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.

Firsts

My first trip of 2022 and for a change I had company.  Mr W is a former workmate I’ve known for over a decade but he’s only discovered fishing in the last two or three years and being a man of taste he’s particularly taken with Pike fishing.  We try to fish together a couple of times each year, just catching up is enough, the fishing a perfect excuse.  The first time was two years ago, he’d only recently caught his first Pike, a 17!  He took top honours on the day with two fish including a new PB of 19 pounds and has been a keen Piker ever since.

Today was clear and bright, apparently the temperature reached seven degrees at some point but the fresh westerly wind meant we spent most of our time fishing from the sheltered side of the stretch, casting deadbaits across to the shaded far bank.  Something I’ve noticed, when it’s bright the shaded bank always produces most of the takes and so it was today.  My first Pike of 2022 took a smelt from the far side and would have weighed around seven pounds. We had a fish each in our first spot but I also dropped one but added another from the next spot, three out of four takes came from the shaded bank. 

The middle of the day was very quiet despite us moving twice more and working hard we couldn’t find any fish wanting to take a bait.  Our final stop of the day was back towards the cars, the sun was now low and being hidden by clouds, would this convince the Pike to move?  Something did, I had three quick takes on the same rod cast to the far side again, bringing two more fish on Herring.  Mr W wanted just one more Pike and I was debating letting him use my rods too but in the end it didn’t matter.  He twitched a mackerel head back a bit then seconds later that float was on the move and his second fish on the day was soon in the net.

We finished with six fish between us from eight takes on smelt, herring and mackerel; the first one at 0810 was caught from a bush on the near side but all the others came from baits cast to the far side, baits on the sunny side of the drain remained untouched.  The fish were all between six and eight pounds, one of those days when the big fish don’t come out to play?  We’ll do it again soon.

Another gap in the week that I could fill with fishing.  This morning I didn’t hurry out of bed as I wanted to have a look around in daylight before fishing, my destination was a pit I first checked out a few years ago when another Prymnesium had made me desperate.  Even so I still got to the pit at a reasonable time, this after a three quarter mile walk.  I liked the look of a shady area on the southern bank, remembering it shelved quickly into deep water here.  I’ve realised what I thought was a shortcut isn’t and it’s just as quick to take the official footpath and this way I don’t risk any awkward questions from the quarry workers.  When I fished here before they were sound but who knows if things have changed since then.  I was in place and fishing with two rods by 0845, a float paternostered smelt swung to the right and a static herring head to the left.  Both were fished relatively close to the bank, as far as I could swing them under arm beneath the canopy of branches.  Overhanging trees provided excellent cover for a lurking Pike, in my mind at least.  The morning was mild and grey but without a breathe of wind, not great conditions for gravel pit fishing but what the hell.

After half an hour or so I thought I saw ripples from the left hand float, this repeated maybe a minute later.  I approached the rod cautiously and expectantly but nothing else happened.  After a few minutes I decided to check the bait but as I slowly retrieved it went solid.  I thought snag but something pulled back, my surprised strike didn’t set the hooks and there was an angry boil and a flash of gold, bugger.

I’d blown a chance, would I get another one?  Time passed, maybe an hour?  I decided to move things around and as I wound the paternoster in and there was another flash and another deep swirl in the water.  I recast quickly then set to work with a lure rod but nothing grabbed the reel eel.

At around 1045 I heard the unmistakable beep, beep, beep, beep… I was by the rod in seconds, the float was definitely moving, very slowly, so I wound down quickly and swept the rod low to my left feeling a pleasant weight on the line.  The fish surged up and down the margins, stripping a little line and bothering the snags but I mugged it quickly into the net.  The fish was short and fat, dark green with beautiful yellow spots, an absolute belter apart from an old healed scar.  At some time in the recent past a bigger Pike had definitely grabbed it.  A fish of this length should weigh about eight pounds but this was clearly heavier and I decided to weigh it quickly as I thought it might just be a double.  It was, with over a pound to spare and my first of the year.

I fished on for a couple more hours and even moved into another swim but never really felt confident here.  The day got even gloomier and the wind never disturbed the surface, I didn’t get any more takes.  The return walk had me sweating and it was a relief to get back to the car.

