Looking back at 2018

My syndicate lake in the autumn.

Finding a balance between work and family life can be tricky enough at the best of times but throwing an obsession with angling in to the mix and a series of unfortunate events and circumstances to boot can make for an even harder task. I will spare you the details of my complaints but suffice to say 2018 has been a difficult time but the solitude and serenity provided by even the shortest tarry on the bank has been greatly appreciated and served a valuable therapeutic purpose.

My first winter since returning to the West Country was cold and at times, hostile. The River Frome provided some respite from the working week where hours spent driving in dismal darkness topped and tailed days of relentless challenges. The Frome, even in the bleakest days of winter, seemed to be teaming with life and from this I took solace. Time has not been my friend for some years now but as I have found in recent years, by cheating myself of sleep I could be set up on the bank, ready to trot a float or watch a quiver-tip just as the first semblance of sunlight scouted ahead of the horizon. The simplicity of fishing here itself was good for me, a perfect antidote to the complexity of problems faced elsewhere. Over the months that followed, I enjoyed a consistently satisfying stamp of roach, dace and some fair chub to boot - even when a carpet of snow adorned the patchwork fields that surrounded the stretch. This snow did not prevent the fish from biting but when it caused me to turn my car over on my way to work with my rods still in the boot, my river fishing was put on hold for a couple of weeks until they could be retrieved and consequently the last knockings of the season were missed.

Chub and Roach caught on the River Frome and my mondeo shortly after I rolled it on the ice.

Whilst the rivers were still closed, my friend Jake took me for a short session on his syndicate lake on a quest for a carp. It was quite an interesting venue with very little in the way of visible features. Thankfully, a carp gave its whereabouts away by topping out of the water while we were setting up and so this mid-water location became one of our baited areas. It transpired the topography of the lakebed was akin to the inside of an egg box with belligerent boulders towering up from the silt, making for a heart rendering battle when early in the evening a powerful fish took off with my maple nut popup. I could feel the line rubbing against the rocks and pinging free one by one, each time causing me to think the fish was lost until the slack was taken up once more with another valiant bid for freedom. I have only targeted carp twice in earnest this year, both were successful and coincidently, Jake was fishing in the adjacent swim both times causing me to see him as something of a lucky charm!

My biggest carp of 2018.

A few weeks later the seasons had changed dramatically. It was only the beginning of May but felt like the height of Summer. It was an honour to have been invited on a very special social trip to Charlie's Lake near Ashford, for my friend Shaun's stag do. The camaraderie and banter was top-notch throughout the whole weekend, as was the fishing. Thankfully, everyone managed to catch at least one wels catfish which was our intended quarry. My own catches started small and progressively increased in weight resulting in this 30lber taken from tight to snags on the far bank. In all honesty, I don't think I have ever had my string pulled so hard! However, once away from the submerged branches of the tree I had cast to, the open water in front of me was free from hazards, meaning it was just a case of holding on and hoping the fish would tire to the point of submission before I did!  

New PB catfish at 30lbs caught at Charlie's Lake.

Sunrise on the syndicate.

I had joined a small syndicate myself, not far from home with the hopes of catching a few of their newly stocked crucians, or even one of the fabled original stock if I should be so lucky. It turns out I was not lucky at all. Over the whole summer, I did not catch even one here, though had one on the end of my line a couple of times before embarrassing blunders betrayed my success. This lake was a tranquil haven, devoid of other anglers almost every time I visited however I was kept company by a carnival of animals; badgers, tawny owls, kingfishers, swallows, deer... all popping past to pay their respects! Eventually, I put my ambition for a crucian from this water aside and targeted the perch. I caught a number of good fish, both with a worm beneath a traditional bobber and also on a more modern approach with rubber lures fished on a very light drop shot rod - the latter of these two methods producing the best fish of the summer for me.

A chunky drop-shot caught perch.

I was fortunate in the summer to be invited back to The Moat to fish for a few days. This venue is special for numerous reasons but the quality of the crucians here is right up there. So much so perhaps that the characterful, dark carp that inhabit the same waters are often overshadowed. However, I am equally keen to target both whenever I am fortunate enough to visit.

