The Lake #30 Quick change.

With me spending so much time on the banks of the lake I had become oblivious in large to what was happening before my very eyes. It wasn't until I took a little break from my bank side lingering and stared at a couple of other bodies of water then came back, that I saw a noticeable change.

I was only away for a little over ten days, in which time I had grown bored of the repetitive playing of carp and annoyed with the incessant nibbling of silver fish on two heavily stocked venues. I needed to get back and feed my obsession once again. Dumbstruck is the only word I can use to describe how I felt when I returned for another night. To some the changes that had happened might seem inconsequential, but for me what I was seeing was of vital importance.

On my last visit the weed and algae that is to be blooming and using all the nitrates deposited during the floods, had formed a definite boundary at a particular snaggy tree. Now though, the weed had resumed its march across the water and patches of it not seem to be spreading out further into the main body of the lake. I don't believe the weed itself is necessarily a bad thing, but saying that, where the weed blossoms the water clarity increases and the fish have no love of this clear water with so many predators around.

The clear water now extended right into the area I had been fishing and visibly there was a serious lack of fish moving around in the gin clear water. After seeing this I took the time to track along the bank with my Polaroids on until I found a little colour. As soon as I found that wonderful tinge of brown I began seeing topping fish and other fishy signs, and I knew I was where I wanted to be.

Though the night ahead fishing would be given over to the pursuit of more predatory fish, I couldn't easily forget that last sessions tench and how they homed in on my bait. So I planned to try and replicate what I had done before. Once set up and ready to cast out soon as dusk fell, I mixed up a pungent stew of fishy fodder and deposited it onto a clear patch of silt about the size of a small car located close to my right hand margin. I then went about casting out two dumbbell rigs laden with massive writhing lob worms.

I'd had one bait out in position for a little while whilst I tweaked the second rig and just as I had the second rod held aloft ready to cast I had a strange stuttering run. I have to admit I was a little perplexed at what was going on and had to check that I hadn't done something stupid, like catch the line on my leg in the tight swim. It did turn out to be a run, but once again my strike contacted nothing.

In the end I finally got both rods cast out tangle free and bobbing nicely in the ripple. That's when I took the time to reapply more weapons grade strength mozzie replant, not that it did any good! The little buzzing bastards instead of targeting my repellent covered hands and face instead went for my legs and feet, through my trousers might I say! On one leg and foot alone I took nine bites. Worst of all I missed the very tip of my nose and that now has a healthy clown-like glow where something had bitten me.

The night again yielded nothing, though I did get another dropped run which added to the two others I have had in the last two sessions, which makes me think the rig I am using needs fine tuning. I am thinking that something is not liking the resistance on the rig and if I want to find out what that something is the rigs needs to be more free running.

Anyway, morning soon arrived and happily as the sun rose on a new week I was standing on the banks scratching my arse rather than fighting my way to work through the Monday morning traffic. And what a view I had.

As if to add some substance to my perfect Monday morning the tench too had shown up, and were happily rooting around on the bait I had deposited the night before as way of insurance should the nights fishing have been as bad as it was. Getting one of the dumbbell rigs out of the water proved to be a bit of a task, as the night before I had not given any thought to how I might retrieve three ounces of lead with a quite large poly ball contraption attached. There was no way I could leave it in the water as I knew any hooked fish would certainly cut thought the line as the line was actually going right alongside where the tench were feeding. In the end I had to set the reel in free spool and hold the rod as high as possible whilst traversing round to the next swim in order to remove the rig without dragging it through the fish. 

To say the water I was about to cast into was shallow would be a gross understatement. When I came to the edge and nestled down into the damp reeds I could actually see individual tail patterns swirling on the surface from up ended tench. It took less than ten minutes for me to slip the net under my first one and after quickly returning that a way away from the swim I was quickly cast out and into another. Those first two fish were fairly average ones of four or five pounds but I knew with them feeding so hard that I could probably root out a few more so I didn't bother taking pictures and wasting time.

The tench did seem to drift off the spot for a while after the second fish but soon enough they drifted back sending up plumes of muddy water and patches of fizz. Having kept a bait on the spot I sat waiting as they homed back onto the free food, and sure enough the float did its little dance and I struck into a better fish. Some of the tench the lake has produced the last month or so have been have been immaculate but this one could only be described as perfect.

The fun wasn't over either! As after seeing more tail patterns on the surface I cast back onto the still buzzing spot eager to get another. This time the float didn't dither or dally one bit, it just shot out of the water like a rocket. Before I'd even had chance to strike, the clutch of my reel was squealing like a stuck pig. At first I was chuckling thinking I had some insane little male tench trying to turn me over. So I put a bit of side strain on and lent into it and that's when I realised that this was no tench attached to the end of my line. After easing off as much as I dared I watched as my line cut diagonally off to my left and as the the line zipped away a huge trail of bubbles emanated in it's wake. With only four pound line connecting me to the fish there was little I could do to stop it and all I could hope was that I could just hold on. But that wasn't to be as the fish decided one of the large new beds of weed was it best option. I braked the spool as much as I dared but in the end the strain was to much on my delicate float gear and after after a violent jerk the line was suddenly floating disappointingly in the wind. Strangely though I hadn't actually been snapped off and it would seem that the hook had pulled from the mystery fish. It would have been nice to land that fish and seen what it was that had been drawn in along with the tench, especially as I know I could land just about most tench on that tackle. Which leads me to believe that I am sure it was a big old Coombe Abbey carp.

