Heaven & Hell

A last minute change of plans gave me the opportunity to spend a night and a day at my favourite place. The car was hastily loaded and I was on my way, driving through drizzle and gloom with a plan fixed in my mind. If I could get on the water in time I would motor off to a place where Rich had found a fish or two in recent times. Unfortunately a succession of 'Tesco' trucks slowed my journey considerably and by the time I had launched the boat daylight was fading fast. I chickened out of plan A, not wanting too long a journey in the dark but was not too disappointed as I had faith in plan B. I headed out and questioned my sanity as another drizzle shower was whipped into my face by a brisk westerly breeze. However the sky was clearing and as I nosed the boat into the reeds the beautiful sunset away to my left made everything worthwhile.

As the light faded I quickly got three baits out into the water, two float ledgered deads were fished fairly close to the boat, a sardine adjacent to the reeds and a bluey a little further out. As I was anchored securely the third rod was rigged up with a ledger rig using a running 3ozs lead and baited with a mackerel. Some people frown on ledgering from a boat but if it's done correctly there is no problem. All three rods were fished with tight lines and ET boat biter alarms. With the rods out the boat was tidied up and organised so I knew where everything was and could reach it with ease. I was then able to settle back with a mug of tea and enjoy the experience of night fishing on the system.

I'd hardly been there an hour when I had a sharp pull on the ledger rod, the boat-biter sang out and the bait runner gave a little line. It stopped as soon as it had started but could only have been a take. I wound down to absolutely no resistance but there were a few marks on the bait, no doubts – a dropped take. On the one hand it was disappointing that I hadn't put a fish in the boat but on the other it boosted my confidence knowing that my choice of swim wasn't far off the mark.

Supper was the traditional sausage and bacon fry up washed down with another mug of tea. A friend “CC” was fishing elsewhere on the system and we swapped texts through the evening, passing the time with football banter and fishing gossip. All three rods were checked and recast. By now it was properly dark, the night was mild even though the wind was still fresh and the clear sky was dotted with stars. I lay back listening to the rustling reeds and counting the shooting stars, making the same wish on each of them. The temperature may have been falling but not my spirits, there was something wonderful about just being there, soaking up the atmosphere. All I needed was a fish....

At around 2200 the boat biter signalled life on the float rig baited with Bluey. This time the culprit kept going and I quickly wound down, bent into a fish and there was a pleasing resistance on the end of the line. My first night time Pike from this system punched its weight and tail-walked in the moonlight for me, fan bloody tastic! Not a monster but she'll do for me, a broad grin spread across my face. Not only that she conveniently unhooked herself in the net and was swimming away moments later. With the rod recast and the boat tidied once again I lay down in the bottom of the boat feeling content and at peace with the world.

I must have dozed off as just over an hour later the ledger rod was purring away as another Pike made off with the deadbait. Another quick strike saw a Pike of similar size drawn towards the boat, all seemed well but as she came into range a shake of the head saw the bait and hooks being thrown back at me. Oh well... I recast and fished an hour or so longer, enjoying the star lit spectacle but after a while the eyes grew heavy so I wound the rods in and lay down in the bottom of the boat once more to get some rest. I dozed off wondering what to do in the morning, should I stay in this general area or head off to the spot I'd originally intended to fish.....?

I cat napped through the night but awoke feeling fairly fresh as light began to grow away in the east. I made an instant decision to pull up the weights and head of to the “other” area. Half an hour later I was tucked into a nice sheltered corner with four deadbaits spread about the boat. Two were fished along the weed line while two others were out in open water. The day dawned as the previous one had ended, with a clear sky and a fresh westerly wind. Conditions looked good but I felt unsettled, not really confident. I had company in the form of a harrier hunting low over the reeds behind me and I beautiful panorama of water and marshland in front but still a nagging feeling I should move. After a while this urge became too much so move I did.

