Shit or bust

I left the boat yard with a fresh westerly lumping the water, it was uncomfortable until I turned the corner.  The sky was gloomy but at least it wasn't raining, a rare thing indeed this Pike season.  A while later I was pulling the boat into the reeds in a favourite bay with previous spring time form.  Friday 13th, this would be my last trip to the special place for a while.  March is often shit or bust, most recent seasons have seen very tough fishing but every now and then it all falls into place.  I guess over the years about one March in three has been good?  Three good deadbaits and a live had been positioned around the boat, March more than any other time can be a waiting game.

The bay was unresponsive and by lunch time it was all change, the wind had swung and dropped, the sun was actually peeping furtively from behind the clouds.  I'd also changed swims and was fishing a spot that I rarely visit, an area that mad Neville Fruitcake had told me he'd once caught a whacker from.  As the swim was one I'm not so familiar with I twitched the baits back a bit every now and again, learning as I went.  At just after 1400 I was pondering another move but the float above a recently twitched Lamprey which had been cast parallel to the reeds caught my attention, had it showed signs of life?  Yes the float was causing a wake and as I reached for the rod the baitrunner began to tick.

The strike met with a thump and a head shake, small fish?  As I gained line a good weight could be felt on the line, not a small fish!  This Pike did nothing except hang and allow me to pump it back to the boat and straight into the net.  It was a good fish but not the monster that haunts my dreams.  Still big enough to require the scales and as I'm getting more efficient at self takes the camera came out too.  It dawned on me that this fish also represented a personal landmark from the special place, who'd have thought it when the addiction first took hold?

The rest of the day and the one that followed passed in pleasant conditions but no more Pike happened upon my baits.  I'm confident I was mostly doing the right things in the right places but March is often shit or bust.

And that as it turned out was my last Pike of the 2019/20 season.  I had planned another trip on a stillwater, to get rid of the old baits but events have overtaken us and that won't be happening now.  As things turned out I would have certainly settled for the fish that I managed to get in the net this winter but I'm rarely completely satisfied.  Autumn seems a long way away at the moment...

I am certain that I could go fishing tomorrow, not get within fifty yards of another human and spread no harm to anyone.  But it is only fishing and as much as I may crave the immersion in the countryside and the angling conundrum, staying away is the right thing to do.  For the first time in a long time, all of our waters will benefit from a closed season.  It's my nature to be frivolous but not today, stay safe, do the right thing, be lucky. 

Box ticked.

Two days off work, one is pretty much written off by a horrendous weather forecast which leaves today and I’m busy this afternoon.  I’ve set myself a target to catch a Pike from my local river and with a couple of spare hours in the morning it seemed an ideal opportunity to walk the river with a lure rod and try to tick the box.  The rod I chose was a light one that had been wasting away in the shed without a tip ring for a couple of years.  I’ve had the replacement ready to glue on for quite a while and had only recently got round to fixing it.  My destination was the old millpond where I’d caught my first ever Pike in 1979, a stretch I ‘ve hardly fished at all in the last quarter of a century.

I arrived in bright sunshine and mild conditions, the river looked idyllic and with the recent deluges it actually had a decent flow and a tinge of colour.  There was an old man float fishing in the pool, his beard reminded me that I hadn’t listened to Seasick Steve for a while.  I was loathe to disturb him but stopped and asked how he was getting on out of politeness.  Ten minutes later he was still talking and had hardly paused for breath; it seemed he didn’t see me as too much of a disturbance.  I eventually extracted myself and made my way a little further downstream where I tackled up with a 5” Shad and began to cast.  The river looked good and it didn’t seem too different from when I fished this stretch regularly as a kid but come summer I expect the reeds and undergrowth will have made it virtually unapproachable.  The far bank has changed though, thankfully there is enough vegetation to hide the houses that have been built.

I slowly made my way downstream running the shad through the deeper gullies and catching nothing but strands of weed.  All too soon I’d reached the railway bridge which is the limit to where I can fish these days.  I was still without my Pike and thinking the old man was sitting in the spot where I’d have the best chance.  I was alerted by a disturbance back upstream, the Mallards had scattered and there was some kind of bird repeatedly swooping and skimming the river surface.  When my eyes adjusted I realised it was a Sparrowhawk trying to catch a Kingfisher which was flying back and forth in panic.  After a few seconds the Kingfisher escaped and the hawk flew grumpily away.

