Just's Fishing Diary 2007
- 30th December. Barton's Court. Two dusky hours and one dusky 11lb common. Cracking.
- 29th December. Sweethedges Farm, Uppingham. Good winter day's fraternal fishing. Good day.
- 22nd December. Revels. Hard cold fishing, but good fun.
- 9th December. Eastmoors. Flooded, wet and another Blank. 'SRS' returns.
- 1st December. Pitmans. Pretty. Technically not a blank.
- 24th November. River Frome. Another Blank. Windy too.
- 10th November. Eastmoors. I'm in the North corner, one arm of a horseshoe shaped lake on a cool day that not as cold as I first thought, but with a head full of cold that's not surprising. It's 9.5° in the water and 15° out. The swim has pads with a few late flowers on, 20 minutes in at 1pm. Chocolate and tea. The water is 5ft and I'm 8" over that with corn on a size 6 on 8lb braid. There is a lot of weed here. I'll swap it for a cockle after an hour. My cold is jet lag induced and fresh air won't do any harm.
There's a channel on this side of the lake, which is presumably the old stream-bed, which now feeds in at the end of this arm and out at the base of the "U" of the horseshoe. The depth drops of 3ft to 5ft about a rod length out, the edge of the channel marked by the edge of lily pads and weed beds. If I get no touch at all in the 2 hours, I'll try the temperature around the lake and see if the water's warmer elsewhere.
I've heard the gate squeak and a quad bike but so far all Tod Sloane. I've taken six inches of the depth and put on cockles, corn having not so much as twitched. I'll give it a bit longer then take a recce with the thermometer. Gate again and I lean back into the wind. The money has been taken, and I elect to wait 20 minutes after the owner leaves as a leaving body is often followed with a take.
Nothing comes to pass - but I learned from the not too chatty owner that he put 200 yearling carp in 12 months ago and the lakes orignial stock has carp (various sorts) and tench. He doesn't fish himself though. It's not feeling very fishy here, on reflection. A tree rat scuffles in the leaves across the water and then to confound me the float looks more interesting - it's lower in the water since I adjusted the depth and the ripples keep it moving all the time, but even so...
Blue sky overhead and muffled 12-bores shot in the distance and autumn colours. Not a bad day to be out, even with the breeze having hints of frost to come. I set off for a recce and check the temperature all round the lake and get barely a tenth of a degree difference all around the lake. The bottom end is clearer and there might be more colour in the arm of the horseshoe opposite me. It's in the face of the wind though and a shade of grey in the water isn't enough to get me sit in the sharp teeth.
On my stroll I found two cracking Fly Agaric. These are not so common (and not to be touched) but are at once suggestive of older times and are things of great beauty.
Not a sign of a fish anywhere. Cockles again with a grain of corn. 6" back on the depth and I pour more tea. I wait. I have worms and bread to try yet. I watch a Blue Tit pick it's way along a branch on the opposite bank, hunkered against the wind. A crow calls in the distance, one of my favourite sounds. Today feels like an old fashioned Autumn session, where just one fish would be good!
A little sun has lit my float up but it would still look better sinking. A few bubbles had appeared to my left which are now gone - I didn't see them arrive and I thought I heard a small cloop from the far bank. This has my attention but I can't pinpoint it. Drat, but promising. 3:30 and the air temp is down to 11C. A crow has hopped down through the tree opposite and is rootling in the leaves which is unusual. It won't pose for a snap though. A Great Tit is foraging in the alder I'm under, but still no sign of a fish above or below. At 3:45 I switch to bread and flick pellets around the float and now there's bread on the hook. An actual fish went past - a real bow wave, but I didn't see the maker. There's been water devils about all day (which I sometimes like to think are the ghosts of long departed fish, free of the water's weight and indulging themselves..) but this was not one of those.
Then a bit later a fish may have nosed a leaf, causing widening rings in the calm spot on the far side of the lilies. Frenetic. New bait in 10 minutes will see me through to dusk. I can hear a jay advertising it's roost, which is nice. Some more loose hemp and bread pills. The air and the water temperature have converged at 9.5C. Clear sky, going to be cold later.
Last ditch. 4:40pm. might be some movement but it's hard to tell - blackbirds are chipping their way to bed. There's always a chance. In the space of five minutes a couple of small fish rise symmetrically to my left and right. I seldom express it, but today had the feel of a still blank from the get-go. I've been wrong before.