The next spot was one I'd never fished from before but it ticked all the boxes. A bay opened up to my left and there was thick marginal weed in front of the reeds on both sides of me. I cast a mackerel upwind along the weed line and a Sardine down wind. A Bluey was fished in open water as was a Pollan on the fourth rod. This latter was fished buoyant and twitched back towards the boat. I felt settled here and also felt like I was covering the water around me thoroughly, surely it was just a matter of time? A little over an hour later the mackerel was picked up, signalled by the float moving away from me following the line of the weed. I wound down and bent into the fish which responded by diving straight into the weed. Everything went solid but I kept the pressure on and gradually started to gain line and pump something back towards the boat. At first I was sure there was life on the end of the line but by the time I got a mass of weed back to the boat whatever fish had been on the end had gone. I have no idea just how large or small the Pike had been but kept telling myself that had it been a big fish the hooks would have found a good hold and I'd have landed it. This didn't stop me feeling gutted though! With a healthy dose of hindsight I realised that by positioning the boat a little further out I could have avoided the problem almost entirely, live and learn.

I carried on fishing but my enthusiasm and confidence were diminishing, I felt like I'd blown my chances for the day. Things didn't improve when a large yacht which had been zig-zagging across the water in front of me decided to stop and take down the sails within spitting distance of my boat. Why, when there's hundreds of acres of water did this bunch of clowns have to perform this task right in front of me? Two adults hanging precariously off the bows on a windy day, being watched by two children and not a single life jacket between them! Usually I'm able to ignore these types but today I couldn't help giving them some 'advice' in my Anglo Saxon dialect. I moved further upwind for another hour and here I threw a lure around for a while. At the end of a retrieve a tiny Pike flashed at the lure before vanishing once again. It was going to be one of those days! As I tidied the boat ready for departure a group of Cranes flew by, they were leaving the area and so was I.

There's Cranes there honest!

On yesterdays journey I'd been held up by Tesco lorries, on my journey home I was stuck behind a bloody horse box. When it comes to these creatures (which were rendered useless by the invention of the internal combustion engine) I think the French have the right idea. However, on the right back-side, Jodhpurs are a gift from God. Eventually I made it home; tired, filthy and very smelly. I'd enjoyed the experience, boated a fish but had the feeling I could have done better. My addiction has taken hold of me again and I can't wait to get back.

Punish the polluters!

Pollution is obviously a nightmare for all anglers and with the paltry fines imposed on polluters there is hardly any deterrent. In fact in some cases it might even be financially viable to allow a pollution and take the fine - not that I'm cynical of course!

Please follow this link and sigh the petition.

http://petitions.number10.gov.uk/pollutionfines/#detail

Last week it was the River Trent, next week it could be your local river.

Thanks

early Autumn

The last weekend in September was highly eventful, beginning with an early morning start on the Saturday and avoiding an over turned boat & trailer on the A14 I managed to make my way to Stoneleigh for the PAC annual convention.

As usual it was a highly enjoyable day catching up with old friends and meeting new ones. I spent most of it helping Mark & co on the club's products stand. It was a nice change this year to just be a helper and not have the responsibility for organising the stand. This year I was also able to spend a bit more time wandering around the hall and checking out the tackle stands. Steve Bown was there demonstrating the excellent BBB alarms, alongside the inimitable Dave Lumb who shared a bit of his knowledge about a rod I hope to be buying sometime soon. Next stand along was Eddie Turner with the full range of gear and some awesome stuffed fish for a backdrop. Across the way was Alex and the Zoota lures stand where I couldn't resist buying another wagtail to replace the badly chewed one in my tackle box. I also bought a copy of John Watson's “Pikers Progression”, a book I've been after for some time. My final purchase was a life jacket from the second hand stall, If I'm not wearing it the kids will be. For the first time ever I even got to see a talk this year, this was by Ian Weatherall who overcame some early nerves to deliver a very enjoyable talk with a few laughs and some cracking photos.

The convention is always a good day but the best part, without a doubt is always the Saturday night. With the day's work over it's time to relax, eat, drink and make merry. My friends and I managed to do all of those things to excess. When not actually fishing, the next best thing has to be talking about it and a beery evening was spent laughing, reminiscing and sharing stories. Big thanks to Steve, Rob & Ian for their company which went on until the early hours of the morning.