The Lake #29 Some serious green.

It was still humid and hot and the sun only just still lit the lake as I watched a shoal of rudd nervously lipping at the surface. From nowhere a near two foot wide section of water right on the edge of the shoal just disappeared like a massive plug had just been pulled under it on the bottom of the lake, which was followed by a massive swirl. At first I couldn't fathom what I had just seen and instantly my float became forgotten as I stared intently as the shoal reformed. Obviously a large predator of some kind had just hit the shoal of rudd, but the attack just seemed different, strange in some way.
It took a while to happen again and before it did the shoal had done several turns around the swim. But as I hoped it might, once again a second hole appeared in the smooth surface of the water and this one was followed by a vortex , a swirl and the momentary view of an unmistakable tail! It was the sight of that tail which drew me back to the bank of the lake as soon as possible and this time I was proper tooled up!

I was in no rush as I leisurely set up sitting on my bed under the trees, as what I was hunting for is largely associated with the night and I still had a few hours till dusk. It was good I wasn't rushing as it gave me time to check and recheck my rigs and knots were up to the job. The Eagle wave hooks were spine tingly sharp as I ran them over my nail, the 60lb Dacron hook link and knots stood up to being pulled as hard as I could pull them and the knot that secured my 20lb line to the swivel was so good that the line wrapped around my sleeve covered hand I swear began cutting through the material of my jumper.

I was ready to go and I'd thought about this long and hard. I knew it was a sizable catfish I'd seen hunting in the margin a few nights ago and I wanted in on that action. Seeing it surface feeding had drawn my to use a dumbbell rig to suspend a bait off the bottom. But the only cat I had ever caught from this pool came to a bottom bait and that made me think my second rig had to be on the deck. The summer rules forced me to fish a massive load of worms as my suspended bait and as it was a fishy bait that tempted that first cat, I ladled in some very heavily scented munga to help attract a night prowling moggie to my two 30mm donkey chokers that was fishing on the bottom.

It was actually hard to get to sleep as I was quite excited about the night ahead. But somehow I did manage to drift off just as dark crept in as I lay stewing in the scent of some weapons grade mozzie repellant. The night it turned out was fitful. All night I was getting liners on my bottom bait rod and I knew it would probably be a shoal of bream mopping me out and that it would only be a matter of time before one got the monster pellets into its cake hole.

I only had to get up a couple of times in the night, once to deal with a foul hooked bream that was only just maturing from silver to brown. The only other real action of the night was the single bit of interest was that my six lobworms drew. Around 2am I had a definite proper pull on that line which caused the buzzer to signal a slow take which suddenly stopped. I did check the bait only to find three of the worms severed in half which I suspect may have been done by an eel.

Considering all the disturbances from my sounder box hanging above my head I actually got quite a good nights kip. So when the sun began to rise I was up and moving around. All had been quite for the last few hours of dark but as I stood rubbing the sleep from my eyes the bottom bait rod again sounded another liner. It was that liner that caused me to look through the light summer mist towards my baited area, and what I saw changed the game in a big way!

I had thought that before getting to bed I might have a go with a float rod, but the disturbance I had made chucking in bait put me off. Now though I was scrabbling to get that float rod set up. The swim looked like it had a pot full of alkaseltzers chucked in it. There was tench fizzing all over the area and they were really getting their heads down judging by the frequency of the rising patches of bubbles. Slowly and carefully I teased the heavy lead out of the swim before also removing the second rod just in case.

With the rig set a little over depth I cast the float out into the mist and drew it back onto the fish. The float was warning me by way of a myriad of dips and sways that there was quite a few fish moving around, and it wasn't long till I got my first bite. Nothing quite wakes you up as striking into a good fish and it ripping of like a marlin in the mist. This fish really went for it in the shallow water and was fighting harder than anything else I have caught from the lake in a long time. I took it very easy on the fish playing it lightly on the clutch as it again surged off and eventually it came towards my sunken net Just as I lifted the handle hard the fish rolled and I saw a black flank. The whole fight I was convinced I had a tench on but now with me capture hidden by the folds of my oversized net I was unsure of what I had just netted.

All was explained when I pulled up the net and revealed what the mysterious black beast was. Turns out it was a tench and a big old male as well, hence the hard fight. In the water it did look black but on the mat I could see that it was actually dark green fading into black.

Several years ago I caught a similar almost black fish from another estate lake and I even heard tell of a fish from the same lake years ago that was red. This fish was a real old warrior and as well as it unusual colouring had some of the most prominent pelvic bones I've ever seen on a tench. Kneeling down holding it in the water it occurred to me that this could be the grandfather of all the tench I have been catching lately and it was real pleasure to see the old gent cruise of back into the lake and to his harem.

I'd no sooner dried my hands after releasing the first fish that I looked up to see the spot was still very obviously getting hammered by the tench. I was straight back on it like white on rice and within minutes I had an odd sliding bite which I struck and felt a fish before it was gone. That was no bother though as they seemed still in a frenzy and were undeterred by any fuss I'd just caused.

The next fish I didn't miss, but it did send probably every resident of the swim scattering. It went instantly out of the swim before turning and hammering straight through the still feeding fish. In the shallow water the result was obvious. I reckon I saw at least ten other fish bow wave off in every direction as the hooked fish barged through them. Moments later I had the smallest tench of the season in my net and half laughing I did curse her for ruining my swim or so I thought!

