Fishing and fishing

I consider myself very lucky to have a small group of close friends, we’ve known each other since the eighties and have grown up together.  Fishing has been a constant thread that has helped bind us for over forty years, one of the greatest things about this sport of ours.  Me and Mr T met through a shared love of music, beer and good times and we’d known each other years before we ever fished together.  Nowadays it’s probably the thing we do most.  I suppose most of my fishing is somehow ‘serious’ in as much as I am hoping to catch a specific species or a fish of a certain size, you could say my motivation is some kind of target fish but that definitely wouldn’t be the case tonight.

This evening we hauled our gear to a spot that would give us a little respite from the fresh north easterly.  We quickly set up in the sunshine, the rods were cast and crucially on this occasion, the shelter erected.  We settled into our chairs, opened a couple of beers and there we pretty much stayed because the fish were showing zero interest.  We’d occasionally get up to freshen the baits which were coming back quite undamaged but honestly this was irrelevant.  If the fishing had been too busy we wouldn’t have had half as much time to chat and the night wouldn’t have been anywhere near as enjoyable.

High tide came and went, the sun dipped and it was the fading daylight that finally seemed to trigger a fish or two.  We had a few rattles and between us managed to drag a tiny Dogfish and a decent Whiting up the beach.  Had we stayed I’m sure we’d have caught a few more fish but the cold wind made emerging from shelter a chore so we decided to get away before things got too uncomfortable.

A week later this time fishing alone, my mindset was totally different, this time with no company other than the noises in my mind I was focussing on the fishing.  The day was pleasant, mild and bright with a light south easterly but of course its always a few degrees cooler on the east coast.  I travelled from a different direction on unfamiliar roads, the journey seemed quick and I was soon pulling up at a coastal car park. 

Emerging through the scrub I was surprised to find an empty beach, the tide was at its lowest with a lot of the ground I’d be fishing over revealed to the eye, a small gully of water ran along the beach about twenty five yards from the high tide mark.  I took a couple of minutes to make a couple of practice casts, ensuring I’d be able to drop the rig into this gully when the tide climbed further up the slope.  The usual Pennelled squid was hurled eastward on the heavy rod and I put a two hook flapper on the light rod, small baits hoping for a flatty early on in the tide.  By 1830 I was sat comfortably in front of the shelter looking up at two rod tips that were almost still.  The salty liquid mass was pretty flat today which always makes life easier.

Two hours passed, the sun sank and obviously the sky grew dark while the sea crept relentlessly closer.  Everything seemed right for a fish but the tips were motionless, I’d have no trouble seeing any bites but there was nothing to see, the baits had been coming back a bit chewed but they’d been getting a long soak.  I changed the lighter rod swapping to a running leger rig and wondered why I ever use anything else?  I’ve been mucking about with multi hook rigs for a couple of years and I’m not convinced they catch me any more fish.  I’m not match fishing and do I really want to be winding in two or three small fish at a time?  But to be fair at that moment I would have been happy to see any kind of fish, any size.

Whenever sea fishing is like this it feels like you’ll never get another bite, ever.  To catch feels impossible.  Then at 2045 a sharp pull on the heavy rod changed the vibe completely!  A minute or so later the tip pulled round solidly and I was on my feel pulling a decent fish towards the shore.  Heavy tackle, a running tide and a bit of weight on the end makes hauling it all back towards me a laborious task but when a nice Ray was revealed by a retreating wave it proved well worth it.  This one didn’t go smoothly as I managed to tangle with the other line but this was soon sorted and a fish of about three pounds was returned.  I would have taken a quick picture but the phone was in the car and I'd killed the camera batteries trying to take photos of the moon.  Yes really.

Half an hour passed before the same rod was banging again and I winched a second, smaller Ray onto the beach.  This was quickly unhooked and returned, as usual the next hooklength was baited and ready, another squid was thrown out and disappeared into the darkness.  This rod was hardly back on the tripod before the lighter rod banged over for the first time this evening and I wound in a decent sized Whiting.  I’d just chucked this back when I had another good bite on the heavy rod, the tip was dragged down low and it looked like I’d be into another Ray but the tip straightened again, whatever it was had made its getaway. 

