Blank

I had a few hours on the carp pool the other day, nothing stirred and my bite indicators remained motionless. You can sometimes tell within minutes of setting up that the day's efforts will be in vain, the wind was light and stirred only a small area in the centre of the lake, the small fish didn't show and there was extra colour from the feeder stream, all poor signals. I didn't mind, it was pleasant enough sat taking in the view whilst Nicky played with my new 'Bridge' camera, comparing it with her SLR and she reluctantly agreed that the Canon was a remarkable tool especially with its phenomenal 20X zoom. 

The same story must be told of a trip to the river this afternoon. Despite apparently ideal conditions and sitting in a 'dead cert' swim for three hours I had nothing but a few plucks and pulls from small fish. The only decent pull came as I moved about to improve the reception when Neil rang me, I left it to await the next tug but that was it, another blank.

Again, I wasn't too perturbed, Neil's call was news of his first carp from the lake and I was delighted for him. It was a 23 pounder with near linear markings and I'm pretty sure it is one I saw roll on that very spot back when I had a mid-double common. It is a good looking fish and one that I hope I connect with one day.

So, no fishy pictures for you but I have been snapping away at rod tops (willing them to move), a hairy mutt by the name of Harvey and my good lady wife bringing me a cup of coffee on the bank ahhh luxury :-)

Size Matters, or does it?

Over on Gurn's excellent blog he's debating whether or not to include the weight of his fish when he writes about them, the matter has been put to the vote and so far the majority are in favour of the weights being shown. For the record, I voted in favour as well.  In this country its the weight of our fish that we use to gauge our success even though the fish one angler catches on his water bears little relationship to what another catches on a different water. Be that as it may a 2lb roach, 5lb chub, 10lb barbel or 20lb carp are all standards that we recognise and aspire to, its a universal standard by which we compare venues as well as results.

Having said all that, I am aware that as I age and adjust my attitude to life and fishing then the size of fish caught means less than the pleasure that it gives me when I actually catch it. Sure, a big fish is usually exciting just by virtue of its bulk and fighting ability even if its only the effort needed to lift it out of the water. Some of the most pleasurable fish I caught last season were a few modest grayling taken on Tony Rocca's cane rod, not only was the rod highly effective in dealing with their twists and lunges but I was overwhelmed with a flood of memories of fish caught in my youth, so much in fact that I am expecting a cane float rod to arrive at any day.

So, the size of the fish we catch isn't necessarily important but what about the size of those we lose? This is a different ball game and one which was brought home with a bit of a bump this afternoon. Neil and I went to the lake for his first session as a member. I gave him choice of swim and set up nearby casting a rod toward a bed of reeds with a second rod just out in front of me on the line that carp often patrol. The wind was in our face and a few fish were topping and rolling, things looked good.

A carp rolled quite close in to my right and a few minutes later I had a screaming 'take' as it ploughed through my line and bolted out into the lake leaving an enormous bow wave behind it. That was a disturbance I could have done without but I recast and sat back to settle my nerves when the same rod was away again. This time the bite was genuine and I hit a heavy, ponderous weight that reluctantly turned and allowed itself to be slowly pumped toward the bank. Neil, who had only just got his first bait in the water, came over and held the net as a big fish wallowed toward it when .......ping! The hook pulled. I was only saying to him the other day that I haven't lost a fish to a hook pull in ages and here I was swearing through gritted teeth at the sky above. There is a unique sensation when losing a fish, any fish, it pulls at our core and the loss of a big one is just a pummelling of our emotions that seems way beyond the value of a mere fish but trust me, this fish deserved every ounce of that emotion as it had long since passed the magic twenty mark and was somewhere around that next milestone. The size of that fish mattered - a lot - as I licked my wounds.

My sulk was soon diverted as Neil cast to a rolling fish and had an immediate take only for that one to come adrift within a few seconds. There was me bemoaning the loss of a fish that was probably short of my personal best from a water that has provided me with plenty of big fish and will no doubt provide more in the future yet Neil had just lost his fish from the lake, a fish that would have lived for ever in his memory. Both of those fish had the potential to make a great day's fishing and both had slipped through our hands - such is life.

The wind dropped after the rain passed and the water became quiet with little surface activity apart from the masses of fry. As the clock approached seven Neil decided that he'd best not use all his Brownie points up and decided that returning to the little lady early would buy him a few hours on the lake later in the week when conditions may be better. We decided on a last half an hour and mid-way through the countdown I had another flyer. This fish fought hard and kited in a wide arc before it plunged into a weed bed. I kept steady pressure on it and it yielded, running along the margin of my bank and into the net held by Neil. It was way below the weight of my first contact but still looked bigger than the 20.01 that the scales recorded. So, another twenty logged and a successful trip, would it have mattered one jot had it been two ounces lighter? What would it have weighed had I lost it? Gurn may be onto something.