Back to the fishing.  The swims by the bridge are a little deeper and were often a good bet for a Pike when I was younger but I was running out of options.  Then a cast flicked downstream suddenly went solid and yes I’d hooked a Pike.  The fish was small (but I hadn’t expected anything else) and was soon thrashing around on the surface, waiting for me to scoop it out with the net which looked massive in comparison.  I’d done it, a Pike from my local river.  One that would be eaten in a second by the fish I usually target but one that made me very happy nonetheless.  With that I swapped lures to a fat little crankbait and made my way back upstream.  Great tits chirped in the far bank trees, nothing else interrupted my lure and I was soon back at the pool.

I couldn’t avoid being trapped in another conversation with the old man and as the words flowed it became apparent that much of the fishing talk was fictional.  I may not fish this area much these days but I know there aren’t twenty five pound Pike or five pound Perch present, which is a shame.  It also gives me good reason to doubt the big Roach and Chub he’d told me about earlier.  Still he was a pleasant enough fella and said he didn’t mind me flicking my lure across the pool a couple of times.  This I did but with no result, shame, a huge river Pike would have gone down a treat!

In the end I spent a little less than an hour by the river but came away with a sense of accomplishment and a desire to return to other old haunts.  In the summer I have Gudgeon to catch but if I get the chance before the season ends another little Pike would be nice.

Motivation

I’d been looking forward to getting out fishing all week but when the alarm sounded it was an effort to haul myself out of bed.  I felt tired after a night of broken sleep and weird dreams.  In one I had been given the role of Jose Mourinho’s official digger driver and was tasked with digging up the pitch while he had an argument with Phil Thompson.  What the fuck is that all about?  Apart from following my home town team I don’t even particularly like football.  Getting up is always the hardest bit and once this was achieved I was soon putting the gear in the car and scraping ice off the screen.

My kids say I swear a lot and they’re totally fucking correct but with the standard of driving these days it’s hard to retain a pious vocabulary, especially when some wanker tries to overtake me on the roundabout.  After that my journey was uneventful and I managed to arrive at the lake unscathed with enough light to get the boat loaded without a torch.  No engines allowed here so I rowed across to an out of bounds area, secured the mudweights and commenced setting up.  As usual I used a couple of float leger rigs, one baited with half herring was cast towards a snaggy area but not too close as this one could be terminal if it goes wrong.  The second was a joey mackerel positioned on a nice drop off with no known underwater hazards.  On my third rod I used a paternoster rig which is still the best way to fish a suspended bait but has fallen out of favour because the tackle companies can’t sell you any fancy lumps of foam or balsa if you use it.  On this I mounted a smelt which I hurled as far as possible with the intention of twitching it back towards me.  With all this accomplished I sat back with a brew.

I wasn’t even half way down the mug when I noticed a tremor on the float cast towards the snag.  Usually when a Pike picks up a float legered bait there’s no doubt but on this occasion I wasn’t sure, however as I was close to a monster snag I wound down anyway.  There was nothing attached, like I said, usually with a float there’s no doubt.

The morning was cool and bright with a cloudless sky.  The wind was a fresh south easterly which had me huddled in the boat with my hood pulled over my cap.  A kingfisher zipped past, followed seconds later by another.  I’ve never managed a decent photo of one of these birds, fair play to those who do.  On the other hand the Kestrel stays in one place long enough for even the likes of me to shoot a few pictures, never professional quality but pleasing enough for me.

Just when I was thinking of a move the float cast towards the snag started  moving, definitely, and I sprang to my feet like the natural athlete I’m not but still quick enough to set the hooks and heave it out of harm’s way.  I soon had a small fish alongside the boat where I grabbed hold of the trace causing the Pike to thrash one more time and helpfully unhook itself.  The herring was still attached which was equally helpful so I sent it back out into the lake.  Twenty minutes later, shortly after twitching the paternoster, I heard a baitrunner clickety click and looked up to not see my float where it should be.  As I struggled out of my seat the clicking sound started again and kept going.  This time the rod took on a better curve and this fish pulled back a bit.  It looked a nice fish in the clear water so I decided to be sensible and use the net, once enmeshed the Pike shrunk a little but it was still the right decision.  Big enough to net but not big enough to require scales so I unhooked it in the net, there was no need to bring it aboard.