A few hours to spare and a sunny afternoon, what should I do?  Half an hour later I was walking my local river with a bag, net and a lure rod.  The river actually looked in pretty decent nick; yes it was low but had a bit of colour and pace, I actually fancied my chances.  I used mostly shads and spinny things, lures that have worked here regularly over the years but today, despite covering a couple of miles only one skinny jack half heartedly followed and I recorded my first blank of the year.  It’s getting more and more difficult to catch Pike from this river, they just aren’t around in any numbers but I will continue to try!

I used to fish the Fens regularly, for a few years it’s where I done most of my Pike fishing but in truth I never done that well.  I caught plenty of fish but few big ones, several eighteens and nineteens but just the one over twenty pounds.  I knew where there were big Pike to be had, everyone did but one water I just didn’t take to and another, well I just don’t like poaching, fishing is about relaxation for me, I hate spending the days looking over my shoulder.  But I did remember a few places where I could relax in nice surroundings and be in with a chance of a Pike or two.

I left home at 0645 on a cold crunchy morning with clear skies and sub zero temperatures.  The A road was as manic as ever but hassle free and I was soon heading off into the flatlands.  Once off the dual carriageway things had changed, the road for a start with new stretches and roundabouts.  I know another new road and bridge now cuts across one of my favourite spots on another river, is this progress?  There’s also a lot of new houses, expanding once quaint villages, who’s buying these things?  The roads get smaller and icier, I had to be careful or risk ending up down in the fields.  A Barn owl flew low across in front of me, both of us were glad it got its timing right.

To the river, a new spot for me, fishing from the bank at least.  I was set up by 0800, in time for a glorious winter sunrise.  Just two rods with float leger rigs; half a herring on the far side and a smelt dropped in close.  Now all I can do is wait and with time to think I remember this area was good for the odd fish but not exactly a banker.  Doubts set in, what am I doing here?  After twenty minutes there was a disturbance on the far side, splashes, ripples and shaking reeds.  It could be a fish but I’ve seen this kind of thing so often that I’m not at all surprised when an otter pops up and swims casually along the far margin.  This was followed a few minutes later by a pair of Little Grebes which got me thinking that maybe I’m not far off the mark.  These creatures won’t be too far from food will they?

Around 0840 the float stabbed, no mistaking that, something had picked up the herring and was heading upriver.  With the hooks quickly set a decent weight plodded up and down the river for a minute or two.  I had a little bother with marginal weed but soon dragged a fat Pike into the net.  My first Fenland Pike for over a decade which could have been a twin of the pit fish from a few days ago.  A low double that had no right to be as heavy as it was, photography is a piece of piss when you’re bank fishing so after a quick self take back she went.  An early take and a fat Pike, two very good signs, had I dropped in lucky?

With the sun climbing in a clear sky the fen looked glorious in its coat of frost, just as long as I didn’t climb the flood bank and look across the threatening black fields.  But that’s Fenland, the watercourses look beautiful but they cut through a flat arable wasteland that used to depress me on a gloomy winter day.

I spent the morning working my way downstream, moving alternate rods downstream every forty five minutes or so, we used to call this leap frogging once upon a time.  The day was bright and pleasant, the birdlife abundant and welcome, apart from the swans that swam into my line, I saw Fieldfare, Jay, Buntings, Pheasants, Moorhen, Starlings, Pigeons, a Wren and a Sparrowhawk.  But despite working hard and covering about 150 metres of river I hadn’t had another sniff, it was nice sitting by the river in the sun although I had forgotten about the noise, the regular roar of jets from away to the east.  The USAF still patrol these skies making sure all is well in Airstrip One.

At 1330 I was thinking about calling it a day but then I noticed the near side float was moving.  It wasn’t an obvious take but looking closer, something was definitely bobbing my float.  I positioned the net then picked up the rod but wound down to nothing but a tooth marked smelt.  I dropped the bait back out and sat for another hour hoping it would come back.  It didn’t.

Back in the car heading towards A road mania.  I’d enjoyed my morning in the Fens, I doubt I’ll ever fish regularly these parts in future but I definitely won’t leave ten years between visits.