After that mad hour things settled into a more normal rhythm, fishy attention on most casts but fewer proper bites.  A good whack on the heavy rod around 2215 resulted in me battling with something spirited which the waves revealed to be my first Bass on the year and it was a good one that was not quite legal size.  Shortly after this another similar bite seemed like it would give me the same result, something decent battled in the shallows but my last pull up the beach only saw the hook pull and whatever it was, probably another Bass (?) made its getaway so I’ll never know.  Most of the bites were coming to baits given the big chuck and I considered putting a pulley rig on the lighter rod too.  But by this time the tide was way up the beach and I’d started dropping the lighter rod into the gully, this brought me a couple of fast bites but I was too slow to hit them.  Something to try on another day though…

By 2300 I was knackered and even though high tide was still about ninety minutes away I decided to get away.  I’d caught a few fish and was confident of more but I’d actually run out of steam.  As usual I tidied everything up and packed away the shelter before starting on the rods.  While I packed up the light rod I was sure the other, now resting on my chair, was banging a bit and so it proved, a Dogfish had hung itself for my fifth and final fish of the night.  This was soon back in the briny and within a few minutes I was loaded up and trudging back across the shingle, happy with how my evening had gone. Then again, maybe I should have fished both rods with pulley rigs whacked out?  Whatever, I set out hoping to catch Rays and succeeded, I also had a nice sized Bass so a successful fishing trip but was it more enjoyable than the previous one?  I’m happy I have time to do both.

Salty dogs

Saturday drifted by, helped by a trip to the tackle shop and a series of garden jobs; the grass received its first mow for the year and there was another skirmish in the ongoing war against the Beech hedge.  I got my tackle ready at a leisurely pace then all of a sudden it was time to go, I set off for the beach, another first for the year.  It was a slow drive east through countryside still showing winter’s scars although the fresh green is starting to show through again.  Through one of the “quaint” parts of the county, the Ukrainian flags still fly. Yeah that’s helping.  No Palestinian flags though, this is posh Suffolk after all.

The day had been bright but had clouded over late in the afternoon, the wind was from the south west and was forecast to gain strength.  I loaded up then hiked through scrub to find four anglers already pitched up and fishing, an unusual occurrence on this beach though I’m sure it has nothing to do with being featured by a three minute hero on youtube recently.  My hike continued for a little way, about as far north as I could go before the ground gets too snaggy for comfort.  The sloping beach in front of me had plenty of debris but when I’ve fished here before it hasn’t been a problem.  The sea beyond this looked okay, not too bouncy at least.  I quickly set up two rods; on the lighter rod I fished a flapper rig with two small hooks baited with strips of mackerel, with this I was just trying to get a bite though I hoped for something flat.  On the heavy rod I used the regular pulley rig with bigger baits for bigger fish, hopefully I’ll find a Thornback tonight.

By 1850 everything was sorted and I was sitting comfortably in my shelter sipping a brew and staring up at rod tips, outside there was a cool wind building strength and the roll and boom of the waves.  Today was New moon so there’d be a big tide moving a lot of water and climbing high up the beach.  If I stayed late I might need to retreat at some point.  High tide was due just before midnight and my timings had focused around this, I hadn’t considered the rapidly fading light.  This was no problem as I was expecting to fish in darkness I just didn’t realise what should have been obvious, that I’d be needing the head torch and tip lights quite so soon.  The fading light is often a trigger and when I wound in the light rod a few minutes later I found a small Whiting attached. By the time this rod was back out it seemed proper dark and everything was lit up, torches and tips.

At 1920 the heavy rod banged over and I wound in a Dogfish.  I soon got another squid back into the sea and within minutes the tip thumped again, the result another doggie.  While I was dealing with this the light rod started banging and this time I wound in another Whiting.  I hadn’t managed to recast this before the heavy rod was going again but this time I missed it.  When I managed to sit down again a mad half hour had passed, these hectic spells are fun but I was non stop; baiting up, casting, winding in, unhooking then baiting up again.  I always have duplicate hooklengths baited and ready to go to make sure I have baits in the water for the longest possible time but for a while I couldn’t keep up.