With two quick takes it looked like I may have dropped onto some fish but forty five minutes later nothing more had happened so I had a move.  An hour after that, still nothing had happened so I had another.  I was using the same methods, keeping the baits on the move and covering water but the Pike were not playing.  There still wasn’t a cloud in the pleasant blue sky but I was beginning to wish there was.  Were the fish spooky in the bright conditions and tap clear water?  With this in mind I had a third move, this time dropping into a reedy bay that looked like broadland.  Would the Pike be holed up in the reedbeds, out of the light?  If they were then they weren’t coming out for a deadbait.  What I was doing wasn’t working, I needed a change.

So I tidied the boat up but left one rod assembled and with a bit of a tweak it was set up to troll a deadbait.  I thought I’d have an hour exploring the shallow side of the lake, wondering if fish had moved into that area ahead of spawning, which with the recent day time temperatures can’t be far away?  I took to the oars with a smelt set about two feet down and headed off to rarely fished waters.  The float sank twice and both times I succeeded in winding in sizable branches without losing my bait.  As I entered a bay at the far end a small Pike hurled itself airborne in an attempt to eat my float and managed to not notice the bait.  I rowed a tight circle round the bay and as I exited this time the fish managed to nail my bait.  It was the smallest Pike of the day but welcome all the same.  I trolled on but with every stroke of the oars I was running out of unfished water.

By now it was early afternoon, I was in danger of becoming bored and honestly I just couldn’t be arsed any more.  Once upon a time I’d have fished on and would have been wracking my brains trying to come up with a solution but maybe I’ve learned that some days it just isn’t going to happen?  Or maybe today I just felt lazy?  I’d enjoyed myself but when it stops being fun it’s time to go home.   I know if I’d been afloat in Norfolk I’d definitely have toughed it out, come what may but I’m realising that the other places I fish just don’t motivate me in the same way.

It’s February already and the days are noticeably longer, I’m looking at the calendar plotting and planning where to spend the last few weeks of the season.  I know this time will fly by, it always does and at some point I’ll decide I’ve caught enough Pike for one year.  I hope it isn’t for a while yet though.

Milder than it could have been.

I lost a Pike the other day, it was only on for a second or two but it felt a good un.  What's more it was my fault, I fucked up, it shouldn't have happened.  Afterwards I was calm.  I didn't smash any tackle, or curse, I got a fresh bait back as quickly as possible.  Twenty four hours passed and it was still a niggle in my mind, it's going to stick in the memory, one that got away.  We all have such stories, I have a few, some that I've written about on here, time eases the angst and I can look back on many with a smile.  I can still see a big Norfolk twenty slowly sinking into the soup after the hooks came out a split second from the net.  What was that five years ago?  Probably more.  If anything these images are more vivid than the actual successful moments when there so many things to do and I'm too busy just dealing with the mechanics.

Two well published Pikers have had the Pikebook community chuntering recently.  The first from oop north has reveled in questionable Piking ettiquette over the years and was filmed last month demonstrating some dodgy handling techniques.  He didn't bother to use basic equipment that almost all anglers employ without a moments thought and generally set a piss poor example for someone who has managed to get two books on Piking published.  I haven't turned a page of either book but I have read his articles in which he demonstrates it's possible to get great enjoyment from Pike fishing without actually catching a great deal.  That's absolutely fine because compared to some that's what I do.

The other angler is Piking royalty and wrote what is unarguably one of the best books on our sport.  He's recently caught an enormous, fabulous Pike.  Nobody would begrudge him this, over the years he's been inspirational and informative, he will cherish this fish and appreciate it as he should; fair play, well done that man.  But if chapter two of this story is true he's also been guilty of staggering hypocrisy.

