When is
a National Park not a National Park?
When it’s the Broads National Park.
For some years the Broads Authority has been lobbying for the area to
gain national park status. Surely for a
renowned area of natural beauty this should be a no-brainer? Standing in the way is the ‘Sandford
principle’ which states; “where
irreconcilable conflicts exist between conservation and public enjoyment, then
conservation interest should take priority”. Obviously anglers will be very wary of this
as we already have to contend with too many restrictions and exclusions. The boating fraternity have far more to lose
however and it is this well-heeled and influential group that holds sway within
the BA. We have seen the lengths the
boaters can push the BA to with the ill-conceived dredging of Heigham Sound a
few years ago. Thankfully this project
is being handled more sensitively nowadays and it seemed as if a bit of common
sense had crept into the Broads Authority.
To cut a
very long story short, the BA has side stepped the Sandford principle by a
simple re-branding. The Norfolk and
Suffolk Broads have been renamed the Broads National Park. Apparently the broads are equal to the
countries other national parks without having the legal status. The new name alone will give the area all the
advantages it needs without actually having to conform to the “legal
restrictions”. So it’s not a national
park but its okay to call it a national park?
So if I piss into an empty bottle can I call it lager? You have to laugh at the BA’s use of double
speak but from a purely selfish point of view, it’s all fine by me. I’m sceptical towards any changes being to
angler’s advantage. Anyway...
I never
sleep well the night before a fishing trip and was up at 0445, before the alarm
had even sounded. For the first time in a
year I braved the ordeal of dragging myself out of a warm bed at a stupid time
on a cold frosty morning. My motivation
was the first trip of the year to the special place. Everything that could be sorted was loaded
already so it was just a case of filling the flasks and hitting the road. At that time of day the roads were empty and
the drive was easy. A Barn Owl ghosted
along the verge, ‘Goat’ throbbed from the speakers and my head bobbed to the
rhythm.
I’ve
launched in the dark so many times that it’s smooth and easy nowadays, apart
from having to shift thick ice from the boat cover. Launching does require a bit of sweat and grunt,
I remembered not to layer up with too many clothes before the boat was on the
water, I don’t want to be sweating this early in the day. Bait catching is quick and easy and all over
in a few minutes, knowing where is the key.
I sorted the boat and tackled up in the dark, this way I make far less
noise when I’m out on the water. Another
boat at the slip gave me the hurry up; you don’t often get that at the times I
usually launch. The engine doesn’t want
to start at first but eventually splutters into life and farts its way out onto
the broad then off to my destination.
I cut
the engine about 100 yards short of the spot then rowed in and quietly dropped
the weights. Three rods with float leger
rigs were baited with deadbaits and positioned around the boat, two covering a
feature the other in open water. The
fourth rod had a live Roach fished on a float rig and allowed to drift
downwind. With the rods out I got the
boat tidy and organised then put the cuddy half up for a windbreak. Time to relax, pour a brew and reach for the
rizla (“judge not, before ya judge
yaself…”). A deep relaxed sigh… Here
I am, sitting in my comfortable chair, looking out across a beautiful wetland
wilderness; just 2 1/2 hours after getting up; “it was all worth it, to be here now…” Bliss.
After
half an hour the first Harrier had drifted in silhouette into the trees. There was no spectacular sunrise today, just
slowly growing light behind a blanket of low cloud. I’m in the mood for music today so I have
Radio6 music tuned in and playing quietly in the boat. The DJ is Marianne Hobbs and she’s on top form
with Led Zep’s “Ramble on”. What is
Plant on about? “It was in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair…” Must have been some trip Bob! This was followed by loads of good tunes; the
Charlatans, and Kraftwerk to name just a couple.
After
forty five minutes I’ve been twitching all the baits and recast the Lamprey as
there was more weed than I expected. The
conditions aren’t great, the temperature has been low for a couple of weeks so
it may pay to keep them baits on the move because I don’t think the Pike will
be travelling far today. I need to cover
water and try to put a bait so close to a fish that it’s too good to miss. I expect it to be a hard, slow day and just
putting a fish in the boat will be a result but this is a place in which dreams
can come true. It’s nice to see a Grebe
working the area. It knows what I know
and much, much more. By now it’s a
little brighter with blue sky visible through holes in the thinning cloud, the
light westerly is giving just enough ripple, the water is moving, the deadbait
scents will be drifting.
By 0900
the sun is out and the shades are on, not only do they filter the sun they keep
the wind off exposed skin, it’s a raw one today. Good gloves are essential too, especially
when hauling up wet anchor ropes. I use
‘Sealskinz’ which are tough, 100% waterproof, the thumb and forefinger fold back
and are held by magnets freeing my fingers for fiddly jobs. The gloves rarely have to come off throughout
the day. I’ve had mine over a year now
and there’s no sign of damage, not cheap at around £40 but money well spent. Breakfast
is digestive biscuits, quick easy and filling.
I can’t be arsed with the fry up these days, too much mess and too
distracting. Time is up on this spot, I
have to move on.