I decided to take a chance and introduce the little bit of ground bait I had left whilst the swim was quiet. Simply I put four more loosely squeezed balls that I knew would smash on entry onto the spot. Knowing it might be a while before anything came back in I began breaking camp so I could get home and have bath before I had to be at work. The shelter was down and the barrow was half loaded before I looked up to see tench fizz once again appearing on the outer limits of my baited area.

Judging by the individual patches of bubbles I reckoned that there was four or more fish creeping back in quite tight line. Not wanting to cast a bait right onto them I quickly dropped what I was doing and grabbed the rod again. I managed to get the bait in place before they came right onto the spot and now it was just a case of waiting and hoping one of them would pick up my hook bait from amongst the freebies.

Soon enough they slowly moved in sending hundreds of tiny bubbles up as they methodically moved across the bait. I knew something was about to happen when the float began swaying from side to side. I was so in tune to what was going on that I was all over it when the float began to rise, so much so in fact that I struck before the quill even began to fall over as the fish lifted the small weight off the bottom. There was no savage run just solid resistance and slight thumping. The fish swung out to the left banging its head like a bream before the rod took a serious bend. The fish felt big and I was sure it was a tench but the fight was laboured and heavy. The culprit took little line from the spool really and just kept swinging from one side to another banging its head. Then when it swirled towards the surface the amount of water is shifted was epic. Time and time again as I drew it closer it just dived down causing massive areas of disturbed water before it finally rolled over and big yellow mouth and red eye popped up. Good as gold it slid into the massive net I had submerged in the edge. I did that thing we all do when you get something special in the net and lifted the net to draw the fish up whilst sticking my head in it and what I saw got my heart thumping even more than it had been before.

I thought it looked big in the water, then out out of the water it seemed even bigger. It was generally a large fish across the shoulders and in length, but this was easily the fattest tench I had ever seen before and straight away I knew where this was going. I was so careful with her as she looked like one of those fish that without the neutralising effects of water supporting her she was quite uncomfortable. I worked as fast as I could to get everything done and confirmed before finally I lifted up her awkward bulk to get a few quick photos of the largest tench I have ever been lucky enough to hold and a new PB which amazingly and to my joy was caught on a lift float.  

The Lake #28 This consistency is starting to unnerve me.

Honestly I have never seen anything like this on this lake. Coombe has been and will be again a harsh and fickle mistress. I have known it give so much and then take it all back again and again. But right now I find myself having to use a word that I never thought I would use in reference to Coombe pool fishery. Consistent! I know I will probably regret that as I've probably cursed my run, but Coombe right now is very consistent (holy crap, I said it again). It's been so consistent (that's three times!) that my sessions are becoming a blur and I find myself having to make notes to retain information and combine two or three sessions into one write up as I am fishing there so much.

Only forty eight hours had passed before I was again in the southern lily swim. I know I've been fishing in this area a lot as most of the banks side wildlife has become oblivious to my presence. The rabbits don't even run in panic, the normally twitchy moorhen that lives in the reeds won't even give me a second look and a grass snake slithered right over my feet the other day and may have winked at me as it did so.

Like me the tench were once again around and after causing a little commotion baiting up they were soon well aware that dinner was served. Although the wind wasn't playing big a factor, the lake did for some reason seem to be towing hard tonight. Luckily I still had the heavier rig set up  from the last outing and that was soon cast just beyond the lillies. I had to wait for an age sitting on my hands for the fish to actually come onto my spot , which was an uncomfortable situation as the sky was clear and the sun was reflecting off the water up into my face. Eventually it sank below the trees and on the now golden surface the tench were sending up signs that I was about to have a visitor.

I missed a proper sitter of a bite somehow. It was the real deal as well, fizz bob lift the works. After toughing it out through the glare I was livid, but I hadn't caused a disturbance and that was the important thing. Then within a quarter of an hour the float shot up I struck and the fish went for the pads. Some how I turned it, then I shot out into the lake like a bullet and rinsed me out totally. Now I was kicking myself and my swim was surely done. I don't know why I cast again but I did. Just as the light really began to go I saw signs that a fresh batch of tench were drifting along the lily bed.

It got to that stage when you can hardly make out your float through the dark I waited so long. My patience was rewarded though when my float just slowly lifted and lay on the surface. Lucky it did do that as if it sank I really don't think I would have spotted it there was so little light, were as the white quill lying on the surface was easily seen in the dark. My strike was met with no venomous run but instead by dead weight. A big humped back appeared lolling around around on the top. It was a bream that wallowed in and as I dragged it toward the net I realised that this ancient scabby old slab was only the forth one I had caught this season from this supposed bream mecca.

It might seem that I was not that happy in the picture which honestly I wasn't, not because I had only caught a slimy old brama but instead because I'd just seen the state of my net and knew the combination of all that snot and my nice hot car would make the journey home a little special. After the that I decided that if the bream were around Id be better off leaving it for tonight and so baited up the north swim and headed of whilst there was still some light in the sky.