Technology Fail

The day started with an attractive black girl massaging my buttock with her pointed elbow followed by her placing her hand on my pubis - and mine on hers - as she demonstrated a breathing exercise. I've had worse experiences and, feeling frisky due to the movement in my back and leg (what did you think?) I headed for the river.

I started writing my diary only for the pen my run dry, I'm not sure whether pens count as technology but this was a day when such things were not running well. When I did catch a fish I decided to try out the remote shutter release on my new camera and the test shot went okay, all I needed to do now was to get my position right, hold a slippery fish whilst maintaining the correct position on a greasy slope and use my spare hand ( ! ) to operate the camera. It was a bit like rubbing your tummy with one hand whilst patting your head with the other but done on ice skates. I failed. Certain that I'd taken three or four decent shots I returned the fish only to find just one poor image with half the fish in it.

I rang Neil and we discussed the ongoing saga of his car, the garage and the replacement of a series of engine sensors that were needed to placate a temperamental engine management unit. Guess who'll be settling the bill. He then told me that the screen had broken on his mobile phone again and I decided to turn the conversation around to my fishing story when - phut! My phone died without warning and irrevocably. It was just one of those days when technology was playing up and I was glad I don't have a pacemaker.

For the record I had two chub, one of which was easily five pounds and a barbel of ten pounds five ounces so it wasn't a complete failure.

Good Stuff

I felt a deep necessity,  a need to catch a fish. I know that I've nibbled at the edge of the start of the season and that the taste has been quite bitter but suddenly the hunger had become a starvation.

I made my way (gingerly) to a spot where I would be sat on a level area and fishing virtually under my feet, even in my fervent state I wanted a degree of comfort a consideration that, at one time, would never have crossed my mind. The river was holding extra water (as it will for some time yet) but I know this swim and despite the boils and swirls on the surface, the fish will feed on the hard, gravel bottom.

I felt another 'need' and that was to catch on a cane rod, maybe I've been reading too many books by 'traditionalists' but it somehow felt appropriate on this day to give the bamboo an airing. I set up two rods with accompanying pins and sat back confident of action. The surface of the water moved this way and that as the river surged along its confused path, the occasional whooshes and gurgles as a hump of water sought to spread itself between the banks made Harvey sit up and listen and look.

This was Harvey's first proper fishing session and he passed with flying colours. He shares a fascination with water that many dogs seem to have but he avoided swimming - fortunately, and was content to pad up and down the bank sniffing out the new smells and every morsel of dropped bait. He has yet to learn that the rods are a 'no go' area but maybe I need to learn to raise the rests a little to enable him to pass under them. He settled and gave the fish I caught nothing more than a passing look but watched, spell bound as a duck and her chicks swam past. He's coming along just fine.

With a wet landing net and a set in my rod, it was time to leave. Another short session but an important one, I am mobile-ish once more and am off the mark.

Another serendipitous event followed when, after much bowing and tugging or forelock's, I managed to secure a place for Neil on my syndicate lake. Green with envy since I joined Neil has understood that such venues do not come often and I have had to wait some 55 years before my opportunity arose, he begrudgingly accepted the chore of patience so, when I broke the news to him it took a while for it to sink in, he then became rather excited. I am too, I've wanted him to enjoy this lake since I first saw it and I'm really looking forward to joining him on a few sessions in the near future. No doubt you will duly hear about them.

New Season, What New Season?

I am so pissed off! I have another bout of back problems which have prevented me from doing virtually everything I've wanted to do and its starting to get to me. Correction, it got to me ages ago, I really am fed up, bored, grumpy, low and difficult to be around...... okay, even more difficult to be around.

The trouble is a nerve that is either trapped or is playing up due to a disc that is out of alignment; more physio has been booked and it can't come quick enough. I can't walk far or carry anything heavy, two essentials when fishing especially when the river's up, there's no parking in the fields and all the good spots are a hike away. If I do walk its painful, then I get an odd warm feeling down the outside of my buttock and thigh as though someone has wee'd down it - well, that's how I explained it to the Doc and he then asked me if I was "peeing and pooing okay?" I told him it was just an expression and I hadn't really wet myself but he didn't smile, just repeated his question! Hey ho, after a 'wet leg' my foot goes to sleep and my leg gets very heavy........ and I moan a lot. Mrs Burr is about to either leave or put a pillow over my face if I don't buck up, its been dragging on for a while now.

So my total fishing result for the season 2012/13 so far is
fished - twice
choice of swims decided by distance from car - two
total time bankside - three hours
total fish caught - zero
total bites or fishy indications - zero

Apart from that its going very well.

