Rain stopped play

Friday was a good day. England well on top of the Aussies in the third test, I love cricket!! Friday was also a long night, spent in the company of old friends who I don't see often enough. We went to see a band with the charming name of “F***ed up”, kind of punky with lots of shouting. We all over indulged and stayed up very late but it was a great time as usual. By strange coincidence I was feeling a bit under the weather on Saturday morning and was very slow getting out of bed and getting the gear sorted and in the car. This time Isaac stayed at home and my eldest, Shantel joined Madison and I for an overnight trip to the fens. The weather was breezy with sunny spells amongst the cloud, there was the threat of rain later however. Unfortunately the weather in Birmingham was much worse and I was unable to listen to cricket on the radio for the journey west.

By 2pm we arrived in the fens and began the normal routine of the kids catching bait on the whip while I sorted the gear and pitched the tent. As usual I fed the swim with lots of groundbait and maggots, Shantel was soon whipping in lots of small Bream along with the occasional Rudd or Roach. Chris arrived shortly afterwards and set up downstream and after a nightmare journey north Elliott arrived and opted to fish upstream. The weather remained cloudy and fresh but there was no hint of rain. Overhead conditions seemed good for an early take so we all had Zander baits out by the early evening. The river was not looking so good however, low, clear and still lots of weed, much more than previous seasons. Still, we were all feeling confident of a take or two. Unfortunately the news from the Cricket wasn't good, too much rain and play had been abandoned for the day.

Cabaret this evening was provided by a drunken bunch on a narrow boat. Two blokes had decided to ride in an inflatable dinghy being towed and had managed to fall out and into the river. They cheerfully swam down towards the boat which cut its engines and drifted right through the area we were fishing, crashing into the bank. They restarted the boat and the two clever people in the river found out its really quite difficult to climb up the side of a narrow boat. In the end no harm was done to anybody but it's highly ironic that with all the many miles of river this had to happen right in front of us. It's worth remembering that had this incident occurred on the deep, powerful tidal rivers in Norfolk those two idiots might not have made it out of the river. Elliot's luck hadn't improved either, he had to move after setting up on an ants nest.

When the madness subsided we settled back down to the fishing and our confidence was justified as Chris had a take. The result was an eel which was quickly unhooked and slipped back into the river. He had predicted an eel or two in these conditions. There were threatening clouds away to the west but the wind was from the south and they looked to be passing harmlessly by. Chris then took up his customary role as head chef and proceeded to fry up his speciality Newmarket sausages, (he swears they're not made of race horses) served with onions and salad, delicious! Desert was toasted marshmallows, guaranteed to keep the kids up all night. Madison narrowly outpointed Elliott in the marshmallow eating contest. As usual there was lots of banter & mutual ribbing along with a cold bottle of beer or two. In fact we were having such a good time that we failed to notice that the wind had swung around and the rain was heading straight for us.
East

It started suddenly and then pelted down. Within minutes we were all scrambling around trying to get ourselves in wet weather clothing and cover gear up. Our camps had been set up on a southerly wind and now we had a westerly whipping rain right into us. All three of us were caught unaware' s and got a soaking, the girls however were fine; warm and dry zipped up in their tent. For two hours the sky emptied on top of us, absolutely everything was damp at best, a lot of the kit was soaked. However as the sun dipped in the west, the cloud thinned and the rain began to ease. We were treated to another spectacular fenland skyscape; in the eastern sky was a spectacular double rainbow whilst to the west the sun blazed bright orange on the horizon, the photos do neither justice. I stood out in the open enjoying the scenery with the rain stinging my face and laughed, I was actually enjoying this madness! Shortly afterwards my paternoster rig roared off and I bent into a scrappy fish, not the Zander I'd hoped for but a small Pike, Oh well things were looking up.

When the rain eventually stopped we studied the aftermath. Chris was wet but this wasn't a major problem as he hadn't planned to fish all night anyway. I wasn't too bad but damp and uncomfortable, the girls in the tent were absolutely fine. Poor old Elliott however, had come off worse and was totally drenched, as was all his kit. Spending the rest of the night on the fen wasn't really an option, his only choice was to pack up and head for home. Before he left he managed to rub salt into his wounds by falling in the mud on the flood bank. Unfortunately that wasn't the end of his bad luck for the day but I'm sure he'll be back for another crack.