Not this time though.
- 28th October. Just Trying to be Quiet.
I've noticed a thread among some angling writers , that for some, angling has been a strong support during interesting times. I'm included.
It's funny how things turn out (everyone says that but nobody laughs).
About five years ago I was unlucky enough to experience what some call a "life changing event". Leaving out the details, it was one of those things that at the time, knocks you for six. Then you think you're over it. But you're not. Grim (I'm fond of the word 'grim' - for me it's onomatopoeic). This coincided with a malicious redundancy (have you noticed when folk say "it's just business" it's almost always not?). I was left with, shall we say, a certain amount of residual anger lashing around in my head. Like a live high voltage cable in a high wind. Not a good thing, especially for those nearby.
Eventually, I did what many have done in troubled circumstances. I got my hibernating rod out of its corner and went fishing. By a quiet Dorset lake on a bitter, grey, near-zero January day, 4 hours fishing in weak-tea coloured water brought to land a dozen roach, on or around the 1lb mark. Not a big deal, a fish every twenty minutes, but the pleasure it brought me held back the demons.
Serendipitously, oddly, the in-parallel change of career allowed me to throw a lot of time into a website for a local cause, more of the current earthed, while achieving something worthwhile. It all helped and I picked up my rod more often and eased back into some sort of normality. With my new web design skills I started scribbling in the anonymity of the virtual world, letting off some steam on how angling had changed since I'd last fished in earnest. More stored charge drained away. It all helped.
When you're stuck on a cliff, there really is only one way to climb and that's up. I say this with some authority, as the younger me was winched of a cliff in Cyprus by the regular Whirlwind coastal patrol of the base. I received, shall we say, a firm lesson on the perils and consequences of diddling about on cliffs that have long drops onto sharp rocks. I spent the next month in mortal fear of my parents finding out. If they did, they never said.
So as I said, upwards is the only option, however painful and slow. Angling has been a firm support for me in the last few years and I've enjoyed Waterlog and its forum and a made a new friend or two, all of which remind me that there is plenty to enjoy and that 'being there' is the point. Eventually the mind quietens. Then, at the end of this fingertip scramble, unbidden, although not entirely unsought, is a return to the work I thought I'd left for good (accepting I have to work at all), with enough of the best aspects of previous employments rolled into one.
All this makes it sound like the fishing rod was my only salvation. Chaucer was not far wrong with: "What is better than wisdom? Woman. And what is better than a good woman? Nothing." (For some reason I thought Izaak Walton said this, but I stand corrected by 'google'.) I bet Izaak knew it though. 'Permission to fish', freely given is worth more than money.
Does this mean fishing is now off the menu? I don't think so! I may have a little less time to fish in the next few years, but with a new appreciation, I'll take my opportunities more gratefully. I may even buy that piece of cane.
Now, when I say 'may'...
Ocala, Florida. October 28th 2007.
- 14th October. Dorset Stillwater #2. No pike, but some nice carp.
- 7th October. Dorset Stillwater #2. Pike 'trouble' and a couple of fair carp.
- 6th October 2007. Spin reel, spin.
The dusk mists that rise and trickle down the Winterborne valley are finally running this evening, it's 11:30pm and I'm sitting here with a glass of Shiraz and the 'pin on an old solid glass butt section, as I needed to strip the 6lb line off and rewind it. Honest.
I'd put it on in a hurry and the majority of the line was laid in a hump in the middle of the spool. So I'd pulled it all off, glossed loops dropped on the floor, now devoid of dogs and children. It caught the light, trick spider's web. With the line then re-laid, evenly, for tomorrow's dabble, I sit idly flicking the reel, watching Johnny Depp and some headless horseman and time the spool's run down at 2 minutes 15 seconds. I spin it again and let the slight air current made by the handles fan my face and my thumb touch the rim, a feather, no more, the gentlest of whispers.
And there unfurling in front of my mind's eye was the Autumn Frome, the frost-edged breeze in my face and the line gently pulled off the reel by a running float...
- 28th-30th Semptember. Milton Ponds, Pimlico Farm Ponds and Gold Oak Ponds in that order. Carp, carp, grump and tench.
- 15th September. River Stour Hammoon. A proper Chub.
- 9th September. Pitman's Pond. One of those days.
- 2nd September. Dorset Stillwater #1. The Hatangler and a small carp.
