A grueller in Gwent

As someone old enough to remember Michael Fish's predictive debacle with the "Great October Storm" I should have known to better than to take notice when the weatherman confidently declared that Saturday would see a mini-heatwave in South Wales. The mini-heatwave turned out to consist of torrential rain and rapidly dropping water temperature, to once again prove that weather forecasting is an imprecise art and an inexact science.

I was in Wales along with my son to fish with my youngest brother and his son as guests on their club lake. Heavily stocked with F1's and with the possibility of bonus "proper carp" (F1's are great fun, but always feel slightly "phoney") and good back up stocks of roach, bream and perch, on a good day it's not unusual for club matches to be won with 80 pound or more of fish, but as the temperature dropped the fishing was always likely to be a struggle.

I elected to just fish with a pole in the margins (3 pound line, 2 pound bottom, size 20 hook), while my son and nephew did likewise, but both also elected (just as well, as it turned out) to put out a "sleeper rod" on bite alarms using method feeders and fake corn.

My nephew was first to catch, with a couple of tiny commons (all of 2 ounces) on the pole, before my son had the first F1, which fell to his "method" rod.

The "method" seemed to be the method on the day, and soon my nephew was joining the action, with a couple of F1's in quick succession. My brother, who had opted not to fish, but to nobly act as chief "ghillie" for the two boys, was kept busy mixing groundbait and providing advice as they played their fish ( a task which both of them performed with high levels of competence), and generally acting as bankside director of operations as well as taking responsibility for the "chip shop run".

As is often the case when pole fishing and loose-feeding maggots, my swim took longer to get going, but a "little and often" trickle of bait resulted in a couple of F1's in quick succession, before loosing a couple more. The fish fought well on the pole tackle, pulling the elastic round and giving a good account of themselves as they struggled for freedom in the deluvian conditions.

After four hours we decided to pack up. Although the weather had been inclement, and the fishing slower than anticipated, we'd had a great time, brothers, nephews and cousins enjoying each others company and the challenge afforded by the conditions. We ended up with 10 F1's and about the same number of "bits" between us, with the best F1 (which I was too embarrassed to photograph, as I'd foul- hooked it, although this fact did make the fight on pole tackle last much longer than usual, thereby increasing the fun factor) probably somewhere around the 3 pound mark. Our final tally of 20 fish between the 3 of us, for an estimated combined weight of something in the region of 20 pound might not represent the most prolific haul ever taken from a "commercial-style" fishery, but in the context of the conditions, and the youthfulness of all but one of the anglers, led to a wet and weary but satisfied group of anglers leaving the lake.

Oh, and by the way, I may not have distinguished myself piscatorially, but I was the winner of the post-fishing Monopoly game when we got back to my brother's house!