By 2005 it had probably been fully dark for a while though my world was a torch beam and I hadn’t noticed the progression, the spell of proper bites had also finished.  For the rest of the evening I had action of some kind on almost every cast but prolonged ‘strike-able’ bites were few.  Indeed as the wind strengthened through the evening the tips were in constant motion and spotting anything at all became difficult.  Around 2045 I’d seen a few rattles on the heavy rod and wound it in to find a bigger Whiting which had taken a chunk of herring.  I decided to switch the lighter rod over to a second pulley rig, fishing bigger baits which I fished it at mixed distances, dropping in close every other cast.  Despite the beach being busy I was barely aware of the other anglers as I was down wind and had my back to them all night, the fishing was relaxing and enjoyable with enough going on to make me feel I could catch at any time.

2105, a little under three hours before high tide, was that a thump on the heavy rod?  Yes it was, persistent pulls yanked the tip over and I wound into a heavy weight which throbbed and pulled as I slowly pumped it back towards the shore.  Surely this must be a Ray?  I’ve thought this before and been tricked by a Doggie with attitude but whatever this was it was pulling back and I wanted to see it.  My pressure and a convenient wave deposited a fish onto the shingle and yes it was my first Thornback of the year.  I guessed it would weigh three and a bit pounds but a quick check on the scales showed it was just over four, that’ll do nicely.

That was the highlight of the night, as time passed so the wind increased and the tips were ever more wobbly.  Inside the shelter all was calm and comfort but outside it was getting wild.  The wind was blowing across me from right to left and controlling the line on the longer casts was a problem.  I often had to wind in a lot of slack before making a decent contact with the lead.  When the tips done something a bit different I would wind in to check though I was never sure what to expect.  I managed to catch another Dogfish on the light rod and a small Pouting on the heavier set up.  By 2300 I figured my chances of another Ray were diminishing just as the wind was still building.  It was still an hour before high tide but I decided I’d had enough, tidied the kit, took down the shelter then commenced getting the rods in quickly.  First the light rod then the heavy rod last on which I found a fourth and final Dogfish.

I was getting wind blasted as I tramped across the shingle but as soon as I cleared the beach the sound of the waves vanished and I was sheltered from the wind.  Tonight it was a relief to shut the car door and block out the elements, then settle into a comfortable seat. My first saltwater trip of the year couldn’t have gone much better, nine fish of four species including a decent Ray, that’ll do me.  Next the return journey through dark country lanes with Primal Scream as company.

 

Happy New Year

When the river season closes I can’t just stop, I have to have one more go for Pike just to get it out of my system, put a full stop on the season and dispose of any unwanted bait.  It had to be a stillwater but I loaded the kit I’ve been using on the river.  I didn’t really know where to look for fish so wanted to keep on the move, a couple of deadbait rods and a few lures would do me.  We’ve crept past the equinox now and the roadsides were clad in white and yellow blossom, the world will be green again before you know it.

I was fishing by 0715 on a cloudy but mild morning which would have felt warmer without the south easterly blowing into my chops.  The first swim looked the part and it’s one place I have caught at this time of year, but not today.  A small fish followed a springdawg but that was my lot.  I also tried a couple of shads and a slider; I wonder why all my lures begin with an S?  After a couple of lazy hours here I moved along the bank into a tight swim between trees, both of which looked good places to drop my baits while I covered the water with lures.  After twenty minutes or so there was a solid thump and I was into a fish on a shad which charged about for a bit before I got it in the net where it tried to charge about some more.  A decent sized Pike was soon unhooked and returned.

After another half hour I moved again into a more open swim which gave me plenty of space to thrash the lure rod around.  And this I did, catching a fish had given me confidence and the water looked lovely and clear.  Of course it was the deadbait rod that trundled off, a take on a freshly cast herring but the bait was dropped as I wound down and there were no further signs here.  One last move, an hour spent listening to birdsong and trying to identify the little brown blobs.  Then I was amused by the antics of a large flock of Starlings which made quite a noise while perched but this ceased the second they took flight, like someone had pressed a switch.  Nothing here on bait or lures and I decided I’d had enough, for the day and for the season. 

