The Lake #5 Into the woods I go.

The lake in three places is flanked by three very different woods that certainly effect the areas of water they line. The old rhododendron wood is, as it's name implies, festooned with this rampant alien. Although all of the trees that form the canopy of this wood are truly English; so many are ancient old oaks that Autumn pike fishing under it's cover on a windy day is a dangerous affair, with acorns falling from height like bullets, clonking any unaware anglers out of there essox related day dreams. When dusk comes this is a noisy place to be. The dense foliage crated by the rhododendrons harbours masses of pheasants whose eerie vibrating calls ring out echoing through the silent air. The trees too hide unseen avians that awaken at night. A large amount of little owls seem to roost eyes closed up in those three tops, only to wake at night and begin shrieking back and forth to each other with the regularity of metronome testing faculty. All in all by day it is a quiet spot, bar falling nuts. But by night it is not the place for those afraid of screeches in the night.

On the opposite bank exists the second of the three woodlands which is in a way different from the other two. Where the lake laps at the land a front line of old English trees hang out over the water, slowing reclaiming the wood at their own pace. The hand of man still dots this place with a host of trees which have little to right to exist here. Browns wood is dense and over grown, a dark place with crumbling old buildings hidden under moss deep in its depths. Once in my youth myself and some friends ventured into it's depths and found an old path lined with massive stones that looked like it wouldn't look out of place with fairies buzzing over it. We followed it as far as we could until natures growth cut us off, and retreat from the stifling air and dank was our only option. This wood hangs so far and densely over the lake you can't see out of it, never mind cast from it even in the dead of winter when the trees fall bare.

The brook wood is the final of the three and of all of them this one looks probably as England did thousands of years ago. In the winter it is open and the cold wind courses through it onto your back, chilling you to the bone. Come spring, passage through it becomes difficult, the myriad of brambles that offer cover to all the usual characters serve to keep out humans. It faces Browns wood, only separated from each other by the lake. On the right day the wind deflects off either wood leaving the shallow water still and warm. If the sight of ancient aloof carp cruising through lily pads stimulates, you then an hour spent up a tree in this wood would have you salivating and possibly being tricked into commitment to a fruitless cause. 

The latter of the three was where I fancied might be good for a cast. The pad lined base of Browns wood on the other bank is both secure and safe for fish. The shadows of anglers have not been cast over this water in a hundred years. A hefty chuck it is to that far bank, and it is only normally the dedicated carpers who fish this water.

At four in the morning the water was still shrouded in mist and barley visible. The banks were quiet and deserted. I could hear the sudden calls of moorhens along the reed beds as I slipped unseen around the edge of the lake. Not one angler was under the cover of the trees, which was very surprising. Normally hard worn carpers doze in this area with bags under their eyes and nets caked thick in bream slime. To them one proper bite in five days is good, and double figure bream moping up their carefully placed boilies is bad. They are always a font of up to date information; Dave who's on the other bank got done over by the bream last night, or Kev over in the wood is getting plagued by tench. They always hand over that stuff freely. But ask about carp and they close up quicker than a bivalve at a clam bake. If ever I see a jumping carp or cruising zeppelin I always pass on the info to the first interactive carper I see at the lake, as frankly they need any help they can get as one fish per season is considered good by the lake's standards.

My normal casual lead around confirmed the shallow bay in front was peppered with random patches of differing types of weed. The last third of the cast to the far bank seemed clear enough so a few balls of left over ground bait was sent around the marker, followed by a single feeder on this spot. The second was put tight into a weed bed just beginning to break the surface and the third was nailed full tilt onto the far bank lily line at the edge of the wood.

I saw my first fish roll after only half an hour and it was definitely the brown back of a bream. All along the far bank they rolled for a good hour. Then a big common breached full out of the water before making two less spectacular jumps amongst the pads. As the day grew lighter and the mist cleared the lake looked different somehow. It was the water! It was heavily coloured. Like many old lakes this one is feed by an inlet stream and according to other resident anglers it had been spewing dirty sediment laden water in for the latter half of last week. This though had seemingly pushed the majority of the fish population down into the end of the lake I was actually fishing.

A while after the rolling fish disappeared and the liners started. Even with my line pinned down as best I could the active fish seemed to catch them as they passed. As far as I could figure there was weed bed half way between my spots and me and as the lines slumped down over it that was where they kept contacting them.

