Okay, so technically it's still Spring, but for me the demarcation between spring and summer is drawn at the moment I turn my attentions from perch, which I pursue with a seriousness bordering on fanaticism, to fishing for "whatever comes" with a lack of seriousness bordering on nonchalance. In Autumn, Winter and early Spring every perch that looks to weigh 2 pounds is subjected to the indignity of the scales, its weight recorded with precision and almost religious fervour and noted down for future reference. In the summer fish are looked at and admired, rarely if ever weighed and, if truth be known, at times function as little more than the excuse and "presenting reason" to spend time in wonderful surroundings in the company of friends.
And so it was that today, in the company of Roger, I embarked on my summer of idle loafing beside the water's edge. In keeping with the casual nature of the day we shared a swim (the better to talk) and set up in the sunniest spot we could find. As ever, vintage rods and reels were the order of the day for both of us, with me choosing to pair my Wizard with an old Mitchell 304 CAP style reel, the latter a change from my usual preference for a centre pin.
Despite our casual approach to the pursuit of fish (or perhaps, because of it) we were soon enjoying almost a bite a cast, and a steady stream of mostly small roach, rudd, perch and carp and the occasional gudgeon were making brief visits to the bank before being carefully returned to the lake. I was quickly into a succession of greedy mini perch, while Roger despite catching fewer fish seemed to have established for himself a monopoly on the carp.
My biggest fish of the day turned out to be a perch of around a pound, which provoked Roger to comment that even when I'm not intentionally fishing for perch I end up catching them, leading to his suggestion that I possess some mystical affinity with species perca fluviatilis.
Although the fish were plentiful, the fishing was never frantic and the session was reminiscent of a slow flowing river, meandering unhurriedly and, to steal a phrase from Paul Robeson, "just rolling along." We talked of work and life and families, with every couple of minutes the conversation being interrupted by a swishing sound as a rod was jerked upwards in response to a bite which, as often as not, resulted in a fish in turn jerking and pulling on the other end of the line. Roger caught a rather beautiful small fully scaled mirror to complement the linear and scattered scaled mirrors and solitary common that he had already landed.
Seconds before the appointed midday finish my float once again dipped and my day and happiness were made complete by a delightful little crucian, my first ever from the Club Lake. Buttery golden and plump, the fish proved to be my last of the morning.
Although today marked the beginning of my summer fishing, the lake has yet to fully embrace the season's characteristics. The lily pads which in a few weeks time will be extensive are only just beginning to dot the water's surface with any serious intent and the musty smell, familiar to all anglers, that lakes take on in high summer has yet to assail the still air. Today we fished in that brief liminal space between the end of spring and the beginning of summer proper.
The sun smiled on us as we trudged back to the car park and the realities of life that lay beyond it. This had been fishing in its purist form- fishing not for records or numbers or weight, but simply for the pleasure that comes from being in charming surroundings and good company. Despite catching a stack of fish I had mysteriously failed to hook a single carp in a water that as the weather warms up tends to be dominated by them, while for Roger, fishing just feet from me and sharing the same swim, carp must have made up about a third of his total catch.
September will be upon us soon enough, and when it comes round my attention will once again turn to the earnest pursuit of specimen perch, but for the next four months I intend to thoroughly enjoy loafing by the water's edge fishing happily for whatever happens to take a fancy to my bait, and the sights and sounds and friendships will be as important as the fish. The 19th Century Danish philosopher and theologian Soren Kierkegaard once offered that "far from idleness being the root of all evil, it is rather the only true good." I think he may have been right.
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