- 31st August. River Stour at Fiddleford. A decent perch and gudgeon, praise be...I've recently restored a Webley and Scott Super Avon rod - this I picked up for ten notes while on holiday in Leominster and needing a softer rod for those fish that bounce of my Harrison's Avon t/c, especially those Frome grayling, I restored it with new lined rings, as opposed to the existing stainless steel ones, three of which were broken or bent beyond redemption. I kept the yellow flashed green whippings though and smart though it looks, I wanted another bash, as the previous trip to Breech Pond, yielded little to test it.
I headed for Fiddleford as it's close to the office and although it was cloudy today, even dark enough to suggest rain once or twice, nothing came of it. It's spot of great beauty even when fish-less, hopefully not the case today. Bob had slipped down to join me for a bit in a non fishing capacity and the company is always pleasant.
I started fishing on the weir pool itself, as I could, and while it's not always the best place I persisted with maggots and a bobber well past the point where small dace (3 inches) and the occasional roach satisfied. I'd gone with 4lb line through and a size 14, but I bent that on a rock and switched to a 16 on a water knotted trace of 3lb maxima, which helped hit the bites. An interesting turn of events followed when returning one such dace. A large bristly perch materialised out of the water under the sill and harried the dace into a gap in the stones, where it wisely stayed. The perch, despite wedging itself into the gap in the rocks, eventually slunk off back to it's ambush spot and I put on three good red maggots and a worm tail and first drop got a plunged bite and a lively tussle with the perch seeking the strong flow several times before eventually and grudgingly being netted. A bit over a pound and a fine start - sadly none of it's school mates were available to follow. Naturally this occurred 5 minutes after Bob went on.
The main flow was a little over strong to fish directly, and the side flow was back towards me in a series of whirls, and I discovered that the fast bites right after casting were small dace as mentioned and the easier to hit bites after the bait settled were small roach of a few ounces. I tired of this in the end and head off downstream, where the river leaves the weir pool. On the gravel run where the water leaves was a shoal of roach, which was interesting, and for a few minutes I trotted the narrow channel downstream of this, yielding a couple more fingerling dace.
I moved on, and spotting several chub, one of the monstrous at 6lb+, back tracked 10 yards and slipped down the bank to trot through, more in hope that in expectation. I fed a few maggot and changed float. What I really wanted was a 2BB clear chubber. What I had was a 2AAA chubber. I tried a few trots and skipped off a small dace and then gave in and put on a light stick, with the bottom stem shortened. I then caught several dace, then a small chub, 0.5lb perhaps. I then latched into some gudgeon, and relaxed into this most fun of things catching at least a dozen, before the fun palled.
Several hours had now passed, so I wondered around the pool to where an angler with three cane rods was perched and exchanged information about his cane rods, besides which my 30 year old glass Avon seemed a little ordinary. We did the ritual comparison of quill floats. Honour satisfied, he latched into a big chub while I was there, 5.25lb at the net. Well worth the detour, a fabulous fish.
I wondered off upstream for a bit, with a couple more small dace, then returned to the pool, fishing the side of the weir stream for the pool edge, which necessitated a change of float to give casting range. I'm not sure how long I fished here, but got into a rhythm casting and following the fractal path of the float along the edge of the stream towards the weir, and then back down the main stream. I tried maggots which yielded several roach to 4oz and many small dace. I swapped to corn and for 45 minutes had not a twitch. I discovered my arm was tiring, it's a fine rod, but heavy to hold for several hours. I pulled inshore for a long neglected cup of tea and discovered gudgeon here as well, smaller and after a refreshing cup or two, went though another dozen gudgeon or so before calling it a day.
I enjoyed that - but I think I might have enjoyed it more if I'd had a loaf of bread...
- 27th August. Breech Pond. Slow day at Bream Central.
- 26th August. Arfleet Lakes. Well I hooked one. Grrr.
- 24th August. Kimmerige Bay. This is real fishing - on a picnic to Kimmerige, one of the advantages of living locally is that you can pop down for a warm quite evening, when most everyone else has gone home. The picnic having been dispatched (food tastes even better by the sea, that by a lake or river) the crab fishing had commenced in earnest and wasn't going well. All three young anglers were baited up with pickled cockles in a bag and not a crab was in sight. You can catch crabs on pepperami, but it's not great and mackerel, which crabs fight to the death over, doesn't travel well. Pickled cockles on the other hand are tough (as old boots) and do not require special storage until you open the jar...
