleep the little owls began a a lake wide conversation. I then heard what sounded like a daddy long legs buzzing on the roof  of my bivvy only to discover when I turned the light on that it was in fact a mosquito that looked like a prop from Jurassic park buzzing around my head. After a few hours sleep I was roused by three beeps on my right hand rod which after I hovered over it for ten minutes came to nothing and was followed by Dave getting a run from a nice bream. By now it was three so I decided to recast both rods just in case and after doing so a pair of tawny owls began hooting in the woods over the lake which was followed by a male muntjac deer barking for a while. Some how I did manage to get back to sleep before the dawn chorus began.

By six the sun was already up and getting very hot. The lake was flat calm and from my bed I had a good view of a large swathe of it. Surprisingly nothing was rolling anywhere in sight and that's when it struck me. All night even with a load of bait spread over my swim I had not had a single liner on my long line which was fished taught and popped up of the bottom. The bream should rightfully have driven me mad passing through my swim but nothing had seemingly moved through it.

As I packed up for an early exit the carp anglers started stirring and news came down the bank that it had been a very quiet night all over with My tench and Dave's bream the only action all over the lake. I think the closest I may have come to an eel was that three bleeps in the night. I also think I may have gone a little over the top for just a single night by putting out all those dead maggots. Next time I think I will be a little more frugal and try fishing an area with a few more features rather than targeting an area full of prey fish

Through the weekend the temperature soared as I slaved away sawing old decking boards into manageable chunks. Always in the back of my mind I fancied I might have another session. But the savage sun made the prospect of even a short session at Coombe seem pointless. So instead I opted to link up with Andy and head down to my old mate Lanny's lagoon to do the only thing that seemed a viable prospect in the near thirty degree heat, surface fishing.

We weren't disappointed on arrival either, as close round the island was black with carp. By the time Andy turned up I had already bagged three powerful commons in three casts, fishing a free lined hunk of crust just off the massive patch of scum collected in the corner of the lake.

Sometimes it's just fun to leave the challenges at home and just head out to have a laugh with your mate whilst putting some serious bends in your rod. Which was exactly what we did bagging countless commons and mirrors, with a few strange hard fighting little wild carp mixed in for good measure.

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.