Within twenty four hours I was back on the previously baited northern spot with the sun again blazing back up off the surface of the lake, probably irreparably damaging my retinas. I may have mentioned before that this year theres been a bit of a weed explosion on Coombe. In most places there is some kind of weed, be it patchy or dense. My spots that I have been repeatedly baiting are smooth as a tiled floor. The fish are obviously repeatedly coming in whenever there is fresh bait on and truffling around so much that no weed seems to be able to stick around very long.

Once again I topped up a with a reasonable helping of my special and favourite ground bait laden with casters and other goodies. Strangely I did no see a single sign of feeding fish anywhere along the patrol and certainly not where I was fishing. That was until my float did that happy little dance I am becoming addicted to seeing and I found myself playing another classical summer estate lake tench.

There were other fish around in the swim though; I know that because I saw the bow waves and disturbed water they caused as they exited the area. With one under my belt and a now vacant swim I decided to spend the few hours I had left checking out a new area one of the carp anglers I have become friendly with tipped me off about.

I know this chap very well as he too spends large proportions of time on the lake in the summer after the monster carp which seem to go uncaught for ever on this weird water. He told me that whilst fishing a margin spot that had been good to him in the past he was getting plagued by tench. I knew he wasn't in the swim as I walked past it earlier that evening so tonight seemed just right to see if anything was in that margin.

A quick look out through the over hanging tree proved a waste of time so I opted to just go for it and sneakily placed a couple of balls out with my pole cup before swinging a bait over the top. Truthfully I just wanted a sign that something was moving in the swim and so I waited for any kind of something to happen, and it did! And it certainly wasn't what I expected to see as I will explain next time...

The Lake #27 No one could resist.

I am but a man, and a fisherman at that! So it was never going to be long until I returned to the lake and to that tench spot where the fishes incessant circling has transferred from the water to my mind. Only twice had the sun risen and set set before I again found myself walking the path through the chest high grass down the the bank. It was still hot and humid even though the sun was dipping towards the ancient wood on the opposite bank. Only one other angler was on the bank and he wasn't fishing. I stopped and chatted to him for a while about the lake, or more importantly the excessive weed currently blooming, in which he was trying to locate holes to fish using a marker float set up.

With the bank deserted and silent I took the time to actually watch the water for a while before deciding where to fish. Undoubtedly there was fish all over the area and it took no time at all to spot signs that the resident tench were once again on patrol and feeding. In the end I decided to fish the southern most swim and my reason for this were purely down to the aesthetics of the swim.

Flat calm summer night, those lily pads and a slow sunset, that's just angler porn.

Everything was going to be the same bar one change, the rig! It might sound odd that even as happy as I was with the bold bites I have been getting from the tench using a small piece of quill, blob of tungsten putty and a size 8 hook set up lift float style, that I still felt a change could bring me even better fortune. You see the tench bites are so obvious it wouldn't matter what float I used. But the thought that maybe just maybe if I fished and baited one area long enough a rare crucian carp might happen along had crept into my head and this was the perfect night to fish a lighter rig as there was hardly a breath of wind.

It was Jeff and Keith (when Keith still fished) that extolled the virtue of this rig to me, and I think it was Phil Smith who advocated its use to them before that. But whatever the provenance it works amazingly well. The rig comprises a sensitive Drennan antenna float with the very last cocking shot positioned as close to the lake bed as possible and the last two inches of line to the hook on the bottom. By doing this it works just like a lift float and registers lifts and dips, both of which I strike at. With tench the float shoots right out of the water and with crucian it generally rises slowly up as the weight is taken off that last shot. In the water on this occasion with these conditions it was working brilliantly and looking a treat!

Only problem was that the sensitive presentation was working a bit too well and that combined with the increase of silver fish the lake seems to have going on at the moment meant I had a busy night. The hungry little mouths were up for anything no matter how big. I started off fishing double caster before quickly moving onto a grain of corn... them two grains of corn... then a red worm... then half a lob worm and finally a whole worm. It really didn't matter what I cast out in the end as they ate everything I chucked and truth be told I just couldn't get past the horde to try and catch a tench.

A few days later I was back on an impromptu session and the conditions though good had changed. The wind had picked up and the light set-up had no chance of working with the wind imparting some hardcore tow on the ninety acres of water. So back to the heavier lift float I went. The smaller fish were about and even in some pretty torrential down pours they stick their noses in quite a lot. It was as I took a moment to stretch my legs in a momentary break in the weather that I stood high above my swim against the trees and sighted random puffs of muddy water. The tench were certainly about it was just any normal signs were being masked by the heavy ripple cutting across my swim.

The fish seemed to be lingering off the edge of my baited area and as so often with fishing a small change in the location of my hook bait brought an instant reaction by way of a classical lift bite. Even in the heavy ripple I saw the two nervous twitches of the quill before the float sailed up lolling over to the right in the wind. 

The result was another big long female that battered around the shallow margin destroying the swim entirely. Though I didn't care one bit as catching yet another stunning Coombe Abbey tench was the perfect way to cap off what had been a bit of an arduous session which I spent sheltering under my new brolly hiding from what can only be described as some biblical showers.

I had to go back the morning after the night before. Having a fair about of bait left over and some unmixed bait stashed in my bag, I once again had deposited as much bait as access to back onto the areas I was fishing at the end of the session thinking the fish would undoubtedly be around come the dawn.