January taught me that although I love all forms of Pike fishing, even prolific fishing with lots of action doesn't give me the same sense of fulfillment as a tough day in Norfolk.  I may be insane but I still use a net, a cradle and a sling.

New year, same thing

I keep telling myself I’m going to do something different but the Pike gear is always ready and it’s just so easy to load up and go; besides I enjoy it and that’s the only important thing.  Recently I’ve been very lucky with conditions when I’ve fished, in fact I couldn’t have picked better weather.  Not surprisingly two trips afloat in a regular haunt have been productive, I haven’t really mixed the methods up much because I haven’t needed to, static deadbaits dropped into likely spots have been picked up regularly.  Over a dozen Pike in two trips with fish to over seventeen pounds, this is good fishing by anyone’s standards but the stretch is showing the signs of the over attention of other anglers.  Some of the Pike are showing the scars caused by people who don’t know how to unhook them; it looks like hooks have been ripped out, along with lumps of Pike.  Even in this out of the way stretch of water people will make the effort when the fishing is good, it’s just a shame they can’t make an effort to learn how to do it properly. 

On a recent trip I shared the boat with Mr W, a friend of many years who has only discovered angling in the last few months.  Having spent the summer catching silvers and Carp he wanted to try his hand at Pike fishing so we arranged a day.  In the meantime he went off and caught his first ever Pike which weighed over seventeen pounds so he was a very happy bunny.  We set off and I talked him through the methods as well as a few do’s and don’ts, I warned him that it would probably be a long time before he caught a Pike bigger than his first.  It didn’t take him long before he had his first Pike of the day and was delighted with a fish of around six pounds.  During the rest of the day I caught a few and he missed a couple but was learning all the time.  We had the radio in the boat, listening to England pile on the runs against South Africa which added to our enjoyment despite Talksport’s coverage being crap compared to TMS.  As the light began to fade all we needed was another fish to Mr W’s rod to cap a very enjoyable day.  Sure enough his smelt dropped close by a reedbed was taken and having learned from earlier mistakes he hooked a good fish that stripped line off the clutch and banged the rod over.  He brought it back to the boat where I managed to net it first time.  Parting the mesh revealed a much bigger fish than I expected.  As we were tied up to the bank we clambered onto dry land where I unhooked and weighed a belter of nineteen pounds.  Mr W likes this Pike fishing lark.

Having made a new year’s resolution to catch a Pike from my local river I set about trying to achieve this.  If I had any sense I would have fished one of the stretches I know well that have been productive for me in the past.  Instead I tried an area I’ve rarely fished that has only produced a handful of small Pike.  I set off with one rod, a net and a rucksack holding everything I might need.  I set up with a float rig and used this to trot a smelt down with the current, when I could trot no further I slowly worked the bait back upstream.  This method is good for covering water and has been very productive on this river in the past.  But not today.  I covered well over a mile of river but didn’t see a sign of a fish of any kind.  In hindsight maybe I should have used a lure rod as I could have covered water quicker but I doubt it would have made much difference.  I did see Kingfishers, Pheasants, Tits (!) and a Wren and very few humans but after a couple of hours I’d had enough.  Next time I’ll do things differently.

2019

21^st December 2019

It feels like it’s rained for forty days and forty nights and for the first time in a very long time my local river is in proper flood, it’s in the fields where it shouldn’t be and hammering through where it should.  Hopefully a few years of accumulated silt and debris will be moved and the river will be more approachable in future?  It’s that time of year when the world goes mad and I need a bit of time by the water to forget all the bullshit but free time shrinks and to be honest I’ve fished hard up until now and I need a rest.  When the festive fuckery is finished I’ll be well up for getting afloat.  

I’d had a hankering to get my bank kit out again and recently found a reason to visit a gravel pit that I’ve fished rarely over the years.  I remembered clear, weedy water, comfortable swims, a few blanks but also a couple of big Pike.  I’d forgotten a railway line, a busy road and industrial units and I’d also forgotten the big reed beds made covering water very difficult in most of the swims.  I just ignored the carp anglers.  The day was wet and windy meaning I had to carry more kit that I like, this and the carp anglers meant moves were reduced to just one.  I haven’t fished anywhere so accessible in a few years and I’d completely forgotten how much I dislike what is for most, the ‘normal’ angling experience.  I blanked, didn’t enjoy it so won’t be rushing back. 