West

Chris too began to tidy up and head for a dry home but before he left my Paternoster roared off a second time. The culprit this time was long, ugly and slimy. Eels are great when you're actually fishing for the things but on a Zander rig in the dark, I hate them. I remember chatting to an ol' Suffolk boy years ago. I told him that I sometimes struggled to unhook Eels. His reply was “I never have any trouble unhooking Eels...I just cut their f***ing heads off!” He was deadly serious and couldn't understand why I cracked up laughing. Not a very PC statement in the context of these enlightened times.

Chris had tidied up, said his goodbyes and left, at that point I envied him. I was damp and uncomfortable, the eel appeared to have completely trashed the paternoster rig. I tried to gently persuade the kids we'd be better off if we slowly tidied up and spent the night in our own dry beds. They were having none of it, insisting they were warm and dry and looking forward to me frying them breakfast in the morning. I had no real choice but to stay and make best of it so I made an effort to organise everything and get things sorted for the night ahead. My groundbait had taken a soaking so I balled it all into my swim, hoping to attract some bait fish and also predators. I put a fresh bait on the ledger and dropped it on the edge of the weed. I put a second ledger rig into a clear spot under the rod tip then picked up the paternoster which wasn't as bas as I'd thought. I thought I might as well chuck this back out too so a fresh bait was put into mid river. I now had everything organised and three fresh, lively baits out in the river and actually felt confident of putting a Zed onto the bank. After one last cuppa I settled back into my bivvy and tried to forget everything was damp and doze for a bit. Twice in the dark hours I was roused by a bite alarm, unfortunately both times it wasn't fish and after removing lots of drifting weed I recast a fresh bait into the river. The third time the alarm sounded it wasn't weed...it was a Swan and by now it was daylight, my best chance of a Zander had passed. Three fresh baits then back into the bivvy for another snooze.

Organised

8am and the camp was stirring, bright sunlight was drying everything off nicely. Shantel entertained herself catching a few more fish on the whip while Madison charged up and down the meadow with her skipping rope. I slowly tidied up and cooked us all a lovely fried breakfast, washed down with a cup of tea, both really hit the mark. We deserved a good feed and we got one! On the floodbank opposite a cheerful chap wearing a beard and a big jumper was warbling away some strange tune as he walked along. He could have been from the Cambridge folk festival, or he could be someone who wishes he was. I'm pretty sure he wasn't from the “F***ed up” gig on Friday though! By 11am we were in the car travelling back home, I hoped to have cricket on the radio but play was delayed but the good news was it was due to start at noon. C'mon England!

Summer for a day

No one should have to work at the weekend, least of all me. To be fair I don't have to do it often but I don't like it. I spent the day clock watching, counting down the hours and minutes until I was able to jump in the car, which was already fully loaded with gear, then head off for a nights fishing. On the way I picked up my lil' lady Shelley who had never been fishing before. My descriptions of quiet, unspoilt rivers at the ends of winding dirt roads, spectacular sunsets and delicious fry ups washed down with wine had set her thinking she might actually enjoy the experience.

We arrived in the early evening, the river was a little low and clearer than I'd expected after a week of heavy showers. The weather however was warm, clear and dry, summer had returned for a day at least; Ideal for chilling out in the countryside. I set Shelley up with the whip and after explaining the basics left her to it while I set up the tent and got all the gear ready for the evening. It didn't take long before a truly momentous event, Shelley caught her first ever fish, a Roach. Actually she took to this fishing lark like a natural and was soon filling the net with silver fish; Rudd, Bleak, Bream and a tiny Chub. Meanwhile I had the camp-site sorted, two Zander rods were cast out and the kettle was soon bubbling on the stove, followed swiftly by the regular fishing meal of sausage and bacon sarnies, lovely. It was a perfect summer evening, the tranquillity broken only by the occasional boat passing and by a bunch of hooray Henrys who decided to take a noisy swim upriver.

Once it got too dark to see the float we gave up fishing for silvers and settled back with a bottle of wine to watch the sun set spectacularly, silhouetting a hot air balloon in the distance as it came in to land. In the half light an Owl flew soundlessly and gracefully along the opposite floodbank and the hoots of Tawnys could be heard as a crescent moon began to dip in the sky. The sky was clear so it seemed to take an age to get fully dark but when it did so the stars were spectacular. At around 10 pm the ledgered livebait was taken and I wound down to find myself connected to a fish, albeit very briefly. Everything went solid and I eventually hauled in a big bundle of weed and lots of someone else's line, whatever had taken my bait was long gone. Weed has been a problem this season so far, its very thick in places and livebaits are finding it easy to attach themselves to weed and lever themselves off the hooks. The answer would be to recast regularly but to be honest I've been too laid back and too busy just chilling out to bother too much.

