"One last session ..."

 

Unlike the majority of my angling friends I am not afflicted by "one last cast" syndrome. I reach a point when I've had enough for the day and, without prevarication, neatly and tidily pack up, sometimes even committing the unpardonable sin of packing up my rod and reel first. I have fishing partners whose "one last cast" can last in excess of an hour and see them propelling their rig into the lake any number of times. However, lest the reader thinks I am revelling in a sense of superior self-righteousness, I  must confess to suffering from a different, although related, malaise: "one last session" syndrome. Yesterday, was my second "last session after perch" in a week, and the summer species will have to wait another few weeks, as, now thoroughly addicted to the quest for a Club Lake two pounder, I have been forced to admit to myself that there are likely to be several more sessions in pursuit of perch over the next few weeks.

I arrived at the lake towards lunchtime, with the April weather once again more wintery than Spring-like, with a chill in the air and a fair wind whipping the lake's surface into peaked waves. I dropped a prawn into the margins, and after about an hour my second bite of the day (the first had produced a small carp) resulted in the capture of the target species which, as last week, if weighed would have probably registered around the pound mark. Plump as a football and resplendent in its striped and red finned glory, living proof that its species is the handsomest of fishes.

That, however, from a perch fishing perspective, was to be as good as things got. I was trickling red maggots into the swim, a fact that the lake's voracious hoards of small carp became aware of, and although sport wasn't brisk, the next three hours saw several of these bending the split cane and being drawn reluctantly to the net.

Dave and  Matt joined me as the session wore on, but their worms and prawns could similarly only induce carp to feed, and perch were conspicuous by their absence. The lack of perch failed to diminish the enjoyment of the day with the lake's attractiveness being accentuated by the constant backing track of birdsong from a (mostly unseen) avian choir. I struck up a friendship with a curious robin, although the friendship came at the cost of red maggots, which my newly found feathered acquaintance would gratefully accept from me before flying back to his favourite branch of the tree behind me with the prize gripped firmly in his beak.

After two attempts the perch from the Club Lake have set me an intriguing  set of puzzles that demand to be explored and answered. On both of my sessions I have landed one perch of less than the target weight but of respectable size within the first hour, and then caught only carp. Perhaps I need to adopt a more mobile approach and feed several swims and drop into each for an hour, maybe it is simply a case of regularly picking off the odd perch, wading through the carp, and fishing in determined, attritional, style until eventually one of the larger perch succumbs. However, today did bring with it one slice of unexpected good fortune which may yet prove to be a game-changer; I met Geoff, the Club Secretary for the first time, and my casual remark that "I bet a small roach or rudd on a live bait would sort them out" prompted the unexpected reply "as long as you catch 'em from here and use a barbless hook, there's nothing against it in the rules." 

It may take me a week or two to return, but return I will, for "one last session" (which may yet become two or three!) to try again, but this time with live bait. Although I have over the last few years acquired a reasonably respectable portfolio of two pound perch captures, the "need" to add one to the collection from the Club Lake is already teetering on the precipice between desire and obsession, and the only cure for this malady will be the capture of same. In the meantime I can, and will, both plan and dream.