My prediction was right and upon arriving I crept up behind some cover and straight away spotted three tench within on feet of the bank. I truly thought I was going to be home by eight. How wrong was I! Even though they had certainly come back in overnight and were definitely sticking around with persistence they did not want to get their heads down at all. No fizzing no puffs of silt and defiantly no bites occurred a all. Not until the sun broke over the trees behind me. I thought it was going to be a wash out in truth as the sun normally hitting the water kills the fishing, but toady was different.

The moment those warming rays spread over the shallows the fizzing started. The only thing I could fathom was that the water had cooled with the previous days showers and the cool night had kept the temperature low. Then with the water being so shallow the suns rays penetrating it must have just sparked them back into action. 

I missed the first bite somehow and then the second one was a bit of a weird rising and sliding at the same time. I was only in contact with that fish very briefly and I suspect I'd actually foul hooked a passing fish. Happily though it seemed that the very slight commotion hadn't cleared the swim. A bit more baiting and waiting and finally I received a clean and definite bite. This fish went insane when the line tightened and luckily I had set the clutch light enough for a gudgeon to pull line off of it, because the first charge in made out towards the weed in the centre of the lake had me thinking I had a monster on. Of all the tench so far this one was fought the hardest and really made me think it would be my first male that I would find in the bottom of my landing net. Wrong again! it was probably the smallest one of this Coombe campaign so far but what she lacked in length she made up for in depth and sheer determination.

So my one-tench-a-session vibe continues as does my constant baiting of the spots for now. I know some people might question my willingness to keep bating the swims and repeatedly going back for single fish sessions and truthfully I have questioned it too. But every time I think about it I come back to the same conclusion that this is Coombe and I am putting good fish on the bank every session which as far as I can recall from my experience is unusual. So as the former terminator of California once said "I'll be back"

The Lake #26 Bookended tench.

I had watched them feed from quite close up only days ago so I knew where they were. For hours I studied the knocking lily pads and patches of fizz that rose as they perused morsels of the lake bed. At first it had all seemed to be the random movements of  multiple tench which I suspected were in the area. As always though time told, and after two dawns and two dusks when I was unable to fish for them but could watch them, I was able to decipher a definite patrol route. It wasn't a big patrol either considering the size of the lake. Starting at the north end of the little circuit they were making, the tench seemed to be moving in small groups along the shallow margin sending up puffs of coloured water as they did, till they arrived at the start of the lily pads. Immediately as they came to the lily's, the first three pads on the corner leaves would knock and signal their arrival. Then they seemed to move away from the shelter of the lily's and track along them about two feet out. As they came to the gap in the lily bed all noticeable evidence of their presence stopped until they again came along side the next jutting patch of pads. The next stretch of lily pads was the biggest on the route and most times the fish lingered here a while sending up tempting signs that they might be feeding beyond the covering of round leaves. Slowly the groups would move out and at the very last pad turn and come back into the margin where I could actually see them sometimes. After that they seemed to cut diagonally across to the nearest reed bed before moving out of sight only to reappear fizzing along maybe twice as far out as they had before. It took me a bit of careful plumbing up to figure that they were following a very slight marginal shelf back from the southernmost point of the patrol up to the north where they would begin all over again.

Three days it took me to put all that information together as it wasn't just one lot of fish moving around the route. I'd tried to count as best as I could but the most I'd seen within a small space of time was nine possible tench. Knowing where they were was only half the solution as they did seem to be feeding as they went, but judging by the lack of interest the two carp anglers had got in the days they were pitched up in front of the paroling fish with a margin rod each, these tench weren't into big baits at all.

I am sure JB noticed me drifting off into la la land pondering my move over the following few days, though if she did she was good enough to not mention my mooning. The biggest problem was the general shallowness of the areas in question. I had thought about targeting the slightly deeper back run they took to get back to the northern end. The problem here was that I had already discounted using even light bottom rigs as the random patches of weed sprouting from the bottom would only mean a line cutting through the swim somewhere and so a float rig seemed the better option. But the light float rig stood no chance being fished on the further line due to the excessive filamentous algae blowing up the lake which would destroy my patience very easily.

It had to be the close in line and it had to be one either end of the patrol that I would fish. That way if I did hook one I had at least half the water in front of me open so as I had some area so play the fish on the light tackle. As for bait it was to be a sparing affair. Corn struck me as a bit too obvious in the shallow water and maggots wouldn't linger on the bottom long enough to attract their attention. Casters though were light enough to sit on top of any silk weed and a little helping of pungent but unobtrusive ground bait, should lure them down.

Three days after leaving I was back again at first light. Just about the only thing moving on the bank was the bloated mosquitoes returning from their night raids on Bivvy's along the bank. The dawn chorus was under way and as I carefully took the short cut across the top of the giant rabbit warren on the slope down to the lake I did spy a couple of pars of long ears and the odd white tail before they shot back down some hidden hole. The lake was flat calm with wisps of mist rising off it but as yet no fish dappled the surface. Although I walked through many pegs I only stopped once to admire the cadged orchid that had popped out of it's chicken wire prison and now was beginning to flower freely above. 

I knew even if I saw something tempting as I tracked along under the trees that I wouldn't stop, as I only had one area in mind. One of the carp anglers still remained where he had pitched up seven days prior at the south end of the patrol route. The north was free and this was were I crept down to the bank. Not wanting to create to much of a disturbance I had brought my pole and pole cup along for some stealthy baiting. In the full light of day I wouldn't consider sticking an alien shadow over the shallow swim, but in the half light I knew it should go unseen. Three pots of fine uncompressed ground bait with a good helping of casters as well before I retreated back to the trees to watch and wait.

