Sunshine on a rainy day

 It's a venue I like to fish at least once a year. A Warwickshire reservoir that holds many carp, but also crucian carp, and I like crucian carp a lot. I arranged the trip with Mark Everard. His diary is a mess of meetings, travelling, and fishing. He needs to live in a world with 40 hour days and fifteen day weeks. My diary is a collection of blank pages with the odd reminder that I need to cast my car to the feeding frenzy of a garage again, and a few tear spots when I imagine the bill.

The day approached, and the weather changed. If we were NASA, we'd have rearranged the launch time, but fishermen are a hardy/stupid lot, so we went ahead. At the hotel, Mark scoured over his 'weather modelling' apps. I glanced at a forecast. No matter who you looked at, it was going to piss down early on then brighten. Our 'Sparrow's fart' start was abandoned, and a buffet breakfast was paid for. That's more like it.

We walked a long way, laden with several approach options piled high on my back, and settled in some sheltered water. The heavens opened as I put my shelter up. None of the pontoons caters for anything that isn't built around a central pole. Mine is a lightweight brolly with side flaps, storm poles and pegs, again, not conducive to wooden pontoons. I settled under a tree next to the platform. 

The worst of the rain passed, but was quick to return if I dared venture onto the platform to fish more comfortably. A light 'lift float' using a float that was gifted to me last year, and is superb. I also put out a method feeder, but didn't get a touch in it all day.

Sport was slow, a roach or two to me, and Elmer Fudd next door, accurately trickling feed right next to the reeds, was catching more readily. I like to frequently change my baits when fishing for crucians as they seem to switch on and off your offerings at a whim. I had a small tin of corn and peas, something I wanted to try on my tench venue. After a lull, I popped a pea on a size 14 and sat back more in hope than expectation. I've never baited with a pea before, but they must be edible for fish, right? 

Huwoh Wabbit

Down went the float and off went a carp like I had set light to its tail. My 11' float rod was hooped over but I did start to get some control over it. Mark arrived, saying something about a "Pesky Wabbit", and before he could get the net to it, one last dive into the roots under the bank saw my rod bounce straight again. "Bloody mud pigs", muttered my esteemed colleague. I decided it was time to move.

The bank we settled on was much calmer now, and the rain was just a bad memory. Mark immediately set about upsetting the rudd community whilst I was catching roach. I was using Fjuka Squeez Ready pellets on the method, and even squeezed some around my bottom shot as the casting distance was minimal. It was a bite-a- chuck and great fun. Then Mark said something about a tench. "Are you in?" I asked, "Yes" came the minimalist reply. " Is it a tench?" I enquired, "No, it's a not tench".  I went to see for myself, and there he was with a cracking crucian in his landing net. I held the handle while Mark fumbled for scales and sling. "And awaaay" I said - implying that I had released his prize. His look was, for a second, a picture, and I think he may have said something rude. On the scales it went 2.06, which was enough to justify all of the effort. I was made up for him, you know, you have to encourage these youngsters, but I sorely wanted one myself. 

2lb 6oz

Mark had three more 'not-tench' over the next hour or so, all between 1.06 and 1.14. To add to my grief, he had scared his rudd friends my way, and I was getting all sorts of unmissable bites that I often missed. Eventually, I hit something that felt like a not tench. It played deep but unspectacularly, and I had my crucian. 1.12 of golden beauty, this was my sunshine, and even the real sun had peeped out from the clouds. That weight that we anglers carry, the anticipation versus the need for success, was lifted. When I soon landed a 1.13, a stunning fish in great condition, I was sated. After this, the swim died a bit, as they all do from time to time, and I knew that I'd had my crucian action for the day.

1.12

1.13

We packed up during rush hour, so with both of us facing long journeys home, we dropped into the nearby pub and dined on some delicious but heart-attack-inducing food. Fishing with Mark is always enjoyable, and this was no exception. We already have several other projects and maybe, just maybe, I'll catch more or even bigger fish than him. Well, we can all dream.

Some Fish

 Fed up with banging my head against a rock-hard venue, Neil and I visited Pandys' Puddle. It's a good size, classed as a commercial, but you have to work at it. No catching on bare hooks here.

