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?

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.

The Lake #4 Is that done.

I have always been prone to a niggling feeling or two and I already have a niggling feeling that I have may have been over cooking my fishing on the lake a bit. By this I mean that I am wondering that my Dresden style bombardment of ground bait may be effecting the dynamic of my time on the lake.

Sure when I have a prolonged amount of time on the bank as I did on my last visit, a mass ground baiting is perfectly logical. Given time the new feature on the lakes desolate bottom will always attract fish. But there is no doubt in my mind that the initial disturbance sends any fish resident within quite a large area scampering.
So for the shorter evening sessions putting in any amount of bait seems a foolhardy waste. Yes they will more than likely get on it, but more than likely when I am at home supping a cup of tea ruing the blank.
Thinking this has caused an early change of tack, though this experimental idea I will only apply to short sessions where I do not wish to clear the decks for the entire time I fish.

My love of the method ball is undoubted. Having that small concentrated patch of bait with my hook bait nestled right on the top like a tempting cherry to me is the pinnacle of accuracy. Even fishing over a large bed of bait as I have been, the method ball is a must. I always imagine a shoal of fish confidently moving from one pile of free bait to another filling there boots on free grub, when Bang! one of them pick the wrong one and my bite alarm shrieks shrilly before I strike.
This in mind, instead of wasting bait again, I thought I would have a go at softly softly catchy fishy. Though only intending to use a small amount of bait I did opt to super charge it with fishy attractiveness by adding unimaginable amounts of fish meal, fish oil and other potent ingredients.

So the other night I put this into practise for a few hours and snuck back to the lake in the sheeting rain to try this experiment out and see what reaction I got.

The bank was deserted and quiet. Even the local wildfowl were absent on this warm wet evening. Upon opening my bait bucket the tangy fishy stench jumped right down my throat. There was no doubting the pungency of this stuff and hopefully the fish would think so too.

Although simple, my application of it was to be organised. One bait just off the marginal shelf where days before I had spotted the tell tale fizz of feeding tench last time. The second around mid range on the marker still clipped on my rod from the previous session and the third punched out as far as my rod would allow. Should any one rod get more attention than the others, then one by one the others would be carefully redistributed into that area.

Again the night passed quietly and through the low visibitly I did spot what I suspect were rolling bream on line for my middle rod but none of them found my bait, as stinky as it was.
It was the long range rod than finally sparked into life, but the bite never truly developed. It just beeped a few times dropped, then rose, then beeped. Even bream sooner or later make a bite indicator sing when they feel the searing sting of hook.
After hoovering over the rod for an age and checking the area for tufties I finally made the decision to lift into it and was rewarded with absolutely nothing. But once the rig hit my hand the problem was evident and very unlucky. When setting up I split a boilie in two and casually tossed into the bait bucket. Low and behold I had one boilie on the hook and half a boilie impaled on the hook masking the point from whatever picked it up.

That was my only action over the short session and by dark, hunger had become the new psychological battle. Gutted to miss the only action of the night due to an avoidable mistake I made my way back through the damp woods.

Though I feel that this was no gauge of how successful this tactic can be, and it certainly won't be the last chance I give it. I am beginning to wonder if the shorter evening sessions are going to be worth it especially having to fish at range. Maybe if the damn sun ever makes an appearance I might target one of the few lily beds in the shallow bay for a spot of classical lift float fishing on a sultry summer night.