With fresh baits out we settled back down to chill out and enjoy a beautiful, mild, starry night, eventually dozing off in the early hours. The next thing I knew it was dawn, signalled by a spectacular sunrise but sadly no Zander had disturbed the night. Two more fresh baits went out into the river and thinking I had missed my chance of a decent fish I dozed off to sleep again. A bite alarm sounded around 7.30 am and the next thing I knew I was scrambling towards the rod, fish on! The resistance was minimal and the fish soon materialised, a nice sized Perch, one I definitely didn't want to lose! I soon had it on the bank and was absolutely sure it would top two pounds however the scales disagreed, it was a couple of ounces under. It occurred to me that whenever I actually set out to target Perch my results are modest at best, in fact all of my biggest Perch have been caught when I've been fishing for either Pike or Zander. I think there's a lesson in that! I woke Shelley up to take a couple of quick pictures (I'm going to have to learn how to hold these things for the camera too), then slipped it back.

The second day was cloudy with a breeze from the west. Shelley emerged from the tent and settled back into the routine of catching silver fish on the whip as if she'd been doing it all her life. Meanwhile I boiled the kettle and made breakfast then slowly tidied away our camp. The traffic from holiday boats increased to the point that it was becoming annoying so by the late morning we were all packed up and heading for home. I was pleased with the Perch, it kind of made the trip worthwhile in a fishing sense. Although I'd failed to catch a Zander I'd definitely succeeded in showing Shelley some of the things that make our sport so enjoyable and I know it won't be long before she's fishing again.

Ah, that's better...

Looking back over the past couple of months, since the start of spring my attempts at catching fish have been one glorious failure after another. Absolutely no Tench which is normal for me, but only small Pike and Perch on lures when I would usually expect much better, what's going on? Next year I think my spring & early summer fishing will take a different direction. Anyway, the summer holidays are here now, time for a change of pace. It's the time of year when the kids and I head to the Fenlands for a spot of camping, fishing and relaxing. In the daylight hours we fish for silvers but when the light fades out comes the heavier tackle and I target the Zander. Whether I succeed or continue my run of heroic disasters doesn't really matter, the time spent in the countryside will be rewarding and relaxing.

With a car jammed to the roof with gear we left home in the early afternoon and had an uneventful journey west. On the radio was my other sporting passion, cricket and with the Aussies in the country and the ashes at stake I'll have a radio beside me for the rest of the summer. Anyway, things were going well, England on top and making steady progress. After forty five minutes of our own steady progress I was parking the car beside the floodbank and the children were scrambling to get out.

Madison was four years old the first time she spent a night here in the fens and Isaac was three so we settled into a tried & tested routine. They waved the whip around and caught a few fish in between running around the meadow, while I set up the tent and everything else. The afternoon was warm and windy with broken cloud but thankfully it was dry which makes the whole experience so much more relaxing. The recent storms had freshened the river up nicely, it had a good flow and a tinge of colour, bang on for the Zander I hoped. Meanwhile, at Lords England got a bit bogged down in the middle of the afternoon but Prior and Collingworth ground the Aussies down later on. By six o'clock everything was ready, the net was full of fresh bait and I had two rods rigged and ready for the Zander. I fished a running ledger with a bait popper cast upstream and a running paternoster rig in front of me. Both rods were baited with fresh lives and had a 'rig rattle' on the trace.

With everything ready the next priority was food so the stove was sparked up and the frying pan was soon sizzling away. The sausage and bacon sarnies were washed down with a hot cup of tea, the wind started to die away, the river looked in great nick and everything was right with the world. It was into this happy camp that Chris stepped shortly after the stove had cooled. While the kids ran around the meadow some more we chatted the evening away and Chris cooked desert, barbecued bananas stuffed with marshmallows and chocolate! A little sweet for me but the little 'uns devoured them enthusiastically. Chris & I were content to have a cold bottle of beer and it was shortly after this things started to go a bit strange.
Supper

