An overnighter.

I arrived at the lake just after lunch and set about sorting my gear and the thousand and one things that I carry for a session. Hot and sweaty, I sat back to make a cup of ..... a cup.......a cup? Oh bugger! I always forget something. Ah well, I sat back for a bowl of coffee.

On my last visit the lake didn't 'feel' right and I caught nothing yet here I was, sat in the same area but brimming with confidence, I just knew I'd get a result. The first call was from a bream of about 6lbs which deposited slime all over me and my gear but I knew that more was to follow.

I sat back and waited, restlessly. The trouble with hopping between rivers and lakes is the mind set that is required between bites. I see the two disciplines as the difference between driving a car and riding on a train. In the car - the river - you are constantly making decisions, changing course, reacting. Even at the traffic lights you are looking at what is coming from behind and planning your next move forwards, it is completely absorbing. On the train however, it is possible to sit back and just think about the destination. Sure there are things to see outside the window but you have little influence over them. On a train I become stupefied and just doze or read. Bored may be too strong a word for it but it can come close.

I had a visitor, a kingfisher that sat on my rod. I tried to slowly move into a better position to watch it as it fluffed its feathers and bobbed up and down, alas it spooked but I took it as a positive omen. Its been a while since one landed on my rod. The last was when I was touch legering and the surprise from both of us was transmitted through the rod and the visit was far too brief.

As dusk reluctantly fell a carp rolled over one of my baited spots, it was just a matter of time. I lay in my sleeping bag unable to get comfortable. I cannot sleep in my clothes and they came off layer by layer until I wore just a T shirt.

At 2am I was woken by a run! I hit a solid object that begrudgingly came through the weeds until it got its head down and stuck fast. I gave it line but it refused to move, I could feel it throbbing through the line. I put on some more pressure, as much as I dared and with a reluctant kick, it came free. It rolled in front of me and I smiled - job done. In the weigh sling it went 20.01, a common and a fine fish that I slipped back after a couple of snap shots.

I wonder what it thought of the half naked angler it had met?

It was cold and I was tired. I didn't even recast that rod but settled down and tried to sleep. The rain, rhythmically pattering on the bivvy sent me into a light sleep that was again disturbed by the strident demands of an alarm. This was a smaller fish, a common of about 12 or 13 lbs but I was happy to make its acquaintance.

I slept like a bird, waking and opening an eye at every splash from a turning fish or bleep from my last rod. At about 8am I met another angler on the lake, the first I have seen so far this season. Soon after he left to set up, I missed a stuttering take from what must surely have been another bream.

Tired but happy, I decided to call it a day. I had thought about staying for another night or two but I was more than satisfied and packed up straight away.

Tom Herbert Stole My Blog

I was going to write something about the irresistible lure of running water and how it can cast a shadow over plans to visits lakes but Tom got there first. Well done Tom on a blog that hits the target so succinctly but it means that I'll have to come about this from another angle.

I wasn't going to even take my gear with me. The 16th is usually a disappointment and I am trying to get my back fit again so, I figured I'd sit this one out. Trouble was Neil (my son), was bursting with enthusiasm and I got caught up in it.

So, there I am, waders on, stalking rod in hand and trundling a bait through a shallow swim that was going to give me a bite or two. But it didn't. It felt like the swim had been fished already and try as I might, I couldn't find a fish in what is usually considered a banker. Mind you I only fished for 35 minutes. My back ached and I knew it was time to stop, so I did. I wanted to try another spot but it was occupied and I went home.

I don't mind blanking especially on such a fleeting visit but I was left with a yearning. I'd been touch legering, feeling my way through the swim and waiting, expectantly, for that contact through my finger tips with a wild creature. Fishing is all about the 'bite' and I needed that sensation of life like a drug.

Next day I was back. The river had come up a few inches and felt cold, not ideal but I needed my fix. Again I fished for just half an hour (why I didn't find a swim to sit in I don't know) before I knew that the fish were not in residence (its a very immediate swim this one ;-) ) and I needed to sit down. I left Neil to go exploring and retired.

Yesterday the old back was giving me jip but the call of the river was too great. Neil and I shared a few hours in the evening (sitting in my comfy chair this time) and it was just what I needed. First because it was a beautiful evening on the stunning river Wye, second and most important, I was sat, sharing a swim with my lad with no competition, just two guys enjoying the moment - a real Father's Day treat. Last, because I got my fix. I held the rod and felt all those twitches and pulls as well as the urgent tug of a taking fish. For the record I had four chub and a small barbel, Neil had just the one chub but the result was immaterial (especially as I caught most), the only reason I had more being that I could cast that little bit farther with a fixed spool to his 'pin'.

