Every day's a school day...

Mist rising beneath a captivating sunrise at Chantry lake.

By coincidence more than design, my fishing this year  has taken me on a path of discovery. At any given moment I might not have seen the wood for the trees but sometimes, taking a step back to reflect allows the bigger picture to be seen...

Sunset on 'Fiveways', Ashmead.

In March I received an invitation to join a friend on the banks of Ashmead and fulfil a long held ambition to fish there. The reading I had done to prepare for my 3 day stint sent the mind boggling, but nothing could prepare me for the intimidating labyrinth of channels and pools of the wetland's carp fishing Mecca. 

My intention was to be invisible; for the carp to be completely unaware of my presence. To this end, casting was largely replaced with commotion-less delivery from my homemade baiting spoon constructed from an old Silstar match pole specially for the occasion. Where it could not be avoided, a single, accurate cast with the lightest possible lead would have to suffice and not be moved, unless by a fish. In spite of my best efforts to merge with my surroundings and fish effectively, my time at this formidable venue came to an end with my net still dry. I was fortunate however to witness one of Ashmead's finest carp, Moonscale, caught by Chris Shute. 

Chris Shute with 'Moonscale'.

By the time the rivers opened for the new season, I was champing at the bit to wet a line in running water once more. My local stretch of the Bristol Avon has high banks and is largely overgrown by the time June comes around and so one can access long runs of water that most anglers cannot reach, simply by donning a pair of waders and getting in to trot a float. My first few trips of the summer were spent this way and I took great pleasure in catching a good many chub on light vintage tackle. 

A Bristol Avon chub.

On a few occasions I used more stout, modern gear to present static baits, intended to attract a better stamp of chub - or even one of the Bristol Avon's elusive barbel, and stayed out into the night in the hope that the cover of darkness might induce more confident feeding. The plan came together in the shape of this 6lb 2oz chub -  a new PB for me and a new club record. Over the next few trips the bites dried up in this spot and so I explored in search of deeper water (I did not fish during the extreme heat of the summer but even when it passed, I suspected the fish would have sought cooler climes). The Bristol Avon certainly appears to be in fine fettle, but the effect of the resident otters, whom I have witnessed on multiple occasions, is apparent and so a degree of despondence sets in after a while and my attention veers to other venues. I do have a growing affection for this river though and will surely return soon, perhaps next time in the hope of a large roach...

My PB chub at 6lb 2oz.

Having not been able to access the moat for almost all of 2021, and the summer of 2020 culminating in a session of a lifetime, catching a beautiful net of specimen crucians all beneath a homemade quill on the lift-method, I was desperate to pick up where I had left off. I've written in more poetic detail about this experience, and about the moat in general, in my contribution to Crucian Renaissance.

An unforgettable day's fishing!

Try as I did however, the crucians this season were not forthcoming. Perhaps a year of dependance on naturals in the absence of anglers had created a tough situation for anyone trying to persuade them to deviate from this food source. Regrettably, having managed to coax one to take a single maggot on my first visit of the summer,  it successfully shed the hook just as I attempted to draw it across the net. There is seldom time to grieve such losses at the moat however, as distractions are always forthcoming. On this occasion a brace of fine male tench provided consolation in the last few casts of the session.

Two tincas!

For the next couple of trips, I focused more on carp and, under the watchful eye of one of the resident foxes, managed to winkle out a few gems. The moat is the ideal place to make effective use of the baiting pole that I had fashioned initially for my time on Ashmead: it allows you to place bait accurately beneath overhanging branches, close to lilies or in gaps in the weed - all of which are abundant here. Furthermore, I don't usually leave the house until the kids are tucked up in bed, and so by the time I've driven down to Hampshire, it's quite late at night. The last thing I want to do is alert the fish to my presence and so gentle, accurate placement of my rig and free offerings is a tangible edge.

My biggest carp from the moat: 23lb 4oz.

With the summer quickly fading into the realms of distant memory, it occurred to me that I had renewed my ticket on a beautiful little syndicate water just across the border in Somerset and had barely fished it. So a spontaneous decision to go into the back garden lamping for worms one night and an early alarm the next morning facilitated a joyful few hours catching perch after perch beneath a charming bobber made by my good friend Graeme Pinkerton. 