We had a days fishing scheduled for the Sunday but we were all a bit worse for wear so there was no rush. A leisurely breakfast, a quick cup of tea then off to the river. Five of us cast rods for Pike, Zander, Barbel and anything else that swum. Five slightly hungover anglers soaked up the autumn sunshine, relaxed, laughed and totally failed to catch a fish of any kind. That's why it's called fishing and not catching.

In the early evening I began the long drive back to Suffolk but before I'd made it to the motorway the car was making horrible noises when I changed gear. I limped back home but there was obviously something very wrong. The M.O.T. proved terminal and to make things more ironic I'd just acquired a new trailer. So now I had boat sitting on a nice trailer but no car to tow it, my first Pike trip of the autumn planned for midweek had to be postponed. What a pisser!
The car is dead, long live the car! Eventually everything fell into place and with new wheels (and more debt) I towed the boat up to its winter home and had my first trip of the season. For once there was no early start and it was midday before I was on the water. The weekend admirals were out in force so my options were limited but I launched easily and headed south, as I neared a favoured area I saw a couple of Grebes so made a beeline for them. I ended up dropping the weights in an area I hadn't fished before but it looked good. Two static deadbaits were chucked out into open water and two others were made buoyant and fished along the reed line. The baits were positioned so any oils and juice leaking out would spread making as much of a scent trail as possible. At least that was the theory!

I spent a couple of hours in this spot before lifting the weights and moving over to a quiet bay from which I've caught a few Pike in the past. Once again four deadbaits were spread out though one was fished close to the reeds. The sun was more evident now, poking through the clouds and the breeze had freshened considerably. I felt more confident here than I had in the first spot and really felt that If I could find fish then I would catch. However after an hour or so in this spot I hadn't located any Pike willing to take a bait so it was time to move once more.


Just a short journey this time saw me sitting in another spot that had produced for me in the past. A bluey was cast into open water, a buoyant Mackerel upwind a Sardine downwind and a Pollan chucked towards the reeds. I made myself comfortable in the bottom of the boat and got some sausages sizzling in the pan. There is absolutely no doubt that they taste best in such circumstances. Just as I was contemplating plan D, I noticed the float cast towards the reeds was on the move, my first take of the autumn and as usual a knee trembling, ring clenching experience. I wound down quickly and bent into the fish and it was obvious straight away that it wasn't a monster, however the first of the new season was soon in the net and I was a very happy bunny. I've never fished anywhere else where a relatively small fish puts such a big smile on my face. It's something I struggle to describe...so I won't try today at least. I gave this area another half hour before making my final move of the day.

I dropped into an open water swim and spread fresh baits around the boat, once again trying to maximise any scent trail they may make. I settled down with a hot mug of tea and watched the first of many sunsets over the reeds and marshes this season. I fished for as long as I could see the floats then quickly tidied up and headed back to base. It's been six months since my last visit and by god it was good to be back!

Nostalgia

What a mad few weeks, where did the time go? Despite my gloomy predictions England managed to win the Ashes!!! But the end of the test match series always seems like the end of summer, maybe not a bad thing the way the fishing has gone this year? I managed to take the kids to the Fenland country fair on the bank holiday weekend, which was great. Mark & co were manning the PAC stand and it was good to catch up. Madison loved the ferret racing, Isaac loved the food... With all this family stuff going on I almost missed an important personal anniversary; thirty years ago, in august 1979 I caught my first ever Pike!

Anyone who is bored/daft enough to read my scribbles more than once will have noticed that I never name the waters I'm fishing for obvious reasons, but this time I'm going to make an exception. The reason why will become apparent towards the end of this ramble. Anyway, back to my trip down memory lane, August 1979. I can remember I was fishing my usual haunt at that time, a small millpond on Suffolk's River Gipping. The mill was long gone even then but it was still a beautiful shady, little pool. The river had once been canalised and where a lock had formerly stood, water now tumbled over a weir, through a brick sided run, beneath a bridge and into the tree shaded pool. Here a nice current flowed down the far bank and an eddy swirled around the near. The pool then narrowed and water sped through a shallow gravel run and away. In my mind the weather was hot and clear but it always was in the school summer holiday back then. The tackle was a poker stiff six foot boat rod made of solid fibre glass with an Intrepid surfcast reel loaded with thick blue mono that could have towed a bus. I don't remember if I used a wire trace but I suspect I didn't. I do remember mounting a live gudgeon on an enormous single hook and swinging it as far into the pool as I could on the gear I was using. The rod was then laid on the ground and I assume I turned my attention back to catching dace, gudgeon, minnows or what ever would take my maggots. After a while could have been minutes, could have been hours, I was alerted by the sound of gravel moving as my tackle was dragged towards the water. I don't think the beast beneath could have put up much of a struggle before it was dragged onto the gravel and battered to death. Obviously I took it home to show off to my family, friends and anyone else who glanced in my direction. It was weighed on mum's kitchen scales and 1 ½ pounds recorded. After having my photo taken in the back garden the poor hapless ex-Pike was buried beneath a bush. Happily, this is the one and only Pike I have ever knowingly killed.

