I returned to the pike lake with my petrol-splitter for amoral support (he uses live baits, given half a chance), with more suitable clothes, a big, loosely-packed seat-box with cushions, and a trolley. AND a bait-table!
What a difference! Everything came out of the box easily, could be arranged on the table and trolley so I could find it, and went back in in record time when it was time to go. I felt like Eeyore with his jar and burst balloon. I even got a modicum of exercise with all the standing up to cast - deadbaiting with a centre-pin is like hiding the TV remote, only more so, on a windy day like yesterday.
The pickerels were distinctly unimpressed, though. The water had coloured up since Friday, and nothing touched or even, so far as I could tell, followed any of my lures - bright, dull, soft, jangly, fast, slow - the same response - nuffink.
The deadbaits were better received, but only just. Over in the shallow, right-hand side, something small nailed a smelt just as I began to retrieve it, and snaffled it without touching the hook. That was about fifteen minutes in; try as I might, I didn't get another sniff till gone noon, by which time the spinning trace was off and both rods were float-fishing deads, one in the deeper water in front, one in the shallows to the right.
Eventually, the right hand float not having moved for a while, and knowing the bait would be mullered by crayfish if left grounded, I began to bring it in, and again, it was pounced on. This time, all the cunning plans worked, and a four-pound jack was netted, neatly unhooking itself in the net.
As I faffed around, getting reorganised, Petrol Splitter had a run. Six pounds and a bit. He always does that!
A bit later, there was a proper bite on the deep set, but it was another jacklet avoiding the metalware, and that was our action for the day.
The bird-life was something else, though; lots of kingfisher action, a young great crested grebe, long-tailed tits, and as we packed up, "Jack! Jack!" announced the arrival of the biggest mob of jackdaws I've ever seen, they must be gathering tips from the starlings, mustabin two hundred of them!
TheArtist, thanks, I'll find myself a rubble sack, then even a wet unhooking mat can be made to serve as a roving seat. The ones I have at the moment are a lurid blue, I'll try and get one in a more muted tone.