But, blennies by the dozen surrounded the bags in star formation, so rigging a size 14 and a cockle and a small pike pilot float I whipped out a good few to pop into buckets. There's a fine line between a blenny hanging onto your hook until it's over the bucket and it letting go before then...
Bye the bye, while blennies do not have sharp teeth, they are solid and they have a bite befitting a fish that make a living eating things with calcified shells. I had one with the hook firmly gripped crosswise in its teeth and couldn't easily get it out, until it let go.
The numbers were swelled by the odd careless one that had made it's way into the crab fishing friendly nets, made up the evening's bag. Great fun, great evening.
- 22nd August. Pump Pool (Borden). I decided to try here for a change, as opposed to Barons's Ponds, as a quick look the previous week showed it in a flattering light, especially the smaller of the pools in which I saw a couple of decent commons patrolling the surface.
I rolled up with rain starting, so putting on my boots and hat I took a stroll round the larger pool with my blueberry supper. The only angler fishing was at the rear of the pool and as I got to his swim, I could hear the sound of a reel clutch. He had the rod up and a fish on, which was running and running - the clutch over light and a glance told me the line pointed unwaveringly into a large lily patch and the fish was, well, elsewhere and still running. I watched for a minute and having had experience of offering advice, asked about the depth (4-5 feet), wished him luck and moved on. The surroundings are pleasant enough; open heath land and the lake itself has good rush growth and lily patches which is good. Every lily patch I saw had trembling leaves. I picked up a steel knife from one swim and a pole float. Swims were marked with concrete slabs and the earth was trodden bare. Carp were moving all around the lake and I bumped into two lads packing up. I asked them about the lakes and the said the larger lake had the larger carp which were easier to catch. I then bumped into a bailiff and he pointed me to several swims on the larger lake and said the carp were generally easy to catch in the margins all around the lake and I took his advice and tried a swim the third one round from the entrance. The water was 2-3 feet apparently.
I threw in corn and carp started turning up, swirling in the dark water under my rod tip. The water was only a shade over 2 feet and the fish queued. I caught three, all scarred on the mouth from previous encounters. The peat black water was impenetrable and all three fish were invisible even under a foot of water. As the bailiff told me they were good fighters for their size. But as it was raining I went home. Not my kind of fishing. I'll perhaps try the difficult pools if I return, which recent events make unlikely.
Technically, three carp. Technically fishing, I suppose.
- 12th August. Pitman's Pond. A Rudd, an eel and an evening sky.
- 8th August. Baron's Ponds. Another quiet evening, enlivened by 4 good tench.
- 3rd August. The River Lugg, Bodenham. A Chub and membership to the Jam Jar club.
- 1st August 2007. Docklow Lakes, Leominster. A good carp, two scales and failure to catch my share of fish...the river Lugg, besides which we are lodging, being basically flooded, a 1 in 200 year event, I take a half day to trip over to Docklow Pools. There are other places I could go, staying near Leominster, but I went there once in the early eighties and decide to have a look at the place.
When I was there before, there were 2 lakes, in a field. That was it, and a farmhouse. The place has now turned a multi-lake complex with a lot of trees and well made swims, which are well trodden. I'm not sure I like it better, but here we are. I make my way to the far side of Micky lake, on the basic s that distance from the busy car park can't hurt. As I get further form the cars, I soften my tread and wind up in a swim at the far end of the lake where carp are cruising. I tackle up with corn and meat to tempt the fish. I try a 14 and a single grain of corn and get a bream and a roach, and then get bored with small stuff from 3:30 onwards. I switch back and forth with bait sizes and at 5ish, I try a 16 and small grains and bank a few more roach. A Kingfisher plies his trade form the dead tree opposite. I start feeding meat and with a hasty strike causing the tackle to tangle terminally around the rod tip, switch to a small crystal, as the carp were spooking on seeing my float. The water is only 2 feet deep which doesn't help.
I discover a fellow angler around the corner, and it's good to see someone else using s centre pin. We exchange greeting and talk about the hardy (carp) rod he has set up behind his swim. Glass I'd say but a cracker. I return to fishing meat on an 8 JH. I sit it out for a bit and then get a bite that gets me a huge bow wave around 6pm. I get a scale on the hook the size of an old 50p piece. It rhymes with 'tugger bit'. I take the scale round to my broom-eye friend and discover he's nabbed a big chub out the swim in the lake behind him. Fair play. With renewed enthusiasm I tackle back up, and miss another in the next 5 minutes.