Back to the present. This weekend was another busy one. Loads of decorating to fill the days, a big Saturday night out with my oldest, dearest friends (including my fishing mates) and our wives & girlfriends – I think I've just about recovered from that one! Today Shantel made her début for a new football team, played a blinder and scored on the way to a win. All I needed to cap a perfect weekend was a fish or two so on Sunday evening I sneaked down the river with a medium lure rod and a minimal amount of tackle. Where should I go? There was only one choice, that little millpool on the River Gipping. My sights were set low, just a Pike, any Pike would do. After days of dry, bright, mild weather today was cloudy with a hint of drizzle in the air. I crossed the bridge and negotiated the stile, at first glance the pool looked much the same as it had in my childhood but on closer inspection the flow was nowhere near as strong as it had been back then. This may be due to the long dry spell we've experienced but I suspect it has more to do with abstraction from a pumping station downstream. This is used to top up a water supply reservoir and it's affects on the river have gone largely un-noticed over the last couple of decades.

I began fishing with a home made ½ ounce spinnerbait, buzzing it amongst lily pads. After a couple of casts a fish moved near by...was it a Pike? I continued a quick retrieve but the lure stopped by weed, or so I thought but as I pulled a small Pike swirled away, sod it! chance missed. I continued downstream fishing swims I literally spent days in as a child. On one hand it looked familiar, trees where I'd lost countless floats still overhung the river and there were still some well worn patches in the same places on the bank. However other trees had been broken down and the far bank had been redeveloped. On one occasion in my youth my pals and I were almost caught scrumping apples and had to escape by jumping into the river. Both the old building and the orchard were gone, replaced by three or four new houses and the sound of children's voices playing “What's the time Mr Wolf?” was clearly audible. There was also a great deal more weed, choking the river in places and as I alluded to earlier the current was nothing like it was in my childhood. It was on this stretch of river that I learnt to trot with a stick float (anyone remember that?), nowadays it would be like fishing a lake. The fishing was a non event. One more jack Pike shot out of the weed at high speed, homed in on the spinnerbait then just as rapidly turned and vanished back into the weed from whence it came, but that was it. Time well spent though.

On the way home I decided to pull in and have a look at another stretch of the river, this one used to be my absolute favourite and is controlled by a club grandly titled the Gipping Angling Preservation Society. I was disappointed to see that what was once a great stretch of river with excellent fishing for Roach, Chub and winter Pike is now almost completely choked with weed. The peg numbers go up to number thirty but only about five were actually fishable due to weed and general dis-repair. There was virtually no current at all which doesn't help matters either. I wonder what the G.A.P.S. Club are doing to “preserve” the fishing on the Gipping? The answer is obviously absolutely nothing as they are busy spending the revenue from their ever decreasing membership on trying, yet somehow failing to build more Carp puddles. When I was a child this club had about 1100 members and controlled all the worthwhile fishing in the area. I was a member for many years and virtually learnt to fish on their waters. Unfortunately even back then G.A.P.S. was always a decade behind the times and even now they have only just cottoned on to the fact that big Carp fishing is actually quite popular. I haven't been a member of this club for several years now, the final straw was a livebait ban imposed some time ago. I use the word imposed deliberately as the club's match dominated committee decided the club needed this in the name of “fish welfare” without consulting the membership.
This was once my favourite Pike swim on the river...

