"Doing the knowledge" (& a new PB)

Lakes, like wives and offspring, have a way of keeping you humble. If the success of my previous two sessions had led me to conclude that catching tench from the pool was going to be easy my next session was to disavow me of any such delusion. I had less than three hours in which to fish, and those three hours were in the afternoon which is rarely prime feeding time for tench, but I arrived with hope and a modicum of expectation. My main objective this season is to get to know the lake and so I chose to experiment and ignore the area which had proved productive and provided all my tench thus far, and instead went for a "walk on the wild side." I have already mentally divided the lake into sections, and one section is dominated by an enormous bed of Norfolk reed and is in an area less tamed than that surrounding the rest of the pool. Despite the reedbeds looking like an obvious hiding and holding up spot for crucians and a likely patrol area for tench my bobbin remained lifeless, my alarm silent. I plan to return to the reedbeds when Spring has fully metamorphosised into Summer, although I suspect it will be with a float rod. My angling inactivity, however, was more than compensated for by the activities of the Reed Warblers as they flew in and out of the reeds, busily doing whatever it is Reed Warblers do.

Two days later, and my next session following the reedbed blank saw me return to the area from which I'd caught all my tench to date. I arrived at the lake at 6:00am, with a light wind and a noticable chill in the air. Three hours passed with the pool appearing to be in an implacable, passive mood. There was no bubbling or fizzing to behold, and only the occasional leap of a small silver fish, doubtless being harried by marauding perch. I started to rehearse the usual platitudes in my mind: "it's a tricky lake and you're new on it", "manage your expectations, you're currently in a learning phase, Jon" and, as the first hint of desperation began to surface: "just one fish is all it takes." 

By now, the weather had grown milder and the chill receded, when the pleasant calm was interrupted by the shrill alert of the alarm. The fish, which turned out to be a fine male of 5lb 7oz, fought well before surrendering to the indignity of the landing net, camera and scales.

Shortly afterwards another tench was tempted beyond its ability to resist, but dogged resistance for a couple of minutes gave way to that horrible slack feeling that accompanies a hook pull. However, I wasn't too disappointed as one of my faults as an angler (of which there are many) is that once I've had my first decent fish of the day and have removed the "monkey from my shoulder", I lack the single-minded ambition to press home my advantage, not posessing the requisite greed and avarice that is the requirement and hallmark of the really good angler.

An hour elapsed before I was once again called into action, the fish exhibiting a slow but determined and dogged desire to avoid making my full acquaintance before eventually conceding defeat. As soon as I saw the tench in the net I knew that this was my biggest from the pool to date, and so it turned out to be, registering a weight of 6lb 8oz, a new PB. 

After the weighing and photographing rituals were completed (thanks is due to Eric who was fishing a couple of swims down from me for the photos) and the fish returned to its natural habitat, I decided to pack up in leisurely fashion and after briefly chatting with Eric and Pete exited the lake, locked the gate and headed back to suburbia.

Ever since first walking round the lake, I have always maintained that my first season on it will be predominantly an exercise in learning. In the days before SatNavs made everything easy, would-be taxi drivers would spend weeks pouring over detailed road maps learning routes and street names, an activity known as "doing the knowledge." As I begin the journey of getting to know the moods and foibles of the pool, I feel as if engaged on a similar task. My five sessions to date have resulted in seven tench (four of which have exceeded 5lbs in weight) but have also seen me twice leave the lake with a dry landing net. My two attemps at building a swim with groundbait and loose feed have failed to elicit any fish, and float fishing has also, thus far, proved fruitless. All seven tench have fallen to small hair rigged pellets and Method feeder and a "trapping" approach that relies on placing the bait in areas that tench are likely to patrol, recasting only a couple of times an hour, and waiting for a fish's interest and curiosity to be piqued as it passes through. 

There is much knowledge still to acquire, and its acquisition will only come as a result of experience, trying new things, and putting in the hours. I have much to learn but I'm beginning to see the veracity in the words my infants school teacher told me over half a century ago: "it's fun to learn." I didn't believe her then. I do now.

(A perfect) morning has broken

 

Fishing is always good, even the "bad sessions", but yesterday morning was perfect. Not because I fished perfectly (I didn't, my human imperfection and fallibility being just as evident in my angling as in the rest of my life!), but because there was nothing about it that I retrospectively would have wished to be different. 

An early start saw me arrive at the lake shortly after 6am and by 6:30 I had a bait in the water. I opted for a swim that gave me a number of options and elected to employ the Method feeder and hair rigged pellet approach that had worked for me on my previous visit. My first cast had been in the water for about half an hour when the bite alarm alerted me to the fact that an inquisitive tench had made an error of judgement, and a brief but lively tussle ensued before the fish saw my side of the argument and submitted to the folds of the net. The scales showed a pleasing weight of 5lb 5oz and after admiring her and taking a couple of quick photographs she was returned to her watery home.