My previous trip had seen me catch some tenacious tench and a very credible crucian but all in all was a tough session with each bite being hard earned. This time though was quite the contrary. Several carp were taken each night and at first light and a couple of crucians each over 2lbs made my mornings along with others lost and a variety of non-target species for good measure.

A dark mirror caught at night at the moat.

One of the things I am enjoying in my fishing these days is the fluidity I have acquired between traditional and modern methods. In fact, I no longer see them as separate entities: it's all just fishing! I will happily fish with cane or carbon, depending on my chosen tactics and often will combine the two. The moat lends itself especially well to this in my opinion.

A cane caught cru'.

My last trip of the summer was with my dad who was keen for us to do some sea fishing from Chesil Beach. In a way this brings me full circle, as this is exactly how I got started. These days, I don't really own a lot of sea tackle and so had to improvise - a carp fishing rod pod combined with storm poles from my brolly became my tripod and my spod and marker setup became rudimentary beach casters. It all held up well, in spite of my doubts and the fact that it was put through its paces by a vast variety of species including gurnard, whiting, dogfish, mackerel and others which could certainly pull hard such as conger eels and thornback rays, was testament to its adequacy. A couple of fish were taken for the table, all the rest were returned. It was great to get out with my dad again - we always seem to leave it too long but have a great time whenever we do get our act together. 

Once I returned to work after the summer break, my fishing resumed its previous form of short early morning sessions at the weekends. The object not being so much to a catch fish as to catch up with myself in a moment of quiet.

I have certainly managed to get on the bank more frequently than last year, when being a new father brought my angling to a standstill for a time, but aside from a few overnighters,  I have only fished during the day on two occasions - all the others being no more than a few hours at dawn each time and so with this in mind, I am quite pleased with the fish I have caught and the experiences I have had. I am already very excited about some piscatorial plans for 2019 and can't wait to be able to share them with you as they transpire. Until then, have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Tight lines,
Richard.

Beach casting with my spod and marker rods at Chesil Beach!

The Enchanted Lake

The Enchanted Lake.

"There's a lot of water to cover so we best just walk and leave the rods behind" said my new friend Ian, offering to acquaint me with some of my new angling club's lakes and their stretch of the River Frome. "Of course, we'll have to park at the pub... and I could even show you my secret syndicate lake". Well, what's the point in having a secret if you can't tell anyone?! I appreciated the gesture enormously. I am not new to the area but have returned here to the West Country after just shy of twenty years away and am determined not to spend the next twenty reliving my childhood and so, whilst I am a sucker for a bit of nostalgia from time to time, I concede that treading new ground is the only way forward.

It wasn't until late spring that we finally managed to make it to the lake. It was as if all the obstacles to us visiting earlier in the year were placed in our path intentionally to delay my debut until the full glory of the season was upon us. As we emerged through the treelined track, scattered light from the low morning sun rendered an impressionistic picture of a microcosm of paradise, mist-draped water, laden in lilies and enshrouded in dense woodland.

We really were in the middle of nowhere. There was no noise from traffic or trains, just the antiphonal menagerie of birds and the distant gurgling of falling water from beyond the dam wall. Then Ian spoke the magic words "I've never seen another angler on the bank here", which constituted an even greater incentive than the prospect of giant uncaught crucians and wily scaly carp, the latter of which could be seen milling around in the upper layers, some frolicking in the weed.

So I set about joining the small syndicate which only has a handful of members, most of whom live far away and seldom visit. Fortunately my application was accepted and apparently assisted by my leaning towards a traditional approach which is favoured by the owners.

I came home from work one evening to find an envelope on the door mat, containing a key which formally represented my right of access to the lake. That night sleep was hard-earned. I awoke from one parallel piscatorial Utopia, thanks to the cursed cackling of crows, as the sun was little more than a suggestion of dawn on the horizon and decided there was time before work to begin making these dreams a reality.

Swallow feeding on insects over the water.

I arrived at the lake suited and booted, aesthetically and mentally braced for another day dealing with the stresses of teaching in a challenging Bristol school. Though it felt therapeutic to be in a natural setting at a time when I would normally be beginning the tedious commute, my walk around the lake's surrounding woodland was disappointingly purposeful - a task to achieve within a deadline to avoid facing certain consequences. However, with this attitude I did the circuit in good time and when I came to a fishing platform on the final stretch of my mission I realised I had a full thirty minutes just to sit, be still, breath and watch the swallows and house martins swooping over the water. Finally the therapy commenced.