Happy New Year
When the rest of the world goes mad on New years eve it means nothing to me; I enjoy the music on BBC2 but that’s as far as it goes.  For many years I went with the flow and pretended otherwise but in all the ways that really matter my new year begins sometime in mid March when I stop Pike fishing.  After that I’ll be doing something different so let the New year begin. So now is the appropriate time to look back at the previous four quarters in review, so to speak.
Starting off on the beaches; fishing for Rays wasn’t consistent this year but I caught a few, the best weighing 5-08 and 5-14.  The Bass fishing was good throughout with loads caught, plenty of keepers and five that were 44cms/2+.  I had eight different species including a PB Flounder early on in the year and a couple of Turbot but didn’t see a sign of a Smoothound.
Apart from one day on an old pit all of my course fishing was done on rivers.  In East Anglia I caught nine different species including a Chub of 4-07 which is the biggest I’ve caught ‘on purpose’.  Also Perch to 1-14, my first two Brown Trout – best 2-02 and my first Gudgeon and Minnows for more years than I can remember.
Not too long ago I’d only ever caught one 4+ Chub which was by accident on a lure.  This season alone I had seven which must make it my best ever?  Most of these came from my favourite river out west. Here I also caught more Barbel than in any previous twelve months including my best from the river at 8-11.
Almost half of almost every season is spent trying to catch Pike and this has been a strange few months for many reasons.  I didn’t get it quite right in Norfolk, I still managed to do okay but there’s a feeling it could have been better.  Having a ‘new’ water to go at was refreshing and really enjoyable and having a couple of old haunts to fall back on meant I caught Pike steadily all season.  So I’ve had plenty of better seasons and many that weren’t as productive but any ‘year’ I catch at least one twenty pounder has to be a good one.

Next time I fish it will be in salt water; firstly hoping to catch Rays then as the weeks pass it will be Bass and then the elusive Smoothound.  Usually this will involve a bit of a hike across unpredictable terrain to reach an inhospitable location where I usually sit on my arse, hypnotised by the rhythm of the rod tips and being deafened by booming waves and rolling shingle.  I always arrive home knackered, often in the early hours and always stinking like a deadbait bag.  What’s not to like?

Rivers run

I’d always planned to have a go for Chub this winter but have been thoroughly enjoying the Pike fishing so never got around to it but with time running out I was suddenly inspired.  After a rummage in the shed I put together some bits and pieces, a few slices of bread and some worms from the compost, loaded up and head for the river.  By 0945 I was settled into a swim I’d caught plenty of autumn fish from, this was the upstream end of a row of nice far bank overhangs.  The plan was to gradually move downstream searching the likely looking chubby holes as I went.  I fished a small feeder on a running rig then a two foot hooklength with a size 10 hook.  I had a little oily groundbait which I mixed with some brown crumb just to put some smell in the water, hookbait was mostly flake but I occasionally tried a worm.  The day was cooler than of late with a north westerly wind blowing clouds in front of the sun.

Three swims and three hours later I hadn’t had a bite and I’d covered less water than I hoped.  I was tempted to head for home but there were a couple more fishable swims and one of them I liked the look of.  When I returned with my gear I had a look at next downstream spot and for some reason this felt right so I quietly settled here instead and from the first cast there were signs of fish about.  This started off as plucks and twitches on the tip followed by good fast bangs that a proper Chub angler would probably have hooked but I was about a week late.  Then a proper pull round Barbel style three foot twitch that I also failed to connect with, when I wound in the hook had gone.  I couldn’t remember the breaking strain of any of the hooklengths I’d tied but they looked too fine so I tied up another with eight pounds mono.  Soon the flake was back in the spot but of course that had killed the swim.

