Chucks and chances

Four years without a sniffle, all the way through covid I was fine but now of all times I get a bloody cold.  A cold in May FFS.  It was just a cold, twenty four hours of snot and discomfort then a week of shifting the debris but never so bad that I wouldn’t have gone fishing so I went to work.  What pissed me off most was that some kind of germ had got past my defences and sneaked in, cheeky, sneaky little fucker.  I have the same reaction to an insect bite, I take it as a personal insult almost an assault.  When that kind of shit is finding root in my head it’s time to go fishing.

Friday, my normal day of rest at the moment but on this occasion I had to get up at 0600 to take Isaac to the station, (rail not police).  As I was getting up early I figured I might as well throw some gear in the car and take myself on to the waterside.  I looked at the tides but couldn’t find inspiration so thought why not fish in freshwater for a change?

So the Valley, I arrived around 0730 and had a wander around without seeing anything, which is normal at this place.  The morning was bright but a fresh northerly kept things cool, I settled on a spot where the wind had blown together a raft of floating debris, I figured this would be as good as anywhere.  A couple of casts with the lead told me it was clear enough for a chod rig so I dropped a bright yellow pop up in and chucked three good handfuls of mixed accumulated boilies on top.  On the other rod I put on another pop up with a long hooklength so it would sit above the weed, or a zig rig if you like.  I had intended to float fish with some corn but the wind meant this would be more hassle than I could be arsed with and would probably lead to more disturbance than I’d like.

How did I rate my chances?  Slim at best.  I’ve spent many hours here trying to catch the elusive Tench and failed miserably but I know they are here!  Nowadays there’s more fish present but its still a difficult fishery.  Today I felt like I was fishing in such a way that if a Tench or Carp was mooching about in the area then I’d have a chance.  As time passed the wind carried in more debris which made the raft even bigger, covering my baited area and hopefully making it more appealing?

I spent the morning sitting in the sun, sorting out my rucksack and tackle box for the next time I fish in freshwater, in a couple of weeks’ time, on a river.  What stuff will I need and what can I leave behind?  While I did so I was surrounded by Dragonflies of some type, loads of them zipping around which may be why a Sparrowhawk regularly buzzed past.  Back to the here and now, the truth is I think to catch fish, Tench or Carp, here regularly is certainly possible but requires more effort than I am arsed to put in at the moment.  What I occasionally do is chuck and chance fishing but every second blue moon it actually works, just not today.

Carp have been spawning in the east which means the pointless closure of many waters so the beloved scaley beasts can get it on in peace.  Even anglers fishing for other ‘lesser’ species are turfed off waters when the carp start to spawn but do carp anglers have to stop fishing when Tench or Bream are spawning?  Of course not.  What a load of bollocks, why is it this invasive alien species is given this star treatment?  The reason once more is cold hard cash.

The angling trade and therefore media is driven by carp fishing because carp anglers buy more stuff most of which has little or nothing to do with the act of actually catching a fish so obviously spend more money.  Carp are perfect cash cows, they grow big quickly so soon become a suitably impressive thing for a macho man to be photographed holding.  Also they live a long time and are very hard to kill, unless ironically, they become infected by something nasty carried by another carp (a bit like humans?)  Find a patch of water, tip a load of carp in and watch them grow (dump the ‘nuisance fish’ into landfill and they’ll grow quicker – allegedly) then reap your regular cash crop, piece of piss.  Newcomers to the sport are steered quickly to the local carp puddle, the start line of the race for more, better bigger tackle and fish.  Social media and the cynical brand marketing make sure the pot never runs dry.

Carp fishing is ruining angling, a bold statement maybe but not an original one, it is one I happen to believe.  Here in the east we mourn the loss of what we once called the mixed fishery, there are still a few around but they are disappearing rapidly, Carp is not just king, carp is everything.  Which is why I find myself heading for the beach at this time of year.

Talking of which...  Saturday afternoon, the weather is unchanged since yesterday, in fact unchanged for the last three weeks.  It was warm in the garden while I got my gear together but it’s always much cooler by the sea, especially with a northerly blowing.  High tide was due around 1730 so we’d be mostly fishing the ebb and our growing experience suggested the Steep beach again.  This was the logical choice but I wasn’t really feeling it to be honest.  Sure we’d have a good chance of catching something interesting but it was bound to be busy.

We were on the beach by 1515, plenty of anglers about but the wind was keeping the day trippers at bay.  We walked to the north again, the shingle seeming to suck our feet down and we were blowing by the time we got to the top of the slope.   I was fishing within a few minutes, the usual pulley rig on the heavy rod but I’d switched the light one back to a long trace running leger.  The multi hook rig hadn’t been as productive as I’d hoped, certainly not more so than the leger which we think is a better rig for Bass.  With the rods out I put up the shelter to shield me from the cool wind and stop all the bikini clad day trippers from staring at me like I was a piece of meat, or was that bit a dream?

As has become custom Giles had a fish on his first chuck but it was a small Weaver which had to be handled with care.  After that we sat staring at static rod tips, right through the high tide and well into the ebb, nothing happened until just after 1900 when I had a good bite on the heavy rod baited with hermit, this I missed of course.  Immediately after this Giles had rattles on both rods managing to land a Pouting from one, we thought this was the fish switching on but then it went quiet again.  As the minutes flew by we knew our best chance would be went the sun switched off which still gets later every week.

By 2100 it was growing dim but not headtorch time yet, which was just as well as I realised I’d left mine at home.  Twenty minutes later there was a definite pull on the heavy rod, for once I didn’t rush just lifted the rod from the tripod and held it.  When it pulled down again, I pulled back and finally hooked something, simple really…  The fish didn’t feel big but there was a bit of pull back and it was no surprise to see a good sized Dogfish wriggle up the beach and save me from blanking.  We gave it another half hour then began packing up, a job I managed to complete without the light.

Another evening which hadn’t gone to plan which has been a theme this spring…