I had another busy day in prospect but there was just time for a few hours fishing in the morning.  A couple of hours with a lure rod would have been sensible but Isaac fancied a fish and he likes to be afloat so we ended up going out in the Suffolk boat.  The dawn had long gone by the time we launched and it was 0900 before we finally spread a few deadbaits around a likely swim.  The morning felt good, a mixture of sunshine and cloud with a moderate north westerly, decent conditions for a January Pike?

Not judging by the first hour…  Lack of activity spurred me into action and a freshly re cast smelt finally got a response, the strike didn’t meet much resistance and I soon chinned a jack which was unhooked in the water.  We gave it another twenty minutes then had a short move and I hadn’t even cast my second rod before the first was away.  Another take on smelt and I soon had another small fish which was also unhooked in the water.

Our cut off time was 1200 and time was running out fast when finally Isaac was away.  He was a bit out of practice but soon dragged the fish towards the boat and I scooped it up in the net.  Isaac’s first Pike of the year took a herring and was probably the best fish of the morning, at least that’s what he claimed.  With that it was time to pack up which we did contentedly, three Pike in three hours would do us nicely but now there were jobs to do…

Seasonal bollocks

At this time of year people tend to spend a lot of time at home, eating too much and drinking too much.  Boredom and inebriation inevitably sets in which may partly account for some of the grumblings on PAC’s facebook pages, season of goodwill my arse.  Anyway here are a few thoughts from a long time member.

The previous and latest club committees have been coming in for criticism and I find it difficult to understand the reasons behind all the angst.  From what I’ve gleaned the previous secretary Saint John Currie, has been accused of being only concerned about Norfolk. That this is nonsense is easy to demonstrate to anyone with the ability to read and half a brain to understand.  When JC stepped up to do the secretary’s role he continued to do all of the things he’d been doing for years as a Norfolk RO.  People are quick to criticise but when offered the benefit of JC’s experience to help them fight their own battles in their own patch they go quiet, then later complain PAC isn’t doing anything. 

The selection of committees has also been criticised with allegations of it being the “same old faces” or “jobs for the boys”.  This is just bollocks.  The reason people end up doing two or even three stints is because there aren’t enough people putting themselves forward to do the jobs.  It’s easy to moan on social media but it all goes quiet when there’s work that needs doing.  Also the club which has been run in the same way for over forty years, now apparently needs to embrace democracy, that noble philosophy that never actually works in practice.  Polling the membership achieves little, in reality less than a third of members will ever respond, that’s just how it is.  People are apathetic with the crooks that run countries so won’t get off their backsides to vote for a badge.  Talking of which…  I’ve never liked the new design, mostly because I love the logo that was originally designed by Barrie Rickards in 1977 and was tweaked a bit over the years.  This is the second time the club has gone away from the original logo, last time it didn’t last long either.  But it is just a badge, the club is its members.

I’m told some of the most enthusiastic critics of the club are in the North West and I don’t really know any of the characters as such but there is one who glories in self promotion, strutting around in his sponsored clothing he just comes across as a bit of a tired joke, big fish in a small pond mate.  Any of the alleged ‘problems’ with PAC over the years have almost always stemmed from egos out of control.

Some people may have forgotten and others might not realise but PAC was formed almost as a protest group, in days when Pike were routinely chucked up the bank to die, PAC changed opinions.  Also the club campaigned for better treatment for Pike anglers who were very often seen as pariahs.  This included opposing bait bans, changing silly fishing club rules and gaining better access to Pike fishing.  The trout water ‘scene’ would never have come to pass without PAC getting the ball rolling.  These are the reasons I joined the club, the social aspect has always been secondary.

Going off in a slightly different direction, I’m being told that Pike fishing is dying because we are all a bunch of old men, we’re not attracting the youngsters etc.  I remember discussing this with one of Piking’s gentlemen, the late Peter Green who reckoned there was no point in trying to appeal to young lads because by the time they are eighteen the trouser brain has taken over, Pete was absolutely right.  Nowadays anglers whose ages range from twenty to forty are attracted to Carp fishing for many reasons but one of the biggest is it’s all so laddish.  Groups of men can get an easy weekend pass from the wife or girlfriend if they are spending this time camped by a lake trying to catch fish.  She doesn’t need to know about the amounts of beer, weed and other consumables they go through on what amounts to a camping trip with rods.  Also these people are mercilessly targeted by brilliant marketing campaigns so end up spending a fortune on kit, much of which has nothing to do with the act of catching a fish.  Carp fishing is comfortable and has been made idiot proof by the advent of commercial fisheries.  However you look at it, Pike fishing is tough and appeals to a different type of person but very many anglers discover our sport when they are a bit older, wiser and more discerning.  A summer happy camper is not likely to drag himself out of bed before dawn on a frosty morning, it’s a totally different mind-set.  Pike fishing won’t die, there will always be enough old farts around to keep the sport going.