I arrived during a heavy shower and circled the lake in my car, leering at a swim that appealed, but put off by the chap opposite who was fishing like a plonker. I briefly spoke to him and soon realised that he was lonely, so I had to make my excuses to avoid yet another "And I'll tell you something else...."

My swim had shallow water to the right, but was slightly deeper to the left once you cast thirty yards or so. I've previously seen plenty of carp showing in this area and deduced it's the edge of a central bowl that the fish circle during the day. I was proved correct.

I recently invested too much money on some 'Squeez Ready' Method Mix by Fjuka. It's a dry mix that holds as you squeeze it. I just wrapped a lead in it and put a short hooklength with a boilie and a small pop-up to balance the bait so that it just sank. With that one out, I faffed about trying to get organised. I was all over the place and felt the critical eye of my late angling friend, Bunny. He was so slow to set up and pack away his kit, something I may have ribbed him about once ot twice. There I was doing my best Bunny impression, but without a hot drink on the go.

I was further distracted when my rod flew into action. I tightened into a hard-running fish that put up a very good scrap, considering its size. Duly landed, with Neil sniggering at its appearance, I awarded it 10/10 for scale pattern and 2/10 for attractiveness. I've had carp that seem to be growing in stages, and this one looked like it took the short bus to and from school.

'The bells, the bells'

At least I hadn't blanked. Out went both rods, and I was, at long last, fishing. Then Neil turned up again, looking to borrow some forceps.  I went with him to his swim, and he lifted his landing net to reveal a nice perch. Whilst he started his dental work, I checked the fish's tail. Yup, there it was, that little nick in the upper lobe just like his last fish. It was the same fish - I did laugh. 

Back in my spot, the left rod roared off again. This one felt heavy as it bored deep across the lake one way, then another. I passed a commentary to Neil, who ambled around. The fish had secured itself in some nearside weeds to my left. As it lifted in the water, it revealed its flank, just as Neil was there to witness its lack of size. Okay, it may have been a double, but I wouldn't bet on it. But for a relatively small fish, it was solid muscle and had fought a mighty battle. I have landed carp to over 26lbs, and plenty of double-figure barbel on this rod that is rated at 1lb 6oz. test curve. This was right up there, scrap-wise.

Fighting well above its weight

I had my sandwich and a drink, then went to recover some tackle from my car. I heard an alarm. Hurrying back, I could see that the bobbin was slack and wound down to pick up the line. There was a resistance, albeit a comparatively small one. As it got nearer, I was puzzled what it might be, but I was not disappointed. A very tatty roach of 1lb 11oz was still a cracking fish, if only it had come to my lighter outfit, or better still, when I am float fishing. One last run brought a scappy little carp that had been impersonating a bream as it flapped about. I hit some branches as I attempted to handline it to be quickly unhooked. It came off, and my lead went into the canopy. 

Again, not pretty but memorable

Neil was suffering from a headache and the bureaucracy of the Passport Office. He was ready to call it a day, and my back was aching, so we left. 

So, this is how it feels when you catch a few. Yes, I could get used to this.

I'm looking for a new blog title....

...preferably something that rhymes with blanker. Suggestions on a postcard to...

 I am amazed at how often I dream about fishing. I reckon my thoughts have drifted to the unknown waters of my imagination during nearly every night since my last trip, and a good many before. The obsession with all things fishing is a powerful curse. Incidentally, I didn't once catch a dream fish. Torture even during my most peaceful hours.

A break in the awful weather and yet another chest infection, and I sneaked onto one of the lakes I have available. I blanked. I retreated into another impatient abstinence and planned. Then I had yet another chest infection. My last visit to the pharmacy saw me carry my month's supply home in a carrier bag. A Carrier Bag! Good grief. Then Nicky caught the local virus that was doing the rounds, and another two weeks plus were spent being nursemaid whilst taking more debilitating antibiotics.

At last, the wind changed back to a westerly, and my mood lightened. I visited a pool with perch potential with my lad, Neil. He fluked a 2.2 perch on a prawn tail. I relieved him of many prawns and fished sections tipped with worm, confident of putting him to shame. I had an eel and a perch - see picture.

