Bernard Gonad and friends

I didn’t fish last week, that slot in the diary was taken up with an afternoon in the park, sitting around in the sun with my fishing pals and our families.  We ate cake, drank beer and played a very gentle game of cricket on a green strip full of mounds and pot holes.  In fact it was so unpredictable it hindered the bowler more than the batsman but I swear I’ve played league cricket on worse around the county of Suffolk.  A lovely afternoon but as the days ticked over I’d missed my fishing fix and Saturday couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Giles picked me up around 1300, with high tide due around 1600 we hoped to set up a couple of hours before then fish through and into darkness.  At home the weather was warm with sunny spells and a light westerly, this should be blowing off our backs and make for a comfortable evening.  As we’d be mostly fishing an ebbing tide we figured it made sense to fish the steep beach where we would always be in reach of deep water.  The car park was busy when we arrived, loads of other anglers had the same idea which meant a long, sapping walk along the shingle to find some space.  I was confused whilst setting up, the wind wasn’t where I’d left it, it was now blowing the wrong way, a south easterly right into our chops.  The sky was clear but the sea looked murky, we set up quickly confident of catching fish.

I’d brought a right old selection of baits but I started with squid on both rods while I got settled in.  Once I was comfortable I used Ragworm on the light rod which I mostly fished very close in.  Rag is usually productive bringing lots of bites from all kinds of species but fish can nick it off the hook easily too so requires constant attention.  On the heavy rod I used tougher longer lasting baits, mostly squid but I was also trying frozen peeler and hermit crabs.  But after an hour I hadn’t seen a proper bite on whatever I chucked out and on most casts the ragworm was disappearing.  I persevered with this bait because Bass like it but in hindsight it wasn’t staying on the hook long enough for a Bass to find it.

As usual Giles caught the first fish, a couple of Whiting and a Pouting.  He’s been doing well lately on strips of mackerel, a bait which is tough enough to stay on the hooks long enough for a fish to hang itself.  I think his flapper rig with short hooklengths gives better bite indication too but I like to stick to the long trace as I’m lead to believe its better for Bass and other, bigger species.  Eventually I saw a strange vibration on the light rod and managed to hit a bite which lead to my first fish of the day which was small, brown and flat, my first Flounder of the season. 

High tide came and went with just the odd rod tip rattle.  I stuck it out with the ragworm but experimented with the range I fished at.  Casting just a little bit further out I could at least see bites and if I wasn’t quick enough at least I knew when the bait would need changing.  I managed to catch a Pouting and a couple of crabs.  Meanwhile Giles managed another Whiting and the anglers within sight didn’t seem to be doing any better than us.  Around 1720 with the sea receding I noticed an angler about a hundred yards to the south of us was well bent into something, he dragged a creature out of the surf and lifted up what was clearly a decent sized Ray.  Within minutes I had a proper pull on the heavy rod and I too found myself connected to something with a bit of weight.  As I gradually pumped it towards me I was convinced I was into a Ray, not necessarily a big one but heavy enough to make its presence felt.   It was a little bit of an anti climax when I dragged a Dogfish up the beach but it was a brute and probably the biggest I’ve caught so far.

That signalled the start of a flurry of bites to us both, Giles had a Doggy and regularly wound Whiting up onto the shingle.  I was actually managing to see bites on ragworm and caught a succession of Pouting on the light rod.  I also had two proper, unmissable bites on the heavy rod which I somehow managed to convert into fuck all.  I think I get to excited when the heavy rod hoops over…  No time to get frustrated though as I needed to get a bait back out quickly.  It felt like every cast would bring something momentous but the feeding spell ended and things slowed down again.  By now it was about 1830 and we felt now it was a case of waiting for darkness when we were confident of more action.  This slow period was interrupted by a decent bite on my heavy rod baited with peeler crab.  I made another hash of the strike but still managed to connect to a something that didn’t feel heavy.  When it arrived on the beach it was a funny shape and almost red in colour, what the hell was it?  I knew what it was, I’d seen one before.