My last casts of 2021 were made on the morning of Xmas eve; I wandered around with a light lure rod but my heart wasn’t in it and after hanging my spinner in a potential PB tree I returned home fishless.  This time was spent in the same little area of mid Suffolk where lockdown had forced me to fish at the beginning of the year.  I’ve come to enjoy poking my rod in unexpected places (!) and although the fish aren’t likely to grow big it does have that important air of mystery. 

This year I’ve realised that I enjoy the act of fishing every bit as much as winding them in, which might not make any sense?  I enjoy fishing most when it’s relatively simple, I really can’t be arsed with the complicated self-flagellation that carp anglers go through and any item of kit that requires a car battery or power pack isn’t for me.  Nowadays I mostly use a small Karrimor rucksack that I’ve had since I was a teenager, (unless I’m boat fishing,) if I can’t carry it then I don’t need it.  I travel light to make the hike easier and when I get to my destination (which will fit the criteria I’ve mentioned many times before) I love casting, trotting and spinning.  I enjoy sitting back and watching the wildlife, I don’t take my surroundings for granted.  Whatever fish I may catch really is a bonus (or insert your cliché of choice).  It’s the fishing I enjoy, not necessarily the catching.

But having said all that…  I got bored of carp fishing when my tally reached one so 2021 was a year of either beach casting or Pike fishing.  All things considered I caught more than enough fish to be satisfied my effort had been rewarded (but I wouldn’t lose any sleep either way).  I caught many firsts, a few PB’s and a couple of landmarks, if you keep a count of things, which I do.

Next year, twenty fucking twenty fucking two, more of the same please.  I still find Broadland Pike fishing exhilarating and I’m looking forward to learning more on the beach.  I will find time to try for a river Gudgeon and I’ll never give up on the big Suffolk Tench but for the first half of the year, while I sit behind rods I’ll be hoping for a proper Smoothound or dreaming of the unknown monster Pike.

Rarities

Suffolk has good sized, flowing rivers forming the county boundaries to the north and south but the rest of the county isn’t blessed with rivers.  We have some dramatic estuaries which I’m just beginning to explore but we don’t really have much in the way of proper lowland rivers.  There are a handful of watercourses given a name beginning with ‘river’ but in reality these are shrinking year by year and are now little more than streams.  There are many of these, some run so low at times that I doubt there are any fish left but a few have a population of fish of sorts.  The largest stream runs through my home town and has held good fish of many species but sadly gets less interesting with every passing season. 

There’s another fairly substantial stream to the east which had been noted as a fishery in the past but for some reason I’d never actually got round to fishing it.  I know that in the past it held Pike to a reasonable size but at that time I had much better fishing closer to home.  However it had been niggling me for a while, a local river that I’d never caught a Pike from half an hour away, putting that right has been something I’ve been meaning to do.  The problem with these streams is access; firstly getting to the water itself can be almost impossible and then there’s the issue of finding areas that aren’t weed choked and unfishable.  I’d deliberately waited until winter had taken hold and the rivers had received a bit of rain water to flush them through.  After scanning google earth I’d found a promising area, a layby for the car and a footpath along the river.  That would be a starting point, time to go and have a look.

The Suffolk countryside looked dull and subdued on another sunless December day, after half an hour driving I found the river and pulled over.  I wandered up to the bridge without much clue what I’d find but a brief look downstream gave me hope and I was soon back with a lure rod, landing net and a few bits in a small rucksack.  The river was running clear and low but looking at the scoured banks it was apparent that it could rip through with force when in flood.  The pool beneath the bridge was wide and relatively deep so was an ideal place to start.  I was using my lightest lure set up with small lures, the best way to search new ground and probably the best method of all when these little rivers are running low and clear.  I clipped on a small shad and began casting, within five chucks I’d pretty much covered the pool and it didn’t seem like anything was home but on the sixth cast something grabbed the lure and I was soon pulling back.  After the briefest fight I pulled a very welcome Jack into the net.  Mission accomplished, a Pike from a new river so by default a PB!