As I was embroiled in a conversation with another angler heading deep into another wood when the rod I had tight to the far bank first bleeped once then moved off steadily. Much to mine and my companions delight. Immediately I knew this was no bream as my three pound test rod did a very good impression of a hula hoop. Keeping slow and deep it kited left then back right before surging towards me. Desperately trying to keep up I wound down as quick as possible only to feel the numb thump a fish makes when it's head is deep in a weed bed.

After applying as much I thought safe, my only option was to hand the rod around a tree and wade through the chest high foliage into the next swim to try and change the angle. And it worked! the fish was free and the clutch sang one long note as it dived deeper into the weed bed. Tracing back to my swim I again changed angle but this time the thumping was gone and line again was spooled onto to my reel. The pile of weed I landed was massive; an estimate of five pounds of bloodworm riddled weed may be a conservative.

It has been a long time since I felt the loss of a fish so badly and also a long time since I have felt the raw force of something truly massive and uncontrollable. Bream or tench it was not. A carp or cat was definitely responsible for that overpowering fight. Even if I knew it was a massive cat I know I would not feel the pain of loss so badly as what I honestly suspect it was. For those carp are just so special that even when you hook one by pure luck it feels like you have wasted your only chance ever...

By mid morning I had calmed somewhat and the mist was gone. Now the unseasonal sun baked down on the water. The liners had slowed and water grew calmer. A single bleep drew my attention to my bobbins in the hope one might just rise against all odds. Just beyond the bank a sight no angler could ignore suddenly appeared. With no doubt in my mind I knew exactly what it was. Then again tiny fizzing bubbles rose all at once.

One or more tench browsed right under my rods and I could not resist. My spare rod was blindly grabbed . Float, rubber, weight and hook where all attached by feel alone as my eyes would not move away. They were feeding exactly where I tossed any old bait or hookers. I do not think I have ever so gently lowered a bait into place. For the next two hours I watched that float like a hawk willing it to first rise a little before sliding away

It never did slide away attached to a lovely summer tench, but eventually I did slide away to watch someone else on TV waste the wonderful chance he probably won't ever get again.

The Lake #1 Fishing with caged flowers

In the week just passed, the itch in my mind caused by my walk round the lake has turned into a rash that is now red raw from mental scratching. It got to the point where I had to remind myself of my patient and simple outlook towards this endeavour in order to stop myself over complicating things when I did finally arrive.

Soon enough though I found myself atop the grassy hill looking down towards the lake in the early hours of the morning on a cloudy and dull day. As I retraced my tracks back down to the lake the grass did not fold softly beneath my floating feet as before, for this time I was slung heavy with tackle, like some beast of burden; a few weeks free from lugging this around had given my body time to forget how heavy my fishing tackle can feel.

As we anglers often do, I had conceived visions of where I would make my first casts. This was not due to some mouth watering feature such as an island, because the lake beyond the bank is quite simply as featureless as a plain piece of paper. Instead my choice of spots was more governed by the simple attractiveness of what would be to my left or to my right. But as always with preconceived ideas they never work out, and upon rounding the bending approach to my spot, a dew covered bivvie was sighted.

Further down the track through an arch formed between two old oaks I had seen an quint little glade with short mown grass, which days before had caught my eye and now carried all hopes for my morning ahead.

Quiet and uninhabited upon arrival my second choice seemed the perfect place to begin this journey. I paused for a moment before passing down under the trees into the bank side glade. I like to think this was to take in the beauty of this place, but in actual fact it was more to do with me figuring where to place my feet on the bare earth leading down to the waters edge so as not to start the day on my bottom.

The first thing that hit me as I ventured out of the trees was that this was not in fact one little spot but the gateway to a sub bank which boasted four neat swims amongst one continuous reed bed. The second thing was what looked like a small chicken wire cage half way down the path about the size of a loaf of bread.

What animal would be so fierce that it should need it's own cage to protect passing anglers, I wondered. Maybe an out of control cricket or a shrew with an attitude problem was contained within. I had to investigate! Upon closer inspection no savage miniature animal raged within the wire. Rather it was seemingly filled with grass. Not until my nose was within inches of the wire did I spot the tiniest of pink and white flowers poking from within. The cage was not to protect me but to protect it from mine and others clumsy great size twelve feet, or possibly from the millions of rabbits which inhabit the area. 

