Success is a notoriously slippery concept. The metrics used to determine success are often both subjective and relative. What constitutes success for one person may differ from what it looks like for another. Three years ago, following some research, I discovered the lake that I refer to as "the Perch Pond", which according to my subjective definitions has been for me a theatre of almost constant success. I have only ever blanked there once, and almost every trip has produced at least one 2lb perch. All of this has led to a collection of photos of which I'm justifiably proud (and which might mislead others into regarding me as a better angler than I really am!), and some wonderful memories of encounters with large and beautiful fish. However, success has a tendency to breed complacency, and I was aware that I needed a new and more complicated challenge to add interest to my perch fishing, and so plans were made and the die was cast.
The final two days of March saw the UK the beneficiary of a mini-heatwave, before temperatures plummeted dramatically over night. More fool me for electing to fish on April 1st. With Spring already having sprung and with the long, lazy, days of summer just around the corner, I fancied one last trip in pursuit of perch. Curiosity about the untapped perch potential of the Club Lake (fuelled by rumours, hearsay, and half remembered anecdotes from long-time club members) had got the better of me, and so, for the reasons given above, I eschewed my usual "go to" perch pond and chose instead to embark on an exploratory foray to determine if rumour could be turned into stripe emblazoned reality from the Club Lake.
Armed with my trusty Allcocks Wizard, which was being given its maiden outing of 2021, an Aeriel centrepin, a modicum of optimism and an absolute minimum of clutter, I arrived at the lake at midday, and elected to fish on the side of the lake where the deeper water sits, and where tree cover and shade increased the likelihood of encountering perch. Tactics were unremarkable, red maggots being trickled into the swim with regularity, and a float-fished prawn impaled on a size 12 hook. First cast saw me swing a perch to hand that was barely any bigger than the prawn it engulfed, shortly followed by a rogue carp with a penchant for seafood. The third time my 1BB mini perch bob submerged, saw me connected to something which felt much more like the intended target, and after a brief game of tug of war, a beautiful plump perch of about a pound was being drawn into the enfolding safety of the landing net.
With the fish unhooked, admired, photographed and returned, I settled back into the routine of feeding maggots and staring at my float as it rode the incessant waves, and trying in vain to warm myself against the biting wind by consuming copious quantities of coffee. No further perch deigned to put in an appearance, but half a dozen small carp provided a not entirely unwelcome distraction, each putting a pleasing bend in the cane and eliciting the ratchet "music" beloved of centre pin enthusiasts.
After three and a half hours of being battered by the wind, and bettered by the perch, I judged that it was high time to avail myself of the Skoda's effective in car heating and head for home. Although on this occasion I had failed to tangle with the monsters of myth, I was delighted to have made the acquaintance of such a handsome perch, and a proper perch campaign on the Club Lake has made its way to the top of my angling "to do" list for next Autumn. I suspect that amid the gnarled tree roots and reeds there are a few old warriors to be tangled with, and a 2 pound perch from the Club Lake would feel like a veritable triumph, and a much harder won prize than a fish of the same size from "the Perch Pond."
There are many worse ways of spending an afternoon than grimacing against the cold and watching a brightly coloured float, but few better. A two pounder from the Club Lake- now there's a worthy ambition to harbour, and a fitting obsession to fuel my dreams. I suspect that today was only the beginning of an angler's tale yet to unfold, and, all in good time, waiting to be told, and today's prologue to the tale feels to me like a modest but successful opening page.
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