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.
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