The imprisoned tiny flower was an orchid no bigger than the top section of my finger. Call me a pansy but it seems a shame to me that something so rare and beautiful and wild should need to spend the rest of it's life behind bars. I actually decided to fish next to the little caged beauty and all through the day I pondered it in its little cage as my rods fished silently away close by.

My intention for my first trip had always been to attack from the off and although my initial intent for a twenty four hour session had been sidelined for the sake of my still niggling back, I stuck with my plan firing some twenty five cricket ball sized balls of mixed munga loosely around a marker float some sixty yards out by way of invite to the lakes illusive populations.

I would love to say that my ingenious ploy heralded an instant response but that would be no more than a common lie. Instead I sat snugly tucked under a convenient ash and watched as the wind built up through the morning and the ripple turned into waves, white caps and all.

Four hours in I was thinking I had over cooked it with my Dunkirk style approach, until the briefest of bites indicated the presence of something of the scaled variety. Thirty minutes later another dithering bite turned into a slow and steady run. Lolling round on the surface right over the baited spot out in the lake this had to be a bream and it was! sixty yards out fighting like a wet sack full of silt. A mighty fight it was not. But a mighty fish it will be one day.

Deep, long and young, this was great start to a new campaign. 8.3lb was more than I expected when I dragged myself out of bed this morning. If this is an average sized fish then I may not of been as mad as I thought I was when I handed over the money for my ticket.

Covered in a liberal layer of slime I sat smiling at what can only in this lakes terms be deemed a successful session. I have taken so so many blanks on this lake that a bite alone can be considered success. But that was not the end of it! A second dithering bite was struck too early before I again hooked a second bream. Although smaller by a third this fish was that oddity that seems only to exist in the world of abramis brama.

The poor and rushed picture gives enough of the bizarre phenomenon of the two tone bream. I have never fully understood why every so often one bream amongst a shoal of most likely siblings should be half light and half dark.

They were definately getting onto the feed towards noon but I had a date with a red head so was unable to reap the the benefit of what I had sown. However two fish and a few bites in a five hour toe dipping on this frugal old lake is certainly a good way to start, and bodes very well for up and coming longer sessions. And as for the poor little caged flower, I will stop by whenever I pass by just to have a look and watch it blossom.

Crafty grassies.

I am currently at a real loss of where to try and get the grass carp point for the challenge from. The only venue I fish that contains them is Snitterfeild reservoir and like any other Leamington members know there is a very small number of these fish in a rather decent size lake. So with this tiny number of grassies in a large lake the chances of putting forty odd pounds of fish on the bank seems almost impossible. The only saving grace is that when the weather hots up they begin to move round on the surface. Conveniently they make a much different bow wave to the king carp varieties which also inhabit this lake, probably due to there longer flatter profile. 

I had been waiting for what seems like weeks for a bit of warm sunny weather to get down to Snit for a crack at them and whilst waiting I had stored up enough dog biscuits to feed battersea dogs home for at least one day.

Sunday the weather looked great but I was in no rush as the morning was cool and misty. By 10am the sun  was out and I was on the bank with three 5 litre buckets of pellets and dog kibbles ready to go. The only draw back was that the work party were at snit clearing the banks. I won't moan about them as they do a vital job for the club of keeping our many banks fishable, of which I am very grateful for and probably should give them a bit of my free time as I become more attached to the club. But sadly the throbbing of the two stroke strimmers engine was doing little for the fishing on Sunday morning and I did not see a single fish on the top till they finished for the day.

Putting my plan into action I set up one rod with a bottom bait and cast it over a bed of pellets. Then began my grand plan to use a zig rig with one of the new zig floats to get my bait within a few feet of the surface and regularly fire mixers over the top to attract the hoards of ducks which would hopefully in turn attract the patrolling carp. Problem was that I could not get my zig rig to work at all. Every time it was cast into the very deep water half way across the lake the rig tangled or never came up. After ten casts and four modifications I had little choice but to give up and go over to a surface controller and run the avian gauntlet.

With all the crappy weather we have had it was a proper task to get any carp at all on the top and feeding. But after three hours of persistence I began to see some good swirls and the occasional lips. But every time a fish came up they would take two out of ten freebies then sink back to the depths. The wind was no help ether as it blew in ever changing directions on and off for the whole session.