After a few more casts around the pool I went downstream to explore and found that this little river split into two, then three separate streams which then reconnected a way downstream.  I walked every stretch that I could, having a cast here and there.  Many parts were very shallow with water running quickly over gravel, other bits were slow and choked but I found the occasional pool which looked like it could hold a fish or two so had a few casts where I could.  With a mile in my legs I had a second, smaller Pike which took an Ondex spinner but I didn’t see any other fish of any kind.  Back at the car I made a brew and leant against the bridge watching water running away towards the sea.  Two jacks was a right result, I hadn’t wished for anything more.  But there are other stretches of this little river to have a look at; I’ll be back before the end of the season. 

 

The next day was completely different.  For a start the sky was clear leading to the type of sharp frost that makes internet Pikers orgasmic.  And it meant for only the second time in weeks I’d actually see the sun.  On the road in the dark, away to the east things are starting to light up.  I’ve never seen the northern lights but it must be some experience if it’s better than pre-dawn on a crisp winter day.  Today I was fishing running water once again but on the other side of the county and on a different scale to yesterday’s stream.  This time I wouldn’t be wandering for miles, today I’d be staying put, sitting it out in one swim.  What’s more I would be sitting on a comfortable chair, fishing from the bank, something that has become a novelty in recent years.  Not only that, the nature of the spot meant I’d be using a bloody rod pod and I think that might be a first for me when Pike fishing?

I set up by torch light and soon had three rods assembled; float legers near and far baited with bluey and herring, and a legered smelt cast upstream, in the middle.  The sky grew slowly brighter, gradually revealing the frosted marsh around me.  I know this is what is supposed to happen but I haven’t witnessed it in a while, this morning was beautiful and I appreciated it.  As the sun rose higher I even had to find my shades, sitting comfortably behind rods with a brew in the middle of nowhere, anticipation growing, what could be better?

Two hours later the anticipation had vanished and I had reminded myself of all the advantages of fishing from a boat; there’s a reason why I don’t fish from the bank very often.  Normally by this time I would definitely have moved at least once, as it was I’d recast and repositioned all three rods but I’d run out of options now.  Mobility, that advantage alone makes boat fishing preferable in almost all situations.  But at least I was comfortable and enjoying a bright day that was becoming warmer, there’s more to it than catching blah blah.  But then a float moved, slightly but very definitely, a herring cast to the far side and as I rose to my feet it went off downstream, gathering pace. By the time I reached the rod the alarm had just started to sound and the baitrunner tick.  I wound down quickly and pulled the rod into a healthy bend, which stayed as the fish kited in to the left.  I turned it before it managed to tangle the leger rod and began to pull it back upstream, it dawned on me that this fish actually felt far heavier than I expected it should on this water.  Up close in crystal water it did look a good un and I breathed a big sigh when it went into the net at the second attempt.  Peering down at a big framed fish I couldn’t believe it, that’s got to be over twenty!

I left the fish in the net while I got all the essentials ready, then lifted a heavy fish onto the mat.  One double hook was nicked in nicely and came out with a twist.  The scales confirmed what I already knew, with a bit to spare.  The fish was dark and a long one, an old warrior that could weigh more at times in its life.  Unfortunately I’d drained the camera battery taking sunrise photos so could only snap a couple of photos on the mat with my phone.  Back into the clear water, she slid away defiantly while I grinned like an idiot.

An hour later the same rod went again, this time I netted a skinny Jack, a fish I’d have been happy to catch not long ago and more like what I’d expected when I set up this morning.  Big Pike aren’t common in this part of the world these days which is one of the reasons I’m usually driving for an hour or more for my fishing.  I fish places where I can reasonably expect to catch the odd biggun but this isn’t one of them, a real surprise early gift if you’re into that kind of thing.  It’s nice to be proven wrong with a fish I didn’t believe could be present in this water.  I was back in the car just after noon, stuff to do this afternoon, that time of year…  But from the car stereo Led Zeppelin never sounded better.  Happy bloody Christmas.

