Signing off without style

Fishing has a habit of reminding you that when you think you've cracked it .... you haven't. Following the success of my guiding/coaching session (see previous post), and with only two full days elapsed since then, I was- if not complacent- certainly confident as I returned to the Estate Lake for a short, early evening session with my son. We tackled up in decent swims, and were soon joined by Roger, a friend from church, and his two boys aged 9 and 12. Roger elected not to fish himself, but rather to act as chief untangler, loose-feeder and helper to his sons. With the four of us strung out along the same bank on a glorious summer's evening the scene looked set for a "bagging session" on what is usually a remarkably compliant lake. The target, as ever, were the lake's handsome, deep bodied crucians. But, unusually, the crucians decided not to co-operate and the lake decided to have one of its rare moody days.

 

My son and one of Roger's boys elected to pole-fish, while Roger's other son and I set up on running line and waggler. My decision to opt for waggler over the pole was for no better reason than I fancied a change, as I usually go with a pole fishing approach at the Estate Lake, but thought it would be fun to reacquaint myself with my favourite float rod which rarely gets an outing these days.

 

 

 

The lake was at its lovliest, the weather balmy, the boys excitable and expectant, the occasional carp cruised languidly just below the surface, loose feed was trickled in, but the anticipated fish frenzy never materialised. Only one crucian of about half a pound was landed all evening, my first fish of the session, and although we all caught an assortment of roach, rudd and perch none of us had many fish (I caught nine, two of the boys caught seven, the other banked two) and, inexplicably, we all struggled. Bites were sporadic, and changing depth, shotting pattern, amount of feed going in all failed to effect any change on the fish's response. Not the "sign-off" from English angling I'd hoped for, but a massive relief that the lake had been at its beneavolent best a couple of days earlier on my "guiding" session. A timely reminder that fishing, fish and lakes have the capacity to be capricious and to leave even seasoned anglers tearing out whatever remaining hair they have!

However, despite the disappointment in terms of fish caught, the evening had its compensations, and the lack of fish was more than made up for by the  pleasantness of the surroundings and the heron who was visiting the pond, my first sighting of one at the Estate Lake.

 

 

 

 

 My rods, poles, holdalls and seatbox are now packed away in the "rod room", as it's only three weeks till I depart for my American adventure, and packing and planning will be consuming all non-work time over the coming days. Let's hope I have better luck in the States - the next time I wield a rod it'll be from a kayak in South Carolina ........ bring it on!



 

"Doing it for for chari-dee...."

I'm not a proper "guide" or a qualified angling coach, in fact I'm just a bulk standard pleasure angler of no particular great ability who after 30 odd years of fishing should be much better than I am, which meant that there was a fair element of risk along with the bravado when at a recent "Auction of Talents" at our church, fund raising to send a couple of our teenagers to Tanzania to work with a party from our Diocese and Tear Fund, I offered a "one to one fishing lesson with the Vicar" as one of the auction "lots". I consoled myself with the fact that, even if the winning bidder didn't catch much, at least they'd have only paid about a fiver ........ little did I know! On the night a bidding war broke out for the "fishing lesson with the vicar", with the eventual winner (a 15 year old lad from the congregation) payng the thick end of twenty quid for the privelege; now I really did feel under pressure, especially as it was to be his first ever fishing session. Blanking wasn't an option, I had to help him to catch, and catch well.

 

I opted to take him to the Estate Lake, arriving at the very civilised hour of 9:30am. I set him up on a 4 metre whip, and showed him how to plumb the depth. With the bait (maggot on a 20) just touching bottom we began feeding a few loose maggots every cast, but initially things were slow. After about half an hour my protoge connected with his first bite, but the fish (almost certainly a crucian) raced into the reeds and adroitly transferred the hook to a reed stem, resulting in a break at the hook link. After 40 minutes, two broken rigs, and no fish things weren't looking too handsome, but then the loose-feeding began to pay off. After half a dozen crucians things got really interesting with a solid, thumping fight resulting in a lovely perch of over a pound gracing the net. Things were looking up.