Other than that December has been a quieter month, tough going at the special place but a few Pike have obliged at other out of the way places.  I’ll probably have another day afloat to soothe myself from the assault of society before the year ends; hopefully the day is not too far away. 

29^th December 2019

A few days respite from work, eating too much, drinking too much, you know the rest…  The Christmas bollocks always makes me grumpy but once it gets here I enjoy the good bits.  We did get out of the house a few times but two weeks without wetting a line is way too long so I had to take the opportunity before stumbling back into the work days.  I was up before the alarm despite being into a lazy routine but dragging a teenage son out of his bed was more challenging.  We left home around 0700, for once the cross county roads were quiet; as was the car, Isaac was practically mute beside me.  I even turned the stereo down for once, blasting Royksopp out didn’t seem to fit well on this Sunday morning.

It was 0800 before we made our first casts; we used two rods each, fishing deadbaits near and far banks and also shared a fifth rod which drifted a bait down with the gentle current.  We’d picked a decent mild day with a light south westerly breeze which unusually wasn’t sweeping rain clouds towards us.  For the first time in a very long time I actually fished beneath glimpses of a blue sky, with the boat tucked into the reeds we were sheltered and comfortable.  The water had a downstream ripple and was well coloured, unsurprising with all the rain we’ve had.

We’d hardly got settled before I heard the sound of vehicles and a few minutes later a couple of Pikers were walking the banks.  With a mile long stretch to go at they just had to set themselves up right opposite us, friendly enough but noisy.  Even our unsubtle recasts couldn’t dissuade them.  It didn’t help that Isaac’s upstream rod started travelling, as we couldn’t hide the commotion of a nice fish fighting hard coming to the net, one nil to my son.  Our neighbours were slow to set up but definitely weren’t going anywhere, they probably guessed we’d be moving at some point and wanted to wait it out.

Time passed without any action but there were definitely Pike at home, three or four decent sized swirls giving their presence away.  It would have been silly to move with fish showing; our neighbours were fishing the margins.  We spotted an Egret fly over and a Kestrel hovered downstream, the wind rattled the reeds.  Around 0915 my downstream rod was on the move but the bait was dropped before I wound down.  I chucked it back into the same spot and a few minutes later it was heading for mid river once again.  This time it didn’t stop and I bent into a surprising weight that dragged the rod down and upstream.  After this initial surge of energy it was soon plodding and brought into the net.  I didn’t want to make a fuss but this was a nice chunky fish in good nick and well worth weighing so out came the scales and a pleasing weight recorded,.  We were being watched so I slipped it back without a photo then regretted it straight away.  After that I gave up and moved downstream, am I anti-social or paranoid?  Perhaps both but an isolated piece of water and the only other two humans around had to fish so fucking close!  Even in the out of the way places I’ll always have to contend with other Pikers, at least here everything else is close to perfect.

Our first move was a short one but an hour without a fish was too long so we were off again, soon settled with the rods scattered again.  Today Isaac was without a phone or any electronic gadgetry so the chatter flowed; there are many more mutual topics of conversation as he gets older.   But for the next hour most of the chat was fishy as we’d dropped onto some Pike.  I started things off with a thin, otter ravaged fish that should have been a double then quickly followed it with a shorter, fatter Pike that was.  Both took smelts fished tight to the downstream bank.  Isaac lost a fish on a bait cast mid stream then I had a dropped take on the margin rod again.  A few minutes later the smelt on the same rod was on the move again and I soon boated another fat fish but the smallest of the day so far.  It was 4-1 to Dad but Isaac was taking it well, even so I made him recast the rod so it was now his, as was the shared rod.  I wanted him to catch another even if he wasn’t fussed. The next take didn’t take long but this time it was Isaac’s rod cast upstream.  He wound into it and thankfully it stayed hooked.  We soon had our sixth fish of the day and as the camera hadn’t yet been out I decided it should.