I carry on, fishing about 8 inches over depth and eventually hit this one. It didn't fight that hard, and even on 6lb line (shot threaded onto the line, float stops to keep the shot in place) and the Avon, it seemed overpowered. My companion for the evening came to see the the fish, a pretty common in good nick. The kingfisher reappears and head around the corner with a chirp. I carried on but missed at least another 2 fish, bow waves showing my poor judgement, the sole reward being a further scale at new 50p size. My fisher in arms hooked a carp which threw the hook. That hurts.
Dusk rolls in with pigeon around, cooing and a pair of squirrels hare across the tree behind me. I see my first bat at 8:45, flitting low over the water and steadily more appear until I loose sight of my float at 9:30. The angler round the corner drops by, packing up as well and we chat for while, about the louts of litter and how the best of times for fishing is dusk and cannot understand why so many fish only during the late morning to early evening, missing dawn and dusk, not only the best bits of the day but often the best fishing (barring self inflicted incompetence like today's).
I take my leave, reluctantly.
- 8th July 2007. Dorset Stillwater #2. Lots of small hungry carp and a startled deer.
- 5th July 2007. Baron's Ponds. Rain, shortened session and a Wildie (among other things).
- 30th June 2007. Pitmans. Rain. Oh and some tench...I stop writing to concentrate on missing bites. After missing another carp, assumed as I get a large swirl on striking. I'm missing the point as well, so I switch to a 14 and alternating corn and worms catch about 20 rudd, one every cast until I tire of the game.
I switch back to a (braid) and size 10 JH and try again with cockles. The problem is still there as the small stuff just won't leave them alone. The last dry spell ends and the rain sets in again, this time for the day. I get a subtle sliding bite and my strike brings an eel almost to the bank before it lets go, perhaps 0.5lb.
Hmm. I decide to try other baits. Corn has the same trouble; the rudd will not let it settle. I try pepperami, which they can't shift, which is something. I get a bite which turns into a hard fighter which I lose when the hook comes away, the point embedded in pepperami on retrieval. Arrgh. I decide that I should try sandwiches of pepperami and cockles. Still pestered and after a bit I get a large rudd, and then a little later lose another carp near the bank, which never feels hooked. Not going well at all. I also have missed several sitter bites, and it's clearly a 'no mojo' day. I'm using float stops today, I am sure some of the problems are those being attacked on a "you never know" basis.
I recheck the depth and find out that I'm two far over depth, which is not going to help. I re adjust the float and thinking on, decide I need a bait that is hard enough to resist the little ones and large enough to catch the bigger. If only I had something else...it's a good 30 minutes until I recall the other half of my smoked sausage... I try a cockle between to piece of the meat, and a bit after catch a small tench. A start. All tench are good tench. I miss another bite, which I was anticipating; I'm finding myself leaning forward over my rod. Then the float is gone. I must have blinked only, and it was gone.
Then everything lines up, like a high frequency wave falling into phase with a slower signal, a subdivision of its frequency.
Another miss. I start to think about packing it in, but the rain is an incentive to stay where I am. I persist with the meat and get another small tench. Aha. And then 'Old Lippy' turns up. Well I've done worse...
- 21st June 2007. Baron's Ponds. Two, count them, two 'pb's...OK 1½ then.
- 16th June 2007. The Stour, Sturminster Mill. Early. Very Early. But the first day of the season. It's 4:30am and the Mill is emerging from it's cloak. After some wallowing in the grass we head upstream. I find a good swim, getting there ahead of my brother-in-tackle for the morning, but I'm much less encumbered with tackle. The lilies in my swim are almost a prerequisite and I've got my float rod and the 'pin loaded with 6lb Green Stren, but with a foot of 4lb water knotted on and below that a foot of green 3lb Maxima. This passes for light gear for JAA...
