Autumn - and thoughts of pike ... and perch .... and zander

And so, after four sessions (including an overnighter) in three weeks, and a good number of feisty, rodbending, but modestly-sized carp it's time to pack away the carp rods, boilies and buckets full of pellets and return to the perch and pike that fuelled my spring-time fishing. I've enjoyed the cyprinid diversion, but after a casual spring of spinning for small perch and the occasional bonus jack it's time to get slightly more serious. (although only "slightly"- after all, it is only fishing, and life's too short ...)

 

 

                                              "farewell to all that ..."

 

My pursuit of perch and pike since my move to Leicestershire has predominantly been a fun thing, a couple of hours snatched in a busy day to fish with small spinners or plugs in a section of the Grand Union Canal near my home, and with the exception of the odd two or three pound pike, the fish have all been perch of less than half a pound in weight. However, I can't fight off the urge to spread my wings and try slightly harder. There have been times in my fishing life when I've fished quite determinedly for predatory fish, and while time will be my biggest challenge I'd like to, once again, tangle with pike like this one, not by any means a monster, but a size that I once caught regularly, and that are a worthy and exciting adversary.

 

 

 

I've also discovered a commercial fishery where the perch are rarely fished for, but that has turned up specimens to three pounds in weight (I have seen an authentic photo!), and have secured permission from the owner to be made an exception to the "barbless only" rule so that I can lure fish for them. That, along with a new stretch of canal, with the familiar stretch as a small perch "banker" to fall back on, should provide me with enough projects to ensure a happy and challenging autumn and winter of predator fishing.

 

I'm looking forward to learning more about using Ultra Light lures, and to broadening my Leicestershire horizons as I hunt for predators, mostly with lures, although I haven't ruled out the use of deadbaits and livebaits every now and then. (I may even find the confidence/inquisitiveness to try the infamous "kebab rig").

 

What I'm not expecting is to catch a fish of this size, just two ounces shy of twenty pound, and caught by my brother Andy when I fished with him and my brother Tim five years ago. On that day between the three of us we caught eight pike and two zander, of which four of the pike were doubles.

Here's dreaming ....

 

 

E= mc 2

Einstein's theory of relativity superceded 200 years of Newtonian physics, and to the extent I understand it (which is basically, "not at all") it has something or other to do with curvatures in time and space and the speed that things move being relative to the position of the observer, although I may have got that totally wrong.

What I do know is that angling has its own theory of relativity, which goes along the lines of "you can only catch what's in front of you." In other words if the lake you fish contains 40 pound carp, a 20 is nothing to write home about, whereas if the average carp is only 5 pound a 12 pounder is a monster. "Big" is relative to the water being fished.

 

This month has been "carp month" for me, with four trips to a local lake, two with my son, one on my own and one with my friend Roger. In those four sessions (one of which was an "overnighter" with my son, the others of which were either short evening or afternoon trips) we've had fourteen carp, three of which were probably around the 8 or 9 pound mark (I only take scales with me if there's a chance of a PB, which isn't going to happen at this lake!), the rest of which were between 3 and 7 pounds, which- relative to the lake- is a fair return. The lake contains a few low to mid doubles, and has produced one carp of 18 pounds, but the average size is probably about 5 pounds, and so I feel satisfied- after all, you can "only catch what's in front of you."

 

                                           Roger and my son with typical carp from the lake

 

However, despite the modest size of the carp caught, the sessions have been great fun, and have contained everything that's the essence of what angling is all about. The fish are tremendously hard fighting, with a determination and power that belies their size, the time spent in the company of my son and Roger has enhanced the enjoyment of the fishing and fish caught, the lake is pretty and peaceful, and we've seen and heard a range of different birds that would be enough to bring a satisfied smile to the face of any ornithological "twitcher."

With the exception of all but the biggest fish, I'm fast coming to the conclusion that there's almost something demeaning about reducing a beautiful creature that's provided the angler with pleasure to a mere "pounds and ounces" number.

This month's carp may not have been monsters by modern standards, but they've been more than enough for me. Piscator non solum piscatur.

 

 



"Doing the night ..."

