Honours even

I’m awake before the alarm, there’s no point in rolling over because I won’t get back to sleep, not on a fishing day so I’m up early, boiling the kettle and filling flasks.  I had envisaged getting a sleepy teenage lad out of his bed would be difficult but no Isaac gets up and is almost human, after tea and toast he’s almost awake.  For once we are out of the door on schedule and on the road with ‘Twenty one Pilots’ blasting out of the stereo.  The kids have introduced me to this band and I really like them, both of us sing along on the journey.

A while later we arrive and start loading the boat, by the time we’re ready I can switch off the head torch.  The row down the stretch is with the wind, the row back could be tricky.  For some reason our weather forecasters have taken to giving storms names, I heard some explanation about “awareness” the other day, bollocks if you ask me.  Anyway ‘Brian’ was due in our part of the world around midday giving us three or four hours of comfortable fishing.  Isaac has usually had enough of fishing after a few hours while I would happily stay all day but with this forecast we’d both be happy to get home early.

We arrived at our first spot of the day only to discover the boat was missing one mud-weight, yes I should have checked.  Still no problem, I pushed an oar into the shallow margin and looped the rope around it then we set about getting a few deadbaits scattered around the swim.  With everything set we tried to get comfortable, settled back and relaxed with a bit of gentle piss taking; Dad gets some stick then replies, the laughter building.  Whoever gets the first fish will be in pole position for the wind up, talking of which it should have happened by now?  It’s been a while since I’ve fished this water and I’ve forgotten that this is normal and I never get a take here until I’ve had time to start scratching my head and wondering what’s going on?  There were plenty of natural distractions however, baitfish were topping in the area, there were skirmishing Swans which somehow managed to avoid our lines and we were treated to a close view of a Bittern which flew slowly along the stretch.

Something caught my eye, a float was on the move and it was mine!  I’ve not had much practice at this so far this autumn so it was a relief when everything went to plan and the rod bent round nicely.  A long, lean fish allowed itself to be pumped back to the boat where it woke up and charged around a bit.  As I reached for the net I heard the unmistakable sound of a ticking baitrunner, another one of my baits was on the move.  As I was otherwise engaged Isaac eagerly took his chance and poached a fish on my rod.  My fish was a low double which I unhooked in the net and returned in time to bag a fish of seven pounds or so for Isaac who had cheekily christened my new P3.  Honours even but my fish was the bigger.

We’d just got the boat back to normal when one of Isaac’s rods was away, I smiled to see him wind down and bend in as if he done it every week.  No sooner was this fish unhooked and returned when another of his rods was rattling off.  This time he done absolutely everything wrong, struck thin air but still managed to wind down again and hook his fish.   At this point things went pear shaped; the mooring rope slipped off the buried oar and the boat began to swing, what’s more one of my rods plopped over the side of the boat.  Thankfully Isaac’s fish were getting smaller and this one was soon secured in the net allowing me to swear heartily, retrieve the rod (eventually) and secure the boat once more.  Isaac managed to resist ribbing me for the calamity but wasn’t quiet about the 3-1 lead he’d now taken.

The swim had gone quiet so we had a short move downwind and started again.  It didn’t take long for one of my baits to be picked up again, the result was another jack.  On with another Mackerel and the float had hardly settled before it was travelling along the reedline once more.  No mistake and I levelled the score with another jack but they were definitely getting smaller.  Meanwhile it looked like ‘Brian’ was on his way as the wind was starting to gust, not a day to be afloat on a more exposed water.  It seemed a good idea to cover some of the distance back to base so we had another move.  Would we get another chance?  Yes, one of Isaac’s floats dipped and slid away giving him the chance to sneak a last minute winner but this time he wound down to a dropped and chewed bait.

The wind was starting to roar and we were both happy to settle for a 3-3 draw, the decision to move closer to the yard had been wise but rowing back was still a good work out.  We made it back to base without disaster and were back in the car before the rain came.  Because of the manic nature of the fishing I didn’t get the camera out at the right times but here’s a picture of someone keeping a careful eye on the floats.