We heard a sound from behind us and looked around to see a car on top of the flood bank, the occupants were acting very strangely indeed. After a while it became apparent that the car was stuck on the very top with both the front and rear wheels clear of the ground. Being helpful sorts we wandered over to see if we could be of assistance, the occupants were a young couple who were slightly embarrassed and the bloke was either very drunk or very weird. He spoke with a very educated (posh) Oxbridge accent and didn't seem to understand the more rural speech of us ol' country boys. The young lady didn't even get out of the car. With a lot of exertion we managed to tip the car and get it moving down the slope at which point the lady turned around, gunned the engine and hurtled back towards us at speed, barely giving us time to get out of the way. She successfully cleared the floodbank this time and parked the car in a more sensible place. Chris & I returned to the river and tried to settle back into the ambient surroundings but our new friends weren't quite as relaxed. They had intended to camp by the river but instead were having quite a loud argument which ended with the lady storming off and the by now obviously drunk chap wandering around cursing to himself and struggling to put his tent up. He eventually succeeded and thankfully soon disappeared inside to sleep it off.

As the light faded, the temperature dropped quickly, the kids retired to their snug sleeping bags inside the tent and Chris bade us farewell. I put fresh baits on both the Zander rods and settled back to await developments. I had very little confidence on the back of my recent fishing results and to be honest I didn't care too much, we were enjoying ourselves, that was the important thing. Around 11 pm the downstream rod, set up with a paternoster signalled signs of life. I wound down quickly but the culprit had removed my bait and transferred the hooks into some weed, typical! Just my luck! I re baited and chucked the rig back out, before I settled back into the bivvy I took time to look up at the millions of stars visible in the clear sky, something that never fails to blow my mind.

First of the season

The next thing I knew an alarm was shrieking at me, I staggered out and picked up the upstream ledger rod. With daylight beginning to lighten the scene I bent into my first Zander of 2009 and after a bit of a tug o' war through the weedbeds I soon had it in the net. Not a monster but a nice fish of around five pounds and after my recent poor run I considered it a result to actually land the fish I'd targeted! The rod was re baited and cast out, I settled back into the bivvy again; relaxed, happy but very tired. No sooner had my eyes shut, it seemed I was away again, a fast take on the paternoster rod. I bent into a decent weight of fish, was there a lot of weed on the line or was this the mother of all Zander? A long shape appeared in the growing light and there didn't appear to be too much weed on the line, my hope of landing a BIG Zander grew. However, as it neared the net it became apparent that what I'd hooked was in fact a decent sized Pike, a fish around mid doubles. I was slightly disappointed but hey, it's still a nice fish which was unhooked, photographed and slipped back with as little fuss as possible. Another fresh bait was cast into mid river, it was just before 5am and the sun was creeping above the flood bank, the orange light creating a rainbow through the cloud in the western sky, beautiful!

Not the mother of all Zander but welcome all the same!

My eyes opened again a couple of hours later, it was fully daylight and the kids were chattering away happily in the tent beside me. I stirred myself awake and put the kettle on, a cup of tea to wake me up before breakfast, more sausage and bacon sandwiches. Madison was happy scribbling in her notebook about the stripy caterpillars she'd found while Isaac sat holding the whip, trying to catch a fish or two. I sat beside him and peering down into the clear water I noticed a shape beside the keepnet, it was a nice sized perch, obviously attracted by the fish inside the net. First of all we tried to tempt this fish with a couple of maggots but it didn't want to know, in fact it seemed completely oblivious. We needed a livebait but all of ours were in the net and we couldn't get to them without disturbing the Perch. Eventually Isaac caught a Bleak on the whip, a little too big perhaps but it would have to do. I lowered it down, hooked up on a spare rod and we peered down into the water wondering what would happen. We didn't have long to wait, for some reason I'd expected the Perch to swim up cautiously and casually but as soon as this fish became aware of the hapless Bleak it just nailed it and disappeared into the weed, unfortunately I suspect the bait was too big for the Perch, either that or I fluffed the strike. Whatever, no Perch graced the net this morning.

That was our last excitement of the day. The children had a last run around the meadow and I tidied all the gear up with threatening clouds building away to the west, rain was on it's way. By late morning we were back in the car as the first spots began to splat on the windscreen, cricket would help the journey pass by quickly once again. These summer nights in the fenland tick all the boxes, nice scenery, wildlife, good company, nice food, peace & quiet and for once I'd even caught the fish I'd set out after.

Sometimes things don't go to plan...

