A funny ole time

March is a funny ole time for a Piker, you never know what you’re going to get with the weather and consequently the fish are often not playing then game.  There have been a handful of occasions over the years when the stars have aligned and the results have been spectacular but far more often I’ve found myself scratching around to find a fish or two.  As a young angler it took me a while to get my head round the fact that the spots I’d regularly been catching from through the winter were now a waste of time.  But even when we have a good idea of where to look for Pike they are very often difficult to tempt in March and at this time of year more than any other I think a livebait can make all the difference.

For my final visits to the swamp I was fishing with confidence having had a bit of recent fortune but my luck ran out before the end.  The weather was far from ideal, chucking a bit of everything at me on the times I was out and although I felt confident there were fish around they didn’t want to take my baits, at least Giles managed to nick a fish on a day out with me.  Despite the relatively mild temperatures of recent weeks the Pike certainly hadn’t spawned by the season’s end and I think on the places I fish they rarely do, whatever some people might say online.

My last trip of the season was on a private lake, sharing a boat with Mr RO. Giles was also out solo in another boat, his partner having cancelled at the last minute.  It was a relaxed day, mild and comfortable with light breezes and we even saw blue sky and sunshine from time to time.  We saw plenty of Pike too and I actually lost count of the final tally which must have been twenty or thereabouts between us. of which Mr RO caught the biggest share.  There were no monsters, these fish averaged seven or eight pounds with a couple of low doubles, all caught on simple float legered deadbaits.  We tried lures from time to time but just one Pike bumped a lure all day.  The day was long but passed quickly, good fishing in good company in the fresh air, I expect the others were as knackered as I was by the end.

Despite what they calendars insist my year finishes around about the middle of March. Even though the closed season hasn’t existed for nearly thirty years, the point when I stop Pike fishing is the moment my fishy year resets.  What this will mean in the near future is waking up naturally and a more leisurely mode of fishing, mostly looking upwards at nodding rod tips.