I was amongst a group of five or six Pike anglers who attempted to do something about the ban at a committee meeting. Most of the talking was done by a friend called Chris who has since sadly passed away. Not only was Chris a fine all round angler but a very intelligent and articulate man who completely destroyed the arguments put forward by the committee. They had no answer to Chris and we were treated to the sight of grown men shrugging their shoulders and giggling into the palms of their hand. Their response was to say “thank you very much” and ban it anyway. The club lost five members right then & there, last I heard membership was down to about 300. Compare this to the similarly named Colchester APS based twenty miles to the south and the contrast couldn't be greater. Here there is a thriving club offering anglers what they want, including Carp and Catfish. Other clubs more local to G.A.P.S. patch have sprung up and are growing at the expense of the older established organisation, none of them are my cup of tea but they offer what anglers want.

What happened to the overhanging branches? Another winter holding area destroyed

Anyway, rant over. On a more positive note it's two weeks to go before the annual Pike Anglers Club of Great Britain at Stoneleigh. Always a great event with a great line up of speakers and all of the tackle suppliers listed on the right of the page will be showing off their wares.
Details here.......

http://www.pacgb.co.uk/aboutpac/convention.html

All very nice but...

What to do today? The Zander fishing in itself has been poor, nothing to motivate and excite me. What do Madison and Isaac want to do, go fishing or do something different? I'm really not bothered to tell the truth. The jury consults and comes back with the verdict; “We want to go night fishing Dad!” I let them talk me into it. The next question is where do we go? I'd really like to catch some Zander and I know plenty of nice places where I have a good chance of doing that. However I need somewhere where the kids can relax, catch a few fish and just be themselves safely, without bothering anyone else. Busy roads, locked gates, treacherous banks, swamps and unpredictable livestock reduce the choice to just one. Back to the same spot that hasn't been producing the goods lately, oh well.

The journey was uneventful, half way through august and already there's football on the radio, the kids preferred to sing along to radio1. The forecasters had promised two warm, dry days and a clear night with a fresh wind from the south west. We arrived at the river in the late afternoon and as usual had the stretch to ourselves. The river was down on last week and clearer too but was still fairly high with a bit of pace, it didn't look bad. There was a fair bit of drifting weed but the wind was pushing into the near bank and it would be easy to fish around. By early evening the camp was sorted and the fishing was aided by a team effort. Madison had her creative head on so gave herself the job of groundbait maker, adding ingredients like a chef and giving us a running commentary on what she was doing. No groundbait mix has ever been more lovingly flavoured, mixed and kneaded as this one was. Isaac was chief bait catcher, regularly yanking in Bream, Bleak, Rudd, Roach and lots of Perch of 4 to 6 ounces, yelling “Got one!” excitedly every time. Madison put his success down to her bait mixing.

Meanwhile in between baiting up, sorting tangles and unhooking fish I was rigging up the Zander rods. After a bit of a rethink I'd switched from the CD paternoster to a standard float paternoster rig so I'd be able to angle the rods and keep the line completely clear of the water and avoid the worst of the weed. On the other rod I used a short buoyant lead link and 3ozs of lead on a running ledger rig. Both were baited with livebaits and dropped into clear spaces in mid channel. The children continued fishing for a bit longer then started dropping unsubtle hints about being hungry. Time for a fry up, a cup of tea, sit back and chill out.

The evening was uneventful fishing wise, the children explored the meadow some more then as the light faded returned and sat around chattering. Madison was tired so took herself off into her sleeping bag but Isaac sat beside me asking when the Zander were coming (I wish I knew!) and watching the riverside darken around us. As promised the sky was clear and it was a great night for star gazing. Isaac was really excited by the bats that were flying above us and by the occasional shooting star; “I'm going to wish for thousands of toy clone troopers dad!” By 1045 Isaac was yawning so I tucked him into the tent, his sister was already sound asleep. The paternoster had worked fine but the ledger rod had still picked up a bit of weed. After re-baiting both rods with fresh lives I climbed into my winter gear (never bother with a sleeping bag) and lay down in the bivvy.