The rod was barely assembled when the first fizz broke the surface. With the baited spot on a clear gravel patch not two rod lengths out now undeniably occupied I tried my very best to quietly get as close to the only bit of cover available. There was no need to for plumbing as I had noted the various depths of the areas and so all I had to was slide the thin peacock quill two inches above the second ring of my rod. Now all I had to do was cast! The first cast went no where, it was as if something was hampering the line coming of the spool. Still trying to keep hidden checked the entire set-up only to find the line going around the rod at the join between the two sections. A quick twist and I was ready to try again. This time the pea sized ball of rig putty dragged the line and float just beyond the target clear patch and all I had to do was hold back whilst lifting the rod to get the bait spot on target.

Immediately the float was signalling all the right things from the bottom of the lake to the surface. Twice the float slid side ways as something slowly brushed against the line. Now I just needed to do was wait for that proper bite to occur whilst ignoring the multitude of knocks and taps. Then perfectly the float did a couple of nervous bobs before lifting up and falling to the side.

It was like a mine had gone of under my float! The water just seemed to grow in mass before a bow wave shot out from it. If that wasn't shocking enough the instant commotion caused several other fish to bolt out of the shallow water all heading in different directions. Any fish that finds itself hooked in little depth goes berserk and this tench was no different. It made four or more savage runs out towards the centre of the lake and me holding the rod low and trying to stop it reaching the weed beds just made it swirl on the top. For the sake of any fish I caught Id purposely brought a particularly long landing net along so as pulling capture into the inch deep edge could be avoided and soon enough I slipped my first lovely Coombe tench into my over extended net.

With all the disturbance I honestly thought not a single fish would still be patrolling and the sun was about to be the wrong side of the trees so it was unlikely I would get a second chance. So happy with my capture I resolved to leave it alone for the day, but not after rebating all along the patrol route with a return the following morning in mind.

The World Cup put pay to an early start so it was evening before I found myself marching back to the prebaited area. I knew all the bait would be long gone, but hopefully the fish would have committed the smell of it to memory. The bank was deserted with even the carp anglers seven day vigil over, so rather than go back to the swim at the north of the patrol I instead opted for the southern turn. Fishing here closer to the lily bed would enable me in the bright sun to again use the pole pot to bait up accurately using the cover of the pads to mask it looming over the swim.

Almost right on cue I spotted signs of movement further down the pads just as the sun began to drop towards the horizon sending shadows half way over the lake.  I didn't wait to for signs of feeding on this occasion as I wanted my bait in place before anything turned up to feed. The tench began fizzing right on cue about three feet along the lily line from my float and it was an agonising watching the patches of tiny bubble rising intermittently ever closer to my bait. Then once again my float rose from the water just after a massive fizz clouded around it. I never waited for a millisecond before lifting the rod swiftly up to my left in the vain hope it would head away from the snags. Heaven be praised, it went the right way and straight away I was up leaning out with the rod at full stretch trying to stop it heading round the corner. This fish did one massive hard run before turning round rolling on the top and coming to the bank like a aged bream. I thought at first maybe it was just a little fish that had gone mad until an open mouth and red eye appeared round the reeds  then I saw its fin and flank, but then it just kept on coming into sight. This was one of the longest tench I have ever seen and although the angle I was holding it at in this self take doesn't show it very well, it was as long as I am wide.

As with the session before, the commotion caused by hooking a fish in shallow water caused any others to disappear. Though this time they melted away rather than stampeded off like the last time and then I to like the fish packed up and melted away home. Right now I find myself satisfied by just catching just one decent fish at a time and given that every bite counts on this lake it kind of makes a little sense walking away after such a catch rather than hanging around wanting to catch a bag load and whining when it doesn't happen.

But before I left I once again deposited all the bait I had left along the patrol route knowing full and well it wouldn't be long before I was back again...

The lake #25 Oh how I hath waited

I've felt rather in limbo for a month or more prior to the bell tolling on a new fishing season as I suppose many of us do. It's not that I haven't fished either as I have been enjoying fishing a rediscovered water and doing quite well conditions considered. Though what I have been doing in some ways could be described as filling time, and in all honesty as I have fished one water I have been betraying it by thinking of another as I did.

The lake has weighed heavy on my mind for the longest time you see. Not many hours have passed since winter faded away that I haven't thought of it. In quiet times when my mind has been set free by some arduous and repetitive task I have allowed my self to slip full-on into dreams of it. The odd thing is although I am motivated by the fish it holds, it is more the lake itself which draws me in. Even thought I have walked its banks since I was a child, it is these last few years that I felt myself becoming more entwined with it.

I suppose its this magnetic attraction that seems to have developed, combined with my insatiable need to get to know it all over again this year, that inspired my plan for the start of this season. It must have been March when I conceived to spend the opening day there. Then with that decided I concluded, why not go the day before and spend the night, which naturally morphed into a couple of days and nights. And that was it, my season was to open with fifty or more hours in the company of Coombe pool.

Even with plenty of planning and forward thought I really had little idea of where I might fish, and after last years debacle of there only being one free peg on the grassy sea of the Lindley bank, that wasn't probably a bad thing. The day had finally arrived and after a whistle stop father's day morning run I loaded up with a few days worth of provisions, shelters, sleeping bags and the all important fishing tackle then made the short journey which I knew I would be making many more times these coming months.

