My successes on the Fens have been limited- prior to today's trip my previous five visits (one to the Old River Nene, the other four to the Sixteen Foot Drain) had produced just three pike (only one of which scraped into double figures) and one zander, although the figures are slightly skewed by the fact that all four fish had come from only two of those trips, so my blanks to catches ratio stood at a less than impressive 3:2 in favour of a dry landing net. However, despite my not really coming to grips with these long, straight and often seemingly featureless expanses of water I am haunted by their wild and remote beauty and find myself drawn back to them on an annual basis.
It is hard to describe the Fens without falling prey to the use of well-worn cliche: the agricultural land in which the drains are set is flat, the skies are big, the weather is usually grim and they do seem to exude an air of wild and foreboding menace, and it's this combination that makes them so enticing to an angler like me who spends most of his time sat beside lakes and ponds that are dotted with lilly pads, surrounded by trees and which have a serene and sometimes somewhat sanitised feel to them. A trip to a windswept Fen is a journey into the wild, with the fish often as unforgiving as the environment in which they exist.
Today saw my annual pilgrimage to the Fens with friends from the Christian Anglers group for our once yearly pike fish-in (which also doubles as my annual flirtation with the world of pike angling) and, true to form, we were welcomed warmly by the local anglers we've got to know over the last few years but less so by the typically inclement weather. It wasn't only the elements that chose to be miserly, the pike were also less than forthcoming with only one being caught despite the best efforts of nine anglers. Greg was the fortunate angler, with luck looking less kindly on John whose lost pike proved to be the only other action. Greg's fish gave a good account of itself before succombing to the engulfing folds of the net, where it was discovered to have been very lightly hooked in the scissors.
However, all the anglers present are philosophical and long in the tooth enough to be sanguine about the absence of fish caught and despite the unkind weather and uncoperative pike a good time was enjoyed by all. It wasn't all hardship and privation, Matt is normally a carp angler and is consequently an accomplished bankside chef and soon the space under his brolly was looking more like a hipster deli, with samosas and toasted cheese sandwiches being heated and handed out and real coffee being brought to the boil.
The weather became tamer as morning turned to afternoon and by mid afternoon, with threatening clouds beginning once again to gather, we drew stumps and headed for home. It had been a hard day on the Fens but the excellence of the company more than compensated for the lack of pike and we'll be back again next year. Oh, and one other bonus: the inactivity on the fishing front left plenty of time for contemplation and the shape of this Sunday's sermon began to grow in my mind while I waited for the run that never came.
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