Friday evening 10 pm, sitting in front of the pc minding my own business and the phone rings, a “friend” who shall remain nameless is drunk in town and needs rescuing. The car is loaded with fishing gear & the boat is hitched. So feeling totally pissed off I unhitch the boat & drive into town. When I get to town my “friend” is not just drunk but semi-conscious and vomiting. Back home, friend is dumped in the flat, at the foot of the stairs in a heap.

I go back to the car & wipe up a few dribbles of vomit from the front footwell, not too bad. Look in the back...what the f***? At first I think it's loads of puke, in fact it's paint spilled from the pot I'd bought for redecorating my house. Loads of white paint all over the floor of my car!!!!! It takes me ages to wipe away the worst of it. It's all over my fishing gear too, including my lures!! It dawns on me that the lures are worth more than the car so I have to clean the paint off them too. A bucket of water does the trick thankfully. Eventually I get to bed about two hours later than planned.

Up again at the crack of 5am, feeling very tired but what the hell? The forecast was for mixed sunny and cloudy spells with showers. We'd had rain the previous evening so after two blistering hot weeks surely this break in the weather would switch the fish on? The weather men almost got it right, except there was no cloud and no rain, just clear skies, sunshine and more soaring temperatures. Lovely weather for sunbathing but crap for fishing, however everything was ready so I went anyway. The destination this week is a river in the fens with a good head of Pike and an even better stock of Perch.

I started trolling slowly downstream with two rods hedging my bets, one rod had a Salmo Skinner for Pike, the other a Lucky 13 for anything that comes along. In this weather I was expecting to struggle but I didn't expect it to be as hard as it turned out. I kept chopping and changing lures, depending on the weed growth and clarity of the water. In some stretches its like an aquarium but downstream of some of the side drains it can be a little murky. After a while I came to a stretch which was always a banker for a Pike or three, often there'd be a double or two in attendance. I clipped a large spinnerbait on one rod and reverted to the Skinner on the other. Thoughts of catching Perch were temporarily banished from my mind. The inevitable happened, the rod fishing the spinnerbait slammed over and I leant into the first fish of the day. Resistance was minimal, my all out Pike approach had resulted in a small Perch with a big appetite.

After that I gave up on the bigger Pike lures and stuck to small to medium baits but continued to struggle. The sun beat down, the day began to boil and my confidence dwindled. In the clearer stretches I could see fish by the thousand but none were of the predatory varieties that I was targeting. Eventually as I was motoring back up river the Lucky 13 was nailed and the result was another Perch. Having doubled my tally and after covering another couple areas that normally held fish without reward, I gave up. I stood up and slowly motored back to base looking for signs of fish, what I saw was very encouraging. Lots of Bream, not particularly big but worth catching. A couple of double figure carp, a species I'd never noticed here before but best of all Rudd. These are prolific throughout the river but I glimpsed some that were big, very big. Something to think about for another time.

The boat was soon back on the trailer and I began making my way home. As soon as I hit the main road problems began. Looking in the wing mirror I noticed smoke coming from the drivers side wheel of the trailer. I slowed down and pulled over into the first lay by I came across. The source of the smoke soon became apparent, a so far unidentified problem with the hub had buckled the wheel. The tyre was pressed up against the mudguard which was carving a deep groove out of the rubber, hence the smoke. Oh dear, or words to that effect. Luckily I had a spare wheel and changing that over was no problem but how do I prevent this tyre being gouged to pieces? That would be more difficult, leaving the boat and trailer in a lay by miles from home is not really an option. Eventually I twist, bend and break the mudguard off the trailer, leaving the wheel turning freely, if a bit wobbly. I limped home, relieved to have made it, with a knackered trailer to add to a ruined car interior, what a poxy 24 hours.

Oh well, another five days of work and I'll be raring to go fishing again!

Return of the Pink Piker

20/06/09

When the weather warms up I don't miss an opportunity to take the kids fishing, should they wish to go. Isaac accompanies me more often than his sisters but he is only really interested in the bigger fish, preferably ones with teeth. Madison loves being in the country side and when not chasing butterflies or talking to livestock is more than happy just catching “the pretty little silver fish”. She's caught a few Pike over the years but it's been a while since I've managed to convince her to spend a day in the boat with me. Today however was my first opportunity to launch the boat and fish a river for three months and what's more my lil' gal was coming with me.

We had an early start but after tea and breakfast we were hitched up and ready to go. Madison looked out of the window and counted the rabbits on the verge while I counted the miles. Eventually we arrived and I wasted no time launching the boat on a lovely little river, one I hadn't fished for quite some time. The engine didn't want to start, it never does when it hasn't been used for a while but after blistering my fingers we got there in the end and were soon chugging slowly down the river.

