My only previous visit to "the Perch Pond" this year had been underwhelming. The large perch that inhabit its waters had been disinclined to make an appearance and the sparse handful of micro-perch and small roach that attached themselves grudgingly to my line were scant consolation for the ambivalent implacability of their larger brethren.
Today's return trip, in the company of one of my regular fishing partners, David, was self-consciously an attempt to even up the score between me and the perch in the hope that, despite the bright Springtime sunshine I might be able to persuade just one decent sized perch to briefly join me on the bank. To a church minister from the protestant tradition like myself, humanity's redemption by God is soley a gift of grace but by contrast redemption of the fishing kind is brought about entirely by one's own hard work (aided often by a slice of good fortune), and so I set about my work with prawns on the hook, and maggots introduced to the swim by hand.
I dropped my porcupine quill float tight to some reed stems in a likely looking spot just feet from the water's edge, and employed a 9 foot vintage glass fibre Milbro rod and an ancient Allcocks Aeriel centre pin reel as my weapons of choice. My fondness for porcupine quills is matched only by my affection for small perch bobs and these two float patterns account for almost all of my perch fishing. The wait for the float to submerge was short and the first bite of the day resulted in a small but handsome rudd which had unexpectedly taken a liking to prawns, the first example of the species that I have ever taken on a prawn.
A further hour passed without any action other than the swinging into the bank of a brace of unwelcome American Signal Crayfish (which were summararily executed as the law demands is the case for these non-native and bullying interlopers). A further half hour of inactivity prompted me, after some head scratching and discussion with David, to change tactics and gamble that a switch to maggot as hookbait might result in snagging a better fish, although it would be relying on the "law of averages" to provide a larger specimen among what would doubtless be a procession of its smaller brethren.
David was similarly struggling to persuade any fish to show an interest in prawns, and so we made the switch to maggots, encouraging ourselves with the fact that my largest perch to come from this particular pond ( a fine fish of 2 pound 15 oz) fell to double red maggot. As anticipated, there ensued a regular stream of roach, rudd, small perch and bream, but the altered approach failed to deliver the hoped for larger perch.
One of angling's great joys is its mysteries and the never ending and ever changing puzzles it provides for the piscator. After four years of almost constant success (I realise the definition of "success" is subjective, but in that timeframe I have landed over a score of 2 pounders and probably three times as many pound plus fish which failed to reach the magic 2 pound mark) my last two sessions have failed to deliver a single perch of noteworthy proportions. It doesn't quite feel like time to panic yet, nor a sustained enough drought to start questioning whether the large perch population has dwindled but when Autumn comes around and my thoughts turn more obssesively to perch, what Hercule Poirot would have described as "ze old grey matter" will certainly be going into some form of overdrive.
By midday, it was time to pack up and return home to the list of chores that my wife in her infinite kindness had left for me. Despite the non-appearance of our intended quarry, David and I agreed that it had been an enjoyable way to while away four hours and our final two hours had been ones in which our floats were continually submerging, and while the culprits were non-remarkable in terms of size each was a welcome visitor to the bank. The weather had been benign, a kite wings spread, hovering on the thermals, had treated us to a majestic fly past, the lake's environs quiet save for our conversation and the melodic accompaniment of birdsong. The quest for redemption will now be subject to a pause until the "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness" once again comes round, allowing more appropriately Spring and Summer species to take centre stage. Here's hoping they prove less obdurate than the perch.
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