 

 

 

For the next two hours the action was hectic, with a net of mainly crucians, supplemented by the occasional perch and one solitary roach being amassed, before bites became harder to induce and the lake slowly settled into an early afternoon heat induced stupour. After four hours fishing he'd managed 45 fish (none of which were caught by me), and really got the hang of using the whip, playing fish on elastic, feeding the swim and disgorging the hook. The largest fish of the day was a crucian of about a pound and a half, which nicely supplemented the handsome perch.

 

A sunny day, a willing pupil who out-fished everyone else on the lake on his first ever trip out, and money raised for a good cause. I call that a "result", and a great first and last foray for me into the world of taking someone fishing in a scenario that involves the exchange of money .... I have the utmost respect for professional guides: me, I'd never cope witht he weight of expectation and burden of responsibilty; thank goodness it turned out well- I'll quit while I'm ahead!

 



 

 

One pluck, but out of luck ...

Desperate times demand desperate measures- it'd been three weeks since I'd last fished, and a combination of work pressure, family commitments and preparing for my American fishing roadtrip had conspired to keep me from the bank. With no immediate prospect of the time constraints relenting there was only one thing for it: a night sleeping in the spare bedroom so as not to awaken my wife at an unholy hour, alarm set for 5:30am and a brief spinning trip before work.

By 6:00 I was threading the line through the rings of my spinning rod on a blustery, drizzling and downright cold morning- so cold I elected to wear my winter thermal suit.

One of the many reasons that fishing is superior to golf is that while golf has been described as "a good walk ruined", spin-fishing is a good walk enhanced, and so I set off on my enhanced walk.

 

The section of canal I spin fish has not been prolific for me (14 perch from 8 trips), but has the joint advantage of (i) being free fishing, and (ii) being close enough for brief "smash and grab" fishing escapades. The perch have never been large, but it's a pleasant stroll and a diverting form of fishing and so, if taken on its own terms and with realistic expectations , challenging, thought-provoking and a lot of fun.

 

 

I started off in my "banker" swim on my "banker" lure- fishing under a bridge where my son and I have caught several perch, using a Rublex Ondex, but today to no avail. I moved spot and in my second swim had a "follow" and then a tentative "pluck" from a small perch (I saw the fish, all of 2 ounces, a momentary flash of dark stripes and erect spikey dorsal) right under my feet. I persevered in the same swim, eventually changing the Ondex for a small Panther Martin spinner, and then for an even smaller silver and red spotted spinner, but failed to induce any further interest.

 

I wandered up and down, trying a few more spots before returning to the swim where I'd had the follow, and then, finally, to the bridge, "chopping and changing" spinners, but- again- without luck.

 

By 8:05 am I was back home, sat at my desk and ready to begin another day of church-related activity. Did I regret the early start as a result of my blank? Not a bit of it. In many ways an hour and a half's spinning on a not particularly productive stretch of canal is much more of a challenge than most of the other fishing that I engage in and provides plenty of puzzles to fuel the piscatorial brain cells. I'll certainly be back for more, it's a style of fishing that fits nicely with my work and family patterns, costs nothing and gets me scratching my head and thinking. I'm toying with the idea of getting into drop-shotting and proper ultra-lite fishing for these perch .... now that really will be fun!

My son with a canal perch from a previous session when the stripey quarry were proving more co-operative.
 

America- the adventure beckons...

I'm not quite at the stage of counting down the days yet, but the anticipation is growing. I love fishing, I love travel and I love my Christian faith, and it seems almost greedy to be bringing the three of them together for a "once in a lifetime" adventure treck, but that's what I'll be doing at the end of next month.

 

All travel is exciting, but the most rewarding is when the journey spirits you out of your existing comfort zone. All-inclusive poolside holidays in Spain have their place, but they don't teach you much about life or yourself. My forthcoming American adventure will unquestionably take me to places (and I'm not just talking geography here) that I've never previously been.