Between the two of us we shared three rods, a heavy set up with a big Pike lure on, mostly a Salmo Skinner. A medium rod with a Heddon Lucky13 which picks up both Pike and Perch, whilst the light fixed spool outfit was baited with a spinner for the Perch. Conditions overhead were good, mostly cloudy with the sun poking through occasionally and a fresh breeze from the south west. The river looked good too, good clarity but a slight tinge of colour and a decent flow. All in all I felt very confident for both species, surely we'd have a boat full today?

We'd hardly got started when the medium rod slammed over but the culprit made its escape. A little further on and the Lucky13 was nailed again and I wound in the first jack of the new season, very small but fin perfect and most welcome. At this point Madison, who had been holding the light rod, insisted on swapping for the Lucky13 which she renamed “Lucky number 2, because two is my favourite number.” We were both lost in watching a Barn Owl glide gracefully over the meadows when suddenly Madi shrieked as the rod came alive in her hand. “Help Dad! It's too heavy!” With a bit of encouragement she soon had her first Pike for a couple of years alongside the boat. I don't know who was more excited, me or her.

It was nice to be back on this little river, one where I've enjoyed loads of fun days out over the years but returning sometimes has its downsides, things never stay the same. Today I was disappointed to see that a lovely weeping willow had been butchered. A deadbait carefully placed beneath the trailing fronds has produced dozens of Pike for me over the years but now the old tree has been 'improved' by the NRA. Where the overhanging branch had once been was now an ugly scarred stump. Not only is this an eyesore but a shady winter hiding place for both predator and prey is gone.

We stopped for a cup of tea and a bite to eat and watched a Heron fish and listened to the calls and answers of Cuckoos as we recharged our batteries for a bit. Refreshed we set off again and hadn't gone far before Madison cried out again. This time she handled the rod a bit better but the fish appeared to me smaller. As it neared the boat I could see red fins in the clear water, it was a Perch! “Be careful Madi” I said. She steered it alongside the boat and I leant over and lifted it out, beautiful! A lovely plump fish that I would have been well pleased to have caught. Madison was delighted, announcing it was “much prettier than the Pike”.

We carried on downstream but as we did so the fishing became almost impossible to to large amounts of drifting weed. This is the scourge of trolling the shallow eastern rivers and I have never seen it as bad as it was today. Further downstream the river curves away and catches more wind which pushed the drifting crap to the bank and made life a little easier. This area is usually a banker for a fish or two and I'd just announced this to Madi when the heavy rod slammed over and another small Pike was hooked, brought to the boat and quickly unhooked. I expected to catch a few more fish but for some reason this stretch was a lot more coloured than the previous section. However we persevered and I managed another small Pike on the Skinner while Madi hooked one on the “Lucky no.2” which unfortunately shook itself off again.

We nosed the boat into a reed bed, had another cup of tea and shared lunch while we watched the waterfowl on the river and the small birds chirping in the reeds. There wasn't another soul in sight, the sun poked through the clouds for a while and all was right with the world. With the tea drunk and all the food gone we turned the boat around and headed back upstream. I was confident of a lot more fish but the return journey proved a struggle. The murky water yielded nothing, not even a take and we lifted the rods out and motored through the drifting weed, Madi singing her heart out as we did so, to the amusement of the occasional angler we passed. Back at the original stretch a few fish started to show an interest again but they weren't really 'having it'. Pike would swirl, boil and nip at the lures but they weren't really attacking them with any conviction. Perch were conspicuous by their absence, which was a surprise in the conditions. Madison dropped her lure alongside the boat and was watching the action when a Jack shot up and nailed it making her yell with surprise and excitement. Unfortunately this one wriggled free too.

We decided we'd had enough for the day so headed back towards the car. I switched the Skinner for a smaller Salmo minnow to hedge our bets a bit more. This lure was soon taken but once again the fish, another small Pike, shook itself free. Not far from the starting point this rod rattled in the holder again and this time the fish stayed hooked. I passed the rod to Madison and let her wind in another Jack taking our total to six fish for the day. Had we landed all the fish that had shown an interest we would have been into double figures. In purely fishing terms the day was a bit disappointing but time spent with my daughter was priceless. She sat in the car listening to the radio as I hitched the trailer up, then we were under way. “Did you enjoy that Madison?” I asked. “Yes Dad, it was great” she replied “can we go to Macdonalds now?”