Night fishing is a "rite of passage", a "coming of age" experience in the narrative of an angler's life. Much of my growing up was done around the club lake near Reading that my brothers and I fished in the early 80's. Back in those halcyon pre-computer game days lots of teenagers, particularly from working class or lower middle class families like ours, fished and there was a large community of young anglers. Most of the time we got on, occasionally we fought, but it was all good "life lessons" stuff, and best of all was fishing overnighters. "You doin' the night?" was the question we asked each other when we met around the lake.

 

A couple of days ago I "did the night" with my 13 year old son, giving him his first experience of night fishing. He's been doing well with his carp fishing of late, playing fish like a "seasoned pro", and coming on in leaps and bounds in his fishing ability, and so it was that we arrived at the lake at 5pm for a 14 hour session.

 

 

It's been a few years since I last night-fished. I had a spell of regularly doing overnighters with some carpy friends when we lived in Devon, but that was when I was in my early 30's, and now in my mid 40's I was back experiencing again what my son was now experiencing for the first time.

 

Night fishing is about so much more than just fishing, and certainly much more than merely catching fish. It's about watching dusk turn into darkness, and in the morning seeing darkness turn into dawn; it's about the sounds of foxes and owls calling out, of rats scuttling, of carp crashing and clooping somewhere out in the lake during the hours of pitch darkness; it's about camping, and cooking on the bankside, a whole "boy's own" adventure in an angling context.

 

 

It's about playing fish with the rod hooped and silhouetted in the moonlight, about head torches and whispered conversations, and about battles with fish that seem far more evenly balanced between hunter and quarry than they do in daylight hours when- if using the right gear- you always "fancy your chances."

 

This was the world I inducted my son into, and we both loved it. God willing there'll be many more such nights to come.

 

 

Walden's world and a hat-trick of carp

I like to think that Henry Thoreau and I would have got on well. Sure, we'd have argued about theology, him being a syncretistic, pantheist, universalist and theist, but any man who leaves the rat race, builds a cabin by a lake, fishes lots, writes philosophical essays and loves nature can't be all bad. Thoreau did all the above, and spent a year and a half living on his own by Walden pond in his native Massachusetts in the late 19th Century.

He described his fishing experiences, writing of his night fishing exploits: " ... it was very queer when your thoughts had wandered to vast, cosmological themes in other spheres to feel this faint jerk, which came to interrupt your dreams and link you to nature again ..."

 

Carp fishing has always seemed to me to be almost an art in meditation; once the traps have been set and the swim baited, my mind, like Thoreau's, has a tendency to ponder, to philosophise and theologise, although these days it's not a jerk on the line, but the scream of a bite alarm that disturbs the reverie.

 

 

My reverie was disturbed in such a manner five times in a short three and a half hour session today, resulting in three carp, the first and smallest of which is pictured above. Yesterday had seen Britain hit by the back end of Hurricane Bertha, and today's weather, although mostly sunny, retained a certain blusteriness, and twice the umbrella had to be put up during brief, but determined showers.

 

I fished with boilies over pellets and loose fed boilies in the margins, and enjoyed two visits of fishing friends from church, who popped round the lake to chat for half an hour. I was playing my second carp of the day when Pete arrived on his way back from work, and he duly netted my biggest carp of the afternoon after a spirited fight.

 

 

We talked, mostly about fishing, and a bit about our recent church youth camp, before his dinner and an evening youth leader's meeting called him homeward.

He was shortly replaced by Roger, along with his son, Ben, and no sooner had they arrived than I was playing my third fish (having earlier lost one), and this time it was Roger who played the role of netsman.

 

 

Just minutes later the rod was off again, and I handed the rod to young Ben, but unfortunately the fish was a bit too strong for him, and within a minute or so the hook pulled. I think I was more disappointed than him! After Roger and Ben left I had one more run, a fast drop back, which I somehow contrived to fail to hit before packing up before darkness descended.

 

The carp lake has been in benevolent mood for me over the last fortnight, and the next planned session will be not another hurried three or four hour affair, but an overnighter with my son.

Time for more Thoreau-like meditation, father and son bonding, good conversation, and (here's hoping) a few more carp.