Sometime in the mid seventies we had a family holiday in Sussex, our family of four were joined by relatives; Uncle Charlie and Auntie Grace.  We did a bit of fishing off the beach but Dad was not particularly motivated and Charlie spent most of his time trying to untangle things.  In the two weeks we were there we didn’t angle a single fish but I managed plenty of crabs and a few miniature fishy things by dipping my net into pools.  Other anglers were more successful and we saw Plaice and Flounder caught at night and during the day someone caught a beautifully coloured creature which he put in a bucket and which I couldn’t help staring at.  This fish was a Gurnard and forty five years later this was what I had caught today.  It wasn’t a very big fish but it was beautiful with a reddish brown body and ITFC blue pectoral fins.  I was well chuffed, another first and I think the eleventh different species I’ve managed to catch in the last two years.  Like every daft carp angler I christened this fish with an appropriate name, Giles gave it an inappropriate one.

With the sky darkening we moved our kit down the beach to be closer to the receding tide.  I switched the light rod over to a two hook flapper baiting one with squid and the other with worm.  I figured if I missed a bite I should at least have some squid remaining on the hook.  Nightfall did bring a slight increase in activity, mostly on our lighter rods fished very close in; Giles had a couple more Whiting and I had a couple more Pouting.  This was all very well, after all catching fish is the aim but Pout wasn’t quite what I’d had in mind.  Tonight I’d have been better off without the ragworm, it became a distraction but having bought live bait I felt obliged to use it, another night it could make all the difference?

We fished on but the bites dwindled and it was no hardship winding the rods in at around 2300.  The tramp back with feet shifting in slipping shingle was tough, when we reached firmer ground it was as if we’d been fitted with turbos.  As usual we were dog tired and reeked of squid and other unpleasant substances and as usual we’d enjoyed it.  It was good to sink into a comfortable car seat and ride home through rural Suffolk listening to soothing sounds from these chaps.

Its just good fun...

Away to the coast again, this time with Giles.  We headed in the usual direction but which beach did we fancy?  We didn’t make our minds up where to go until we were well into the journey when somehow we managed to talk ourselves into fishing ‘Long hike beach’.  The lure of a Ray persuaded us to step out of our comfort zones and give ourselves a workout which we certainly got and it was a relief to put the gear down and gaze at the beach in front of us.  The evening was dry and mild but a breeze from the sea prevented us getting too warm and when the sun drops we’re always glad of extra layers.

We set up around 1830, with me using the usual methods that I am comfortable with.  Things were quiet to begin with and typically I was set up quickest but Giles caught the first fish, his first sea creature of the year was a Dogfish.  High tide was due after midnight which meant darkness fell on a rising tide and sure enough the fading light brought the fish on.  We had flurries of bites throughout the evening, catching fish in fits and starts, mainly Dogfish with the occasional Whiting, I had one of 33 cm which might be a PB.  Last time I’d fished here the bites had seemed relentless but tonight I liked the fact that it wasn’t non stop; firstly it was more relaxing and also it made me feel like the baits were staying in tact long enough to enable a Ray to find them?

Tonight it was the big bait at range that brought more bites so I started putting bigger baits on the lighter rod and varying the range.  I was enjoying catching the smaller species but it’s the thought of a Ray that motivates me.  We fished through the high tide and packed up around 0130.  The big Ray didn’t put in an appearance tonight but we enjoyed the evening finishing with about a dozen dogs and a few Whiting.  If the walk out seems long then the return hike feels never ending and the comfortable car seat most welcome.

A week later…

 This sea fishing lark ticks the boxes and I really look forward to my fishing fix these days so the working week dragged by but eventually Saturday comes…  The drive east caused me concern as the clouds were thickening and dropping drizzle neither of which had been forecast, the roads were soaked with huge puddles in some places but just a couple of miles from the coast the sky miraculously cleared.  When I pulled up at the Steep beach rain didn’t seem at all likely.

The high tide was due around 1600 so I was in position and fishing a couple of hours before, despite a spectacular crack off on my first cast.  About forty five minutes later Giles staggered smiling across the shingle and unloaded his mound of gear.  The weather this afternoon was weird; inland just a few miles was thick cloud kept at bay by a moderate north easterly.  Above us the sky was clearer with the sun poking through at times but a few miles out to sea there was more cloud which never seemed to get any closer.