With nothing more than a 1lb skimmer who'd taken a shining to my 20mm boilie to show for the four hours of fishing I was getting despondent. Until I noticed three definite grass carp moving far off to my left. After one almighty hoyk of a cast I managed to drop my bait right in front of them. I thought I was in when one immediately came to investigate. Instigate it did, take the bait it did not. This went on for a good hour as I went through every possible floating bait I had at my disposal. The wind was getting up and causing a ripple that prevented me from seeing my controller at distance, so I never saw the bait go, but Soon enough I got the message as the line zipped tight and the rod buckled over. With line ripping of the reel as the fish tore off I was convinced I had finally nailed one. This fish had some real power and at one point I got that feeling I haven't felt in years, the one that makes you think this rod ain't gonna take this. But it did and after a while I got a glimpse of a golden flank in the water. I tried not to curse to loud as a common carp slipped into the net. My disappointment only lasted for a minute before the joy of  landing what I will say it the most powerful pound for pound carp I have ever caught in my life came over me. To say it was mint would be the understatement of the year as it was fin perfect with not a single mark in it's mouth.

 

After this the ducks became rather aware of where my bait was landing and every time it hit the water they quite literally took off and landed to try and get the bait. With time ticking till I had to pick up Jacky the grassies would have to wait till another day.

Beep Beep I love it.

When the chance of a few hours off work on Wednesday afternoon arose this week I snapped up the opportunity to get out for a session. Being without the car I organised a drop off in the works van from my boss and for Jacky to pick me up later in the evening. This seriously limited my range for the session so I decided to head to ryton pool to see what was going on there since my last visit  two months ago.

I could have pursued the perch point for the challenge but instead I went for a bit of self indulgence and went after the carp and tench using modern carp tactics. I don't know why but alot of anglers I have spoken to seem to think that fishing with bite alarms is in some way less skill full than other methods and frown on it. But me I love it! they are like vibrators for the adrenaline gland. Having the ability to fish two or more rods whilst either making up PVA bags or fish spotting, then being snapped away from what you're doing by an odd bleep that may be the precursor of a run, or screaming one toner, really gets your blood pumping. Admittedly I am not one of those anglers who just wangs out kilos of bait and hunkers down for a 48 hour session waiting for a carp to come along, instead I try to locate fish and by keeping light move to them if needs be. The other thing is that this type of fishing is so often just associated with carp fishing. But by scaling down rigs and using different set ups nearly all species can be fished for and caught using the much loved and much maligned buzzer.

The other technique I intended to use on this session. which I personally believe to be one of the greatest assets to angling of modern times is the humble PVA bag, combining this with another great product the korda krusha to make small bags full of chopped white boilie and liquidised bread.

Before I got within site of the pool I knew where I would start and upon arriving found the information desk swim to be free. Both rods were set up ready to go the night before and it was just a case of baiting them up and getting the baits out.

On one rod I went with my standard in line rig but for the carp rod I went for a helicopter rig as I wanted to achieve a instant hook up once the fish picked up the bait.

The first slow run came from a small tench on the carp line, of which I never got a picture. This was followed by a run on the other rod which resulted in a better sized male of about four pounds.

The tench kept feeding intermittently all afternoon and I landed another nice 3-4lb female and lost another as it found a weed bed, but strangely around 6pm all the fizzing stopped and it would seem they went to bed.

After an hour of total inactivity I was standing next to the rods having a squizz around the lake looking for a possible move when my right hand rod went mental, hooping round before I even picked it up as the fish tore off. The bait had been sitting in some shallow water so when I lent into the fish the water erupted as a bow wave shot out into open water. After a interesting fight where I tried to keep the fish out of just about every weed bed in the lake, I landed a stunning little common of 12.6lb.

After this I was sure I was in for a few more fish, but the next time the buzzer went a rather odd thing happened . I had got three individual bleeps as the already slack line had dropped back more then tightened up. After watching the line go up and down for at least five minutes thinking sooner or later it will go off I picked up the rod to check and see if something was just mouthing the bait. Upon reeling in I could not make contact with the lead for ages and when I finally did low and behold there was a gentle thumping on the rod tip. Only for seconds was the fish connected before it came off. When I got the rig in with a huge heap of weed tangled in it I found a six foot loop knotted behind the rig. Now I know for sure that I landed the rig in line in shallow water, so as far as I can figure some cunning little fish picked up the bait and was swimming round with it in it's gob so delicately that it never even registered on the slack line. Judging from the slime on the line a tench may well have been the culprit.