While putting tackle together, a Kingfisher cuts around the bank moving left to right and finding my rod, where previously there was no obstacle, does an aerial pas-de-deux while working out a course of action, then flicks over the rod and on upstream. I take this as a good omen. I see it streaking across the far bank a few minutes later
Trying the depth at 3 feet under a pheasant quill, I bag 3 Rudd, 2 Roach and a small chub on 4 maggots on a 14, before tiring of the fry and checking the real depth, which is more like 9 feet. There is a slight flow but I'm in the confluence of two branches of the river and the current passes me further out, curving around my calm patch. I rearrange things and get a largish perch of a bit over 0.5lb perhaps. Excellent. I get another bite 10 minutes after, bob and pluck turning into a plunge and a fish of similar weight appears attached, then suddenly it gains weight, the float rod tip arcing down towards the lilies, then everything slackens off. I have lost my hook, the line parted. Odd. Pike maybe?
For the next 1.5 hours I get a steady stream of small Perch, Roach, Rudd and Chub, then the swim all but dies. I switch the to a paste pole float for something to do, and try worms, corn and maggots in various combinations. The fish appear to have fled with the rising sun, but it's glorious here anyway and I'm well equipped with tea and marmalade sandwiches (well it is breakfast time) and the sun is warming my back. My companion leaves his tackle next to me and slips off to walk his dogs at about 7am.
I thinking of laying on 3 grains of corn on 6lb line - if I'm waiting it might as well be for a larger fish - but with bubbling in the lilies, I think I'll hang on a bit.
At 9:30 (my companion, having stayed up overnight, settled on his sofa for 5 minutes, woke up 2 hours later…) we decide that river was off the boil. The 3 other anglers arranged downstream from the Mill had long since gone according to my companion. I put on a quill and a bunch of worms for one upstream punt for a perch in a hole, and first cast, snag a variation of cow parsley. I mutter rude things, and pull for a 'retrieve' and the line parts losing the hook and worse, one of my best home made quills, vanishes, never to be seen again. Arrgh.
We pack up and head back to the mill bridge and I get nearly across the bridge when I see the chub. There were several cavorting in the stream below one of the sluices so I hopped the fence onto the concrete and unship my bag and throw some of the corn left in the tin. They seem to like that, so I assemble the Avon, put on a piece of peacock quill and a '14', a grain of corn on and flick it over the water. I waited, with the last 2 hours instantly forgotten. My phone buzzes then and in reaching for it I miss my first bite.
I rebait and shortly afterward the quill slipped away and I hit a decent chub a bit over a pound, and I had to have the net (forgotten in the rush) assembled for me.
Still a result and I tried again, and missed at least 2 pulls, before connecting with a second fish, smaller than the first but still 3/4lb or so.
As the short session went on the fish grow wary and I have to add 2 yards to my cast for the second fish, to that for the first. By the second fish they've dropped out of sight like chub do. Perhaps within range of a weighted float, but 3 inches of peacock quill weighs little...I call it a day, the chub dimming the memory of the 2 long fishless hours previously.
A good way to start the season.
- 10th June 2007. Breech Pond. Beech Pond. More Bream...
- 8th June 2007. Arfleet. Eels. I managed two eels, wavy lines between me and a blank, distinguished by very large mouths for their modest size. Wide mouthed eels are real predators, feeding on fish. This backs up the stories of large eels in here, and I'm wondering about having a go for one another time.
Surrounded as I am by tall grass and rushes, my hearing is tuned to the susurrations surrounding. Stealthy noises are coming from across the water and I watch as the noises and gentle movement of vegetation track the vixen that pokes its head out over the waters edge for an exploratory sniff. I reach for my camera, a short reach, but even that slow movement and the slight whirr of the lens extending cause a sudden retraction. I offer Isaac my next bite for a shot of the fox's head re-emerging. I get neither in the long run, and the hunter slinks up the lake in the direction of the hurried ducks, marked only by slight movements in the tall ferns and occasional rustles.
I stuck with it as the fishy feeling continued and I saw more carp cruising around that I have counted here. I'm certain I missed several fish spooked after a suck on my bait, going by the large swirls and clouds of bubbles.
When dusk finally fell, I packed up and moved back out of the secluded corner, with a little more light as a result. Having packed all but my rod, as is my custom, I dropped the bait in a gap in the rushes and stood, not in hope of a fish, but to enjoy the deepening grey and the bats flitting past my head. I look down after a time, and see a large light shape coast past in front of my barely visible float. Another big fish, over 20lb for sure. I wait another five minutes with the night birds calling it a day.
- 1st June 2007. Revels. Trickier but still pleasant.