I did extend a cast down the swim but my light feeder got pulled off line and I feared it would cross Neil's line. As I wound in Neil struck wildly and cursed his dear old dad (with a big grin on his face) as my catching his line was a very good representation of a barbel bite.

It cooled down at dusk, both the bites and the temperature, so we stopped off at the pub before returning home and a night cap. A perfect evening.

Ow!

Eager to get back to my secret lake I decided to give it a go for a day or two. I was amazed at the amount of weed that had grown in a fortnight. The whole place was in full summer bloom and buzzing with life.

I fished an open swim with a platform that made casting and hopefully, landing fish easier due to bankside reeds and trees. I was happy with my lot and settled back for the evening full of anticipation.

The only thing that disturbed me during the night was Buddy, my dog, who leapt up the bank to investigate every single sound in the undergrowth. At first light he saw off a magpie which later returned only to be seen off again. The amount of arguing from the bird showed it was not used to being bossed about.

A shaft of dawn sunlight burns off the mist

I had a stalk around the lake and saw plenty of fish but they were totally disinterested in food. I assumed that they were about to spawn and felt I'd gain some Brownie points by going home early and doing some gardening.

The next day I removed three elder trees that were a problem in the garden, physical work but I felt no after effects - until the morning when my back started to stiffen. Nicky drove us towards Gloucester where we had things to do. We stopped half way for a coffee and I could hardly get out of the car! My back has been a problem for years but, over the last year or so, it has 'gone' a few times, getting steadily worse. This time was the big one. I was completely crippled with it and have been walking with a stick for over a week. Ah well, the Osteopath is doing well out of it.

So, its been an inactive, boring sort of week but at least I've been able to sit and give the new issue of Riffle my full attention. As I type this, there's only an editorial to write and it will go out in a day or two. This edition will only be displayed on the Association of Barbel Fishers site, so if you want a peak - join :-)

When you are under the weather its always nice to get something in the post. So, I was very pleased when my brother Chris, who had been sorting out his spare room, sent me some of the stuff he's unearthed. With a postcard of Ron and Nancy Reagan (the last card he sent me had King Kong on it along with a badge, now on my fishing hat), was a photograph that I'd wanted to see for years. It's of me and my brother, both looking very guilty, having apparently damaged windows with our air guns. It was taken for an open day at Taunton police station back in the mid-60's. I'm the little fella' with the pistol. I wanted to hold the rifle but my brother is bigger than me.

The other items were some of my first rod licenses. I was certain that they had been stolen, along with a load of other documents, during a burglary but, it would seem that they were at my parent's house and had been given to Chris to sort out.

I can't tell you how pleased I was to get those licenses, well, the first one anyway. As an angler I'm a bit of a hoarder and I'm also quite a sentimentalist when it comes to my fishing past. I can recall my first fishing trip with crystal clarity as I set off with Bob Boyland who was five years my senior (I was 8), on the 1 mile cycle ride to French Weir on the river Tone. We tried a couple of spots but, eventually, by leaning over the top of a fence and lowering my maggot baited size 14 hook into clear water just below the weir sluice, I watched as the minnows surrounded it. I caught 6 of the little brown and black fish, winching them up the side of the high wall and fence with my 2" Bakelite reel - cane and pin don't you know. It was a magical day that I shall remember as long as I hold breath and it was the first step on a very long road.

That first licence cost 6d or 2.5 pence in modern money. It had the sizes on the back of all the fish that you could take home but it took me another year before that was even a consideration as minnows dominated that first summer. I never did find anybody that measured a bream at 14 inches and thought "Mmmm, yummy yummy".

France 2011

Now I don't want you lot thinking I was carp fishing. Nothing could have been further from my mind and that I caught a barbel, some chub, lots of bream and even more bream hybrids, then it was exactly what I was after and, as a look at my set up will show you. Three 3.25 rods on a Euro pod is exactly what we all use when targeting those species isn't it?

Right, that's got that out of the way, now I can tell you all about it.

When travelling abroad to fish it makes sense to have a game plan. We (Bunny and his son Phil), had one and that was blown, literally, out of the water when we arrived at the tackle shop. The woman who served there did her best to explain but unfortunately, she kept talking in French and no matter how hard I try, I listen in English. The upshot was that the night fishing zone was closed. Closed? Why? We never found out but a couple of smaller areas were pointed out and we headed for one of them.

Now, many of you will have fished rivers such as the Trent or Severn, you know, about 50yards across, quite deep. Have a look at the following pictures and it will explain why I shall complain less about canoeists in future.

