Aiming at aimlessness

I have only two angling aims for 2024. One is to fish more frequently. The other, paradoxically, is to be an increasingly aimless angler.

With the exception of last winter when I barely had the opportunity to fish, my last few autumns and winters have been dominated by the aspiration to catch a three pound perch. I have come close (very close- my best was 2lb 15oz, so couldn't have been any closer!) and caught numerous decent sized perch but have, as yet, failed to reach the target weight. In truth, the goal was beginning to take the form of the proverbial "monkey on the shoulder" and so I have chosen to dispense with it and all other goals that are derived from reducing a fish's worth to a number. This change of heart doesn't signify a total disregard for weights (I'll still have my scales ready to hand in my bag) but the shift of focus will, I trust, enable me to fish with a new found freedom. In recent years in the colder months I've felt duty bound to fish for perch (which will always remain my favourite species) to the detriment of my pike fishing and if I fancied a trip in pursuit of roach or a winter "mixed bag" the thought was quickly suppressed as the 3 pound Holy Grail loomed ever large in my mind.

This year my resolve is simply to enjoy my fishing and to prioritise enjoyment over acheivement. To give myself permission to enjoy the environment in which I fish as much as the fish I extract from it. To find pleasure in the equipment I use (which is predominantly vintage or antique and worthy to be admired) and to recover the ability to view the world of lakes and rivers with the sense of awe and wonder that we sadly tend to lose when we leave childhood behind. It was the author and angler BB who exhorted fishing folk to "look ye also while life lasts", an encouragement that I intend to allow to guide my approach for these next twelve months.

Small fish will not be despised, their larger brethren accepted gratefully as a gift, and blanks (although hopefully not too many of these) received with equanimity. I have a tendency toward hyper-concentration when in pursuit of fish and have never really mastered the art of relaxing while fishing, but my hope is that this season will see me learning something of the gentle art of idling in imitation of Walton's maxim about fishing being "the contemplative man's recreation."

And so as we enter Spring and the season of rebirth, I have no fixed plans beyond next month's trip to the Fens. Beyond that I intend to allow myself to be carried along on the breeze of my whims- if I wake up with crucians on my mind I'll fish for them, if I feel in the mood for tench then tench it will be, if in the moment I fancy a mixed net of small fish, then small fish it is. It may be that at some point in the future I return with serious purpose to the quest for a three pound perch but for this year my only plan is to fish unencumbered by projects, plans or targets.

When I embarked on my passion for angling as a carefree 13 year old in the school summer holiday of 1981 my only goal was the sheer enjoyment and pleasure to be derived from the practice of fishing- 43 years on I'm hoping to recapture what I felt and experienced in the days of my angling naivety. It may be that the truism that states that "it's impossible to put an old head on young shoulders" is fair, but if I can rekindle some of the innocent enthusiasm of youth as I teeter on the precipice of my dotage then I'll be a more than happy man.

Paradise regained ...... and lost again. (with apologies to John Milton)

If it were not for the fact that angling's central skill is that of deception there would be something almost pre-lapsarian about fishing. We venture into places that often exude an almost Edenic beauty and insert ourselves into our own private paradise in pursuit of fish. Time slows and we exist in a strange tension between relaxation and intense concentration and for a while the world ceases to be a place of toil and trouble and we rediscover the innocence of humanity's infancy. 

I had barely fished during the Autumn and Winter of last year, a combination of work responsibilites and consequent tiredness resulting in me failing to summon the energy to make more than just one solitary trip to the bank betwen the beginning of September and the ending of the year. However, as 2024 dawned, bringing with it the annual triumph of optimism over experience, I refound my enthusiasm and determined to set out once again  with a spring in my step and perch on my mind. 

In the event my return to angling was not only uneventful but also had to wait until February of the new year, as a planned January trip had to be aborted due to the lake's completely frozen state. I set up in a swim that seemed to offer promise, with reeds on both of its sides, and didn't have long to wait for my first bite. It appeared that the lay off from angling hadn't dulled my speed of response (you can't lose what you never had!) and I promptly missed my first couple of bites as is my usual custom. However, on the third occasion of the float's  submergion I made no such mistake but my delight proved to be short lived as the culprit turned out to be an angry and unwelcome American Signal Crayfish.

I was shortly joined by Dave, one of my frequent fishing partners, but after an hour of patiently feeding our respective swims with a trickle of red maggots both of our floatfished prawn hookbaits remained untouched. I briefly flirted with a smaller hook and double maggot, but this only produced a couple of bites and a small roach that momentarily glinted and glistened in the morning sun before being returned to the lake.

The lake continued to portray a disinterested and sullen air, with no visible signs of fish movement and only very occasional movement on our floats. The "Perch Pond", which for me and a select group of friends has been our own private paradise in recent years, had swapped its usual benificence for a miserly  surliness. ( a typical example of its previous generosity is shown below) 

As the nearby village clock struck midday, it was time to depart and rejoin the real world of toil and chores. Our tally of fish was a desultry three roach and one solitary perch for me and two roach and a perch for Dave, all of them small and each of them the result of changing from prawns to maggots as bait. If their total weight was aggregated we may just have scraped a pound, and to add injury to insult the bailiff politely enquired as to whether I required "a senior citizen's ticket, sir?" I suspect our next session may see us regaining our angling self-belief by visiting a different iteration of paradise!