As The Leaves Fall

A British person could be cryogenically frozen for years but, on being woken and put outdoors, could tell you the season and probably guess the month to within a few weeks. The same is extremely doubtful of someone living in a hot climate. Yes, the UK has awful weather but it also has the most amazing seasons.

I flowed along a golden carpet of oak and beech leaves as I approached my chosen swim at the lake. There was little wind but one was promised. This was to push a flotilla of leaves the length of the water and form a carpet over the little bay.

The family of Canada geese has grown to a flock of between twenty and thirty. Their noisy resentment of my arriving soon settled as they found their safe distance. A nuthatch reminded me of summer but the influx of redwings, chattering fieldfares and squabbling jays left one in no doubt that the cold of winter is nigh.

All in all the perfect time to be chasing barbel yet here I was, seeking a carp. The river just doesn't draw at my soul in the way it used to. My barbel fishing has come to resemble the carp approach with it's long waits for action and that just doesn't sit right with me. If I am barbel fishing and the going is slow - which it inevitably has been this year - I feel guilty about reading a book to pass the time. Yet on the lake, I embrace this distraction as I feel it is actually beneficial. I'm convinced that the carp know when you are concentrating on the bobbin, willing it to move. On small waters, no matter how stealthy the angler, his footsteps are felt, his shadow spotted and his intent felt. This determination acts like a siren to warn the fish off. I'm on fifteen acres of lake and it still 'feels' that way, why else would the bites tend to come whenever the angler either falls asleep, cooks a meal or has a whizz? Their mind is elsewhere and the fish are left believing the threat has passed. Reading is my way of fooling fish and it works for me. Not that I don't have a crafty look around from time to time and any splash is investigated - from behind the page.

I put some 'mature' groats, hemp and a handful of mixed sized boilies out to a spot between two weedbeds. The second rod had my old Hodder pin on it and with the best intention in the world, I wasn't going to reach the loose feed. So this one was put along what I suspect is a patrol route. I didn't even pva bag this rig, just wrapped a 20mm boilie in paste so that it looked like a big pink golf ball and I was fishing.

Acorns plopped in the water or banged onto my car roof with great regularity. A squirrel rustled back and forth securing it's winter sustenance and the expected wind ruffled the surface of the water so that it came toward me. I bided my time, ate my toasted cheese sandwich (The Ridge Monkey is a godsend) and drank coffee. And yes, Mr Clarkson's opinions on cars that are way beyond my budget, was read and enjoyed.

A bleep! Then another and a drop back signal (I've ditched the Delkims in favour of some Fox alarms and I like the drop back feature very much), and I was at the rod. It was on the 'pin and a Hardy rod bought with barbel in mind. This would be a proper test for it.

The fish paddled slowly left and stayed deep. It neared a tree so the rod was buried deep below the surface and a steady pressure applied. This was pretty much all that happened albeit it happened for several minutes. The rod performed well but needed angling so that the butt took most of the pressure. I think I'll just use it for barbel in future.

In the net and up onto the unhooking mat, I was well satisfied with a nicely proportioned fish of twenty two and a half pounds.

I spent the rest of the day cooking, sleeping, reading and taking the occasional piss but those carp, they knew I was there. Bang goes another theory.