I’d been fishing about an hour when Giles made his first cast but as usual he caught the first fish, A whiting and soon followed it up with a second, this time a Pouting.  He’d started getting rattles from the off and this didn’t stop, he wound in a few crabs before adding another Whiting.  I laughed and remarked that I was yet to see a proper bite and almost straight away the light rod started going and as I stepped towards the tripod the heavy rod joined in.  I picked up the latter and felt a bit of weight which seemed to get lighter as it neared the beach, my first of the day turned out to be a decent sized Dogfish, noticeably paler and with smaller spots than most I’ve caught lately.  The high tide period brought another fish for both of us.  Giles another Whiting and I had another Doggie which could have been the twin of the first, then things went quiet.

The early evening saw the tide gradually slip back down the beach and the when the sun was below the cloud it was clear and bright for a while.  The bites dried up and now we knew we were waiting for darkness to come.  A kind angler who had been fishing nearby passed us his unused ragworm as he stamped up the shingle which gave us another option.  The wind was supposed to ease as the day wore on but this didn’t happen there were fresh gusts through the evening but it stayed dry.

The bites started again just before the head torch became necessary and were sporadic for the couple of hours we stayed into darkness, despite the tide going all the way out.  I had a decent Whiting on the big bait and ragworm accounted for another along with a couple of Pouting on the other rod, Giles had similar results.  As usual we missed plenty and lost a fish or two each.  It was one of those nights when I know we could have continued catching but it had been a long session and we were both knackered.  The walk back to the cars was shorter than some but sapping all the same.  There’s a simplicity to our version of sea fishing which really appeals to me, especially as it comes after a winter of getting in and out of boats.  These two trips saw modest catches - nothing to get excited about but the novelty is yet to wear off, its such fun! 

Comfortable

A short notice change of shifts brought an unexpected opportunity to fish; it would have been rude not too…  A bright sunny day with a decent wind from the east which would be in my chops, high tide was due at 1440 or thereabouts, the night time tide would have been stretching convenience so it has to be daytime.  I’m going but where?

I left home after the worst of the rush hour and trundled eastwards but I still hadn’t made up my mind.  Well actually I made up my mind about three times then changed it again.  The turn off approached, it really was time to decide but I didn’t, I simply didn’t turn off, which kind of means I did, in a way.  Fifteen minutes later I parked, hoisted my gear and began the trudge to Radar beach.  The first thing I noticed was plenty of snags that weren’t evident before.  I’m guessing winter storms scoured the beach which certainly looked a little steeper?  By 1030 I had the usual heavy rod/light rod combination set up and cast out with lumps of squid and bluey being boiled in the tide.  The wind was cutting but I managed to get the oval securely in place which provided much needed cover from wind and sun.

My first retrieve of the heavy rod revealed the bait had been stripped, evidence of crabs being active?  But the light rod provided a surprise, a Whiting had hung itself and the blank had been avoided.  Time passes quickly on the beach, the rods nodded rhythmically, waves boomed against sea defences, the sea crept up the beach with a crash and roar and I was catching fish despite not being to spot any proper bites.  One time when the tip did bang round with purpose I hooked something with a bit of weight which came up to the surface, as Dogfish often do, then splashed and shed the hook.  This was frustrating, not because it felt particularly heavy but more because I’ll never ever know what it actually was.

I fished through high tide and an hour or so afterwards, still hoping for the Ray that rarely shows up.  By 1600 I was tired and began the slow tidy up.  My tally at the end was four Dogfish and eight Whiting most of which would have made a meal.  A dozen fish beached and a couple more lost but the strange thing is I only actually saw about three proper bites all day.  How does that happen?

This time last year I hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to fish in the sea but this year I’m four trips along the way and feeling comfortable with how I’m fishing.  I’m also catching plenty of fish but apart from the one Eel I’ve only been catching Whiting and Dogfish.  The doggies are all of a decent size, usually give the tip a good whack and let you know you’ve hooked them.  Once caught they still don’t want to give up, twisting and writhing while I try to get the hook out they have a thuglife attitude.  Apparently there’s a way to peel the skin off them and then they make a good meal but it all seems a lot of faff to me.  Many of the Whiting have been of edible size too but I keep making the same mistake.  I catch a decent one and think “that’s a meal for one, shame I haven’t got another…” so chuck it back then go and catch another good sized one.  I did it about five times on this trip.  So far so good but these aren’t the fish I’m really interested in; there are a few Rays being caught, the Bass are arriving and the Smoothounds won’t be far behind.  Catching these smaller fish is fun but will only hold my interest for so long, as with all the fishing I’ve ever done it’s the rarer, sometimes bigger fish that motivate me.