Next on the list was a small tench lake I had rejoined after a couple of tortured seasons a few years ago. Just over an acre in size, weedy, lots of lilies, and apparently, plenty of tench. I have previously taken just one of the inhabitants that weighed less than the amount of tooth enamel I ground off. 

I walked around it, sat and watched it, talked to some new members, sharp, good anglers all, each one biteless. The most steadfast of which had already notched up over 100 hours of thoughtful angling all for nowt.

I first fished it just before the sky caught fire. I blanked - let's get that out of the way. But I had tench bubbling in my swim, and that's encouraging. No need to become suicidal after one visit. This morning I returned. The lake felt full of that spring atmosphere, with plenty of birds, butterflies and something that bit my leg, most likely a horse fly. I have noticed a lot of painted lady butterflies; they must have hitched a lift on the Southerly winds. Anyway, back to the blanking.

Spot the static float

This pool has been stocked - twice - with crucians. I've seen them turning in the water, heard them flipping in the lilies as they spawn, and have been frustrated as you like with their bubbling and flaunting around your float that remains motionless. It's an enigma wrapped in a quandary. The tench won't eat bread or maggots, unless they are red, yet have been caught on boilies and pellets. No crucian has ever been landed, and the first stocking was 7 years ago. 

I'll be honest, as much as I want some tench action, I am really getting an itch from the crucians. I've ordered various baits, feeds and may even buy a pole to get my presentation just so. All this despite already offering a 4mm pellet that's been critically balanced with a bit of 6mm pop-up. I can tell you that was not without incident, what with stiff fingers, glue and all. 

Fiddly and ineffective.

I am at the start of a project and am determined to stick to it. The new season is almost upon us, but the rivers take a while to get up to speed and should the heat hang about like last year, they will be crap anyway.

Whilst talking about the weather, why do those simpering idiots who report the weather on our TV sets constantly apologise about rain, then announce a new record temperature like we've won an Olympic Gold. Never mind claiming kudos for our scary climate disruption or the odd shower that may ruin a picnic in the home counties, this stuff is threatening our planet and the lives of everything on it. Bloody tossers.

Where was I?

Oh yes. Be patient, I may be away again for a while, but I may just unlock an incredibly challenging little pool.

First Trip Of The Year

 What a bloody awful winter. However, come the first of March, and I've seen Celendine on the riverbank, whilst the frogs and toads have spawned in my pond. It's time to abandon the Ark building project and start digging the nuclear bunker.

Hey ho, we move forward and hope for the best. Personally, I am looking forward to some summer tench fishing, but there's no way I could go any longer without wetting a line. This afternoon, I trundled down to the Wye and found just one other car on the fishery. At least they've not been pressured. 

I have to admit to feeling under the weather. Two and a half months of avoiding cold and rain will do that to you. My gear felt heavy despite much of it being left at home. I soon discovered that my landing net spreader block had also missed muster, and that posed the potential problem of netting anything hooked. 

I slumped into a good-looking crease swim and cast a PVA bag with a few pellets and bits of meat into the flow. I soon snagged and had to tie a new rig. Of course, the heavens opened, and I struggled with wet glasses, stiff hands and a large dose of intolerance. When, at last, I had cast again, the rain immediately stopped. As did my confidence, as I had chosen on a very snaggy spot.

I was thinking about giving up, but forced myself to move up to another place where the nearside current was behaving itself. I cobbled a rig together and wrapped some cheese around a bit of rubber tied to a hair. It was all very Micky Mouse. I really was as rusty as the railings on the Titanic. Anyway, out went my gear, I sat back and decided to write my diary. I was surprised to find several of my autumn trips hadn't been recorded. I filled the gap with brevity and felt bad about my lapse in dedication. I was interrupted by a knock on the rod and reached for the handle. As I did so, the rod jammed over as a lively fish bolted downstream. I lifted into fresh air. I suppose I didn't deserve a fish whilst fishing like a plonker.

I made my way back home and pondered on the day. It did me good to get out, and I shall be fishing again soon, weather permitting. It would be nice to land something.