As always that first look over the grassy slope that leads down to the secluded bank was mouth watering. Unusually though there seemed to be a general lack of anglers frequenting the reed lined pegs. Being as the first day of the season this year fell on a Monday rather than a Sunday, the mob that descended last year had obviously not turned up or possibly the general low capture ratio had maybe deterred those naive enough to think this is a runs water.

Having already had a bit of a wander round a few nights before I was well aware that the previous weeks rain had coloured up the main lake somewhat, and that the mild winter just passed had not been bad enough to curtail the weed, which is rampant in some areas of the lake. The little amount of info I already possessed was pointing me towards a bend in the private bank where the coloured water of the main lake and the clearer water meet, and also where the weed thins.

I settled for a familiar spot that has in the past been the sight of a few big hits for me. The great thing about this area is that it by just walking a couple of pegs either side you get a full view of the lake and as this session was as much about finding out what was going on as it was fishing, this spot seemed the perfect place to set camp.

It's quite odd really getting all set up, pitching camp and then having to sit behind rods that are ready to do what they are made for and having to wait seven hours to cast out. This time however did give me ample opportunity to cast a light lead around and garner a better picture of the underwater landscape in front of me. Bar a few random tufts of weed there was only one serious weed bed in the sea of silt in front of me

After pinpointing a spot I liked better than all the very other similar areas and drinking several cups of tea with my nearest neighbour, I made my move to bait up. I had been out the corner of my eye watching and waiting for the resident wildfowl population to do one. With the last of the sneaky tufted ducks forced away with a few trial casts of my mini spomb I went about spreading a few kilos of pellet, crushed boilies, hemp and chopped boilies around a reasonable sized area. I really wanted to imitate random balls of ground bait so instead of just filling up the spomb with loose bait and creating a carpet. So I squeezed each load into a ball before putting inside the little white rocket.

Then it became a case of waiting and waiting. With no baited lines in the water I was free to mooch around as I liked and in several swims I watched patches of wonderful tench fizz rise to the top. In another swim a shoal of roach the size of a tennis court moved back and forth on the surface changing direction every time a jack pike struck from beneath. In my own swim I watched as a couple of bream rolled off my bait just as the sun dipped behind the trees. It was the thought of those rolling fish that I had running through my mind as I curled up in my sleeping bag and watched the sky go from blue to purple through the door of my shelter.

Even though I wasn't expecting a lot it was only too easy to conjure the vision of a shoal of hump backed slabs cruising over my bait maybe with an odd tubby tench mixed in for good measure. Luckily for me the exertion of shoving my laden barrow over some of the roughest banks in the county helped me slip off for a few hours sleep before my alarm would wake me again ten minutes prior to midnight.

You would have thought with such a build up, all the weeks of planning and the general excitement that I would have been of of bed like a shot. Well that wasn't exactly the case! It was real struggle to get back up from my slumber in truth. Stumbling round in the dark with a savage case of morning mouth in the middle of the night I was glad I'd made the effort to get everything ready before settling down for a kip. My rods were clipped up so all I had to do was extract the hook links which had my baits attached from the glug, attach them to the quick clips and bait the method feeders. The memory of the cast were pretty much hard wired after making it so many times the day before. Both rods went out like a dream dead in line with my far bank markers and hitting the line clips just right. Not seconds after the last rod was in the rest and the buzzer switched on the kettle that I had set boiling prior to casting out began whistling. In the dark I sat watching the the lake through the dark sipping a brew on my bed. I knew nothing would occur straight off the bat but it seemed more than right to at least watch for a little while before retiring to bed. I fell asleep twice sitting up, tea in hand, so with the last of the tepid cuppa gone and the tawny owls hooting I turned on the my receiver and went back to sleep for a while.

It was an massive forty minutes before the red LED close to my head lit up and the stuttering bleep woke me. By the time I had slipped on my shoes something was slowly but surely taking line from the spool. My first fish of the 2014 season crossed the cord of my net at approximately twelve fifty and it looked just as shocked as I did by all accounts.

After the initial fish my night became a rather up and down affair and by that I mean every time I got a liner the receiver would sound and I would sit up in bed and wait for a few minutes waiting for a fish toddle off, which it didn't, and then I'd lie back down a fall asleep immediately. Out of the stack of liners I had between one and four in the morning I was agog that I only landed one other bream.

If I described the night as perplexing than the day I could refer to as barren. Once the sun hit the sky the liners stopped and all activity ceased. The only thing moving anywhere on the lake was the huge shoal of roach which had divided up into several smaller shoal which now danced around all over the surface with predators in tow.

 Knowing there would be no action through the day it was nice to have some company by way of  a couple of carp anglers new to the lake. The day passed easily chatting out the pool and other waters as we supped copious amount of tea. It was on my way between my peg and the powwow that I encountered a small squirrel. I saw it shuffling around in the grass at first and then thought nothing of it. As I passed a second time I found it sitting eating what looked like field mushroom. Even with me standing gawking at it the obvious youngster didn't seem bothered by my presence. In fact I was able to go right up to within a few feet of it. Whether it was just a confident little fellow or whether it wasn't a mushroom but rather a toadstool with psychotropic effects, the little squiggy just stayed put and carried on munching his fungi. It was around all day searching out more fungi and soon enough we started calling him Jimi Hendrix because he really did seem to be in a bit of a purple haze.

