The float shuddered and moved from left to right across the water's surface before submerging with purpose. A firm flick of the wrist and the vintage glass float rod bucked, kicked and took on its fighting curve. It had been a long time. Too long.
My younger brother Andy's impending 50th birthday provided the ostensible reason (for "reason" read "excuse") to reunite the three Barrett brothers for a weekend of angling activity. Friday afternoon saw my (even) younger brother Tim travel from Wales to Andy's Hertfordshire home, while I made the journey from the East Midlands.
The fish that had caused my float to bury, the first of the day, fought with dogged determination before succumbing to the folds of the net. Twenty minutes later, and one of the the initial fish's smaller cousins was also being unhooked, float-fished sweetcorn proving its undoing, as it had for the larger fish. With the clock not yet registering 8:00am, things were looking good.
However, my brisk start gave way to a couple of bite-less hours in which my float remained untroubled, during which time Andy, fishing just yards down the bank from me in the next swim, started to catch carp with almost monotonous and mechanical regularity on the method, fishing his hair rigged plastic sweetcorn bait just a foot or two short of a central island.
By this stage Tim, fishing boilies in the margins, was also off the mark with a rapid-fire brace, but despite my constant loosefeeding of sweetcorn and hemp, accompanied by small balls of groundbait, my hookbait was failing to elicit any attention from the lake's resident carp.
With the early mild chill giving way to a warm and sunny morning, I sought solace in an example of Cuba's major export product, a fine cigar that had been an unnecessary but very welcome "thank you" from my friend Roger to whom I had recently gifted a retro rod from my collection. The aromatic plumes of smoke hung in the mid-morning air as my float remained motionless and Andy continued to catch a rapid succession of modestly proportioned carp.
The sun rose high in the sky, layers of clothing were divested, and as Andy continued to draw a procession of carp to the bank my purist tendencies temporarily wavered, and I set up a 2lb tc barbel rod teamed with a baitrunner, and flicked a method feeder into the carpy looking corner to my left, which I had been priming with bait ever since arriving.
Within minutes an eager carp had hooked itself against the weight of the feeder, and my third carp of the day was wallowing in the waiting net. My need for a fish assuaged, I returned to the float, feeling only marginally "corrupted" by my foray into the world of contemporary carp fishing techniques.
By this stage Tim, like me, had landed three carp but Andy had taken a convincing lead with ten carp falling prey to his method feeder. With the sun beating down the stage was set for Andy to give a debut to the birthday present Tim and I had bought him, a specialist floater rod. For half an hour Andy catapulted pouch-fulls of floaters close to the island and once the carp were consuming them with confidence he made his first cast. It was clearly Andy's day, and it wasn't long before the first of six surface caught carp was being played to the waiting net.
Bites on my float rig had become increasingly tentative, and so I decided to change from the 2BB Norfolk reed waggler I had been employing to a tiny porcupine quill which required just three number 6 shot to dot it down. Several more bites were missed before moving the tell tale shot to a foot above the hook (something of a gamble when fishing in just three feet of water!) resulted in me once more connecting with fish.
Tim, meanwhile, was preparing to attend to a fish that he'd just netted when his other bite alarm screamed in indignant warning, the result being the opportunity for a pleasing brace shot of two double figure carp as the sun continued to beat down and while the lake, in generous mood, continued to beneficently give up its treasures to us.
Two more carp followed for me (including my only mirror of the session), and when stumps were drawn at around 5 oclock both Tim and I had six carp apiece, while Andy had forged ahead with an impressive haul of seventeen.
The day had been a wonderful antidote to the busyness of the last few months which had unprecedentedly seen three months elapse without me wetting a line. In the manner of the modern primary school sports day it was an occasion in which we could all claim ourselves to be "winners": Andy had caught the most fish, Tim the biggest (all but one of his had been doubles), and I had eschewed the prosaic efficiency of the method to catch all but one of my carp on my own terms, fishing with vintage tackle and handmade floats.
As the day drew to a close and the van was stacked with rods, reels and the varied paraphernalia that is deemed necessary for a fishing trip, we prepared to depart the lake in the very highest of spirits. And why not? There was still a curry at a local Indian restaurant to look forward to, and the anticipation of the following morning which would be spent spinning for pike on the local river.
Sometimes the simple blessings that I too often fail to count, assail me with an overwhelming intensity: along with the priest-poet Gerard Manley Hopkins I choose to thank God for "dappled things", and also for family, fish and near perfect Saturdays.
Today in ways simple yet real, I was truly blessed.
By this stage Tim, fishing boilies in the margins, was also off the mark with a rapid-fire brace, but despite my constant loosefeeding of sweetcorn and hemp, accompanied by small balls of groundbait, my hookbait was failing to elicit any attention from the lake's resident carp.
With the early mild chill giving way to a warm and sunny morning, I sought solace in an example of Cuba's major export product, a fine cigar that had been an unnecessary but very welcome "thank you" from my friend Roger to whom I had recently gifted a retro rod from my collection. The aromatic plumes of smoke hung in the mid-morning air as my float remained motionless and Andy continued to catch a rapid succession of modestly proportioned carp.
The sun rose high in the sky, layers of clothing were divested, and as Andy continued to draw a procession of carp to the bank my purist tendencies temporarily wavered, and I set up a 2lb tc barbel rod teamed with a baitrunner, and flicked a method feeder into the carpy looking corner to my left, which I had been priming with bait ever since arriving.
Within minutes an eager carp had hooked itself against the weight of the feeder, and my third carp of the day was wallowing in the waiting net. My need for a fish assuaged, I returned to the float, feeling only marginally "corrupted" by my foray into the world of contemporary carp fishing techniques.
By this stage Tim, like me, had landed three carp but Andy had taken a convincing lead with ten carp falling prey to his method feeder. With the sun beating down the stage was set for Andy to give a debut to the birthday present Tim and I had bought him, a specialist floater rod. For half an hour Andy catapulted pouch-fulls of floaters close to the island and once the carp were consuming them with confidence he made his first cast. It was clearly Andy's day, and it wasn't long before the first of six surface caught carp was being played to the waiting net.
Bites on my float rig had become increasingly tentative, and so I decided to change from the 2BB Norfolk reed waggler I had been employing to a tiny porcupine quill which required just three number 6 shot to dot it down. Several more bites were missed before moving the tell tale shot to a foot above the hook (something of a gamble when fishing in just three feet of water!) resulted in me once more connecting with fish.
Tim, meanwhile, was preparing to attend to a fish that he'd just netted when his other bite alarm screamed in indignant warning, the result being the opportunity for a pleasing brace shot of two double figure carp as the sun continued to beat down and while the lake, in generous mood, continued to beneficently give up its treasures to us.
Two more carp followed for me (including my only mirror of the session), and when stumps were drawn at around 5 oclock both Tim and I had six carp apiece, while Andy had forged ahead with an impressive haul of seventeen.
As the day drew to a close and the van was stacked with rods, reels and the varied paraphernalia that is deemed necessary for a fishing trip, we prepared to depart the lake in the very highest of spirits. And why not? There was still a curry at a local Indian restaurant to look forward to, and the anticipation of the following morning which would be spent spinning for pike on the local river.
Sometimes the simple blessings that I too often fail to count, assail me with an overwhelming intensity: along with the priest-poet Gerard Manley Hopkins I choose to thank God for "dappled things", and also for family, fish and near perfect Saturdays.
Today in ways simple yet real, I was truly blessed.