Saturdays

Another weekend, another Saturday on the beach.  This time the weather was a lot more pleasant, I could expect a mixture of sunshine and cloud with a moderate westerly blowing over my shoulder.  High tide would be around 1730 but I arrived in plenty of time as I expected the steep beach would be busy.  With a nicely timed tide on a weekend I expected plenty of anglers would arrive to fish the traditional ‘three up – three down’ so I made sure I was in position by around 1330.

I took my time setting up, firstly getting the oval erected but this proved to be a waste of time as I just couldn’t get the bloody thing to stay upright and in position so it wasn’t long before I scrapped it.  Meanwhile I got the rods out; as usual I used a big bait on the pulley rig which I hurled as far as I could and a smaller bait on a running rig dropped in close.  Then it was just a case of sitting back to wait.  By this time the beach was indeed filling up but sea anglers leave you alone, nobody feels the need to discuss the latest Youtube video (advert) or tell you who caught what last week.  For a couple of hours the fish left me alone too, I was definitely getting slight tremors and pulls on the light rod but no proper bites.  I noticed the anglers around me were getting a few Whiting though.

Around 1600 I had a proper bite at last, the close range rod whacked over as something tried to make off with my squid fillet.  I bent into something with a bit of weight and dragged a Dogfish up the pebbles.  I like doggies, they are tough little fuckers with nice markings and they act like they think they’re a Great White.  I hoped this would the start of things but it wasn’t yet still I noticed people either side of me were catching Whiting.  I continued to get half hearted rattles and pulls so decided I had to change things.  I baited up a two hook flapper rig with short hooklengths which I thought might encourage something to hook itself.  When I wound in the running rig a Whiting had hung itself!  Should I stick or twist?  I decided to go with the flapper rig and I think it made a difference as I started getting positive bites and began catching Whiting regularly.  While this was going on the big bait which I alternated between Squid and Bluey wasn’t doing much, well it was doing fuck all to be honest.

High tide was upon me, this is when I’ve caught the bigger Rays in the past so I sat sipping a brew hoping the tip on the big bait would whack round and would you believe it did!  But it sprang straight back again and nothing developed.  When I wound in a few minutes later half my squid was gone.  As the tide ebbed so the bites slowed but I did get a couple on the big rod, these were better sized Whiting and had I kept a couple they would have made a decent meal for two.  But not the one below...

The tide gradually receded and the sky darkened, sometimes darkness brings a flurry of bites but this didn’t materialise tonight.  I fished until around 2100 then packed up tired and content finishing with nine Whiting of mixed sizes and the one Dogfish.  After two trips on the beach this year I feel like I’m in the groove again and I’m looking forward to getting back.

A bright sunny spring day, mild as opposed to hot as the easterly breeze is keeping the temperature modest but its undeniably spring, announced by the first beech leaves on the hedge this morning.  The roads east were surprisingly quiet and I pulled into a different car park a little before 1800.  This is ‘Long hike beach’, will the effort be worth it?  I fished here once last spring and it wasn’t, the sea was wild and angry, I blanked.  After fifteen minutes on a solid path and another five trudging across pebbles I arrived at what looked like a suitable spot.  The low tide revealed lots of rocks, humps and lumps which I didn’t feel experienced enough to try and fish over, so I walked beyond all the snags.  By 1830 my first cast touched down, as usual a chunk of squid on a pulley rig given the big un.  On the other rod I reverted to my usual long trace/running leger rig which I mostly fished close in although I did vary the distance at times.  I had it in mind to maybe change to the flapper rig again if things didn’t go to plan.

But the first cast on the light rod brought a definite bite but by the time I reacted it was long gone.  The first couple of casts on the heavy set up saw the baits go AWOL but any crabs about soon buggered off. At 1920 I sat with a brew watching a Kestrel hovering behind me as the sun settled lower in the sky.  Darkness would arrive and with it a full moon and a rising tide which should reach its high point after midnight.  In theory a good evening to be fishing?  I certainly felt confident.