Jimi Hendrix

Night two made night one look amazing and to be frank I got the distinct impression that even though I had waited till the quietest part of the day to top up my swim with a second barrage of bait, nothing seemed in residence at all. I woke in the early and still dark hours and recast just to make sure every thing was ok with my rigs. Then after that repeatedly recast every time I woke up. By breakfast time I was done with the swim! I knew if I carried on all flipping week long topping up the swim sooner or later a big hit of action would materialize, but two days in one spot was already to much for me.

I pondered what to do with my last ten hours on the bank as I ate breakfast over looking the lake. One of the new carp chaps who was fishing round the bank had left and having seen so much activity in his swim the night prior it seemed the perfect spot. The camp packed away I settled down in the dappled shade under the trees to fish off my barrow with just the bare essentials not packed up

As I wasn't fishing at range a small tree in the swim afforded me the rare opportunity of being able to see right into my swim went the sun was at the right angle. It was surprising to see that although my buzzers were quiet for the most part fish were actually regularly moving in and around my swim. I saw both bream and tench from my vantage point as they cruised past. But not one even stooped so much as a millimetre to investigate my free baits. Seeing those fish moving around around in the clear water served to confirm that fish in Coombe rarely feed out of the dusk till dawn period of the day.

My last afternoon on the lake was spent sitting on my unhooking mat leaning against a tree lost in the pages of a book, which truth be told is a much better way to spend a sunny afternoon rather than being at work. Even as I pondered the lack of action in the final twenty four hours I felt no ill feelings in relation to spending so much time by the lake as I had learnt so much about what, when and where. And now I was back involved with the lake I knew it would be that long until I was back to take full advantage of my new found knowledge.

A very special thing

I am by my own admission a heavy user of fishing tackle. Put it this way, it is not often that once finished with an item that it is afforded a second life via purchase or give-away. But I must say I am not an abuser of tackle either, it just that I choose the items I want carefully then fish them to death using them in a multitude of ways. Generally speaking what happens is the item of tackle becomes worn out over a prolonged period then it fails in some small way. It is then repaired a few times before I arrive at the decision that it has had it.

There is one exception though! One special item of tackle which I have cared for over all others since the day it came into my hands. Sixteen years ago to the day, I turned twenty one and on that day JB gave me a gift that was a fishing rod. Up until this point most of my gear I had been using was borrowed or very cheaply purchased and therefore was rough to say the least. This rod though was another thing. It was light, long and it came in a fancy bag.

It's not often that an item of tackle actually improves massively how you fish. Sure they make you feel extra confident and the like, but truthfully they don't make an epic difference in most cases. This rod however marked that step from rubbish gear to proper gear for me and hand on heart doubled my cast. If it wasn't for the water I was fishing I would have never known either. You see we were always were aiming to fish the very end of a huge lily bed that emanated from the public bank on Coombe pool. The whoosh that fibre glass and over-flexing carbon made would be all you'd hear from us on a Sunday morning as we tried to hit that sweet spot at the end of the pads. Then the first time I took a shot with my new Diawa tornado-Z thirteen foot match rod I literally cast past the end of the lily's and almost twice as far again. I can actually remember looking down at the rod and declaring my love there and then.

I just happened that Coombe pool was in a good phase that year and me and my new rod tore it limb from limb fishing wag and mag at the end of those pads. Every Sunday I would underarm four or more Jaffas of Van Den Eyned out into the lake. Then in between catapulting out gentles I would be casting and striking at the plethora of species that were attracted to the bait. Almost every week we'd fill a net with roach, perch and skimmers. Add to them the few slabs we would pinch and the occasional big perch or roach and we were in heaven.

Coombe shifted phases and I moved on with my faithful rod in tow. From commercials to the broads and right up natural streams high in the welsh mountains I fished them all with this rod. Carp, trout, pike and eels it seemed able to handle them all when they came along. It was me that changed though! My love of fishing grew and changed then other species demanded stronger tackle, then I wanted to catch bigger fish and that meant specialist tackle. All the time though this rod was hidden away back in it's fancy bag waiting for me to pick it up once again.... and I did.

After years ignored I needed float rod to trot for grayling and the super light Tornado came out of retirement. Our relationship was rekindled and with my new passion for fishing pole floats under rod tips for crucians and tench it seemed like it would never end and it didn't. Though now I am careful with this special thing and I find myself not risking it as much as I did in the early days and use it mainly for smaller species. Saying that you cant always choose what you catch, like last year when a rude near twenty pound carp snuffled up my bait intended for crucians. The Tornado proved it was well enough made and still in good enough condition to win that battle.

More recently I've been using it to pry some delicate feeding tench from a rediscovered water and it as always it never lets me down. Bending from butt to tip it seems to just absorb the violent runs whilst reminding that there is so much fun to be had with a light float rod rather than sitting behind buzzers propping up Avon style rods

It only seemed right that sixteen years after receiving it as a present I should find myself sitting fishing with it on my birthday. As I waited for the next soft biting tench to lift my float I sat back and remembered some of the wonderful fish, amazing places I've been and great times I have had with this rod. The memories I recalled were so cherished and made me so happy it actually bought me so much genuine joy that I had to contact JB and thank her again sixteen years later for buying me such a special thing.

And again, thank you JB :)