Cliff Hatton
Well-known member
With the traditional pike season waiting in the wings I think it appropriate to bring Mr Lucius into the conversation; a short piece on some of the shocks and surprises this species has subjected me to over the years. This is hardly a novel idea but the pike is an entertainer with no equal in fresh water, it’s the species which just keeps giving and, without the pike, our way of life would be very much poorer. That said, pike seem to be keeping their heads down nowadays. Are there fewer? Or are they wiser? When did you last see a shower of rudd or roach erupt from the spumy crash of a marauding pike? And for those who use a keep-net, when was the last time you found one tugging the mesh from side to side and frantically snapping at its occupants? Without a doubt, such sights are rare now. There used to be mornings – occasionally whole days – when the lake would rock to the sound and disruption caused by frenzied pike – but not anymore. Not only are pike absent but so are those on which they would normally feed, hiding and, no doubt, traumatized by the prospect of Death by Cormorant or, more likely, simply gone: gobbled-up by the Black Death.
That one short, opening paragraph opened-up a number of questions I hadn’t prepared myself for. I now find myself pondering the absence of ‘silver’ fish from our waters rather than rejoicing in the pike’s remarkable behaviour. This is actually quite worrying, isn’t it? An angler with over 50 fishing seasons under his belt and an everlasting pen is pulled-up short by the simple but stark fact of fishlessness. Time was, a slice of bread cast upon any pond or lake would be immediately set-upon by hoardes of small and not-so-small fish; often they’d scatter as a big carp or a pike moved in – but no more. On most evenings – summer or winter – every body of unpolluted water would come alive with rings and dimples, swirls and splashes and the sounds of things flipping around. No longer. Just last weekend I spent an afternoon on one of the country’s most beautiful lakes and saw nothing rise other than one whopping-great carp and a bunch of mini-tiddlers: where were those medium-sized specimens put on this Earth to stir the blood of anglers? Where were the tantalizing dorsals and the glistening backs…the viscous, oily folds from rolling tench? I absolutely know that a slice of bread or a handful of mixers cast this coming evening upon the Bedfordshire Ouse, the Suffolk Stour, the Wye, the Chelmer, the Kentish Stour, the Frome or the Lugg will elicit no response, whereas at one time you could guarantee the appearance of fish of numerous species.
I wish I hadn’t started this now. It seems rather shallow to describe the spectacular antics of our major predator against a backdrop of dwindling food-fish; it’s as though my intended article would be better-placed under ‘history’.
I understand completely those anglers who are currently doing well with carp, big chub, big barbel, catfish, big perch and other species – life is probably looking good for them, but there’s no denying the absence of any foundation to what we’re currently catching. As a kid and younger man, to stand on a bridge over a river was to look at the fish. They were always there, like an annotated Crabtree diagram: ‘dace here, chub here, pike here’ etc. After a short while you grew tired of watching swarms of bleak or dace and of studying the chub, the roach and that pike in the margin, but now?
Someone tell me I’ve got it all wrong and that such sights are commonplace in their neck of the woods. Someone tell me that this winter will see pike launch themselves through the ice of their favourite pit in pursuit of dinner – like they used to in the Lea Valley, Abberton Reservoir, Ardleigh and so many other waters. What, exactly, has gone so wrong? Do readers pin the blame on predation, water quality, angling pressure, fewer waters or what?
That one short, opening paragraph opened-up a number of questions I hadn’t prepared myself for. I now find myself pondering the absence of ‘silver’ fish from our waters rather than rejoicing in the pike’s remarkable behaviour. This is actually quite worrying, isn’t it? An angler with over 50 fishing seasons under his belt and an everlasting pen is pulled-up short by the simple but stark fact of fishlessness. Time was, a slice of bread cast upon any pond or lake would be immediately set-upon by hoardes of small and not-so-small fish; often they’d scatter as a big carp or a pike moved in – but no more. On most evenings – summer or winter – every body of unpolluted water would come alive with rings and dimples, swirls and splashes and the sounds of things flipping around. No longer. Just last weekend I spent an afternoon on one of the country’s most beautiful lakes and saw nothing rise other than one whopping-great carp and a bunch of mini-tiddlers: where were those medium-sized specimens put on this Earth to stir the blood of anglers? Where were the tantalizing dorsals and the glistening backs…the viscous, oily folds from rolling tench? I absolutely know that a slice of bread or a handful of mixers cast this coming evening upon the Bedfordshire Ouse, the Suffolk Stour, the Wye, the Chelmer, the Kentish Stour, the Frome or the Lugg will elicit no response, whereas at one time you could guarantee the appearance of fish of numerous species.
I wish I hadn’t started this now. It seems rather shallow to describe the spectacular antics of our major predator against a backdrop of dwindling food-fish; it’s as though my intended article would be better-placed under ‘history’.
I understand completely those anglers who are currently doing well with carp, big chub, big barbel, catfish, big perch and other species – life is probably looking good for them, but there’s no denying the absence of any foundation to what we’re currently catching. As a kid and younger man, to stand on a bridge over a river was to look at the fish. They were always there, like an annotated Crabtree diagram: ‘dace here, chub here, pike here’ etc. After a short while you grew tired of watching swarms of bleak or dace and of studying the chub, the roach and that pike in the margin, but now?
Someone tell me I’ve got it all wrong and that such sights are commonplace in their neck of the woods. Someone tell me that this winter will see pike launch themselves through the ice of their favourite pit in pursuit of dinner – like they used to in the Lea Valley, Abberton Reservoir, Ardleigh and so many other waters. What, exactly, has gone so wrong? Do readers pin the blame on predation, water quality, angling pressure, fewer waters or what?