The first hour of darkness, thw wind died but the fishing was nuts.  I was getting bites on both rods and it was non stop; unhooking fish, baiting up, casting, winding in…  At the end of the mad spell I’d caught five decent sized Dogfish and one Whiting.  For the rest of the evening bites were more sporadic but one fish would bring another so there were spells of activity between calmer periods.  By midnight I’d beached three more dogs and an Eel but with high tide approaching I was hoping a Ray might put in an appearance.

My biggest two Thornbacks previously have come right at the top of the tide and bang on cue the tip of the big bait rod rapped over.  I panicked and struck like a twat waving the rod through thin air, bugger!  Had I blown it?  I fished on for an hour longer by which time I was knackered.  Winding in the heavier rod it felt like I was attached to something heavy that didn’t want to come in, was it a Ray?  Whatever it was got stuck and wasn’t shifting, eventually the leader knot gave up.  It may have been a fish or it could have been a load of weed and debris.  Either way, when I wound in the other rod the Whiting that had hung itself was no consolation.

By now it was 0130 and I still had the long hike back to contend with followed by a forty minute drive home.   Needless to say I collapsed into bed at an ungodly hour and apparently snored like a hog?

Smelly fishy bits

Spring is here, allegedly.  You wouldn’t think so from the weather; overnight frosts, gale force north easterly winds along with rain, sleet, hail and snow.  If there’s any other form of precipitation we probably had that dumped on us too.  Friday was a non starter fishing wise and I didn’t fancy my chances for spring Carp or Tench when it all calmed down on Saturday.  In the end I spent a large chunk of my time off driving, firstly to Norwich on Friday to see my daughter and then on Saturday out west to Sudbury to drop my son off at a party.  There’s a strange vibe about this part of the county, I always expect to hear a banjo…  From here I backtracked and headed east towards the coast to get my fishing fix.  All this driving gave me plenty of opportunity to listen to music, old and new.  Frank Zappa has many fans but after half an hour of musical wanking (i.e. jazz with guitars) I decided I wasn’t one of them.  The latest Van Morrison record project was little better, badly produced with each song blending into the next becoming a boring procession but at least I made it to the end of the CD.

Eventually I reached the car park at the steep beach, the tide was all wrong but I didn’t care, I’d hurl some lumps of smelly fishy bits into the sea, relax and take what comes my way, if anything.  The afternoon was clear and bright, the north easterly had eased to become manageable even if I required the old oval brolly to ensure my comfort. The tide was all wrong, I’d be fishing it down for an hour or so then back up for as long as I could stay motivated.  As I sat slowly tackling up I wondered if I’d bitten off more than I could chew?  Soon I had remembered enough to get two baits out into the grey watery mass, my usual set ups; a running leger with a small bit of squid dropped in close and a whole squid on a pulley Pennell chucked out as far as I dared, which wasn’t that far as it turned out.  As I’d tackled up the big bait I thought I’d seen a rattle on the other and sure enough when I checked a small Whiting had hooked itself, my first cast of the spring had brought me a fish, result!

I was off and running, blank avoided so I settled back on my chair with a brew and tried to reacquaint myself with this beach fishing lark.  The late afternoon was pleasant and bright but I was glad I’d brought the oval because once outside the shelter the wind was cutting.  I’d like to say the bites came thick and fast but this was not the case, I had to get used to the quirks of sea fishing and the rhythm of the waves.  I may have had several bites but if this was so I didn’t spot them.  Two lads fishing to my right had no such trouble, by the look of things they were fishing short hooklengths on flapper rigs and were very active, casting often and striking regularly they were catching a few Whiting, while I wasn’t doing much at all.  I was sure I had a few plucks and rattles but few proper bites and when I struck it was either early or late.  I considered switching methods but in the end I just couldn’t be arsed, this frenetic fishing isn’t for me even if today it would have been more effective.

By 1900 the sea was creeping back up the beach and the sun was getting ready to set, also the wind had died away completely meaning I could tidy up the brolly and get it out of the way.  As the time passed I began to remember the little details that make a difference, my casting improved dramatically and I began to feel like I knew what I was doing again.  As the light fades I always feel confident and sure enough another proper bite materialised.  I picked the rod off the tripod and held it, when another shudder transmitted up the line I struck and I managed to winch another Whiting onto the beach.  With the rising tide the waves grew bigger even though the sea beyond the breakers was flat, I haven’t a clue about the subtleties of wind and tide and I probably never will.  I am definitely guilty of taking Pike fishing seriously, too much so at times but here on the beach I just want to fish and relax, I don’t feel the need to try too hard and the simplicity is part of the appeal.  I look at the lengths modern carpers go to and in some cases admire their effort but it’s definitely not for me.