The only other bite came just a darkness fell and another tentative run produced what I now suspect to be a decent Rudd or roach which also found freedom before it found the bottom of my landing net.

Wasting precious time.

Towards the end of the week news had reached my ever listening ears that some decent barbel had come out of the wasperton top meadow, the site of my last disastrous barbel session, so I manned up and made the decision to give it an early morning look half with barbel in mind and the dace point as a good back up.

I chose to fish a totally overgrown willow swim thinking that the barbel would be keeping well out of the gin clear open water during the day. After setting up well back from the bank I snuck into position and plopped a spicy chunk of special sausage under the thick willow.

Needless to say I never got a sniff from anything bigger than a overzealous dace, though an angler who I had spoken to as I arrived managed to bag a small barbel of around 4-5lb from the next fish able swim down. So they were in there somewhere.

After four hours of keeping low watching a motionless rod tip I opted to make a move down stream with Rob who had turned up a short while ago. Again the clear weedy Avon looked barren as the kosher section of the Auschwitz cafeteria. So we jumped in the cars and moved down to the mid section of the wasperton stretch.

What a waste of time this turned out to be! I really should have known better than to bother going down into this area. For some reason these deep slow areas of the Avon around here, though they look resplendent in there summer finery, are absolutely useless during the daylight hours. I suspect it is due to most of the resident fishing feeling rather nervous in the gin clear water filled with hungry predators wishing to eat them.

Anyway this was the sum total of nearly six hours of fishing on Sunday morning.

One tiny chulet!

As I drove home disappointed I was pretty pissed off with myself to be honest. At the moment I have developed a real sense of urgency regarding the challenge, as time is running out for some species still left to catch; once the summer months are gone these particular points will be out of reach, so spending time chasing fish or points that will still be attainable two months away in the autumn is a serious waste of precious summertime.

mighty buttheads.

Standing looking at a mass of tackle on Wednesday night I was blank on what I should pick out for a decisive strike on an unknown river after the mighty bullhead. After perusing several rods varying from 3lb to 1.75lb test curve I shook myself back to reality and searched out my 6lb test curve beach caster. Sorry I mean my huckleberry Finn signature bamboo cane which should be more than adequate for the job in hand.

The next issue re this unusual trip was what bait to take. After deciding to wait and see what they had at Lanes on the day I found myself confusing the poor chap who served me by asking for half a pint of mainly natural pinkies with a few large maggots, a few fluro pinkies, a pinch of red squats and the same of white squats. The look I got back was priceless to say the least but after a simpering smile he went off and returned with only could be described as a half pint mini mix.

With Jacky out for the night at the works quiz I had the car to myself for a spot of adventuring. It did turn out to be a real adventure trying to find my secret spot as I had never seen it before. I found out about this spot from Andy, who every time I said the word bullhead insisted I should go here instead of following someone else's lead. And yes Andy you were spot on mate.

Upon arriving three kids were throwing stones into the little river but a scowl from an rough looking angler had them back on there bikes and off up the lane. My first view of the babbling water did not really inspire me but after a little wading around I spotted a deep rocky hole near the bridge and low and behold it was full of minnows, but underneath in between the rocks I could see the odd little fish pop out.

It was on...

With only the top metre of the Huck s and three feet of 1lb line attached, a size 22 hook and a BB shot to get the bait down I crawled a tiny path worn bare by a million kids carrying a million nets. Only problem was that not one of those million kids were over three feet tall or any wider than breeze block, whereas I am both so it was a bit of a squeeze. It was just like being a kid again hiding in the bushes poking my rod out.(Mm that does not read as well as it sounded in my head as I typed it..!) After throwing in a few freebies, half the minnow population of  the western hemisphere shot out from under a bush next to me. But as they followed the wrigglers off down stream I was given a free shot at the fellas below and bagged one first cast.

Here's a tip for any budding bullhead hunters. I noticed that they seem to be very territorial sticking to their own little area and defending it venomously. So you have to locate one catch it then move your bait to his neighbours territory and so and so forth.

After previous unsuccessful attempts I really thought it could take all night. But after fifty minutes I had caught twelve bullheads for between 2-3oz. Including two whoppers which added up to over one ounce between them, making them definite specimens.