- 28th May 2007. Revels. Tricky but pleasant.
- 25th May 2007. Highbench. The return of the Hatangler
- May 2007...
Bug's Fishing Poem
Blue lakes still and calm,
}<('> Long reeds point to the sky,
Fishes swim gently around,
Skylarks take off and fly. <')>{
¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸,.·´¯ ><(((((º>
Everything calm and still,
<')>{ Blue sky above my head,
Clouds silently drifting by,
No noise, quietness instead. }<((((º>
By The Bugangler 8¾
º
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¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸,.·´¯ ><((((º>
.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸,.·´¯ ><((((º>
´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸ ><(((((º>
- 19th May 2007. Highbench. The Bugangler and the 'Crucial' Carp.
- 13th May 2007. Pitman's Pond. Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.
- 7th May 2007. Dorset Stillwater #2. Weed. More Weed. Dwarf Lilies. Rudd.
- 4th May 2007. Highbench. MarmiteAngler and Crucian Carp.
- 27th April 2007. Dorset Stillwater #1. Noodleangler and some roach, a very big sandwich and a perch.
- 22nd April 2007. Dorset Stillwater #1. Mojo on holiday today.
- 14th April 2007. Dorset Stillwater #1. Double tench, double carp and an odd perch.
- 10th April 2007. Dorset Stillwater #1. Now that's what I call a pike bite. So much for the Doctor Fish.
- 18th March 2007. Pitmans Pond. Lost 2 'commons' 30 minutes in. Should have gone home then.
- 11th March 2007. Pitmans Pond. Buzzards and a very good Rudd. Or two.
- 1st March 2007. Upstream. Outside the window of this seminar is a thin string of the Kennet winding through this small industrial estate, where there was once marsh and reed beds - I recall when it was like that. On the far bank of this small cut, not 5 yards from the pad I'm scribbling this hasty note on, is a pollarded willow, which has five slender trunks looking for all the world like an upturned left hand with the thumb towards me, a despairing clutch at the sky before sinking under the earth. The top joints of these haggard fingers are conical sprays of bare budding willow wands.
Old, dry twigs lie around the circle of bare earth at the base, below that, grass mingled with water making a green patch of couch grass stalks. The wind is slipping across the grass on the far bank making it ripple like water, flipping the blades, waving strips of silver, strings of darning needles. The grass on the near bank, a few feet closer, is rippling grey and green streaks in the same wind.
Just upstream of the clump of water grass is a patch of clear water, blurred by the turbulence above it. A little grass is growing thought the water's surface at the far side, thinly spaced, a receding hairline. The angle of the light makes it hard to guess the depth but there is an opacity that hints at a holding place for a fish. There may only be six inches of water, but I know, as does the kingfisher that perched outside my old office window across the road, that fish make their way up here from the Kennet, only a few hundred yards distant.
The spring sun amplifies details through the narrow portal I have, alongside which, 'hyper threading' does not seem so real. I would try for fish, even in this trickle, at a moments notice - then the breeze drops and the little pool changes to gun-barrel blue, suggesting depths and then a blaze of sun transforms the grey-shade picture into a gleaming invitation to fish.
With a short rod (those little solid fibreglass children's rods are ideal for this type of thing) and light line, one No. 4 shot, a pin-sharp size 16 and a small tin of worms, you can work such tiny pools, casting ahead of you into the stream's fish-holding places and tweaking the bait slowly back, apparently under the pull of the current, in front of the waiting fish. The line on your fingers will rattle with the bites of small fingerling trout and you need to whip them out quickly, as the combination of hard mouths and little weight to set the hook against, make hook-holds temporary things only. A joyful way to fish, so little to carry. Bullheads are quarry also, but in small streams these are tiny, even size 16's are a stretch, but a fish is a fish. One fish per pool is par, each pool fished out becomes the launching pad for the next and you wade into the water flicking the bait ahead of you and rolling it back with your fingers, with the rod tip low.
Moving upstream then, the sense of time slipping away, the only passage the transition from one pool to the next. Cast, retrieve, rattle, strike. Cast, retrieve, rattle, strike. A quiet paddle or straddle across rocks. The bait flicked on ahead. Sounds of the world recede as you move on - it is quieter upstream. The water cuts a deeper, steeper gully now and the woods are thicker with ferns and green-damp moss. The sun is hazy through the trees and some of the insects clatter, larger and spikier than you are used to. The trout are, feral, toothier. A blood bead witness oozes from a fingertip.