Another hour passed and full darkness had descended, the horizon was lit by a row of ships heading south to Felixstowe and Harwich, the stars above were spectacular.  The roll and crash of the waves shifting tonnes of shingle seemed louder in the dark, it really is a surreal and wild environment on this stony coast.  But as the night time passed so the temperature dropped, by 2200 I’d added another Whiting but a frost was forming on my kit so I made my last casts.  Half an hour later I was back on country lanes, the stereo throbbed with Marley’s ‘Survival’ a classic that won’t disappoint.  My headlights picked out rabbits another positive and welcome sign of spring.  The fishing hadn’t been at all spectacular but it had ticked all the boxes.

St. Patrick's Day

17^th March 2022.  The date is significant because I’m sitting behind Pike rods, deadbaits soaking.  The Pike police would have me executed without trial for three cardinal sins; 1 – Fishing when Pike should be spawning 2- Fishing in the old closed season and 3 – Fishing in the mild spring sunshine, enjoying myself and not feeling at all guilty.  Experience, (real experience i.e. mine, not someone else’s read on the internet and repeated) tells me all will be well and the Pike will be in no more peril now than they were a fortnight ago.  And you know what?  It’s my birthday so fuck off.  With it falling frustratingly three days inside the old closed season for years I could never fish on my birthday and as I never make a fuss about it I’ve usually been at work ever since.  How many times have I fished for Pike on my birthday before today?  Once, maybe twice?  But today here I am fishing the way I enjoy most and I’ve already had a couple of Jacks on Smelt as early presents.  There is barely a cloud in the sky and the sun is warming the air quickly, I’ve slapped sun block on my face already.  The water is gin clear and rippled by a westerly breeze.

My aim today is purely relaxation, I’m not at work, I’m chilling out in the countryside, this warm spring weather only enhances this.  But I can’t chill out for long so soon I’m flinging lures around, going through the box trying to find something they’ll like.  Nothing interrupts my cast/retrieve rhythm apart from takes on the deadbaits my lures have been passing.  The biggest is a fat fish that had no right to weigh nine pounds (yes I checked it) and this one definitely hadn’t spawned.  I’m wondering how many of the reports I’ve read online that told me Pike were already spawning (at unlikely times in unlikely places) are actually true, how many are really fake news?  Clever snippets of misinformation designed to thin out the competition…

By 1030 I’d had nine fish all on either smelt or Herring.  It was obvious fish were grouped together in preparation for spawning, the average size of the ones I’d caught suggested many were males.  This was all good fun but I hoped the big sisters would be along.  The mad spell stopped and things went quiet but a couple of short moves saw me add two more fish to my tally.  If I worked hard, kept making little moves or adjustments maybe I could tempt one of the bigger fish?  But by 1400 I’d had enough and called it a day even though I’m positive I could have caught a few more had I stayed till dusk.  That’s me Piked out, for the day and for the season.  I’m tired of 0430 starts, hundreds of miles and getting myself in and out of boats, getting home exhausted and stinking like a bad day in hell.  This is where I draw a full stop on all of that, I’ve had enough.  Now I’ll take a rest from the hard stuff and do something more comfortable and less strenuous.  By early September I’ll be right up for it again.

It’s been a strange Pike season; The wilderness in Nelson’s county had been unusually settled for a couple of years so I was expecting things to be different this season but was still surprised as to just how unpredictable things would become.  In the end I manged to catch a few and came away content but there were many days when the float didn’t move and it felt like it never ever would.  Elsewhere I caught Pike from a variety of waters in three East Anglian counties and a fair sprinkling of big ones.  But for the last six weeks, despite catching plenty of Pike not one reached double figures, ah well at least the float was going under and I did get to net and photograph a PB for a friend, something that doesn’t happen often these days.