Though completely transfixed on the float and temporarily transubstantiated into my childhood self, it was still impossible not to be distracted by the activity of the carp all around me. A large white mirror encircled my float whilst others crashed beneath branches overhanging the bank opposite. In spite of my previous lack of success with the carp here, which could be explained by my lack of effort, I had now acknowledged a new imperative. I thought back to my approach at Ashmead and remembered my aim to be invisible to the carp. The spot on which I wanted to place my bait was out of reach for my baiting pole and so a cast was unavoidable. This pool has quite a silty bottom so my concern was that my whole rig might bury itself too deep to be easily found if my lead was too heavy. Since attending a talk with Frank Warwick a few years ago, I have tended towards very heavy leads; not for their casting ability but for their hooking potential and since I've started using the baiting spoon I have been able to minimise the splash they cause completely. On this occasion however, 1oz leads were the perfect compromise - just enough to reach the spot first time, little enough I believed to lay atop the silt. My only question was whether I would get a good hook hold but faith had to be placed in the sharpness of the hook and the mechanics of the rig itself. I remembered also Trevor Sturgess, whom I met at Ashmead, describing the carp using the weight of heavier leads to shake off the hook and so a little more confidence in my strategy was warranted. 

I need not have had any doubts! On the stroke of midnight, my reel screamed to life, announcing a connection with a very angry, zealous carp. I had heard from other members of the syndicate that the carp here are 'unstoppable' - I can see why they have that reputation as the initial run had incredible power. I had to steer the fish, encouraging it to kite wide, rather than stopping it but even when in open water, surge followed determined surge. I was surprised then, when such a small fish eventually came to the net. I dread to think how I might have fared if I had hooked one of its bigger siblings! Nonetheless, I was absolutely made-up. 

Whilst I have managed to continue to fish intermittently over the last few years since my children were born, my experiences on the bank have, until recently, been shorter and more fragmented. As a result I have found it hard to connect the dots or consider a story of any meaning to recount in this diary. However, since my trip to Ashmead this year, I feel that each trip has unlocked another piece of a puzzle, teaching me something of value that I have been able to apply in successive trips. 

There are still pieces missing of course; inconsistencies in my approach and by extension in the rewards that I reap. And then there are the pea-soupers; times when everything seemed spot on and yet the plan did not come together. Surely though, this is what fuels the fires of obsession, and keeps many of us coming back again and again to figure it out!

The Milky Way above Chantry Lake.

 

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!

Black and Gold

There is a place which is truly wild whilst being contained within man-made walls; a place where common creatures dwell and yet are like no others of their kind; a place where one can find solitude and society simultaneously; a place which is amplified in magnificence within the imagination and yet exceeds expectations when experienced in reality. To be invited to spend time here, beside The Moat is a true privilege and certainly not something I will ever take for granted. However, the idyllic nature of the venue does not imply the fishing is easy. In fact, at times it can be infuriatingly difficult! The rewards of perseverance however, can be plentiful.

As per previous visits, in order to make the most of my allotted time here, I employed traditional float fishing tactics by day to target crucians and then fish with modern methods by night for carp. This seems to allow me to maximise the opportunities available to encounter the unique specimens that inhabit the moat.

Fishing commenced mid-afternoon on a humid and overcast Friday. I decided not to feed any freebies or groundbait at all at first - an approach I often take at the beginning of a session as I don't know what has gone in before my arrival and if there are already hungry fish present, then I want them to take my bait first before they become preoccupied with anything else. 

Sure enough, no sooner had I cast in a carefully formed bread flake, the float lifted and then glided off stage-left towards the curtain of nearby lilies. I bent into a very strong-willed male tench, quite adamant not to be netted, making several lunges into weedbeds and generally wreaking havoc! To me this tench is something of an archetype. Dark and decedent on the dorsal line blending through British racing green down to its mango undercarriage. It glistened in the light as though it had been painted with 6 coats of yacht varnish and looked on patiently through its beady red eyes. Two other slightly smaller tench followed, decimating the swim in a similar fashion and then the bites dried up.

A perfect tinca!