I passed another hour dropping the feeder into different parts of the swim hoping my luck would change…  Meanwhile a bit of light rain was blowing in now and again and it was beginning to feel chilly, I was starting to think I’d had enough for the day.  Then a twitchy movement on the tip had me striking thin air but boosted my confidence.  I looked at my watch and realised I’d have to be on the road soon so frisbeed the last of the bread down river then added on last lump of flake to the hook, this would definitely be my last cast.  Would you believe it for once it happened, I had a good firm bite, set the hook and steered a writhing Chub away from the snags and into the net.  It was only a couple of pounds or so but punched above its weight and I was pleased to see it.  Then I packed up and went home.

 

Either side of this I made a couple of trips to Norfolk where its always inconsistent at this time of year.  There have been three or four occasions where things have gone spectacularly in March but more often than not I find myself chasing ghosts as was the case on my most recent visits.  Conditions were pretty good and it was pleasant weather to be sat in a boat, I worked hard, moved regularly and covered loads of water but just managed a single jack on each visit.  Even after all these years there’s still stuff to learn and every season I catch Pike from somewhere I’ve never fished before.  I’m not done yet!

Plan B

I was supposed to go to Norfolk today but the weather was all wrong and honestly, its hard enough at the best of times.  So no early start, I rolled out of bed around 0700 and pottered about a bit before loading up and scraping ice from the screen.  Destination today was the river and when I got my first glimpse I was surprised to see it well up and pushing through.  I’d got out of the habit of checking the levels but surely we hadn’t had that much rain lately?  Well I suppose that extra water must have come from somewhere.  No matter, at least it would narrow the options a bit, I’d mostly be fishing slacks today.

I was fishing by 0830, two deadbaits, sardine and bluey as usual, in a swim which gave me loads of options within a sensible distance of the chair.  Apart from being cold the morning was misty without a breath of wind.  The late change of plans had me disorganised, I didn’t notice one of the rods I’d picked up was set up with a leger rig and as I was travelling light I had no spare floats nor bobbins.  I had to improvise with a weight attached to a battered poly ball hanging on the line.  In reality I didn’t need to do this because sitting close to the rod, watching the tip and the line I would comfortably see any movement.  For some reason I felt obliged, blame the internet experts with their buzzers back and front along with three ounce leads.  To be fair a bit more lead might have been handy today as there was enough flow to shift the float rig and a one ounce bomb but I was mostly interested in the slacks so no drama.

I felt lazy today but this was kind of justified by the conditions and I had plenty of scope to move the rods and cover water.  After an hour I dropped half a bluey in close just downstream and ten minutes later the tip banged and the bobbin jumped, followed belatedly by a bleep from the alarm.  I wound down, felt the weight and…  Bugger!  Nothing there once again, this keeps happening on this river!  I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself as the other rod cast to the far slack was moving and this time I did set the hooks.  A nice sized fish plodded around and tried to hang in the flow but it couldn’t hold out for long and I soon had it in the net.  A nice low double, probably a fish I’ve caught already this year?  I’ll check later.

I stayed put for a while longer, the mist cleared and the sun came out, for some reason it didn’t feel right for Pike fishing now.  Time for a change of scenery, a short move downstream to a spot that allowed me to squeeze a bait into a small bay, this was just off the main river and surrounded by reeds.  I’d never been tempted before but today it looked right and within seconds the float jabbed… And then did nothing??  A minute or so later it did it again and I couldn’t resist checking it, winding in to find nothing but my bait which had been battered before I cast it.  I fished here for twenty minutes or so and the jabs on the float kept occurring.  I tried shallowing up the float and fishing the bait just off bottom and this too received the quick pulls followed by nothing.  In the end I gave up and moved on to the next bend, what was causing the float to pull like that remains a mystery but I wonder if the bastards had claws?

After forty five minutes in the new swim I’d decided on a move and was actually about to wind the leger rod in when the bobbin started dancing.  Happy days, pick up the rod wind down and there was nothing there FFS!  I recast and sat back on the chair to ponder.  This happens a hell of a lot on this river and almost always on a bluey.  They can’t all be trout and I haven’t forgotten how to set hooks so what is going on?  The penny dropped eventually, just a couple of months too late.  On similar sized rivers closer to home, I’d expect to encounter plenty of Jacks but here almost everything I’ve caught has been over six pounds and plenty big enough to handle half a bluey.  On my home rivers I used to fish smaller baits; sprats, smelt and herring mostly and that’s probably what I should be doing here.  The trouble is bluey gets me twice as many takes as all the other baits put together.