It seems we live in an age where most anglers now go to youtube when trying to find a fishing fix whilst sat at home but I still prefer words with the occasional picture and I think I always will.  I like to read and re read books and magazines and I like to read other blogs.  But…  It occurred to me that a long time ago someone, somewhere writing on the subject of fishing, cleverly used military metaphors to enrich their descriptions.  This worked very well, so much so it has been endlessly imitated ever since with increasing frequency to the point it’s gone beyond cliché and become the everyday, accepted norm.  Now it’s just fucking boring.  You don’t have an armoury mate you have a fucking shed.

It’s rare to find any decent printed angling literature these days but as long as twenty years ago things were on the slide.  Even then the weekly and monthly angling mags were driven by advertising, the articles were riddled with product placement and cliché ridden bollocks.  It’s accepted that the demise of the angling press was caused by a change in advertising strategies but could it have survived if the articles were something other than sponsored anglers peddling tat?  Catch Cult is a rare exception these days but it’s not immune to the crimes mentioned above, with a multi species mag there will always be things that don’t appeal to me but I have to say it’s been more miss than hit for me lately.

And while I’m having a moan what’s going on with all the nicknames the media is giving fish?  I know we call small Pike ‘Jacks’ and we always have, this has gone on for centuries.  Going back to the military theme, in recent years some muppet nicknamed a big Perch a ‘Sargent’ (it’s got stripes, geddit..?) and the smaller ones are called Wasps…  Fuck sake, a wasp is a stripy flying sadist, a Perch is a fish.  We have the angling trade to thank for this as Perch are the trendy, sexy fish of choice for the carp angler who isn’t tough enough for winter fishing.  He or she can just wrap up in suspiciously trendy clothes, travel light and nip out for a couple of hours trying to catch a predator that won’t bite them back.  That he or she has to buy a full new kit to do so is very convenient.  Talking of trendy fish, small Carp are known as ‘pasties’ around these parts, possibly due to the millions of identical small commons we caught from Layer pit in the eighties.  And Tench, ‘ol red eye’, when I was carp afflicted we referred to them as ‘slimy greenbacks’ but what I’d give for a gnarly old green bottom truffler of epic proportions this spring and a big Roker (Thornback) would be nice too…

On tour

It’s been a strange few weeks fishing wise.  I decided to go on tour, fishing here there and everywhere, six different venues in late January and early February including waters I hadn’t fished for a very long time.  One was another fenland river which is probably one of the nicest waters I’ve ever fished but it really is a strange part of the world.  Change the accents and I could have walked into Royston Vasey, there is an odd vibe about this part of the fens.  But like I said the river is lovely and I managed to catch a Pike albeit a small one.  I’ve also been sneaking about on an overgrown pit which requires a bit of a drive and a good hike which can become elongated further if the quarry is manned.  Once I’m there I can almost relax, I’ve managed to catch a few Pike here and I’m learning all the time so this could be one for the future.

I recently had a strange day on a more familiar water.  Actually I hadn’t planned to go there at all, it was a handy second choice because I needed to be home for a delivery in the mid afternoon.  I’d barely got the rod rests in when a phone call informed me that I needed to be home a couple of hours earlier than I’d expected cutting my fishing time to about three hours…  The day started off bright and clear but the forecasters had warned of a band of heavy rain sweeping in.  The first hour while it was still dry, was all action, I think I had six takes including two rods going off at once on two occasions.  I managed to land four of them but all were small and one of those that dropped off had no weight to it, the other I didn’t feel at all.  Then the rain came and I didn’t get another sniff.  I dutifully packed up at 1100, loaded gear into the car followed by the waterproofs then slammed the door only to find I’d managed to lock the keys inside.  So there I stood, shivering in the rain, miles from civilisation, helpless.  After a couple of phone calls and a few hours the situation was resolved without me getting hypothermia or having to smash any windows.

And today plans that had been made well in advance ended up being cancelled after the weather changed from a nice day in the boat - to better off on the bank - then finally to fuck that not even I’m daft enough to go out in it.  The media does tend to over hype and exaggerate but today was as wild as anything I’ve ever known and I was thankful for my rare dose of common sense.

That’s been the theme of recent weeks, nothing has gone to plan but the float has gone under regularly although no Pike that has been in the net has required the camera or scales.  Now I’ve reached the point where I realise that the Pike season is running out fast and before long I’ll be putting the gear at the back of the shed and making plans to catch something completely different.  But until then I still have plenty of Pikey enthusiasm and will be fishing hard.