These barges were 90 yards long and 10 yards wide plus the boat that pushed them! There were even some slightly smaller ones that went past being pushed two at a time. To give you some idea of the water displacement, when this boat was still 200 yards upstream of me, the push of water ahead of it made my bobbins drop. How does that effect your carefully laid loose feed?

I didn't like this spot, I never felt close to a carp but was way too familiar with a billion mozzies that lived in a small, lily and frog strewn pond behind us. I got mullered by the bitey little bastards.

We moved to a gorgeous spot where a long, broken island 3/4 of the way across was full of lily beds and snags and which looked very promising. We heard a couple of big fish crash out behind one of the islets but again, nothing stirred.

Bunny had his birthday on the bank. I adorned his bivvy and presented him with a thoughtfully chosen gift which he opted not to wear to the shops, pity, it suited him.

On our last evening here Phil managed to get a catfish of about 10lbs, although it had about 3lbs of boilies in its belly.

We moved again, this time to a more prolific part of the Seine - allegedly. Again, the game plan was thrown out when all of the locations that had looked so good on Google Earth, proved either inaccessible or impossible to fish. We did settle in a wide section that was away from the boats (which may have been a mistake), as some of the barges here were the size of small countries.

Here we started to see carp moving, usually way too far to cast to but they were close. I decided to bait heavily and hope for them to come in but it had the side effect of drawing a few bream along too. Well, not too - instead of. I caught loads and, despite Bunny's claim of a 5.8 roach, there were a lot of hybrids amongst them.

It all became a bit of a chore. Not being able to provoke action and being so restricted as to where we could fish was very frustrating. We spoke to some local carp anglers and they told us that the river's been right out of sorts this year. The swim we ended up sharing had been the scene of a catch of 33 carp in a night at this time last year (I think, language difficulties and all that), but they had been struggling in their spot despite prebaiting for three weeks with over 100 kgs of maize. If that seems like a lot, they have another swim that they keep topped up and have put in over 1000kgs of maize plus a mass of boilies. They were keen anglers.

Bait robbing bream apart, the only fish of note was another, slightly smaller cat to Phil. After all of our efforts we had to come home empty handed. I packed away all of my mountain of kit and returned to see if Bunny wanted a hand. As I did so, right over my bait, a bloody great carp rolled! Isn't that just typical?

So that was that. A very hard effort for very little return. I should be sat here with tears in my eyes, beating the keyboard in frustration but I'm not. I enjoyed most of the trip and have learned more about the French rivers and about myself along the way. Within an hour of getting home Neil and I were discussing our next trip.

You will no doubt read about it here.

France 2 - The Return

Coming to a blog near you soon, the adventure continues.

A Man - alone against the elements.

His goal - to catch the impossible.

Can he succeed?

Last time he faced adversity, this time its personal!

See how he deals with the toil, the tumult, the tantrums, the technical trials....

Appearing here, on this very blog - France 2 - The Return

Here Thursday May 26th for one week only

Noises in the Night

My post yesterday was all about the fishing which is not surprising as I was on something of a high at my result. But there was so much more to the trip. Sitting in a little tent in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wood and fields, it brings you right into nature and the wildlife was bountiful and at times, surprising.

As I walked the lake, looking for a swim to fish, I heard my first corncrake. This is a bird that I wanted to see or hear ever since I got into birds at the age of 7 or 8. I remember hearing a raucous call from my house on the edge of Taunton and I poured through the big bird guide I'd had for Christmas, to try and identify it. After much reading and interpreting the ornithological language of descriptive terms for bird song, I settled on a corncrake. My mother wasn't so sure but it made sense. Imagine my disappointment when, whilst walking toward town one day, there, at the top of a tree was my bird, a bloody crow!

With modern computer discs and the Internet, it is possible to identify bird calls very easily and one of the first I looked up was the corncrake so, the second I heard it the other day, I knew exactly what it was but I double checked on my return, just to make sure.

That was good enough but at night I was entertained by a passing nightjar and the eerie barking/howling of Munjacs. Laying there I couldn't help but let my imagination try to add pictures to the sound and, no matter how hard I tried, my mind could not attribute this unworldly sound to a tiny deer! It was the sort of sound that, in a movie, would be followed by the local saying to the back packer "Don't go onto the moors tonight", only to be ignored and end up..... well, we've all seen An American Werewolf in London haven't we :-)

Many of the other noises came from creatures moving in the dry undergrowth. Every now and then the dog would rush off to investigate and would chase something off be it badgers, rabbits, rats or whatever. But oddly, he ignored the bipedal footsteps that approached from my right. I fully expected another angler to appear but, when I stood to look in the direction of the noise - nothing! It was obviously one of the many pheasants but I never did see it.