Had we stayed on I’m sure we’d have continued to find fish but we’d only planned a short trip and by now it was midday so we decided enough was enough.  Back in the car and back on the road home, Happy Mondays playing on the stereo, I’m not sure if I have one of those in store…

So that was my last day of fishing in 2019, a year that has followed the usual pattern of successful and hugely enjoyable Pike fishing at the beginning and end, sandwiching a few months of catching bugger all of note whilst the sun shines.  I know why this is and my last two trips of the year remind me why I can’t change my ways, too much.

Other than fishing I’ve endured another year of addiction to our cricket team which has become even more unpredictable than Pakistan at their maddest moments.  The World cup win was torturous and only enjoyable after the match had ended but the feeling when Buttler broke the stumps…  It wasn’t just the tournament, the four years of brilliant ODI cricket deserved reward.  But the test team drive me mad and I keep coming back to the captain.  The Ashes were brilliant though and that afternoon at Headingly was as good as I’ve ever experienced, albeit by TMS.

And we’ve seen a load of live music this year too, mostly good.  Starting with Fucked up, there was Fat White Family (twice), Paul Weller, Primal Scream (twice), Stereophonics, Underworld, Hawkwind and many others that slip my mind.  Eels are always a highlight and we saw them play in Nottingham but best of all might have been Loyle Carner at Latitude.

My fishing highlight?  Well it will definitely be a Pike because I’ve caught bugger all else over the last twelve months.  Seeing both my children catch Pike this year has been lovely, Isaac has been doing it fairly regularly for a few years now but Maddie’s was her first for almost a decade.  For myself an unusually prolific day on a headbanger of a water which started with a couple of nice fish from my first stop followed later in the day by a fish I’ve happily? avoided catching for forty years.  She fought like she was furious and I was sure she was bigger but for the first time my scales stopped at 19.15.  I might have been disappointed for a second or two but it’s just a number and that Pike wasn’t the biggest of 2019.

At some point during the last year I realised it was actually forty years since I caught my first Pike, forty fucking years?  The first was caught from an idyllic weirpool on my local River Gipping on a live Gudgeon in August 1979.  It's been a few years since I've had a Pike from this river and the last Gudgeon landed has fallen from my memory.  There's two worthy challenges for the fishing year ahead.

So 2020.  How the fuck did that happen?  Happy New Year.

Spice o' Life

November, more Pike fishing, what else?  Do I get bored?  Very rarely.  I do get tired though, by mid November the long days and nights at the special place take their toll, no matter how it's been fishing.  I need a change of pace and different scenery.

A new Pikelines arrived at the beginning of the month and was very good in most places.  Dave Harrison's article was my favourite and I also enjoyed Bill Winship's piece, I'm not always a fan of the latter.  Steve Rogowski is another regular writer and I remember reading some of his old articles that were very good.  In more recent times he seems to be demonstrating the art of catching Jacks with some questionable attitudes to accepted modern opinions and practice.  There was also another Catch Cult, after a sticky period number thirteen is here at last and mostly very good.  I really enjoyed the article on Finnish Piking and Brian Ingram's story was excellent.  Disappointed to see there's no room for dear old Neville's Piking adventures, essential reading?

Life speeds up in the late autumn, everyone suddenly remembers the festival of greed is approaching and we're all running around like headless politicians.  It's harder to find the time when the C word gets nearer, the fishing fix is sometimes a thing of convenience, I need places that are less demanding.  

Last week I took out a boat on a different system and dropped into some fish at one of those 'sometimes' spots, sometimes you find them home, sometimes you don't.  For a while it looked like the Pike weren't home which is a pisser because it was a long row and a windy day.  But eventually a shad produced the first of several Jacks over the next hour.  The next one took half a bluey fished on the bottom, the third one fell to a smelt drifted under a float and finally I caught another on smelt as it was slowly retrieved.   I also missed a fish on a drifted bait then that was the end of that spell, the rest of the morning was uneventful.  As I rowed back to the yard I trolled a deadbait behind me and not far short of base this was taken and I boated one more Pike.  That brought my tally to five and each was caught on a different method.  That is one of the reasons I never get bored of Pike fishing.

The fish below was caught from another water on another day and this one took a livebait!