"All quiet on the Eastern Fens"

 

A fortnight before the close of the river season I returned to the Fens for the first time in two years and was delighted to discover that very little has changed. The horizon remains flat, the skies big, the wind biting, and my landing net an unnecessary accoutrement as I registered my  third consecutive blank on what had, until Covid intervened, been an annual pilgrimage. The Fenland waterways had seduced me into thinking that they were easy, my first two trips to these vast, straight and foreboding arterial waterways resulting in the capture of three pike and a solitary zander, but the rivers and drains were merely toying with me, causing me to fall in love with their teasing, but ultimately refusing to reciprocate.

I was, as in all but one of my previous forays East, fishing in the company of fishermen from the Christian Anglers group I belong to, and as ever we were hosted by our good friend Ray who owns the rights to the section of the Sixteen Foot Drain that we prospect for pike.

Shortly after we'd all cast our deadbaits into the murky depths the day's first pike was being drawn to the bank by Martin, a feisty cub of a pike that must have weighed about five pounds. and before much more time had elapsed Matthew's float was sailing away with purpose, a short fight resulting in a fish of similar size to Martin's being held aloft to be photographically captured for posterity.

The action slowed with only the occasional missed run bringing hope to the eleven wind and rain swept anglers before Andy joined the ranks of those who had avoided the blank with the first of a pair of pike both of which took a liking to a deadbait positioned just feet from the near bank.

Lunchtime saw us refuelling with our usual midday fare of bacon rolls and, with the sport having slowed, rods were periodically wound in as one or other of our number walked the bank to chat and enjoy the friendship and company that, more than the pike themselves, are the real reason we make our annual visit to the bleak beauty of this region rightly famed for its rich agricultural and angling heritage.

Both my float fished and popped up legered baits were untroubled by pike and my brief wandering with a lure rod was equally lacking in success. Andy, however, proved to be top rod on the day, his second pike (which tipped the scales at nine pounds exactly) completing his brace and making the journey from his Hertfordshire home well worth the early morning start.

By mid afternoon we were wet and, for the most part, fishless but as we posed for a photo and began the task of packing cars and vans for our respective return journeys home it was unanimously agreed that we'd had a fine time, had been hosted generously by Ray and that, God willing, we'd be back to resume our quest for pike next year. Hopefully in twelve months' time the waters of the Fens will treat me with the generosity and  beneficence that they showed on my first two visits and will once again yield me a pike or two, but even if that proves not to be the case my affection for their bleak exposed beauty will remain keen and undimmed.