 

Travelling (unaccompanied) in a rented car- alas not the pick-up or SUV beloved of American outdoorsmen, but a cheap little economy hatchback- my journey will take me from Atlanta to South Carolina, on to North Carolina, then into Tennessee and Kentucky before spending some time in Missouri. I'll be connecting with American Christians (churches, individuals and groups) who use fishing and hunting to build relationships with non-churchgoers and to share faith with them, with the intention of learning lessons that are transferrable to a UK context.

 

There is- inevitably- some fishing planned. A kayak fishing trip will see me way outside  the familiar  (I've only canoed 3 or 4 times in my 45 years, and to do so with an expert in the kayak in front, while trying to cast and land fish on a four foot rod will severely test my mettle ... and I suspect do wonders for my humility!). My wife, upon hearing of this proposed kayak trip at first looked alarmed, but was later seen reading the small print on my life insurance policy with a strange, avaricious look in her eye! I'll also be fishing for North America's favourite sportfish, the largemouth bass, as well as hoping to bank fish for trout in Lake Taneycomo. Excited? ... you bet!

 

Most of all I'm looking forward to meeting new people and making new friends. I'm excited about worshipping in new contexts (ranging from a Presbyterian church in South Carolina through Southern Baptist to an "Outdoors person's" church in Missouri), and to meeting people who run local and national outreach ministries based around outdoor sports, sharing their life and learning from them as I experience and enjoy the distinctives of their church-life, their culture and traditions.

 

Motels, big steaks, strong black coffee, bluegrass music, the open road, Christian fellowship, apple pie and new fishing techniques and methods .... bring it on! Oh, and I'll be blogging too, so you also can  vicariously experience life on the road, interesting characters, and fishing and faith US-style.

 

 

Locked gates, lost time and tiny fish ...

We knew the drill; time was of the essence. The alarm clock woke me at 6:00am, only 24 hours older than I had been the day before, but "on paper" a whole year older. I took the dog for her custmary walk, and was back by 6:40, woke my son and chivvied him along as he wrapped himself in several layers while rushing breakfast. The car was quickly loaded, and by 7:00 am we were arriving at the estate lake. We had about four hours to play with, until a birthday celebration pub lunch marked the begining of my 46th year.

On arriving the gates of the estate lake were locked, but we weren't unduly concerned. An old boy unlocks the fishery at about 7:00, and a few minutes weren't going to hurt. Half an hour later we were concerned. Said old boy was still conspicuous by his absence, and the clock was ticking. Feeling slightly guilty as the sleepy voice of the owner's wife answered my phonecall my fears were temporarily assuaged when she informed that she would send the elderly gentleman down to let us in. Half an hour later concern had turned to apoplexy, and I made the decision to move on to another local lake.

 

We arrived at the second lake (a favourite of mine, but which- for some unaccountable reason- my son isn't fond of) and set up in swims next to each other, he on a waggler while I elected to fish the pole. After an hour I'd caught 9 fish, 3 perch and 6 roach, all small but the swim seemed to be building. My son's heart, however, just wasn't in it and he didn't have a single fish to show for his, admittedly half-hearted efforts. Knowing how much he likes the estate lake, I asked if he fancied moving back to it, on the assumption that by now it must be open! His face lit up immediately, and the die was cast.

 

 

 Knowing that we only had an hour left in which to fish, we opted to share a swim, both pole fishing in the margins, and here our fortunes were entirely reversed. In our final hour my son had half a dozen fish, again all of very modest size, including our first crucian of the year, while I had nothing.  As we packed up and prepared for the family festivities, as if to add insult to piscatorial injury, the skies opened and treated us to a brief, but spirited, hail storm. Of the four hours available to us we had only actually fished for about two.

Following today's frustrations, and owing to the fact that my last two sessions have resulted in the capture of a string of fish of only meagre proportions I've decided that my next session will be after carp. Sitting behind a pair of rods on buzzers isn't my favourite style of fishing, but I'm feeling a growing  need to bend into something a bit more substantial ..... provided, of course, the lake is open!

 

 

Art imitating angling ...

