Pitmans Pond 11th March 2007

A glorious sunny day, no clouds and a bit of a south-west wind. Busy here today, pegs 3, 4, 16 and 17 are occupied. Peg 13 is not though and it is something of a favourite of mine so I'm camped in the sun, chair flipped so I'm on the ground with a backrest, and sat on the unhooking mat.

Lulled by the sun a stabbing bite develops from 10 minutes of playful dips, is over struck and missed, with a suggestion of resistance the closest to a fish. I add some corn to the hook and the hemp and go again.

The wind is warm today, like a soft brush on the back of the hands. The water is 10°C, warm also. In the sun the temperature is 20°C, but that not the shade temperature. Plenty of knocks but no fish. I wonder about larger bait. Size 8 hook currently and 2 grains of corn tipped with a cockle. A peacock butterfly wafts past and bird song but not a hint of green on the trees still skeletal from winter, mild though it is. A mob of dogs and ramblers pass – so much disruption on a peaceful day.

An hour passes with a lot of movement; both float and water but no carp. I've got a new trace ready; size 10, with 3 x no.6 shot in apiece of silicone sleeving to confound the false hemp bites. I will change the tackle and likely halve the false bites. I'll bottom end only the float as well to keep it from drifting.

The empty-sky feeling is enhanced by a pair of buzzards, wheeling against the blue, their lonely cries near echoing. They circle each other and drift slowly away to the north as I watch.

Arriving with the buzz of a bee is the feeling that a fish is a distinct possibility. No reason, unless the floats sudden stillness is due to hastily vacating fry. A departing or moving angler swishes past all camo gear and 1 ounce bombs and a sweatshirt so pale you can see it 450 yards away. Doesn't even ask how I've done or stop for a chat. I'm constantly amazed at this, as we all need as much information as we can get to improve the odds.

Tackle changed. Something else has changed, it's fishier somehow. Fewer small fry about. Single cockle size 10 No. 7. I wait. Two more departing, ‘wiff-waff’ past omitting, as usual, a “How are you doing?” Never mind any fishing talk.

I award myself a cup of tea. Soon now, I think. Water is 10°C all morning. In the sunshine it's summer. Another departee, who offered he'd had a lone 3lb mirror. There's hope then, for both the fishing and sociability of fishing. I learn he tipped in his surplus corn bait 2 days ago to my left and right. Decent of him to say, faith is further restored.

Odd day. Things suddenly feel fishless so I take an hour out to catch Rudd with some 4lb line and a size 16 and pole float. I catch 20 at least. I wonder about for a bit. 3:15. Still 10°C in the water but no sign of feeling that carp are about. If the 2 lads on peg 3 move I’ll head over at 4:30 and give it a go in the lily roots. I’ve gone back to a size 8 JH and a porcy quill for the last bit.

‘In for a penny’ and all that. I’ve finally spotted the Greater Spotted Woodpecker, chak-chak-chak, tapping away in the oak 50 yards distant for the last hour. Perhaps a better zoom for the camera...

The sun sipping behind my grounded brolly reveals the true air temperature to be 12°C, still warm for March. The Woodpecker is still going and two Robins start with a ‘chipping’ match and this escalates to a pitched battle for territorial rights. A couple of carp have topped now 20 yards to my left on the far bank, air and water temperatures have met and dusk is coming. Perhaps my best bet now, but as the peg 3 lads clear I move there as soon as the pickup car has left. 15 minutes later I take a 9 ½lb mirror Carp, which battles hard but with few long runs. I then get settled in and take 8 Rudd in quick succession, with the largest shown here, about a 1lb. None were less than ½lb. These are giants in this pond. All on double cockles. Rudd like seafood...

The water temperature here is a good 2C up on Peg 13, which is a decent difference for March. I get a slowish bite and am rewarded for my deliberate strike with a swirl. It's not over yet, although the wind has freshened and it's colder. The thermometer has packed up again, I think it dislikes the damp. Note to self, dismantle and damp-proof. Dusk arrives, not the best, but they're all good. As I decide to leave I get a sharp prod on the posterior, and think it imagined until it's repeated. I stand and lift my unhooking mat and see a mole vanish suddenly...well that doesn’t happen every day. Off home for tea.