Cursed

My attempts to catch bigger fish this year has already been farcical so in hindsight buying a load of new gear was a foolhardy thing to do.  Going into the autumn I had an unreasonable amount of things that needed christening, with two new hats, two reels, a rod and some scales along with the regular, less expensive bits and pieces.  The new tackle curse has me in its grip as my Pike fishing has only seen a couple of small fish boated along with several near misses and a ‘one that got away’ story that I’ll save for another day.  Meanwhile ALL of my local fishing mates have been amongst the fish…

On a recent trip a Lamprey rattled off in the dark, a chance to christen the P3!?  I wound down but the fish had dropped the bait.  A couple of hours later the same rod was away again, the biter was singing and the baitrunner purring, what could go wrong?  For a second time I wound down and felt absolutely fuck all.  An hour before dawn a third steady take on the Lamprey but this time I connected and the P3 took on a curve!  I steadily pumped back a decent weight that did nothing aside a few unmistakably fishy thumps, ‘what’s going on here?’  The beam of the head-torch revealed a ball of weed with a bloody Eel hanging out of it, a decent eel but still an anti-climax.

I haven’t fished for Eels for over thirty years but I take a great interest in anything written on the subject.  The thought of Eel fishing really appeals to me and I’ve often thought a couple of my local waters would be perfect for a big uncaught fish.  However, when I actually catch an accidental Eel I realise the cold, hard truth is I don’t like the bloody things.  I wouldn’t consider myself squeamish and in the past I’ve handled and even photographed lots of eels but these days they totally repulse me.  At least this one did.  By the time I’d cleared the weed the Eel had unhooked itself but had left me with a great ball of snotty mess and a rig that needed redoing.  By my standards this was a decent Eel so I decided to be brave and fetch the scales and christen another bit of kit but by the time I’d returned to the net the poxy thing had made its escape.

I did manage a couple of quick photos after I’d cleared the weed.  The float in the picture is seven inches long (and the absolute best float for Broadland Piking but not my design) so I reckon this fish was a little over three feet long and thick so I’m thinking between two and three pounds?  I could be miles out and I won't be trying to catch another one for a while.

So autumn is here and I’m doing what I love to do the most and though the Pike may be sparse other things make up for it.

Let me at 'em

 Time has been sparse this month and the only fishing I’ve done is an hour of half hearted lure chucking on a lake that resembled a beach in Poland.  I followed this a couple of weeks later with a similar half-hearted effort at the same place.  Part of me wants to have a go at this water but whenever I go there I just don’t feel it…  But there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, the decorating hell is almost over!!!  Hopefully everything will be cleared and I’ll be able to have a proper crack at fishing very soon…

I’m not long back from the fortieth anniversary PAC convention which took place at Kettering once again.  I enjoy it every year even though I’m mostly working, catching up and chatting with friends and colleagues is enough.  The 40^th anniversary display put together by Eddie Turner was brilliant, it’s a shame we couldn’t have this at every convention. This year I actually made it to a talk as well.  I’d never seen Dave Horton’s show before so I didn’t want to miss him again, I wasn’t disappointed.  Dave lays himself bare, makes us roar with laughter and inspires with Pikey stories and awesome fish, top stuff.  During the day and evening that followed I picked up the latest issue CC4 from Rob and Martin on the Catch Cult stand, could have chatted all day to ‘the only sane man in Norfolk’ Stephen Harper, received financial and budgeting advice from the Smeltfather, not quite as mad as he looks Neville Fickling (bless him), ‘why red wine is good for you’ from Pete Haywood, ‘where not to drive a 4x4’ from Eddie Turner, loads of laughs with Dave Marrs.  Rich and Giles were wild eyed and on top form, Mark and Gary ate all my food.

I also bought some stuff so I’ve probably cursed my season now.  I picked up some spare ‘Boatbiters’ from ET, and another Boat rest from Neville.  I only buy rods when I need them (i.e. when I break them) often second hand bargains, but when I need to replace a Pike rod then I might as well get the best.  There are a few high quality rods out there but as I already had one of Dave Lumb’s Loch Tamers and know how good it is, I thought I might as well get another.  Now I just need a chance to use it!!!!  All of the traders mentioned can be found in the links on the right hand side.  My better half had been looking with disdain at my battered and weather beaten PAC cap and dropped hints that it was time for it to go.  I don’t remember how long I’ve had it but think it’s in the region of ten years and its been retrieved from broad or river on numerous occasions. It’s perched on my head in most of my favourite photos and has been covering my bald patch through some memorable days.  It may be retired but will never be discarded.  Believe it or not it was originally exactly the same colour as the new one on the left, I wonder how long it will take me to turn this one a mucky grey colour?

I forgot to take a camera but Dave Lumb was busy with his and you can see some of his photos here;

http://blog.lumbland.co.uk/p/pac-40-years-1977-2017.html