Last chance?

Spring has almost passed and finding time to try to catch a Tench or two has been difficult this year. With the river season fast approaching I was determined to have another go and a small window of opportunity opened up on Sunday evening.

On Saturday evening I took a walk around the pit and I didn't like what I saw. Yes the fresh green reeds were growing through and the lilies were flourishing but there were cloned carp anglers everywhere. What a difference a year makes, twelve months ago I was enjoying fishing this old haunt but today all I could see was a chav's camp-site. It's still a nice little pit but it's just too crowded.

Despite all of that I was back again early Sunday evening. I fancied my chances fishing the shallow water, the theory being that the recent warm weather would put spawning into the fishes mind and they would migrate to this end of the pit. There were still a few chavs about but after an unhurried look around I found a nice quiet area where I felt confident I'd be in with a chance. I figured that at the end of a warm, busy weekend lots of bait would have been thrown in the pit so my plan was to not use too much myself. On one rod I fished a small white chocolate flavoured boilie with a PVA bag of mixed pellets. The other rod was set up with a maggot feeder, short hook length with some buoyant fake corn and a bunch of maggots on one of those fancy maggot clip things. The boilie rod was cast to a small group of lilies in otherwise open water whilst the feeder was cast across to the edge of the reeds. Both rigs had a couple of hands full of mixed pellets chucked on top. I also rigged up a whip and float fished maggots close in but after catching a Rudd a chuck for a while I got bored.

As the Chavs departed the pit became more quiet and I lost myself listening to T20 cricket on the radio. My part of the pit looked lovely; a Kingfisher zipped past, a coot herded her brood and Grebes fished while England beat India in a close match. Unfortunately England's success on the field was not matched by success with the Tench fishing. I did have another bash with the whip, catching a nice Roach amongst all the Rudd but I never looked like catching a Tench.

When the radio cricket coverage ended, the temperature started to drop and so did my confidence. I started to slowly tidy up, I still haven't lost my title as the world's worst Tench angler. Next spring I'll have to put in more time, more effort and find a new water.

Holland

31/05/09 Holland

Twice a year I used to stuff the car full of fishing gear, strap the rods on the roof and head over to Ireland for a week of Pike fishing, Guinness drinking and other interesting diversions. Unfortunately its been more than a decade since I crossed the Irish sea, partly due to domestic circumstances but also because of the ignorance of the Irish fishery boards. What was once the best natural Pike fishing in the world has been destroyed, in the name of 'improving' the trout fishing. The way things are, it'll be a long time before I visit Ireland again as things just seem to be getting worse.

Anyway, nowadays I get a ferry and head east to Holland, the car loaded up with the family and all that goes with it plus a little bit of fishing gear sneaked in. Friendly people, beautiful cities, sensible attitudes, lovely parks & beaches and lots of water. Two weeks living in a caravan on a theme park, heaven for the kids, tolerable for the adults and plenty of water for me to sneak off to cast some lures around. The first week was virtually all hot, still and bright, great for a holiday but not weather that inspires me with confidence where Pike fishing is concerned. As the days passed I started to get itchy feet and at the end of a sticky humid day, cloud built up from the west, a breeze got up and I reached for the rods.

This is my fifth visit to this part of Holland so I have managed to find a few places to wet a line in this time and tonight I headed for a crossroads of canals and ditches from which I'd extracted a few Pike in the past. I would be easily pleased, just a Pike, any Pike, would be enough. The canals and ditches here are clear, shallow and weedy so I used mostly a half ounce spinnerbait or a mini wagtail. This was chucked with a medium bait casting rod an Abu 5601 reel and 50 lbs powerpro. I worked up and down the canals and ditches but all I found were Bream, trying desperately to foul hook themselves. It was nice to have a couple of hours of peace and quiet but I wanted a fish.

Close to where I left the car is a larger canal with a sparse covering of lilies, it looked perfect for skipping the spinnerbait across the pads and buzzing it along the surface in the clear water. Unfortunately this canal runs alongside some kind of military base, complete with a large steel fence, barbed wire and an imposing white sign post. I speak virtually no Dutch but I must confess I have a fair idea of what “VERBODDEN TE VISSEN” means. However I had an excuse......and I couldn't resist. First cast and the retrieve looked great, the calm surface bubbling from the Colorado blades...but nothing happened, until I lifted the lure from the water and there was a swirl and a boil of water. By this time the cloud had become very gloomy and threatening and I'd taken off the poloroids. Would she have another go?