The last noise woke me from a light sleep. As I said, when I hear a sound I instantly know if its new to me or not and attempt to either identify it or at least give it a mental picture. So there I am, bemused by the sound of what my mind has attributed to a minute space craft spinning past the bivvy. A couple of 'ticks' as it headed across the lake gave me a different image but when it returned a few minutes later, it was still a space ship!

On the Intergoogle I confirmed my suspicions. One of the few bats that I can still hear nowadays is the greater horseshoe and this one was sending out a barrage of sonar pulses as it flew beneath the trees, (check it out on http://www.bats.org.uk/pages/uk_bat_species.html). Pity really, a spaceship would have been even more exciting.

Pinch Me!

When I arrived at my secret lake (shhhh!), I had a feeling of trepidation. Would it live up to my expectations? Was it all show but with a hidden flaw - like admiring a beautiful girl only to find she has an Essex accent?

It was blustery and my six month absence from a carp water was apparent from the off as I made a complete mess of everything. I moved from my first choice swim to a point where the lake narrows. I have seen plenty of fish basking on both sides here and I also expected cruisers to visit morning and night to feed on the stream bed. Plus, it meant some shorter casts which, in a swirling wind, was a bonus.

I took ages to get sorted but eventually had three rods sensibly placed to cover fish moving or browsing. I sat back and relaxed only to be rudely awoken by a run! I made a complete hash of it and brought back a straightened hook. That wasn't in the plan.

Nick and Neil came out for a picnic and, as Nick and I sat in the sun, Neil went fish spotting and assured me that there were fish quite close to my bait. When they departed I had the place to myself - no road noise, no voices, just me, the birds and the wind above - bliss.

It got chilly but, due to the snug nature of my swim, my rod butts meant I couldn't close the bivvy door. I led there, in my bag, dozing when, at about half ten - beeeeeeep! I was away on the middle rod but, as I lifted into the fish, my right hand rod was away as well and gaining pace. This was hectic enough but to add to the confusion, my head torch was shining directly into my eyes. Not quite understanding what was happening I lifted the bit that aims the beam but it fell back and blinded my left eye. Was it on upside down? I changed it but to no avail. I had tightened down on the running fish to stop an overrun and bent into the distant fish which promptly fell off. Oh well, still got a smoking reel so I lifted into the other rod and pulled.... into nothing!

I sat down, my swim a war zone. The head torch had broken and was hanging by a wire. Luckily I carry a spare so that was job number one, to swap the batteries then get everything back how it should be.

I was jolted from a cold night's sleep by an alarm at 3ish and landed a bream. Not what I wanted but a start. Soon after, the nearside rod shot off and I landed a very hard fighting mirror of 20.7. Not a bad opener. I was ecstatic and losing another fish later on didn't lower my mood.

Not me at my best -20.7

The second day was quiet but I spent it reading, dozing or watching the lake like you do. It got cold in the shade so I sat up in the sun behind my swim and threw a stick for Buddy. I had a run, again on the right hand rod. This one also fought hard and was another mirror of 22.4 - Fantastic!

I decided to eat some tea and listen to the footie so, at 7.15 my ravioli has just got to the switch off point when, off went the left hand rod. Again, I was beaten up my a scrappy fish which, miraculously, went 22.14! Am I dreaming? Three twenties!! Reheated ravioli tastes great in some circumstances.

It was really cold at night and I didn't really want to be disturbed, a good sleep would go down well but alas, it was not to be and I had to climb out into the chill, dressed in pants and T shirt, to land yet another fish. It was 3am and the fish came in doggedly . I was shivering when it rolled, at last, over the net. What a brute - 25.9 and a glorious specimen. I rattled off a quick picture and slipped it back. Leaving that rod on the rest I jumped back into my bag and shivered some more.

At about six, with mist rolling across the water, I had my last run, a 'tiddler' of about ten or twelve pounds. What a session, four twenties, five carp for over a hundred pounds. Pinch me, I think I'm still asleep!

25.9

The only hiccup was the remote on my camera gave up the ghost so I've only got a couple of terrible snaps of the first fish and just unhooking mat shots of the rest but who cares, I've had the trip of my life on the loveliest lake I've ever fished.

To add to the sense of elation, I was on a new bait that seems to be of liking to carp, another lad on it had five twenties from another water. The success of the bait will add to my confidence as I'm taking a load of it to France next week for a go on the river Seine with the Bunyans. I've set the bar quite high but confidence is a vital a ingredient and today, I have it in spades.