Time passed, the weather actually felt warm for the first time this year and it was nice just being there.  But despite moving twice more I hadn’t found any more Pike and was running out of spots that inspired any confidence.  Not strictly true, there are a couple of places where I would have fancied my chances but that would have meant a long walk, past the car and then some.  The time was 1430 and I’d had enough so the walk stopped at the car and went no further.

"Here's to Swimming..."

Fishing the special place in winter means a 0430 start then a trying hour long drive (if I’m lucky) on inconsistent roads, another half hour at the slipway followed by a run on the outboard.  If conditions are favourable I’m in with a chance of a fish or two but I’ll have to work hard to find them, they rarely hang around anywhere for long.  Next winter will be totally different again. 

A recent trip was a case in point; I started off at a spot that is as consistent as anywhere at this time of year, meaning maybe 1 in 3?  There was nothing doing here so I kept searching, conditions were good and I expected Pike to be active but if this was the case then I was nowhere near them.  At my sixth spot around 1350 at last a float slid away and a boated a mint fish of eight or nine pounds on sardine.  When you find one there’s often another so I stayed in the vicinity for a while but nothing doing.  I finished on the other side of the broad at dusk by which time I’d fished nine swims and hadn’t found any more fish. 

I cut and run, got off the water before it was fully dark.  Another half hour at the slip then a longer drive back home where I spent a while sorting the gear out.  I was out of the shower by 2030, slumped into my chair, totally knackered.  A long day that seems to get harder every winter but while I’m still enjoying it I’ll keep going, keep searching for the unknown monster whose actual existence is mostly irrelevant.  But every time that float moves it becomes real for a short time at least.

The other boat also is in a wild space but is much more prolific and predictable waters, it’s a rare day when we don’t bring a fish or two onboard.  Getting there and getting afloat is a much quicker, more simple affair.  It’s comfortable and convenient.  A couple of weeks ago I went out in it with Mr P for company, an annual trip where I try to show him there’s more to life than carp.  Usually my guest catches most of the fish but today they favoured me, I had three to Mr P’s one and we both had takes which were dropped before we made contact.  All of these were lovely dark fish between eight and twelve pounds and came to a variety of deadbaits float legered, it was a really enjoyable day with good company and loads of laughter.  This fishing has a hell of a lot going for it but it doesn’t fire the imagination and so I still prefer the masochism.

Quint by Robert Lautner

It’s no exaggeration for me to say that watching “Jaws” at an impressionable age shaped the course of my life.  Spielberg’s film and to a lesser extent Peter Benchley’s novel sowed the seed that led me to become a lifelong angler, earning a living from the trade; I know many of my fishing friends are fans too.  When I saw this book I thought “It’ll probably be crap but I have to read it”.  Sometimes its good to be wrong, if you are a ‘Jaws’ fan then I confidently predict you will enjoy reading this.
Robert Lautner has created the history of Quint’s life, consistent with the book but without doubt this is the character as portrayed brilliantly by Robert Shaw in the film, the narrative is in his voice and we can see that look in his eye.  This is the story of how the character that takes Brodie and Hooper out fishing came to be; we learn the stories behind the scars and we hear him speak of the doomed USS Indianapolis. The war story he tells intertwines with Quint’s current circumstances, another dangerous journey which sees him look death in the eye as it swims past him.
This is a really good book, the author has obviously done his research otherwise he could never have pulled it off, the Indianapolis was no fiction and this is respected.  The writing is very good, the scenes are vivid and feel real, in my mind I could see it all clearly.  Best of all this really feels like the manic Ahab Quint that came alive on screen, the story is told in his voice and it really is his voice. “Here’s to swimming with bow legged women!”

Half a bluey in it's gob

Mid week fishing is all very well but the bloody traffic!!  Especially when the A road is barely moving, again.  As expected my diversions had bottlenecks too and it was 0945 before I had a cast.  The river was up 18” or so today and pushing through a bit but still not what you would call flood conditions.  The paths were flooded however; deep, slippery mud in places but I managed to stay on two feet, just about.  My chosen swim is virtually a ‘U bend’ with slacks on both banks so I dropped a smelly deadbait into each. As usual simple inline float legers with the tips in the air to keep the braid out of the water.