An array of traditional tackle

I returned again as the sun rose on Saturday. Earlier in the week in an online conversation, another member had spoke of the unstoppable power of the carp and how they were almost impossible to land. Having caught a fair number of sizeable carp in my time I arrogantly dismissed this quandary and proceeded to cast a free-lined crust into one of the larger clearings between sets of lilies. The carp were mostly said to be doubles with the potential for some upper twenties but I was sure I could tame a fish of this size on my fairly sturdy fibreglass Bruce and Walker rod and ever-reliable Mitchell reel sporting a full spool of 10lb fluorocarbon line. It wasn't long before a broad-shouldered mirror sucked in my hook bait and unleashed all hell. For a fish which appeared merely to be an upper double at best, its power was imperceivable. I could not turn it, stop it or even encourage it to kite around. It tore line from the spool in spite of the clutch being set quite tight and my thumb pressing against it hard. There was no stopping it from reaching the sanctuary of the lilies where when reached, the line pinged and the fish got away.

It was some time before I stopped shaking. Perhaps I had been too quick to disregard the warning I had been given. Perhaps too there would be a place for my stout carbon carp rods here after all. On my next visit I packed a stronger rod just in case carp caught my attention again but decided to focus for the time being on trying to catch a crucian. To this end in the past, my best results have fallen to bread flake as a hook bait, however here this brought me roach after roach with the occasional Rudd catching it on the drop. A change of tact was in order if a change of species was to occur. I put a little krill paste around the hook and cast to the same spot. Almost immediately, tiny pin-prick bubbles materialised around the tip of my homemade crow-quill lifter float. The following thirty seconds played out according to the text book and as I struck on the lift I connected unequivocally with a crucian. As it spiralled towards the surface, a deep golden brown high-backed beauty revealed itself, possibly pushing towards a pound at a generous guess. As I gleefully reached for the net one last bid for freedom was made resulting in another sudden ping, the cause of which remains a mystery as the line was checked for blemishes before fishing commenced. I watched helplessly as my fish and float disappeared into the depths.

Hurriedly I put on a prized float made by my good friend Graeme Pinkerton. This slider float, designed by another friend, Colin, specifically for crucian fishing in weedy waters was given to me by Graeme when we first met at the magical moat in Hampshire. After checking the line once more and repeating the rigmarole of plumbing perfectly, I cast out again to the same spot. More fizzing appeared and a confident bite ensued. Without further thought I lifted the rod tip and expected a commendable yet inadequate scrap typical of my gentle quarry. Imagine my horror then as an enormous carp rose to the surface and sent my centre-pin spinning. My 4lb line stood no chance and needless to say I have not seen that float since.

The view from my bed-chair! 

I decided to fish through the night in the hope that carp and crucians would face less competition from the roach and rudd once darkness fell. As I would not be able to watch a float throughout the whole night, even with a glow stick attached due to the need to sleep, I decided to put my purist ideals aside and fish one rod on 'the method' for the crucians and the other with a 'wafter rig' on a helicopter setup to overcome the problem of silt, targeting the carp.

By 10pm all remnants of the sun's memory were fading from the horizon and a serene stillness descended upon the water. I settled in my bed chair, which I had set up beneath the stars with no canvas masking my view, and started to submit to inescapable slumber until incongruous shrieking followed by a tawny owl's distinctive hooting alerted me to its silhouette swooping over the lake and up to the branches above where I lay.

Each valiant attempt to return to the land of nod was thwarted by some quite reasonable sized roach with very unreasonable manners! At 1:30am when I was reluctantly recasting the feeder rod in the vain hope that my devotion to the crucian cause would come good, I heard a hellish chattering coming from the other side of the lake. The ungodly cacophony continued, edging ever closer through the undergrowth and as it approached I realised there were two creatures coming towards me at great speed and they sounded angry! Petrified, I hid in my bed as a crescendo of thudding hooves and malicious snarls reached its climax, charging straight past where I lay and diminuendoed into the distance. Relieved it had past I sat up only to find the second creature careering straight for me, stopping less than 2 yards from my face. A magnificent badger stared straight at me, not breaking eye contact though clearly holding the same expression of surprise to see me as I undoubtedly reflected back to him. After an uncomfortable Mexican stand-off my opponent relented, turned about and caught up with his mate by an alternate route. My heart proceeded to palpitate.