                                                         Goliath and Hercules

Turns out trying to take a picture of twelve writhing bull heads is al lot harder to do than taking a picture of any other fish I have ever caught. It took me nine attempts to get this one decent picture and it aint that good.

Any way with a challenge point I never expected to get in the bag I hopped back in the car rather smug and with a few hours till I needed to go and pick up Jacky I headed off to do some barbel watching on a bit of river I fished many moons ago to waste some time.

Sunday morning quicky.

As a avid angler I sometimes forget that weekends are not just for fishing and that my beloved other half might like to do something on Sunday other than wait at home for me to return stinking like a fish wives apron.

So rather than spending Sunday morning into afternoon selfishly disappearing I offered to spend the day with Jacky, though an early morning should give me enough time to nip to the closest bit of river for a couple of hours fishing and still be back before 10am. That's what I said to her before she gave me that look we all know so well. You know the one that says I'll believe that when I see it!

When I arrived as always before entering a field I always have a good check to see what cloven footed beast may be residing in it before I enter. If anyone is interested in my reasons why message me and if enough are interested I may do a blog on my reasons why. With the coast clear I made my way across the field towards what I suspected would be a rather weedy upper Avon.

To say there was a lot of weed would be and understatement of the century, as it was practically bulging out of the water in places. I don't know whether its due to the cold winter but the weed seems worse than ever on the Avon. I did find one reasonably clear hole that I know usually holds a few chub. But throwing a ledger bait into the unknown would ultimately find a weedy bottom, so I instead opted to set up a chubber float and run a small bit of flake around and in between the patches of weed.

It worked a treat and second run through the float sinks and the rod bends. A fish almost first cast from a clear summer river and it made it to the net without any major hassle. It was all going a bit too well...

With the well behaved chub unhooked and put back in the net lying in a small pool of water water behind the reeds I got the camera ready for a little bloggy piccy. Taking pictures of myself is still a skill I am working on and as I am sure we all know it aint an easy task. With the camera on a higher bit of bank on my trusted mini tripod I was ready to pick up the calm occupant of the net. It turned out to be rather comical as every time I picked up the slippery chub it would stay perfectly still until my camera began to bleep as the auto timer counted down where upon Mr chavin would flip just as the camera went off. Giving me a funny film reel leading up to the one one decent shot I got.

I knew full and well that this would be a one fish deal and it turned out exactly that way, any chub that were shoaled with that one would have slunk under the weed never to be seen until the evening after seeing it's pal fall foul to that crude trick. A change of bait to a lob worm found me a couple of small perch but nothing dared venture out after a pike swirled after the last perch.

I have to say that sometimes I find it more satisfying to go and catch one fish in almost improbable situations rather than baggin loads in perfectly plausible situations. 

When I arrived home with five minutes to spare the front door was opened by a shocked Jacky who I honestly believed never thought I'd be back on time.

Be strong Danny and ignore the tench

Thursday Afternoon I arranged to meet up with Andy at Napton for an into-the-evening session. I was solely intent on perch and Andy was more interested in crucians and tench; the latter he was sure to encounter.After admitting by text to Keith that I was returning for a third session on the trot I discovered he too was returning, and like me he was hell bent on some fluviatilis action.

I am convinced that Napton holds some very good perch and even more convinced that the large dividing stone jetty between the two lakes is a perfect place to taget these fish. Initally I set up on the rocks facing into the small sqaure half of the lake but after plunbing around the swim found a mixture of several types of weed up to two feet deep in places. I made the quick decision to move over onto the other side of the bridge opposite the swim where I bagged all those tench four days ago, which was now occupied by Keith. Andy was a little down the bank where he had been since earlier in the day which left a neat rack of bloggers to assault the reservoir.

Determined to resist and ignore the tench I set up a highly buoyant pole float to enable me to present a lob worm well off the bottom above the feeding tench. Once entrenched a constant stream of red maggots would attract the attention of any tench, which in turn should attract some nice perch in with their intent grubbing around.

For the first few hours my plan seemed to be working as my float remained as still as the bridge that shadowed it, but persistence paid off when I began to get a few knocks. When the float did bury I was convinced the savage head shaking would be from a big perch. then it woke up and powered off in a very tench like way. With a nice female of 3-4lb out the way I went back to business, flicking out a massive lob worm this time surely to be for a delicate feeding tench to bother with...