Perhaps just one more pool - then a heavy 'thock' in the thick silence - an old branch, near rotten, giving up the ghost from a heavy foot. The quiet spreads out from the sudden noise, like ripples around a rising fish. Passing through you, carrying the sudden realisation that there is one thing more worrying than that noise. And that is, a creature wise enough to know it's better to keep still after giving itself away. Silent, motionless and watching you right now.
Just a few worms in the box now and the sun is lower and redder in the sky.
Time to retreat downstream.
- 25th February 2007, Dorset Stillwater #2. Half an hour has passed on the far west bank almost round back by the entrance gate - it's the only place out of the brisk west wind, but currently it doesn't fell fishy. Odd bits of reed have surfaced, three now but otherwise 30 minutes of a cockle got zippo and I've changed to a corn bait. If I feel no better in a bit I'll return to where I fished previously. This corn in under a half cocking pheasant quill in a bit over 18" of water. Size 10, 6lb line. With the wind getting at nearly all of the open water it's hard to guess where the fish might be, but the water temperature is 9C and it 15C on the bank, the sun is out though, you'd think water that warm in February would be swarming with fish!
A piece of pondweed had drifted into the float and it jabs under and I miss the strike to a sneaky bite. Recast. Another piece of reed has surfaced, poking up vertically for moment before subsiding. Still not terrible fishing, even so. Another hour then, half of it with a worm, and live bait tends to do better here. A good fish has swirled to my left, five yards of maybe, . I flick a few hemp and corn grains at the float. A small Rudd appears in front of me and vanishes like the Cheshire cat, but without the smile.
A muted honk spreads over the water from one of the dozen geese in residence. There is some tension now, and a blackbird feeds it with muted alarm chips. But nothing passes and I trust the instinct and return to the swim on Peg 4 where I've always done OK. The wind is now mostly on my back and the water is a shade warmer at 9C, but that within the error of this thermometer. So a bit warmer here, perhaps the same dissolved oxygen. I'll try 2 hours and then something else.
I take chocolate and tea and the wind drops. I'm not 'at one' with the water yet. Is this stress or fish not feeding? Small fish are moving here though, which is encouraging More Tea.
It's now 2pm and the water temp is up a degree from the wind, but not a twitch. Odd. Why no feelings on the matter. Where are the fish? Today now has the feel of a blank but I have no idea why. The water is warm enough but nothing is doing at this end of the lake either. Do I try the wind on my face in the deeper water or go back to where I started. Right now I really have no idea.
So I starting fiddling about like you do. I put on a worm and dab it into a hold in the weed under my feet. I get a small carp right off. Hmm. I try further out and 4 feet down and get some bites on a worm I cannot hit. I winder about the bank trying likely holes and get a few tweaks. After 25 minutes of this and removing the blank I settle down again, a grain of corn and worm on the hook and elect for more tea. The float dips, the tip heels over and I have a feisty 2lb common. Hm. Now I get my tea? Then a 3lb brass coloured common, and then right away another of about 1lb. Ok then. The sun is setting and the water temperature is still over 10C and I then get a few pulls and a swirl, spooked, then after a few more minutes of nothing a sharper bite and another 1lb fish (3:40pm now). There are some very big carp moving by the island and a few minutes after the first swirl over there, a large carp rolls again 15 yards away. In the distance a few starlings are chattering, perhaps 100 yards of, clustering in a bare oak, a squawking crop of ugli fruit.
Any more fish to come though? An odd day, but I'm satisfied with my 3pm flurry of fish. I get another bite, and lose a solid fish in the weeds. Then with the air and water sinking under 10C in unison the setting sun behind me sets the trees on fire, turning up the volume of the starlings, which then bolt elsewhere, en masse. I risk another 30 minutes but although there are plenty of tweaks on the float tip, I get nothing I can hit and spend the time watching the blaze on the treetops, until my last cup of tea cools enough to drink, and then I make my way.
- 17th February 2007, Pitmans Pond. Trust your instincts.
- 3rd February 2007, Tidal Piddle & Pitmans Pond. The Louisianna swamplands of Dorset.
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*Footnote: I feel I should point out these waters are fished on a Wareham and District Angling Society permit and you'll need one to try these waters.
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