Met up with Micky 95 days after I last ventured out on the bank - that’s a long time; probably the longest interval between fishing since I started the sport fifty-six years ago. The weather forecast threatened light rain until mid-morning, the temperature had taken a turn for the worse with a cool north-westerly adding to the wind-chill. The lake is one of five at this venue: each around an acre and a half, each with an island or two; two smaller lakes are shallow at around five feet, the other three claim to be around fifteen feet deep. Stocked as a commercial about thirty or forty years ago, they are surrounded by mature trees, rushes, and tall grasses: the original swims still remain. Once match-fished quite heavily, they are now day ticket waters and during the colder months you can usually have your pick of swims.
Today we had the place to ourselves, we could have gone anywhere but perversely decided to fish the two swims nearest the car park. It was the south-east end and Micky had seen several carp rolling around amongst the debris that had gathered. Micky is intrinsically a specimen hunter: big carp, big pike, big barbel etc. I just like to go fishing.
My plan was to set up a method-feeder rod on a bite alarm then dobble about with a float rod for roach, perch and any other bits. Micky set up his usual carp rod with some fancy boilie or snowman-rig on a bite alarm but, much to my surprise, pulled out a feeder rod, groundbait and maggot and also fished for bits. These get-togethers often involve some sort of species war!
Ten minutes after Micky’s first cast his alarm went off and he was into a carp (The last time Micky had been fishing, he told me, he’d lost four fish on the trot, all slipped the hook. One had been on for two minutes and was a decent fish. Confidence was low). So, Micky had this carp on for a minute or so, I had the net ready, when the bugger came off! Silence!
“That’s five” he said disconsolately. He hadn’t done anything wrong, his hook was still sharp, he’d maintained contact, it had just come off.
I went back to my swim, sat down, and started thinking about putting up my float rod: I was extremely rusty. My bits and pieces were in a bit of a mess, some essential items were back home, so I put off the float fishing for a while. Nothing happened on the bite alarm for about two hours, then when I was chatting with Micky in the next swim it went off. We’re only a few yards apart and when I got there I struck into and landed a nice carp of about four pounds, fin and scale perfect but a bit parrot-mouthed which is a shame I always think.
Something caught my eye on the ground. Hundreds of small, shiny blue beetles crawling about, mating. Looked them up when I got home, Alder leaf beetles.
The pattern for the rest of the day was a carp every half hour for us both, often catching simultaneously. Micky landed one seven pounder with my favourite landing net I’d repaired but it broke again so I had to get my specimen net out which can be a bit cumbersome. Towards the end of the day, I was fishing close in, a rod length out with the float, feeding the last of the maggots when the alarm went off: I dropped the float rod and struck into another carp. Micky was coming over when I saw my float disappear: typical! He picked up the float rod expecting a three-ounce roach, but it was quite a bit bigger. He played it with one had while landing my fish with the other. The carp in the net we had to land what turned out to be a nice bream in the same net. It was a bit Laurel and Hardy
Footnote: Next morning my legs and shoulders were aching from the exertion of getting up and down out of the chair fifty or sixty times and over arm casting. Not match fit!
Andy
Today we had the place to ourselves, we could have gone anywhere but perversely decided to fish the two swims nearest the car park. It was the south-east end and Micky had seen several carp rolling around amongst the debris that had gathered. Micky is intrinsically a specimen hunter: big carp, big pike, big barbel etc. I just like to go fishing.
My plan was to set up a method-feeder rod on a bite alarm then dobble about with a float rod for roach, perch and any other bits. Micky set up his usual carp rod with some fancy boilie or snowman-rig on a bite alarm but, much to my surprise, pulled out a feeder rod, groundbait and maggot and also fished for bits. These get-togethers often involve some sort of species war!
Ten minutes after Micky’s first cast his alarm went off and he was into a carp (The last time Micky had been fishing, he told me, he’d lost four fish on the trot, all slipped the hook. One had been on for two minutes and was a decent fish. Confidence was low). So, Micky had this carp on for a minute or so, I had the net ready, when the bugger came off! Silence!
“That’s five” he said disconsolately. He hadn’t done anything wrong, his hook was still sharp, he’d maintained contact, it had just come off.
I went back to my swim, sat down, and started thinking about putting up my float rod: I was extremely rusty. My bits and pieces were in a bit of a mess, some essential items were back home, so I put off the float fishing for a while. Nothing happened on the bite alarm for about two hours, then when I was chatting with Micky in the next swim it went off. We’re only a few yards apart and when I got there I struck into and landed a nice carp of about four pounds, fin and scale perfect but a bit parrot-mouthed which is a shame I always think.
Something caught my eye on the ground. Hundreds of small, shiny blue beetles crawling about, mating. Looked them up when I got home, Alder leaf beetles.
The pattern for the rest of the day was a carp every half hour for us both, often catching simultaneously. Micky landed one seven pounder with my favourite landing net I’d repaired but it broke again so I had to get my specimen net out which can be a bit cumbersome. Towards the end of the day, I was fishing close in, a rod length out with the float, feeding the last of the maggots when the alarm went off: I dropped the float rod and struck into another carp. Micky was coming over when I saw my float disappear: typical! He picked up the float rod expecting a three-ounce roach, but it was quite a bit bigger. He played it with one had while landing my fish with the other. The carp in the net we had to land what turned out to be a nice bream in the same net. It was a bit Laurel and Hardy
Footnote: Next morning my legs and shoulders were aching from the exertion of getting up and down out of the chair fifty or sixty times and over arm casting. Not match fit!
Andy
