December 1992

It was one of those days that you have to be slightly mad to go out. It was bitter, around -4°C to -5°C but no wind mercifully. When I turned up, the lakes were frozen and although I knew of one or 2 patches where the ice would be thin, it looked iffy for sport. I made my way to 'Pike Pit' with the one short rod for about 11am. The grass was hoar white and crunched under my feet, and picking a swim in the deeper water I went to find a branch to crack the ice (1" thick it turned out). I found a handy 'stick', 10 feet long and 2 -3 inches thick, and smashed the ice, about half-way up the lake where the water would be 10 feet under the tip. I stuck with one rod, and in deference to the hole size used my 7ft solid glass thing and 12lb line. One rod on the pod and a dayglo orange cork with a paper clip wedged in the end. By the time I'd tackled up a thin film of ice had set over the hole and was crinkling slightly, like frozen cellophane, with the slight movement of the water.

I stuck with a sardine which I popped up with balsa, and weight down with 2 swan shot on the swivel end of the trace and dropped the fish by the far edge of the hole and watched the bait glide down into the dark water. 10 minutes later I was frozen and the line had frozen to the rings. I opted to keep warm and so walked up and down behind the rod in 10 yard lengths. Hands in pockets, to keep the blood moving all the while watching the bobbin, stopping every five minutes to snick the line free of the ice. The air had an edge at the back of the throat like the bright strip on a recently honed carbon steel knife. But after 40 minutes (I'd set myself an hour in each swim), the bobbin jerked, as the ice hold on the line was snapped, and slid off toward the butt. I picked up the rod, snapped over the bale arm, tightened up and struck, and got a lively 5lb pike which was outgunned by a good degree. Netting was a trial with the net frozen stiff, barely softening in the black sub zero water, but with the Esox unhooked and returned I felt the day was already worth the pain. Cracking.

Baited back up and off again, after a cup of rationed hot stuff. Crunch crunch crunch crunch. 20 minutes pass and I'm gobsmacked to get a repeat run and after a short tussle get a 3lb fish, more outgunned than before, but a fish. 2 up. Well I never. I re-bait, but this time 40 minutes pass, with no movement, except my measured pacing, and this time, I pick the stick up and walk 30 yards down and make another hole. I moved the frosted pod and tackle down and drop the sardine into the new hole. More coffee and pacing, and 30 minutes pass and I get another knock and a fast streak of the bobbin and I tighten into a larger fish which gives a good account, especially when you consider the short rod and the limits to the angles I can use due to the ice. More frozen stiff netting reveals a good fish of 8lb, which make this one of the better days I've ever had on these waters. Sadly, 40 more minutes pass, with the ice now re-freezing more quickly than before, and I opt for a dart at the point in 'Long Lake' where the water from Jubilee drains in, which should be clear enough to fish. The added benefit I told myself as I made my way along the hard ridged frozen mud and stiff reeds, breath hanging in the air as I pass, is that the walk will warm me up. It did. A bit.

The ice here tapers to a knife edge on the rim of the pool left free around the outlet, and I slip my sardine under the edge of the ice for the 4th time. I'm cold even so, and only the prospect of a 4th fish is keeping me interested, with the grey grim early afternoon twilight announcing a dip to even further below. 10 minutes later I get a run and a 3lb pike. Wow. Okay, one last cast then and extra coffee now the end is in sight.

10 minutes of silent pacing in the alley of trees, and my brother turns up to chuckle, although less when I mention 4 fish. We watch the bobbin together and when it moves after another 10 minutes or so, I have to make a few yards to the rod. This was not a 3, 5 or 8 pounder. It streaks hard to the right and I have the rod under the water curved right over. After 10 yards it reverses, and we see a ghost under the ice, 5 yards out, pass us going right to left. This established the pattern, with me having the power to halt the runs after a period but no angle to change them, and the fish made several runs under the ice, a grey missile blur of substantial size, gradually getting nearer the hole edge, and after a perhaps half a dozen runs, it subsides into the sibling wielded net, a 17½lb fish which worked hard for it's freedom, but with no result.

Bro, nipped of for the camera of our mother (as it happened), and here are the 2 best pictures in a fading light.

I've always wanted to do it again, but that was the last hard freeze while I was in Thatcham, but I wait in hope.

Of course I had to endure the next 12 months making sarcastic remarks about ordinary bank fishing being too easy. A challenge is important...

Anotherangler's size 10 welly as well.

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