It appears that "lockdowns" are like London buses- no sooner is one lifted, than another one turns up. I managed to fish three times in the period between the curtailment of the first hiatus and the imposition, for those of us living in some areas of Leicester, of the second.
Now that the latest of these restrictions have been eased I am at last at liberty to fish again, but it is a sobering statistic that tells me that eight months into the calendar year I had, prior to today, only managed five sessions. I realise, of course, that the loss of a few trips to the river, lake or pond pale into insignificance at a time when some have lost lives, loved ones, or jobs, it is, after all, only fishing, but it felt good to be back, even though I should have been on holiday in Greece with my wife (you've guessed it- holiday cancelled due to the virus!)
The afternoon sun was high in the sky, and the Club Lake was looking as splendid as ever, the shadows cast by the trees on the far bank muting their reflection in the water, and everything, leaves, grass and even the pond itself, a veritable sea of green. Flies hovered and danced above and upon the water's surface, and somewhere in the middle of the lake a carp leapt and crashed back into the depths, the sound of the splash rousing me from my temporary reverie. I chose a swim which had an extensive bed of lily pads as its dominant feature and set up a vintage glass fibre avon rod, paired it with an old Mitchell 204 and prepared to cast my bread (flake on size 12 barbless) upon the waters. The lake, whose surface was mirror-like in its calmness, exuded an air of benevolence, as if extending a kindly welcome, pleased, it seemed, to be making my re-acquaintance.
For the next couple of hours the action was constant, the delicate float frequently disappearing, leading to a lively tussle with the small but spirited carp that make up the majority of the pond's fish population. Birdsong provided the backing track for the afternoon, as I sat immersed in a tableau that, for the most part, could have been anytime in the last century and a half. Only the very occasional sound of a car in the distance, or aeroplane overhead differentiated the experience from what might have been familiar to an angler in Victorian times. The trees surrounding the lake were doubtless older than me, and hopefully they and the lake will outlast me to give pleasure to future generations of fishing folk. The English countryside has cleansing and restorative properties, of which we as anglers are privileged to be frequent beneficiaries.
Fishing the club lake is not quite as easy as shooting ducks in a barrel, but it isn't far removed from that particular metaphorical scenario. The carp are plentiful (and consequently never reach a large size) not due to the deliberate and wilful overstocking that typifies the modern commercial fishery, but because of the incredible fecundity that seems not only to cast its fertility spell upon the lake's environs, with its trees, foliage and lilly pads, but also its inhabitants who spawn with prolific success year on year, producing a steady stream of beautiful, but small carp.
The tackle I choose to employ is, these days, for me as much a part of the pleasure and rich angling experience as the landing of fish. Whether using one of my ancient cane rods or an old glass fibre wand, the pairing of one of my collection of well looked after (or in some cases, refurbished) rods with an appropriate vintage reel is a pleasure in the same order as pairing a good wine with a complementary cheese, or a fine cigar with a tumbler of whisky or rum. With the exception of the very occasional foray into the world of "serious" carp fishing, spinning for pike, or fishing for barbel, I choose to eschew the use of modern carbon rods, preferring the aesthetic appeal of tackle imbued with inherent beauty made venerable by the passing of time. I can only speculate on what tales these rods and reels may have to tell of the exploits they were party to with their previous owners in a bygone angling era.
The club lake is not a place for long sessions- the endless catching of fish would, in truth, become tedious- but for me has become a refuge in which to to while away an hour or two catching some of the prettiest carp I've ever caught, while enjoying the aesthetic delight of its setting. Summer will give way to Autumn, carp will move aside to allow for the pursuit of perch, and my fishing will become challenging, focused and concentrated rather than relaxed and casual, but until the leaves turn to russet and golden, the days draw in, and the air takes on a chill, I'll make the most of this particular oasis and enjoy catching these handsome fish, who require of me only the most modest investment of effort. Some people pay inordinate sums of money to receive therapy- mine just costs me the price of a loaf of bread, and a year's club membership.
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