By sunrise several more roach had graced my net and a sporadic series of single bleeps on my carp road had been and gone. I reeled in to find the whole hair on my knotless knot had been munched off by some clawed culprit.

A more modern approach.

My next night at the lake followed a similar pattern in terms of the fishing and lack of sleep, though this time due to not to nature but nightmares! As I started to drift off, I am sure I heard an etherial voice singing some kind of atonal operatic aria which was joined by a chorus of the undead formed from the mists which rose from the water. My recollection of the rest is hazy to say the least but needless to say the little rest I received between roach was troubled and tormented. As I wound in my bait-less rigs at first light, I decided to try something a little different as clearly my quarry was not playing ball. I walked to the car and returned with a dropshot rod and made a few speculative casts in hope of an early season sergeant. My first few efforts returned without a touch but before despondence had a chance to set in an unexpected hit came and juddered my rod tip into an impressive arc. I caught sight of a large flash of fish and suspected, at that size and with this amount of force, I might have hooked one of the resident wild trout but as the fish began to tire and approached the net, I realised I had caught quite an impressive perch!

A stripy sergeant!

My next opportunity to fish came the following week. It is worth a mention at this point that, due to being a teacher on summer break, the frequency of my trips is greater than I could ever usually hope for. However, being a committed husband and father with my wife and daughter at home, my trips are considerably shorter than more care-free days gone by, as I desire more greatly than catching all the fish in my dreams, to spend quality time with my family. Therefore, all the tales I tell take place whilst they are sleeping or at times they will miss me the least i.e. overnight or very, very early in the morning so that I can be back in time to spend the best part of each day with them. I hope this serves to demonstrate though, how one can make it work and seize the day if a little sleep can be sacrificed.

I had given considerable thought to the issues I had been facing - namely the presence of unwanted crayfish and the absence of desired crucians. Crayfish, I understand like cover and so I decided, when fishing for carp by night to cast into open water and scatter bait across the general area to encourage them to search and compete for food. With regards the crayfish, this plan worked perfectly as I slept through the night without a single bleep, unfortunately not even from a hungry carp.

Crucians also like cover and although I had been fishing tight to lilies I had had very few indications of their presence. The swims I had favoured had been on the side of the lake that gets the first of the morning sun's rays whilst the other side is enshrouded in shadows until well into the afternoon due to a wooded hill that adjoins its banks. Could it be, I thought, that the crucians feel exposed in the light and that the shaded stretch on the other side provides some additional security? There was only one way to find out! Just before reeling in my carp rods at dawn I sat quietly for a moment and, whilst enjoying my habitual seven strength ground coffee a kingfisher came and perched on my left rod as it sat dormant in its rest. She, I think it was a 'she', just stared at me, occasionally bobbing her head and I stared back enjoying the moment not wanting to ruin it by reaching for my camera. After some time had passed I felt the bird was sufficiently confident in my presence for me to risk it but alas, as I did she inevitably flew away. I took the last sips of my coffee then went over to the dark side! 

The seance commenced as my planchette, a swan quill slider float I fashioned as a replica replacement for the float of Graeme's I lost, cocked slowly into position. Motionless at first, as the world beyond ignored my offering but then, sure enough, faint ripples came to manifest on the surface. Contact had been established. Several times the float lifted slightly and I attempted to connect prematurely. In my zeal I put a larger piece of paste upon the hook and reached out to the hidden world once more. My call was answered but not by my intended recipient. Another roach came to hand, then another and then another. My float danced a merry dance and the koi, cautious bites synonymous with my quarry seemed to have disappeared. I noted the cause and prepared a tiny ball of paste, barely enough to cover the size 14 hook and the careful crucians crept back onto the scene. Unfortunately this meant more missed bites and frustration as the clock ticked past home-time, past 'I can make it if I rush' and into 'go now if you value your life'!

Yet another roach!

