MAGIC PLACES
There are some waters that you fish because they contain fish of a good size. There are some waters that you fish because they are convenient, either close to home or work. And there are some waters we fish to be sociable, because our mates are fishing there. But in every angler's lifetime there is always one, sometimes two waters that you fish because they simply beckon us to their banks.
These are places of unspeakable beauty, mystery or atmosphere, magic places, where for once the fishing comes second. Most of these waters are discovered by chance, a fleeting glimpse as you drive by in a car, a small reference in a book or conversation, or sometimes a long forgotten water steeped in angling legend or folklore.
I have fished a couple of waters before that were very nearly magic places. Cransley Hall in Northampton, with its winding gravel drive and terraced lawns that lead down to its centuries old lake, where peacocks ran from your tackle laden approach and the mist rolling off the neighbouring graveyard sucked you in, making you wish you had stayed in bed until the sun was well and truly in the sky.
There was Mallory Park, enchanting for very different reasons - where else could you catch fish after fish and watch motor sport at the same time from the middle of the track; surely every mans heaven? Also at Mallory you could fish two historic stew ponds, called The 'Carp in the Trees', brimming with carp and complete with the ghosts of long dead monks!
My Magic Place (click for bigger picture)
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But three years ago I found my magic place. Quite by accident, as you should, I discovered close to where I live, a Hall, and like all good Halls it had an estate lake. At about three acres it wasn't huge, nor was it the prettiest estate lake I had ever seen, yet there was something about the water that seemed to appeal like no other water had before.
It was surrounded by trees, as old as the hall itself, oaks, beeches and pines. Atop gently sloping lawns sat the imposing Hall, its residents long gone and replaced by office workers, but still it kept guard over the lakes historic inhabitants. At early morning you could see the marble-like surface of the water through the rising mist being constantly disturbed by topping fish and rolling tench and carp. It had huge sets of lily pads that hid fish, that were only betrayed by the bubbles they sent up as they disturbed the lake's age old silt.
The lake was a gently curving boomerang shape, bright and welcoming at the drive end yet dark and mysterious at the other, home to no doubt the ghosts of poachers past. I was immediately entranced by the water, its ambience just pulled me in and in the blink of an eye I had spent a couple of hours creeping around the banks spotting roach gliding about under the surface and carp lazily slurping at insects caught in the surface film.
I returned at dusk hoping to find someone fishing, so to enquire how I could cast a line into this daydream I had stumbled upon. I found no anglers at dusk, only a sea of bats swarming over the lake, tempted from their roosts around the lake by the moths that fluttered about, unaware of their impending fate. On returning to my car I was intercepted by a security guard from the Hall who informed me of the name of the small and exclusive club that controlled the water. The next day I discovered the club was close to impossible to join as numbers were restricted and even though there was a waiting list, existing members children automatically rose to the top upon attaining sixteen years.
For three years I tried to put the lake out of my thoughts, but like a long forgotten girlfriend it would creep back in drunken conversation or a waking dream. The lake would not go away and its presence burned in my blood so much so that I returned, the winter just gone, knowing that with the frosts well and truly upon us, the lake would not be at its best and hopefully I would be cured of my affliction. But even in the depths of winter the lake was enthralling, perhaps even more so than in the summer. But my return to the water brought a huge stroke of luck, sitting at the water's edge was an angler, the first I had seen at the water. On walking closer I saw that I recognised the angler from my tackle shop days, he immediately recognised me and thanks to his kindness, and influence at the clubs AGM, on the 26th June I pulled into the lake's car park with a membership card in my wallet.
My newly discovered estate lake - here we go again! (click for bigger picture)
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I had discovered since that the water held no uncaught giants or secrets that would bring fame and fortune, in fact the lakes stock was mediocre by today's standards, but I was not there for the fish. I just wanted to be part of the picture this enchanted lake had painted in my mind since I first set eyes on it three years previously. As I sat in my chair, my float-fished worm barely brushing the pads, I looked up and saw the old trees leaning over me like the vaulted ceiling of cathedral, the light filtered through their leaves, separating the colours like a stained glass window, and I said a quick thank you to the ghosts of anglers past for granting me the luck to be there.
On walking back to my car at lunch, my early morning session over, I was fulfilled, I had caught a couple of double figure carp, some nice perch, what at first I thought was a 2lb roach, but on closer inspection found its parentage was at least a quarter bream, and a solitary tench. On the drive home I decided that I would fish the water for one year only, dreams and visits to magic places should be short-lived, so they don't go stale.
I have just discovered another small estate lake, just over an acre, this one has not been fished for over 15 years! Discussions are ongoing with the owner and I'm losing sleep and drifting into strange trances again……..
Graham Whatmore