 

Winter Sun

No work today but I woke at the usual time and knew I wouldn’t be getting any more kip, I was able to indulge myself with a lie in of sorts while the princess rattled through the kitchen.  Bloody cricket.  We’d been thrashed for the previous two days so God knows what I’d wake up to this morning.  Only one tour in the last thirty five years has cheered me up at breakfast.  But I couldn’t resist tapping the cricinfo icon on the bloody phone.  As the screen started to go blue over white I squinted my eyes, figures slowly came into focus, England 220.  Had we been bowled out FFS?  Squint again, 220-2.  For two!  Now I was awake.  We’re back in it, another couple of good sessions and this is an even game.  But that’s the trouble, it’s the hope that does for ya, a couple of quick wickets and it’s another fucking story.

I can’t lie in for long as I must drive into Town, the roads are soaked after heavy rain overnight but it’s after rush hour so the traffic is flowing.  Unfortunately it’s one of them days when all the wankers go for a drive.  First of all a bloody hire van on the dual carriageway, switching lanes into gaps that aren’t really there.  After that it’s fucking Range Rover’s, fine in the sticks but who the hell needs one driving in town?  None of them have even a splash around the wheels but of course they are impregnable, just witness the one cruising serenely through a red light or the other stopping everyone whilst doing a three point turn on a busy street.  Half an hour later I’m driving home, now triple jabbed and just in the nick of time by the look of things as we look like we're heading to the same situation we were in a year ago.

In the late morning Isaac and I headed out on a more relaxing drive.  He’s 19 now so can rarely crawl out of bed much before noon, consequently it’s a while since he’s been fishing so today we’ll fish the afternoon into dusk.  Soon we leave concrete and head down a crackling track fringed with hedges.  We follow a couple of partridges which are determined to outrun us but eventually have to flap their wings and admit defeat.  At the bottom of the slope a Buzzard lifted out of the hedge then flapped slowly and grumpily away, maybe we’d spoiled its plans for lunch.

By now the rain was long gone and the clouds were thinning but the wind was fierce and unexpected, rowing out would be easy but getting back might be a challenge.  With the boat loaded we were quickly away but where should we fish?  I couldn’t decide so anchored up in lee of shelter and soon we were fishing with two static deadbaits each plus a fifth shared rod, fishing a smelt under a float which would be allowed to drift.  After half an hour something off to the left caught my attention, I turned to see a familiar shape disappear into a large swirl.  A minute or so later the armchair animal lovers’ favourite furry killing machine was just a few yards away and swimming towards the boat before it dived and disappeared for good.  It’s uncanny how often something fishy happens after one of the beasts has moved through.  Minutes later and shortly after paying out a bit more line the drifting float disappeared.  Isaac wound into it and our first Pike of the day was hooked.  After a couple of splashes it was soon in the net where it helpfully unhooked itself.  We peered over the side for a few seconds then lowered the net and allowed it to swim away.

We gave it half an hour more then moved back against the wind into another spot that gave a bit of shelter, for the first time in weeks the sun actually came out while I was fishing!  The gusting wind made judging the casts tricky but we were soon settled and fishing again. On these trips the first priority is seeing the boy wonder enjoy himself so I was glad Isaac had caught the first fish. I now had custody of the drifting rod but Isaac was content and subtly reminded me that he was “in the lead”.  But this wasn’t the reason I wanted to catch, my recent form was two tough blanks on the concrete broad, I wanted to feel a bend in my rod.  After half an hour in the new swim nothing had happened so I moved a rod to the far right, a spot Isaac had left clear that often does a fish.  It was only a couple of minutes later that I saw the float wobble then slowly but definitely start to move away.  I wound down quickly and set the hooks but the bend in the rod soon started to straighten and Isaac had it scooped up in the net in no time.  Once again we peered into the clear water and it was at this point that a debate began, as to whose fish was larger/smaller.  This debate is still ongoing.