Later that week I decided to exchange a nights fishing for a night of photography at Stonehenge. The  climax of the perseid meteor shower was a non-starter due to a completely overcast sky but the following night was perfectly clear and, once on Salisbury Plain, so dark that I could see the entire arc of the Milky Way with my naked eyes. I parked up on the A303 in front of a gate to a farmer's field that I anticipated would not need to be accessed circa midnight and walked up the permissive path which used to be the A344 towards the stones. I was met by a couple of other photographers who were already in position. They greeted me warmly and exchanged tips and anecdotes whilst I busied myself with test shots and fussing with settings. Once I finally began shooting, after taking a few collections of images to be pieced together into panoramas, I was so delighted with the results on the review screen that I didn't dally but rushed home to edit them. I tinkered until two with my cat, Muesli, at my feet enjoying occasional strokes in exchange for top-up trips to his food-bowl. In an attempt to squeeze as much out of life as possible, fully aware that I was burning the candle at both ends of the stick, I set an early alarm and napped until I came to regret my carpe diem moment as it rung out at five then tinkered some more whilst drinking my wake-up coffee. Muesli joined me for a while and then took up his usual spot on the windowsill in our front room from which he 'waved me off' as I then headed back out to fish, arriving at the lake just after six. 

The Milky Way, Mars and Saturn over Stone Henge.

The next few hours were filled once more with continuous catches of roach. I decided not to string it out and headed home with time to spare. I arrived home to be told by my wife that our cat Muesli had suddenly died, just after 8am for no apparent reason. He was only 5 years old and seemingly in good health. The impact of the grief that came over our family at that moment cannot be reduced to words and is still resonating now.

Our cat, Muesli -  R.I.P

I didn't go back to the lake for some time after that. I felt an enormous guilt for not being contactable when my wife had needed me and needed some space just to be sad. I did however venture out for a couple of days to another magical venue - the moat, which restored my confidence in my ability to successfully target crucians!

A crucian from the moat.

I have since returned to the enchanted lake though, as the seasons begin to change, so too do my piscatorial attentions. This place has captured my imagination and, though I have remained spellbound, driven me through obsession and quite close to insanity! Whether it be large, old-stock crucians, brilliant bristling perch, wily carp with the strength of behemoths or even those pesky and persistent yet fin-perfect roach, I'm certain these waters will throw up a number of surprises as I spiral deeper into its depths. 

A mixed bag!

Since writing last, I have ventured out onto the bank for a few sessions, some hoping to break my silence on Fordwich, a quick overnighter at Stonar Lake and a few quick trips at Minster and Trenley to practice for the Maggotdrowner's Southern Champions Match at Tricklebrook which I fished today.

In spite of being fortunate enough to have the summer off work, I only made it down to Fordwich for three sessions and as far as carp are concerned, they were all blanks. On the third trip I decided to take some maggots with me to instigate some entertainment. The result was a nice net of roach - I only started retaining these in the last hour of the trip so I am quite pleased with this net.

I will return to Fordwich in pursuit of carp again this autumn, work permitting, before my attention turns to the pike and perch.

At the beginning of September, after a bit of encouragement from a friend, I went to Stonar for a quick overnight session. I was fortunate to get on the swim known as 'Sheds' which is something of a hotspot partly due to it being the last peg before a large section of the lake which is closed to fishing.

No fish came my way through the night but I had three in the space of an hour in the morning of which these two were the best.

A good stamp of fish at Minster

I went to Trenley with my wife a couple of weeks back, hoping to get into some good bream. She struggled for bites for a long time whilst I struggled to hit any that I got for most of the afternoon. I realised that I was a little rusty on the quiver tip so took myself off to Minster the following week as I knew bites would be plentiful there giving me the opportunity to hone my skills. I had 10 small carp and several roach in just 2 hours fishing. They were a good stamp of fish too...

Todays match at Tricklebrook will be, I'm sure, my final trip in September but it was a great day! As chance would have it, I drew the same peg I fished last year. That was my first ever match and I came 4th, so drawing a familiar swim gave me a bit of confidence.

This photo really was the best of a very bad bunch...

I got off to an excellent start, landing 8 fish in the first hour on the pellet feeder. There was then a bit of a lull which I overcame by changing my hook bait to a trio of red maggots. However, as the clock turned 12, the bites turned off. 

For the next two hours I hardly had a twitch. The bites that were strike-able resulted in short-lived battles ending in hook-pulls. I decided to change my hook every time I caught a fish because I feared the losses had been due to the fine wire hooks blunting easily. This paid off! Thereafter, every bite resulted in carp in the sack.