Another bite surged off but this time it felt very different. Just before it snapped me off I caught a glimpse of a pike as it made off back to the depths. Two more lost tench later it all went very quiet and stayed that way for another hour or so, though the constant chatter regarding Andy's secret sausage bait and all the possible double entendrees that could possibly relate to such a subject kept us amused.

Over the channel Keith was suffering a similar run as I was with slight bites here and there a few tench and even a run in with a suspected pike, though he had managed to nab a couple of small perch as well as one bigger example.

My next bite I was convinced that a good perch was attached but once again a small tench rolling on the surface put pay to that theory.

As the light went I did bag my only perch of the session of 8oz which I sadly neglected to photograph before returning. Our quid each bet on the biggest perch of the night I believe went to Keith though I still owe him my nugget, I am sure he'll take a double or nothing offer next time we both target the same species.

With the light all but gone we all packed up then eagerly convened to see Andy's bulging net pulled from the water. Twenty nine tench and a decent sprinkling of perch proved to heavy a weight to be pulled up onto the rocky bank, so instead a considerate Andy perched on the edge of the water in the darkness counting back the tench as the they were returned whilst myself and Keith took a few photos.

Piscatorus Andyus and Tinica tinica

Though it had been a bit of a let down regarding the perch fishing, as we left mother nature treated us with a cracking sunset complete with huge amount of fish topping all over the part of the lake we weren't fishing on.

King carp 1.2p per pound

The carp point for the challenge had been something I kind of wanted to get out of the way for a while. It's not that I don't enjoy carp fishing. It's more to do with the realization that if I wanted any realistic chance of getting it I would have to go a carp stuffed commercial to do it, rather than do it in the romantic way I had pictured it in my mind ie. three good twenty's from some forgotten water. My original plan was to go back to old lanwarnes were I had previously done 49lb in a little over two hours but a phone call the night before put pay to that, as two matches were booked on the big lake. A quick change of plans and I agreed to meet Neil ( a old friend who is just rekindling his interest in fishing ) at five ways fishery near Wolvey which is the home of one of the most carp stuffed lakes in the area.
The day before I had sent a text to Keith proclaiming my intention to get the King carp point on only £1 worth of bait and I was very confident that this was possible. So Sunday morning I loaded up the car with tackle and enough smart price sliced white bread to choke a heard of ravenous petting zoo goats.

The peg was not exactly feature filled. Just thirty foot of dirty water with the tip of an island in front and a few overhanging reeds ether side. The rig was even simpler than that. 8lb mono with a big hook tied on the end.
My complicated pre baiting technique took all of a minute complete; tear up three slices of bread and lob them onto the surface.

Before I had even finished this mass baiting the early morning silence was broken by the slurps of a hundred  hungry carp, as fish of all sizes came up for breakfast. So began my assault! It took exactly one second for the first one to be on, one of the smaller fish of the day a 2lb common. From then on it was pretty frantic.

After an hour I realised that there was a huge mass of small carp lurking within feet of the surface, and my bread crust was being savaged off the hook before anything bigger got the chance to get a look in. I also noticed that some bigger fish would come up in reaction to the hungry mass. At seeing this I became very discerning and waited for the bigger fish to appear before plonking my bait as close to them as possible. This turned out to be a better plan and string of better carp sent my total soaring quickly.

A good average sized fish.

Five hours of continual playing of fish on the hottest day of the year so far was hard work. But as it neared dinner time I broke the weight needed and then I bagged a couple more for good luck

The weights added up like this 2,2.5,6,6,3,6.5,7,1,4,7,3,3,3,5,4,8,6,4 = 81Lb. During the day I caught loads of little carp under a pound in weight, but if I didn't think they were a pound I slipped them straight back not even bothering to add them to the score. This could have come back to bite me in the ass but it never did and I was content with eighteen decent sized carp for over 80lb or 1.2p per pound if you would. Though I was happy to bagged this point on my second attempt I have to be honest and admit it was a pretty ugly way of achieving a point and not something I will be rushing back to do in the future.

My aim to do it using under £1 worth of bread worked out a treat and after five hours of carp bagging all that was left was two thirds of a slice of bread or one large mouth full, which I ate!

The great white hunter.