I fished until I could barely see my motionless float. Just before I decided to call it a day and set up camp for the night the smallest, barely distinguishable movements came from the silhouetted swan-quill. I had been introducing small amounts of groundbait - as per the rule, very little, very often, in the hope it would generate some interest in my hook bait. Before long the activity snowballed into a confident lift which I did not hesitate to hit. The connection was made, this time clearly not a tench- I caught a glimpse: it was a crucian, albeit one that thought it was a tench! Rather than spiralling aimlessly it darted purposefully towards a weedbed to my right. I managed to kite it round and carefully positioned the net in its path but it dived down deep and found more weed cover just out of  my reach. I gently raised my rod tip and the fish came to the surface, bringing with it wreaths of Canadian pondweed about a foot from my outstretch landing net. As I slowly brought it closer I could see a beautiful, deep fish, clearly of adequate proportions to fulfil all my crucian dreams! It came within an inch of the rim when suddenly the hook pinged free. I lurched forward to try and scoop the fish up but my efforts were in vain and my prize swam gleefully away. I am not sure I managed to internalise my frustration on this occasion but fishing between good friends Jake and Graeme provided empathic consolation in abundance. I placed the hook on the bottom eye of my rod, tightened up with the ratchet on and went to prepare my swim for the night.

On arrival at the moat I had started trickling bait into a margin spot beneath an overhanging tree on my right and into a channel between two beds of lilies on my left and had popped back to this spot mid afternoon to keep this going with a couple of handfuls of boilies scattered around each area. As I arrived back at the swim following my crushing crucian defeat, a huge wave emanated from the margin spot. Perhaps whatever it was had been spooked by me walking up the bank but it was a promising sign. A little more bait went out along with my rigs to each spot. I made use of small PVA bags, partly to protect the hook from the silk-weed that lay on the bottom and from the Canadian pondweed and other flora that were floating in rafts around the swims.

Jake was also carping through the night in a nearby swim and he called in to see me before settling down for the night. We discussed the moat's 'no braided hook links' rule - one which made sense when considering the potential for tethering in such a hazardous environment but one which put us both outside our comfort zones in terms of bait presentation and rig-mechanics. My left rod was fishing a hinged stiff rig which I have done well with in the past but on the right hand rod I presented a snowman on a fluro blowback D-rig. I know this works well for others but it is not usually part of my repertoire and so my confidence in it was not especially high. We wished each other luck and parted company. After a generous portion of tortellini and a phone call home, I tucked up into my bed chair and started to snooze.

I am glad I gained a head start on sleep because it didn't last long. Single blips and 'false runs' plagued me throughout the night. I blamed my rig for the lack of hook-ups. Eventually I reeled in, sharpened the hook and put on a heavier lead but the irritating bites continued, eventually culminating in one I was able to hit at 3 am, leading me to land a fairly decent sized bream. Whilst it did not give me the typical limp-handshake of a fight that typifies a breams usual efforts when hooked and I certainly don't mind catching them on lighter tackle intentionally, tonight this is not what I was hoping for! I contemplated not re-casting so I could get some sleep but decided to chuck the rig back out as it was with an underarmed handful of boilies to accompany it. I instantly regretted this as the line bites and false runs resumed - and sleep did not. So I decided to embrace the day, made a cafetière of very strong coffee and eventually a full English breakfast followed.

At about 6am, just as the sausages began to sizzle, my carelessly cast right rod ripped off rapidly. I picked up and bent into a very powerful and determined fish which made an easy arc of my stout carbon carp rod. Thankfully I was adequately gunned to turn this fish from nearside snags and far side lilies but as it tore around the swim from one weed-raft to the next, a huge weight accumulated on my line until eventually it was near solid and exceptionally heavy. Remembering the scaled down but similar situation the day before, I was especially careful as I tried to coax this dead-weight to the net. I managed to get it over the cord and tried to lift the net but as I did the water erupted and the collective mass of fish and weed  sped away from me once more. This scenario repeated several times until eventually, as my arm felt like it was about to fall off, I managed to lift the net, securing an incredible carp that still seemed not to have tired. However, due to the time of year and the exertion this fish had made, I rested it for some time in the net before lifting onto the mat for the usual post-capture drill. Photographing this fish gave me a great opportunity to admire its dark, chocolatey tones. What a magnificent creature!

A dark, chocolatey moat mirror!

I recast and tucked into breakfast - the ecstasy of my recent capture masking the taste of my slightly singed sausages! Before the fry-up was finished the left rod followed suit as line started fizzing from the spool. By comparison the battle was tame but I rested the fish in the net nonetheless. Whilst doing so, head-bailiff Mark popped in to see me and was able to identify my capture by its many quirky features as Ivan - a real character-fish if ever there was one! Mark obliged with a quick photograph and then I slipped Ivan back without too much fuss. We joked about how often Ivan trips up and that it would not be a surprise if I saw him again!

I was delighted to capture the characterful Ivan!