At the weigh-in my net turned the scales to 35lb 12oz meaning I won the carp section! The person who came second for carp had also produced a decent enough bag of roach to bring his total weight to 36lb meaning he won overall - a pleasure I missed out on by just 4oz!!!

I am overjoyed with this result and had a great day with some top guys. My only disappointment is the photos really didn't turn out well at all.

So all in all, the end of the summer has provided a variety of experiences, all of which have been enjoyable, some educational and Fordwich, for now is just baffling!

Not bad for a novice!

At the risk of sounding a little hypocritical, I have in the past been been fairly vocal about my disdain for competition fishing and yet this, I concede, was probably based on an unfounded prejudice which in fairness a good many match fishermen return in spades to those who call themselves 'carpers'.

However, when invited by a friend to take part in the 'Maggotdrowners Southern Champions Match' a degree of curiosity and a little 'can't knock it till you've tried it' drove me to accept.

The venue was the 'Tricklebrook' match lake, which is stocked well with a wide variety of species but I decided that if I was to be in with a fighting chance of weighing in well I would have to play to my strengths and target the carp as it is a long time since I fished seriously for silvers. I had in mind to fish the method but I took the advice of Ray at Blean Angling who put me onto the pellet feeder having explained its numerous advantages. He told me I needed to decide upon a plan and stick to it. 'There's no use chopping and changing' he said, 'you've got to have faith!' and I took heed whilst  allowing for the 'wag and mag' as a plan B should blanking look like a possibility.

The sun was just coming up as I arrived but a small crowd of likely looking gents were already engaged in friendly banter by the waterside, something which would continue throughout the day. 

The sun coming up on Tricklebrook Match Lake

Whilst waiting for the draw I took a stroll around the lake. In some parts carp were already showing on the surface but my spot for the day was not going to be for me to choose. As chance would have it I drew peg 2 which allowed me a reasonable amount of open water and an island to cast to. Even more unlikely was that the chap who drew peg 1 next door to me was none other than Mike Jameson, a former world champion! What a juxtaposition for my first ever match!

We started fishing at 10am and agreed to finish at 4pm. By the start of the competition the sun was baking down which some said had a negative impact on the roach's feeding. It didn't seem to stop the carp from feeding though as I received many great takes, each almost ripping the rod off the rod rest before my reflexes kicked in! I was fishing with a 6mm pellet on a bait band tied to a short hair. When the bait band spoiled on a few occasions I snipped off the hair and put a big clump of reds on the hook which accounted for some of the better sized fish. There was a time when I thought I was ahead of everybody but some, it transpired, we're keeping their cards close to their chests. Mike had found a good margin spot which produced consistently throughout the day, whilst my method was a little more intermittent.

After a spell of almost an hour with no fish I did change briefly to the Waggler and dropped it in the margin spot I had been baiting up as a contingency. Half an hour past with no bites on the float and I felt like I was deviating from the plan so I reeled back in and persevered with the feeder which did me a few more fish before time was called. Frustratingly in the last 2 hours I lost 5 carp to hook pulls. I don't know if the hook had blunted but I changed it nonetheless and the positive hook-ups resumed. 

As you can see, at the final weigh in I came 4th out of 12 anglers with a total of 24lbs- which I am very proud of. There's no shame in being beaten by a world champion. The other guys who placed above me were both old hands too. I am thankful for the advice I was given as another angler I observed who didn't do as well kept changing his method every 5 minutes and casting here there and everywhere which clearly worked against him. So a little faith and confidence in what you're doing evidently counts for a lot!

You could say I am now a convert. Not that I am going to abandon my specimen angling but to be made to feel so welcome, instantly one of the gang, took away the intimidating mystique that surrounded this aspect of the sport in my mind and the sense of accomplishment when my nets were hauled up to be weighed full of fish compelled me to concede to do this again.

Could do better?

Early morning at Longshaw Farm

The opportunity to fish for four consecutive days presented itself to me this week along with the conundrum of where to go - given that a great number of my favourite lakes and the River Stour are inaccessible and even unsafe due to the recent flooding. I opted in the end for 2 ticket waters and 2 days on one of my club's lakes.