I’ve come to expect an early take here and I wasn’t disappointed when the near side sardine started to move.  However I was disappointed when I wound down to find the bait had been dropped.  Another half hour passed, I’d been moving the baits about without finding anything and was contemplating a move downstream but my wandering attention was alerted by a micron, the bluey was moving but once again the bait was dropped before I made contact.  Highly frustrating.

Rain swept in so I took refuge under the brolly, muttered and ground my teeth…  A good thing about this kind of swim is I can reasonably move rods around, up and down stream and still have them only a couple of yards of my chair, a bit like fishing a point on a stillwater I suppose?  But by 1130 I felt like I was running out of options and was eyeing a move downstream once more.  Something splashed in the far slack, I don’t know what but it was sizable so across went the bluey again and five minutes later the bait was taken once more.  This time I managed to set the hook and the rod stayed bent.  Whatever it was felt heavy banging away out there and I wondered for a moment if I had something a bit bigger than the norm but it shrank at the net, still a Pike of twelve pounds or so.

I gave the swim another half hour then finally did have a move downstream, an hour fishing another bend with baits on the near side brought nothing and with rain closing in behind me, a rising river in front of me and a day in Norfolk to follow I decide to cut and run.

A day in the ‘other boat’ beckoned, my old pal Mr W joined me for the day which began a little uncomfortably on a damp drizzly morning.  This was soon forgotten as we found fish in the first spot.  I was away first with a fish of eight pounds or so on smelt followed by another slightly smaller one on lamprey.  A few minutes later it was Mr W’s turn with a low double putting a smile on his face. 

As expected it went quiet so we went wandering.  Fishing the other river has made me even more impatient so we moved every forty five minutes or so and there were few areas within reach we didn’t try at some point.  Mr W managed another small fish and later had a creature giving him a run around but it turned out to be a low double foul hooked in the tail.  The afternoons have been quiet here this season and this was the case again but at least the drizzle had stopped.  We kept on moving, trying a couple of areas I haven’t fished in years and here we did find some fish, in the form of a dropped take each.  By the time the sun was dropping we too were sagging so decided to get away home before the roads went mental.

Either side of that I had two trips out on the special place which epitomises the fishing there at this time of year.  I’d waited for conditions to be in my favour and mild, cloudy with a breeze does nicely, I knew well where I wanted to fish. For once it went like clockwork and I managed to drop onto a fish early on then caught a couple more through the day which is a result at any time.  Then on the next trip I had almost identical conditions and was confident of a repeat but despite doing the same things in the same places I didn’t see a float move.  I should have known better but that’s Norfolk and I’ll be drawn back again before long.

With the rest of the household off doing stuff of their own I didn’t see any point in staying home alone so quickly got some bits and pieces together for an afternoon on the river.  I was on the bank by 1330, walking a stretch of river I hadn’t looked at since the summer.  At that time I remembered it not been particularly inspiring from a Pikey point of view but there were a couple of pools worth searching so I walked a way downstream and set up on a nice looking bend.  The plan was simple, a couple of deadbaits dropped into likely looking spots for twenty minutes or so before moving onto another spot.

By 1530 I’d covered quite a bit of water, dropping baits into slacks, beside overhangs and sometimes bang in the middle but I hadn’t found any Pike.  My next spot was a place I’d caught plenty of silver fish back in the summer, with a small bush opposite me and a more substantial tree below me.  It was beneath this that I dropped half a bluey and after twenty minutes this was moving into mid river.  I set the hooks into something small and straight away I was aware the fight was ‘different’ and up popped another one of those spotty things.  It was a bit bigger than the one I’d caught in the summer, a new PB at 2-02 which somehow managed to get half a bluey into its gob.

I fished one more swim close to the car and enjoyed the sunset without anything else making off with a bait.  No Pike in the net this afternoon but searching out another stretch of water was time well spent.