I lift
the weights and drift downwind a hundred yards or so, paddling with an oar to
maintain course. The same four baits are
arranged and I sit back to scan the floats some more. I’ll give it an hour here and if nothing
happens I’ll start the engine and head off elsewhere. Thinking ahead… I wish I’d noticed where the
other boat went first thing but I was concentrating on getting the baits
out. My guts are rumbling, wish I’d
curled one off before I left this morning.
Sipping tea and watching the water, the strange calls of cranes away to
the south. Mary Anne sounds like she
nods off to sleep between tunes but had carried on in good form with Primal
Scream and an old Michael Jackson tune from back when he was still black. Now Cerys Matthews has taken over with a
silky, sexy voice but she plays a load of folky, country shite so I switch the
radio off for a while.
Late
morning and I’m taking a slow cruise to another mark, one that has form for
good fish at this time of day, at this time of year. But that was before the last Prymnesium,
things are much tougher these days. A
cruising harrier crosses my path on its way to join another to the east of
me. This area is always a reliable spot
to watch the Harriers and the occasional Buzzard. Once again I cut the engine and row into
position in the ‘midday bay’, dropping the livebait over the side on the way,
paying out line as I go. I’ll slowly
draw it back towards my anchored boat over the next hour or so. Once the boat is secure the deadbaits are
spread and I sit back to watch the Harriers which don’t disappoint. There are loads of swans here too, thankfully
keeping their distance, going arse upwards to get to the weed. It’s still bright and the wind has picked up
now, whistling through the reeds but it definitely feels much milder than it
has for a few days.
After
just over an hour I lift the weights again and drift further into the bay. With the baits out again it’s time for lunch,
a cold tin of pilchards followed by a chocolate bar and more biscuits. I have a tin of soup but can’t be bothered
and only use the stove to boil the kettle and top up the flasks. Cerys Matthew got better, peaking with a
Royksopp track then there was a Smashing Pumpkins gig. It’s great to be back out in the boat but the
fish aren’t where I expect to find them and what I’m doing isn’t working
today. After a bit of thought I decide
to have a complete change of method and the time to do it is right now!
Half an
hour later I kill the engine once again and quickly rearrange the boat. I have a bucket full of bait and I’m going to
try and use it! The two rods with bottom
end floats are put to one side while the other two rigged up with inline floats
are adjusted slightly and set to troll livebaits through an area I rarely
fish. I head off on the oars, it’s a
while since I’ve trolled and it takes me a few minutes, making the same old
mistakes, before I get the hang of it again.
After that it comes easy and I oh so slowly covered water. After forty minutes or so I’m happy with the
way I’m fishing but I haven’t dragged a bait close enough to a Pike and
then… A float buries and the baitrunner
starts to sing my favourite song. I
quickly drop the small weight over the side then pick up the rod and wind into
a fish. It’s only a jack but it pulls
the rod round and I’m well pleased to chin it out. The hooks come out with my fingers and I
notice the fish has loads of leaches hitching a ride. Some say this is a sign of a fish that hasn’t
been moving very much and I’ve definitely noticed Pike are more leachy when it’s
cold. The change of plan has worked; I
have a fish under my belt now it’s time for another.
Another
twenty minutes pass and as my first float passes alongside a nice feature it
slowly and effortlessly slides across the surface. Weight down, pick up rod and… Yes! Another Pike hooked. This one is a little bigger than the first but
not enough to excite many Pikers, still on a cold day it puts a warm smile on
my face. However I still want more and
bigger.
I
trolled for another hour, going back over the areas that had produced fish but
failed to find any more Pike. With the
sun going low I started the engine again and headed back towards base then
settle down fishing three deads and a live once more. Ducks are quaking and there’s the roosting
racket of a gazillion gulls. I’d have said that the dusk period would be the
best chance of a fish today but I’m not really feeling it. Still I go through the motions and settle
down to watch the sun set. Dusk is an
eerie time out here in the wilds. The
shadowy trees are threatening and the gulls now sound like they’re challenging
me for invading their space. It’s now
1700 and almost dark; I’ll give it half an hour more. It has been a tough day but making a change
has brought me a couple of fish and I’ve enjoyed the time on the water. I’m probably a day or so early, it’s been a
bit warmer but not warm enough. The next
couple of days should see fish moving but I’ll be back at work, typical.
By 1830
I’m off the water and looking forward to a sixty mile drive on crappy
roads. For company I had a Richie Benaud
audio book describing some great West Indian cricketers; Wes Hall, Michael
Holding and Sir Viv Richards. After that
I had another blast of Goat which saw me home.
By the time I’d unloaded the car and closed the door behind me it was
gone eight o clock and I’d enjoyed every minute. I choose the places I spend my time in
carefully. I enjoy just being there,
letting the countryside cleanse the bullshit of modern life from my soul. I’m dreaming of catching the most special
Broadland queen but along the way I get a buzz from every one of her little
sisters.
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