My first day ticket was Mansfield Farm Lake. I had never been there before and had heard mixed reports but apparently there is a good head of carp (though the sizes of which are hotly disputed), crucians, tench, silvers and even sturgeon. The variety of species got me quite excited. I decided to target the carp with one rod fishing ledgered meat and on the other rod I float fished maggots and corn alternately for whatever might come my way.

Throughout the day I had about 20 small roach on maggots and nothing on corn. I had a good run on the ledgered meat and connected with what felt like a carp briefly before the line went slack. The weather was better than forecast and so with the sun beating down on my corner of the lake in the late afternoon I decided to throw a few mixers out to see if anything would surface. Nothing happened at first but just as the light started to fade and the bait had washed up against the bank came that all familiar slurping sound. I was straight on it with a freelined mixer and managed to winkle one small carp out before the light had gone completely. 

I am disappointed not to have caught any of the other species that reside in this lake. I am in two minds about the place but will return in warmer weather to see if I can improve in this regard.

Next was Longshaw Farm, not my first visit - in fact before I joined CDAA I was here all the time. My last trip to Longshaw was in November 2010 when all my clubs lakes had lids on them as did most lakes in the area but Longshaw is largely immune to ice thanks its water pumps. On that day I had 2 fish, an 8lb common and a 17lb 8oz Mirror. I was fortunate enough to have forgotten my camera that day - I say fortunate as forgetting my camera forced me to do what can only be described as a 'selfie' with my phone and produced my favourite of all my angling photos.




It was no where near as cold this time, although there was a very chilly breeze rushing through the valley. When I set up on the big lake I was the only one there, a contrast to the middle lake next door where a match was being held. I've never fished a match, nor do I ever intend to - as the composer Bartok said 'Competitions are for horses not artists' and though I've not exactly got my angling down to an art yet, I am trying!
It amused me to watch the exodus of anglers pushing their barrows to their swims at 9am and the simultaneous shuffle of their poles when the starting whistle sounded thirty minutes later.

The swim I chose gave me access to a causeway between two reed beds within which there were plenty of carp nosing around evident by the reeds constant twitching. I cast one rod inside this channel and the other to the right, both sporting chunks of meat in front of an in-line lead.

Just before 10am the rod in the channel received a fantastically confident take from a very hard fighting common carp which weighed in at 11lb 4oz. This however, was my only fish of the day. I didn't even get another bite which is unusual in my experience of Longshaw. Perhaps it was the temperature or the time of year. Perhaps it was the  other anglers who moved in either side of me adding more pressure with the increased number of lines towards the same feature. I don't know. Either way, I enjoyed my time here. It's a very comfortable and well maintained fishery with good facilities and a wide variety of species to target across 4 lakes to suit a range of angling preferences. I look forward to my next session here...

I spent much of Friday in this position.

Birch Lake was my next stop. I arrived at 8:30am on Thursday and was the only person at the Littlebourne complex. Half an hour later my friend arrived and we set up opposite each other so that we could both fish the end of the lake towards which the wind was blowing. It was very cold and, having only just returned to normal levels after flooding, the water was a horrible chocolately brown. This time last year I fished here and had considerable success which I wrote about here. Therefore I could be forgiven for anticipating more of the same from this session.
A morning of showers extended well into the afternoon and no bites were forthcoming. The weather improved later in the day but my catch rate did not.
I snoozed until midnight when I discovered that my feet became warmer with just one pair of socks than they had been with two! With toasty toes I would have been able to sleep right through until morning if it hadn't been for a rude awakening from my bite alarm at 3:40am which kept up its jazz-like phrasing, disjointed and irregular, until I arrived at my rods and then stopped.
This was all the excitement I was going to get within this 36 hour session. I tried meat, pellet wrapped in paste, bread (boilies are not allowed at this venue or infact any of the venues I visited this week) but nothing provoked any interest from the fish. My friend had no joy either.
As I moved off several white vans were coming down the path bringing the next batch of anglers to try and conquer what is normally not a difficult water but one that on this occasion left me absolutely stumped.

So as I reflect on the last four days I feel like the tranquility has done me some good but am slightly baffled as to how I could have disturbed the peace with a few more fish but, I suppose, that's what will spur me on to try again. It's not a sport of certainties but certain possibilities. That's why I love it so much.

The sun setting in the field behind Birch Lake.