I was sad to discover recently that John Searl, a fine angling artist (and, indeed, I'm led to believe a fine angler) had died. His art has illustrated a number of fishing books in my library, and I enjoyed watching him gently coach Geoffrey Palmer into landing a chub in one of the episodes of the admirable TV series "The Compleat Angler."
Angling has a distinguished history of producing fine artists, a tradition which sems to have proliferated in the 20th and 21st Centuries. Bernard Venables, Paul Cook, Karen Sarkar, and Chris Turnbull spring to mind, but- much though I enjoy their art, my personal top four are as follows:

Number Four- Stephen Harper
Stephen Harper's stylised and striking fish portraits, particularly of pike and predators have adorned the dust jackets of a number of best-selling angling books. A master of his craft.




Number Three- Robin Armstrong
Not only an accomplished painter of fish, but also of birds and general wildlife themes. If you get an opportunity to purchase a copy of his book "Dartmoor River" don't pass it up- a truly delightful book.

Number Two- David Miller
Now a feature on our annual rod licenses, David Miller's depictions of underwater life have a large following. His eye for detail brings to mind  a Korda underwater video without the distraction of the commentary.

 

 

 Number One- Adriano Manocchio

Although I'm neither a fly fisherman or an American, Monacchio's depictions of the North American fly fishing experience are my favourite examples of angling art. The highest compliment that I can pay to his work is that, like his countryman Norman Maclean's novella "A River Runs Through It", his art manages to evoke all that's aesthetic in our pastime, and makes me want to reach for my rods and make for the riverbank.

 

 



A grueller in Gwent

As someone old enough to remember Michael Fish's predictive debacle with the "Great October Storm" I should have known to better than to take notice when the weatherman confidently declared that Saturday would see a mini-heatwave in South Wales. The mini-heatwave turned out to consist of torrential rain and rapidly dropping water temperature, to once again prove that weather forecasting is an imprecise art and an inexact science.

I was in Wales along with my son to fish with my youngest brother and his son as guests on their club lake. Heavily stocked with F1's and with the possibility of bonus "proper carp" (F1's are great fun, but always feel slightly "phoney") and good back up stocks of roach, bream and perch, on a good day it's not unusual for club matches to be won with 80 pound or more of fish, but as the temperature dropped the fishing was always likely to be a struggle.

I elected to just fish with a pole in the margins (3 pound line, 2 pound bottom, size 20 hook), while my son and nephew did likewise, but both also elected (just as well, as it turned out) to put out a "sleeper rod" on bite alarms using method feeders and fake corn.

My nephew was first to catch, with a couple of tiny commons (all of 2 ounces) on the pole, before my son had the first F1, which fell to his "method" rod.

The "method" seemed to be the method on the day, and soon my nephew was joining the action, with a couple of F1's in quick succession. My brother, who had opted not to fish, but to nobly act as chief "ghillie" for the two boys, was kept busy mixing groundbait and providing advice as they played their fish ( a task which both of them performed with high levels of competence), and generally acting as bankside director of operations as well as taking responsibility for the "chip shop run".

As is often the case when pole fishing and loose-feeding maggots, my swim took longer to get going, but a "little and often" trickle of bait resulted in a couple of F1's in quick succession, before loosing a couple more. The fish fought well on the pole tackle, pulling the elastic round and giving a good account of themselves as they struggled for freedom in the deluvian conditions.

After four hours we decided to pack up. Although the weather had been inclement, and the fishing slower than anticipated, we'd had a great time, brothers, nephews and cousins enjoying each others company and the challenge afforded by the conditions. We ended up with 10 F1's and about the same number of "bits" between us, with the best F1 (which I was too embarrassed to photograph, as I'd foul- hooked it, although this fact did make the fight on pole tackle last much longer than usual, thereby increasing the fun factor) probably somewhere around the 3 pound mark. Our final tally of 20 fish between the 3 of us, for an estimated combined weight of something in the region of 20 pound might not represent the most prolific haul ever taken from a "commercial-style" fishery, but in the context of the conditions, and the youthfulness of all but one of the anglers, led to a wet and weary but satisfied group of anglers leaving the lake.

Oh, and by the way, I may not have distinguished myself piscatorially, but I was the winner of the post-fishing Monopoly game when we got back to my brother's house!