After this I reeled in the carp rods, topped up the free offerings in the swim and went over to the stretch I had fished the day before which was more conducive to float fishing and where I knew a few friends would also be fishing. While others were swim raking and building their swims with bait, I continued with my conservative baiting strategy and initially cast my bread flake hook bait with no freebies at all, tight to some lilies extending out from the bank. My float must have sat there for about half an hour without even a twitch and then, with no warning at all, lifted straight up followed shortly by my rod tip. Having made the connection, the fish charged off assertively, depriving me of the gentle bout I was hoping for and had I not caught a golden glimpse, once again doubt would have been cast on the identity of this small cyprinidae. This time with the benefit of hindsight I took extra care to steer this fish around the various obstacles and breathed a sigh of relief when eventually I had it in the net.

A crucian from the moat - caught on my own handmade swan quill slider float.

Aside from regular rendezvous with small roach, the rest of the day was relatively quiet. As time moved on, I felt increasing pressure to make things happen. By mid afternoon my swim was raked and an accumulating layer of groundbait was keeping the crucians quite occupied, leaving them with no desire to do any more than nudge my hook bait tauntingly. It might not have happened anyway but by now I had definitely wrecked it! I packed up but lingered for a while to see how my friends had fared before returning to my night time swim.

Perfection in miniature.

Jake also had success with the crucians!

I approached the night in the same way as before but with new-found confidence thanks to the morning's fish. I mentally prepared for another sleepless night filled with poorly-timed blips and bobbins yo-yoing aimlessly which, much to my horror, resumed just after 11pm. When finally a sustained drop-back occurred I struck in frustration thinking perhaps I would land this bream then keep the rod in until first light. However, as I struck, it was not a bream I hooked! An explosive altercation ensued, not dissimilar to the first fish of the morning but with increased power and the added complication of having to conduct this close-quarter confrontation  in near complete darkness.

Once this monster of the moat was resting in my net, a message came through on my phone from Jake, who had heard the commotion and was asking if I wanted a hand with photos. I hesitated because I knew he would have to reel in and I didn't want to disrupt his fishing, but as I looked at this incredible fish I realised that I had to accept his offer to ensure the memory was preserved and the fish was well looked after in the process. In no time Jake was round at my swim. He was invaluable in getting this process right and I am extremely grateful!

My biggest Moat Mirror!

After returning this magnificent mirror to the moat I topped up the swim with bait and nestled back down in the hope of some sleep. Three angry double-figure commons had other ideas though...

The first of 3 angry mid-double commons that kept me awake!

... and even Ivan decided to pop by to say 'hi'!!!

The infamous Ivan (again)!

As the sun just started to peek over the horizon, a family of swans decided to have breakfast in my productive margin spot. I couldn't risk hooking one so reeled in and started breakfast. It was now my last my last morning at the moat and so I packed away all but my float rod and made my way back round to try for one last crucian.

Swans and their signets decimating the swim.

My first cast gave me a gift of a lift which I failed to hit as did my second. The third time was indeed lucky - I held my breath as I silently played the fish to my net dedicating all the concentration I could muster to the task. The tension was tangible. Thankfully there were no complications this time and soon enough I was looking at a beautiful bar of gold on my unhooking mat. Jake, being the good-egg that he is, popped over again and did some photos. I couldn't believe how fortunate I had been. I could have tried my luck for another but decided to quit while I was ahead and get home early to see my wife and daughter, both of whom I was sorely missing.

My biggest crucian of the session caught on one of Graeme Pinkerton's delicate slider floats.

Just as I was saying my goodbyes I heard a commotion down the bank. Jake had caught another crucian which gave me the opportunity to repay the favour from the night before with some photos.

It had been an absolutely incredible session - 7 carp landed (well, 6 different carp!), 3 tench, 2 crucians, 1 bream and several silvers! Jake had also caught two crucians, several sizeable carp as well as a number of tench and bream. My other friends all caught plenty - some also did well with the crucians, others enjoyed a steady flow of roach and rudd and the odd carp was caught off the surface. I observed how my success with the carp came partly, I believe, from keeping a steady flow of bait going in to the swim, allowing them to gain confidence in feeding and as far as crucians are concerned, I had the most success where I was restrained in the amount of free food I offered. I had anticipated the weed, which appears thick in places, to be a problem but with a little consideration for bait presentation and by using adequately stout tackle, there was no need for any concern.

Should I be fortunate enough to return here once more, whilst I would hope to continue to enjoy the carp and crucians, I would like to target the various predators to which the moat provides a home. For now however, I am content and elated having had such a memorable experience.