But yesterday it felt a little easier so I went for a wander around my syndicate water. The path on one bank is quite easy to negotiate and, by taking my time I managed to cover most of the north bank. I was rewarded by plenty of activity from the carp that were up in the water despite the cool and overcast conditions. I saw more carp that on any other visit as they cruised about just below the surface with the occasional fish leaping and splashing back into the calm water. It was all very mouth watering and frustrating as I had no tackle with me. As you will see in the pictures I found fish grubbing about in the shallows as well as cruising over deeper water, they really were everywhere and I am tempted to have a go very soon. I know I can't manage a full session as the field's too wet to drive over and I'm not up to 'barrowing' my gear that far but I saw enough fish within reach of the dam where I can drop my gear and day-fish with the minimum of effort - yes, I'll give that a go.

As we returned to the car I saw a spectacle that I have often heard of but have never witnessed in this country before. There was a mass exodus of baby frogs from the lake and everywhere you looked little miniature amphibians hopped amongst the grass as they sought refuse and food at the start of their terrestrial live's. It was an incredible sight and one often described by my parents as something they had witnessed at 'The Pond' near our home village. Sadly nowadays what with there being a lot less frogs around, it is only something that happens when they have a particularly good year but it does bode well for their future so good luck to them. They were very fast and difficult to photograph so, apologies for the poor effort.

That's me for now, sorry I'm on a downer but a man wiser than me once said that 'life is like a pubic hair on a toilet, eventually you'll get pissed off' and I promise that I'll catch something soon and tell you all about it.

Books

Of late I seem to buy a fishing book at least once a month, I just can't help myself. My shelves have collapsed - literally - and the books pile up in my other bookcase, on the floor or spread around the house in a state of 'started but not finished' as a new or more interesting title takes my fancy. I have books on all types of fishing from the humble roach to adventures in exotic foreign climes for big game species or enormous sharks, I love them all.


Many of my later additions have been passed straight onto Neil as, let's face it, that's where they will end up so he may as well have the trouble of storing them now. Yes, I originally thought that I would buy them as some sort of currency, an investment for the future and many of the titles I've procured have increased in value beyond my wildest imaginings. But then Neil discovered Chris Yates and the magical way in which he puts our language onto paper. He was absorbed and read all of his work one after another, this highlighted when we went to the Hay festival where Chris talked about his then latest title 'How To Fish' and Neil duly queued to get his copy signed.


Neil moved on to my carp collection and fell in love with the work of Rod Hutchinson, a master angler and raconteur so I recently bought Rod's latest two 'Carp Along the Way' books. This was recently joined by four books by Rob Maylin, Terry Baxter's 'Barbel Mystique' and Jon Berry's 'Beneath the Black Water' and just the other week a first edition of 'What's My Line' that came, compliments of Ebay, all the way from Australia and so the list continues.


I have my favourites of course, some are just part of my life and will never leave my shelf such as' No Need To Lie' by Richard Walker, I was given this in the mid sixties and I have never exaggerated the size of a capture since reading it. 'Somewhere Down the Crazy River' (Boote and Wade) is a must have for any dreamer as is 'Hooked' by Fen Montaigne, a tale of fly fishing across Russia. Peter Stone's 'Come Fishing With Me' falls into this category along with many, many others. I can never sell my books, they are my friends and, in the future they will be Neil's. 


My latest addition arrived the other day - 'While My Float's Still Cocked' and I flicked casually through the first few pages. My first impression was that it was a book that many of us of a certain age could write, it was just that this chap had a talent for painting which made it look special. But as I have got deeper into the recollections and tales of Maurice Pledger I have become enthralled and inspired and any book that makes me yearn to hold my rod over a small brook or pool is a winner as far as I'm concerned. So, I highly recommend this little book, after all, none other than Chris Yates himself rates it and he can do no wrong.

Harvey

It didn't take long did it?

Nicky and I have been coming to terms with an empty house and having to listen for the door bell and telephone, two of the jobs Buddy elected to do on our behalf, and were even planning a break abroad for a week or two. We looked at a few brochures, even spoke with a Travel Agent (how old school is that?), then thought, 'what the hell, why go away when we live in such a beautiful spot'. To celebrate our decision we took a stroll through the village, Laura our neighbour walking with us for a while and Imogen, the Doctor's receptionist, pulled up in her car to make comment that Nick and I were hand in hand. It was one of those gentle strolls that we enjoy on a summer evening and make you miss having a dog more than ever.

We passed the village shop and were called in by Laura; Imogen and her had been discussing dogs and Imogen had one that she needed to re-home. "Want a Bearded Collie?" said Laura excitedly.

Half an hour later we were at Imogen's meeting 'Harvey' a nine year old Beardie who, because of her increased work load and family ties, was being left alone for much longer than was desirable. Imogen  had come to the reluctant decision to let him go and would be delighted if we could take him on - we have.

He's settled remarkably well and already feels like one of the family - cute eh?