"VERBODDEN TE VISSEN"

Next cast I retrieved the lure right up to the bank then stopped and let the bait flutter down...bang! Fish on! All the fish I've caught here have pulled above their weight, this one was about six pounds but didn't know it. These fish are lovely, dark coloured, almost brown with prominent gold spots. I'd love to post a photo of this one but unfortunately she shook the lure off when I grabbed the trace. Our unwritten rule is, if you touch the trace the fish counts, that way a lot of fish can be quickly unhooked in the water where possible, this one unhooked itself. The clouds, once threatening were now intimidating with frequent flashes of lightning and they were heading my way. Not ideal conditions to be waving 6 ½ feet of carbon fibre around so I happily made a hasty retreat.


Storm damage

That night I was privileged to witness an awesome storm, the best I've seen since Giles and I fished all night for Zander in the fens in the mid nineties and were treated to an amazing, spectacular drenching. I wrote about that night somewhere and if I ever find the scraggly, tatty piece of paper I might put it on here. I suspect it has something to do with flat landscapes like the fens and Holland but like the previous storm the lightning seemed continuous. The light of various flashes must be visible for miles. Our particular camp site was on relatively high ground and was set in a wood of tall oaks, oh dear. In fact there were several trees struck that night and others damaged by the gusting wind, including one literally right next to our caravan. I spent all evening staring through the window watching lightning zapping through the sky and it was fantastic. At one point I watched three lines of lightning flash from different directions, then they seemed to meet in the middle and form a circle of light in the sky. Difficult to describe but awesome.

The following day was wet and windy, there was evidence of storm damage everywhere but by the early evening the rain had cleared and a weak sun was poking through the clouds. Once again I fancied my chances for a fish or two. This time I fished some water I'd found by the wonders of google earth, beginning at a nice looking tree lined canal. The water turned out to be shallower than I expected with very little weed cover so my confidence ebbed away as I worked my way along the canal. The water was strewn with small branches and other debris from last night's storm. After a couple of hundred yards the water appeared to be more coloured, surely feeding fish? Yes, more Bream and quite a few of them. As I stood and watched a couple of Carp around fifteen pounds appeared too. Would there be a Pike or two shadowing these fish? No, but a bit further along there was a skinny looking Jack which followed my lure but didn't seem interested in trying to eat it. I kept on moving, my legs getting soaked by the rain drenched grass and eventually a cast to an overhanging tree saw another jack nail the wagtail. This fish was very small and put up absolutely no resistance and so suffered the embarrassment of a quick photo before being slipped back to grow bigger. This fish looked like it might have had a close run in with a larger fish at some point too, maybe there was something big lurking in this canal? Probably, but not showing today.

Where's big sister?

Shortly after that I crossed the road and started fishing another piece of water, a small lake fed by narrow canals at both ends. This too was clear and shallow with occasional patches of lilies. Casting close to this saw a fish swirl at the spinnerbait, possibly a Pike but possibly the line spooking a Carp or Bream. Whatever it was didn't repeat the performance. At the windward end of the lake there were Carp showing regularly including a couple of big fish, one clearly over twenty pounds cruised by obliviously. Here I also had interest from a Pike, a fish close to double figures followed the spinnerbait then slid slowly away and out of sight. I worked my way back to the car but that was that.

The rest of the holiday was spent soaking the sun, checking the quality of the local brew and doing daft things with the kids, not necessarily in that order. My nine year old daughter Madison had been studying Van Gogh at school and possibly the daftest thing I did was agree to take them, to the Van Gogh museum. Madison wandered round pointing out the paintings she knew and educating me about the artist. It was all lost on me but I did notice a pot of sunflowers that looked familiar. She did ask “Dad? Where do they get all the fancy frames?” which left me stumped. Isaac's version was “it's boring, what are we having for lunch?”.

I love Holland, it's cities and people. I love the fact that around almost every corner there is another piece of water to explore. From what I have gathered the Pike are mostly respected here and there is a Pike conservation organisation called SNB. So for the foreseeable future I'll continue to head east with the family. However, should the Irish fishery boards & match organisers choose to remove their heads from their backsides...........Now it's back home and it feels too hot for fishing, hopefully we'll get a nice dose of foul weather to freshen the rivers up before they open again in a fortnight.