I awoke at first light, no alarms had sounded during the night but there was no bait on the ledger rig. The bait on the paternoster was still there though, both rods were re-baited and then it was back to the bivvy. The rigs may not have caught a fish but I felt more confident in them....I dozed off again knowing that my best chance had passed and another blank was on the cards. Next thing I know its about 8am and the children are stirring, demanding breakfast. A cup of tea wakes me up and the morning fry up filled us up. The kids were fuelled and full of energy and spent some time charging around the meadow before settling down to a bit more fishing while I tidied the camp away.

The summer holidays are passing quickly, it would be nice to drop a Zander bait into a different part of fenland one of these days but time probably won't allow it. It's great spending time like this with Madison and Isaac...but a bloody Zander would be nice! But at the moment I'm relying on luck...If I do have another nights fishing the kids won't let me go alone so it will have to be a return to “Our meadow”. Before that it's Isaac's birthday next week and the Ashes.

Luck's got to change?

I've been suffering. Only another cricket fan, specifically an England cricket fan will know what I've been going through. It's no good I have to get it all off my chest. For months I've been telling anyone who will listen that the team management and the selectors in particular are idiots and are getting things all wrong. The selectors seem to make choices that make the England fans say “What? Who? Why?” Last year it was Darren Pattinson (whatever happened to him?), lately it's been somebody called Trott. In the past they've stuck by batsmen that have struggled yet chucked bowlers out of the team after a bad match. This year they're continuing to stick by a bowling attack that isn't capable of removing top batsmen in anything other than the most helpful conditions. Stuart Broad will become a great all rounder but he isn't good enough yet. The good run of luck/results against the Australians has given everyone a false impression, until now. This weekend the Aussies absolutely battered us, levelling the series at 1-1 with one to play. Here's hoping that the selectors can get it right (Bopara out, Rob Key in, pick bowlers that suit the wicket) for the last match and our team plays at 100%, otherwise we're going to lose. On a positive note it's been a better series than I expected though. Rant over.

Fishing this weekend was more of the same, Shelley & I headed off to fenland and by the early evening we were settling in by the river, she fished for bait while I set up camp. The first thing I noticed was the river looked good, much better than I could have possibly hoped; high, coloured and pushing through nicely. It looked bang on for Zander and my confidence was boosted immediately. The increased pace and water made bait catching more difficult though but with lots of perseverance and regular feeding Shelley managed to catch a few Bleak, Bream and Rudd. I'm pleased that she really seems to be enjoying this fishing lark and has picked up the basics quickly. She thinks she's just about ready to put maggots on the hook now but hasn't yet actually touched a fish. With the light fading I got two Zander rods rigged up and fishing, a paternoster on one and a ledger rig on the other as usual. I'm sticking to tried and tested methods that have caught plenty of fish for me over the years but this season things haven't gone to plan.

The evening was lovely, warm and pleasant, much more comfortable than the downpour we fished through last week. It was nice to chill out, eat, drink and be merry in relative comfort. There were far fewer weekend admirals about and all was very peaceful. The moon rose but was partially obscured by clouds, not a night for moonlight shadows but surely good conditions for a Zander? Unfortunately the fishing wasn't as relaxing, masses of drifting weed were catching on the line and dragging the baits downstream. I was casting to clearer spots but the rigs were being pulled into weed regularly. I did have one take on the paternoster but didn't connect, I retrieved a nice bream livebait to find a chunk had been bitten out of it, I suspect an Eel was to blame. Eventually in the wee small hours, after several rounds of tug o' war with weed rafts I ran out of bait so wound in and retired to the comfort of the tent.

We slept in a bit and it was sometime around 9am before I emerged from the tent. Shelley had more success this morning, float fishing maggots to catch some nice Rudd, Roach & a Perch. I rigged up the paternoster again and chucked it into mid river, more in hope than expectation. I put a bit of thought into my presentation and think that next time I'll have a set up that will avoid the worst of the weed. The morning was lovely; fried breakfast, hot tea and good company. Boat traffic started to increase and there were large numbers of joggers pounding along the floodbank, and they say anglers are mad? All too soon it was time to tidy the gear away and head for home. The Zander fishing has been disappointing so far this season but despite that, time spent in the countryside has been as enjoyable as ever. Next week I'll do it all again.

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!