The sky began to dim, a creaking Heron flapped past which made me realise the wind had dropped a bit.  With a fish each we decided to call it a day, the row back to base wasn’t as bad as I’d feared and soon we were back in the car, heading home along the track.  Movement to the left, there was a Deer bounding along in the meadow beside us, I slowed and allowed it to overtake then it crossed the track and away through the fields.  A few minutes later we were back on tarmac and heading back to what they call civilisation.  It was proper dark by the time we got home, the sky now fully clear, it’ll be a cold one in Suffolk tonight and probably too bloody hot in Brisbane.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

I look forward to autumn all year, so much so when it approaches I almost fear it.  Years ago this would have been fear of failure, it is the best time of year, I have to make it count. Now I think it’s fear of it all being over far too quickly, my favourite time of year gives way to the dim, sunless months I like the least, culminating in the annual festival of greed and gluttony.  But while autumn is here I am manage to love every minute spent out in the wild places whatever mood I find the fish in, nowadays it’s the fishing itself that gives me pleasure.  I love what I do.

I do pretty much the same thing every year and the surroundings are familiar but never the same, every year things are different to some degree.  In this fragile part of the world there are pressures of all kinds that grip and twist and shape the waterways.  This autumn has been a proper mind bender but all the more fascinating because of it.

The wildlife is almost as interesting as the fish and this year I managed to see and hear all the usual suspects but also had a proper treat when a very big bird of prey came into view.  I was pretty certain I knew what it was but when it hovered over the water there was no doubt.  Only the second time I’ve seen an osprey in East Anglia.

But for once it wasn't all just Pike fishing!

I had plans to fish but circumstances changed and the weather was shit, or more accurately piss on Saturday.  Sunday I was charged with cooking dinner and after I’d managed to roast a Donald, hack its flesh off and transfer it to plates I felt quite pleased with myself.  Early October and there’s still a couple of hours’ worth of daylight left after dinner so I quickly rummaged in the shed and transferred a few bits to the car.  I assembled a light spinning rod, landing net and a few necessities in a small backpack.  I also loaded an Isaac who fancied a couple of hours wandering in the countryside.  Destination was the river which hopefully would be fresh from recent heavy rain. Fishing with small lures, I wasn’t really expecting to catch much but wanted to check it out for possible future Chub swims?  The day had been bright but typically we headed off into storm clouds and a double rainbow halo.  Thankfully the shower mostly missed us and by the time we left the car, shades were necessary.

We crossed a couple of meadows and then walked downstream along the quietest bit of river path I know.  We got as far as an old lock/bridge which is being restored in some honourable project which is made ironic by the choking river that barely flows through it, even with all of yesterday’s rain.  Here the path veers from the river, Isaac wandered on and I started trying to run lures through what fishable water I was able to reach, working my way back upstream.  I started with a small crankbait but I was drawn to a spinner, a size 6 Ondex and it was with this that I mostly fished.  I did have smaller lures with me but with many tight swims and underarm casts I needed a little weight.

I wandered upstream casting here and there but mostly just walking, there were a couple of pools that looked promising but nothing fishy interrupted my lures.  I did startle something hefty in the undergrowth, it could have been a Yeti but was most likely a Deer.  I approached another old lock cutting expecting more of the same but in a slightly deeper, pacier swim something grabbed my spinner.  A nice Perch soon surfaced and thrashed, I should have extended the net handle and my attempt to swing it in was unwise and ultimately costly.  Oh bugger.  A Rabbit on the other side looked at me nervously but I carried on with renewed confidence, the sun was dipping so the shades rested on my cap, a good time for a predator to feed?  Maybe, if I could actually get near water that was worth a cast.

Eventually I approached a swim where I’d lost a nice Perch on maggots last summer, here a drooping branch bridges the river providing lots of shade.  First cast something actually bumped my lure and the same thing happened on the next.  There was definitely something interested down there but had I spooked it?  The next couple of casts seemed to suggest so but on the next I hooked a fish, another Perch which looked bigger than the one I’d lost so I made no mistake with the net this time.  Isaac had wandered off again so I took a quick picture in the net before plopping it back.  I’d left home hoping to catch ‘something’ while I cased the river and I’d hoped that something would be a Chub or Perch so that was a result.

I fished on until I caught up with Isaac at a small bridge where streams connect, a few casts here and I was done, we turned and headed for home.  A couple of hours well spent, I should do this more often.