Two other club members, Pete and Eric, arrived as I was playing the fish, and set up a couple of swims to my left. One of the beauties of the pool is the way that even when other anglers are on the lake, the plentiful bankside trees and foliage ensure that you have your own private slice of paradise and it still feels as if you have the lake to yourself. That's not to say that I'm a curmodgenly or unsociable angler (both Pete and Eric visited my swim for a chat, and I theirs) but there is something magical in our fast-paced, overstimulated modern world, of feeling alone in nature, with just the antics of the waterfowl and sound of birdsong for company.

I didn't have to wait too long after recasting for my reverie to be disturbed, the welcome intrusion to my daydreaming turning out to be a tench of 3lb 14oz. Following the group's rules, both sides of the fish were photographed and put on the group WhatsApp along with a record of its weight.

More than happy with the brace, I recast and decided to permit myself another hour of fishing before surrendering to the responsibilities of "real life" (why do we only describe the more onerous or tedious aspects of life as "real"?), rebaited, recast and almost exactly an hour later found myself attached to my third and final fish of the morning. At 3lb 10oz, it proved to be the smallest fish of the day and was, like the other two, in fine, healthy condition.

I packed up at a leisurely place, bade farewell to the others and set off on my pleasant 20 minute homeward drive through the countryside. On arriving home I checked the group WhatsApp to discover that shortly after my departure Eric had landed a glorious crucian of exactly 2lb in weight. It really had been a perfect morning.

Commencing the puzzle

 

My first two sessions on the  tench lake confirmed what I'd already guessed: catching won't be easy, but the challenge of solving the puzzle and the atmosphere that the lake exudes will make the experience a pleasure, albeit at times a frustrating one. My debut at the lake saw me meet a few of the other syndicate members, all of whom were friendly and welcoming, and begin the process of making plans and formulating a few provisional conclusions which are likely, of course, in time be revisited and revised. 

I set up in a corner which offered tree cover on both sides and in which emerging lilly pads could be seen below the water's surface. In a month or so, when the lillies have broken through the water's film and are displayed in all of their glory it will have the appearance of being exactly the type of tench swim that Bernard Venables would have created for Mr Crabtree to fish. It goes without saying that Mr Crabtree and Peter would have landed half a dozen tench between them, whereas my float remained motionless all morning. I had elected to float fish with sweetcorn as bait, and my first retrospective tentative wondering revolves around whether the "yellow peril" (normally my "go-to" tench bait) may be less than suited to this venue. This is a wild and lightly fished lake, and  its inhabitants are not dependent on angler's bait, unlike their cousins in commercial fisheries. Being lightly fished for, they may not even see sweetcorn as a food source and its highly visual garish brightness may be a cue for caution rather than attraction. Perhaps, so my early thinking goes, trusting to more natural baits such as maggots or worms might prove more productive. However, despite not even managing to elicit a single bite from the resident tench or tremble on the float, I thoroughly enjoyed my first visit to the lake. A large bumble bee kept me company for a while, industriously buzzing around my swim before departing to be busy elsewhere, a moorhen watched her nest, while a trio of coots engaged in playful mock combat with each other, a red kite soared and rode the thermals overhead, and there was a pleasant backing track produced by the constant birdsong. There are worse places to blank!

Seven days later and I was back. Throughout the week I had been forming plans and constructing theories, all the while aware that I'm at that intoxicating but frustrating period with a new lake in which you don't even know what you don't know. I arrived at the lake at 6:30am and, watched by a herd of inquisitive young cows, unlocked the gate. I was alone on the lake, and had the place to myself for the entirity of my stay. I tackled up one rod on the float with maggots as bait, while the other rod was set up with a Method feeder and hair rigged small Robin Red pellet as bait. Almost three fishless hours had passed when the bite alarm screeched to life as a fish made off for the centre of the lake. After a determined tussle the tench resigned itself to the folds of the net, and on the scales registered a satsfying 5lb 4oz. 

I rebaited and recast and half an hour later the same rod was off again. This time the culprit was slightly smaller, but still a very welcome fish at 4lb 14oz. 

I fished on for a further hour enjoying the sights and sounds of the lake while both my float and my bobbin resolutely refused to move even a millimeter.. It would be premature in the extreme at this stage to come to any conclusions regarding the lake and how to frequently fool its inhabitants, but every session in this my first year will be a jigsaw piece in a bigger puzzle. What already seems clear is that this is not a body of water that will give up its residents lightly, and that she will at times prove to be a moody and capricious, yet always beautiful mistress. Of this, however, I am certain: whatever ups and downs and "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" the lake deals me this summer, I'm going to thoroughly enjoy myself and squeeze every bit of enjoyment I can out of the resumption of my tench fishing escapades, almost thirty years after I last regularly pursued the species. It is (and some will get the pun) just what the doctor ordered.