Poaching

This article <a href=http://www.fishingmagic.com/news/article.asp?SP=&v=1&UAN=1996>'Poaching'</A> has scored a lot of hits according to our statistics so I'm surprised nobody has followed it up with a forum posting. Or is everybody too scared to admit they've done a little at some time or other?

Don't let the 'Forum Police' stop us having a little fun, let's hear your stories about guesting! Obviously, I don't mean the serious stuff that involves the law.

Here's mine:

When I first started fishing the Middle Severn for barbel our club water adjoined a church graveyard where nobody was allowed to fish. As you would expect the best 'run' along the whole length was the 30yds at the bottom of the graveyard. You could leger it okay but it was a copybook trotting peg.

The vicar was a right grumpy old so and so and went mad if he caught anyone fishing from the graveyard, threatening you with the police and all sorts. But by God (excuse the pun) the fishing was incredibly good down that lovely smooth glide. It was full of barbel and chub and just irresistible.

The trouble was that the graveyard run (as we called it) was upstream, so we couldn't trot a bait down to it. We got round it to some extent by one of us jumping over the fence to feed the head of the run and then running back before the vicar spotted him. The one on the rod would then cast as far as he could upstream towards the head of the run and reel in to keep pace with the float as it came towards him. We caught loads of fish. But we would have caught more if the one who fed the swim could have stayed longer and trickled the loose feed in, instead of dumping a load in in one go.

We cracked it for a while by getting better at dodging the 'mad vicar'. We started taking a bunch of flowers, and the one who jumped into the graveyard would carry the flowers sticking out of a carrier bag. At the bottom of the carrier bag was a pint or so of maggots. So you had to kneel by the grave that was closest to the river, with the flowers in one hand, looking at the grave, while you craftily threw maggots in with the other.

We got away with it for ages before he caught on.

Many years ago I was given permission to fish a short stretch of the River Wylye in Wiltshire on the condition that all coarse fish were to be killed.

This stretch was downstream of a beautiful weir and hatch pool which was always stuffed with trout, grayling and big roach; but the hatch pool remained out of bounds.

Early one morning at daybreak I decided to fish the hatchpool. Armed with a pocket full of worms and some bread, I crawled past the barbed wire fence and hid behind the trees out of view of the estate manager's house. I cast my simple leger tackle into the pool and proceeded to pull out grayling, roach and trout with alacrity. The roach and trout went back, the grayling were knocked on the head and stuffed into a carrier bag. I lost all sense of time - as you do.

Suddenly a authorititive voice bellowed from behind a bush. It was the major. "I say, what do you think you are you doing boy?"

"Fishing sir", I answered.

"I'll have the bladdy law on you boy, can I see the contents of your bag?"

Terrified I emptied about 8 grayling out on the grass.

"Ho - I say how frightfully well done old chap, bloody marvellous - carry on old bean".

I fished that pool as often as I wanted after that...)

when we were kids , we used to fish a small gravel pit owned by a local club but which was largely ignored by the members. what made it interesting was the way we reached the pit. you would regularly find 8 or 9 of us sprinting across the fast lane of the M25 motorway which had only recently opened. it was like a human game of "frogger" . wouldn't try this now though !!!! Paul

n.b kids , running across busy motorways is neither clever or funny !!!

My experience was a pond in the middle of a wood,which was in turn in the middle of agricultural land,probably wheat from memory.
We,being probably a gang of sixteen of us from the Harold Hill LCC(now GLC)council housing estate,aged between probably eight and sixteen,used to scrump in an orchard,on the estate land.
Anyway on this one day in particular, we were all in the trees,filling our jumpers with the usual pears ,plums and apples, as you do, suddenly there was an almighty shout of 'there's one of the buggers,f****** hell there's thousands of them.It was a regular haunt of ours,so we'd been noticed before.
So with a great deal of noise and confusion, we all evacuated the trees and ran off in many different directions,none of us were caught this time,but thats another story.
Anyway,getting back to poaching,my best mate and I shot straight across this wheat field into the wood and found, for the first time this beautiful little pond with fish topping.
On many occasions we revisited this pond, each time finding a different route,so the farmer did'nt see our footpath through his wheatfield.
I have to say too this day ,armed with just a short fibre glass rod and my Intrepid Monarch and lobworms,that they were probably the best fishing outings,I ever had in my youth.We caught rudd up around the pound mark all day long and gudgeon,with the benefit of age and some experience,must of been close to the record weight.
That pond by the way is gone, as is the estate,it's now housing....

My memory of poaching is an "accidental" one. We were fishing a stretch of the Welsh Dee near Llangollen, which was on our Liverpool and District A.A.Books, without much success. I moved up stream looking for likely swims and came up to a confluence where another river emptied into the Dee via a weir. Above the weir was a glide that screamed fish and I cast out a free-lined worm which was immediately grabbed by a nice Rainbow Trout. A second cast brought another, then a third. I was in heaven! I looked up to to skies in thanks and spotted a sign about 20ft up a tree "Llangollen Fly-fishers - Private Fishing". I decided to call it a day.

"n.b kids , running across busy motorways is neither clever or funny !!!"

No, but it's damn fine sport when the fish aren't biting!

Christmas day morning, nowhere to be until dinner time so off to the river to catch a christmas pike. I chose my local stretch which usually guaranteed a pike of some size, but on arrival the river is low and clear and not looking very inspiring, but armed with a few lures I start thrashing the water. After two hours Ive covered 1 1/2 miles and not a sign of a fish. Ive reached the top of clubs limit and Im pretty peeeed off when I have a bright idea "go and fish the lovely deep pool 300 yards upstream even though youve been caught twice by the same bailiff this year and got off with warnings after lots of grovelling, and even though hes a copper, and that they`ve been confiscating tackle, cos its xmas day he wont be there, there`ll be no-one around, go on." So I did, and I swear to you that I hadnt gone 30 yards over the fence when out of the bushes jumped this short tubby guy with a knitted bobblehat, and I just thought i dont believe it, turned and legged it back to my side of the fence and stupidly started fishing. Well up he comes and I try to say that I was just out for a stroll but he doesnt believe me, and just as before he showed me his warrant card and EA licence and asked to see mine. Well its xmas day and all Ive got is a rod, reel, net and 3 lures so I try to explain but he has none of it and proceeds to pull a camera and tape recorder out of his pocket. Oh Dear I thinks and with the infamous " no comment" I retreat, and wander off downstream, carefully pulling my bobblehat further down. Now not thinking too straight, I didnt go straight home I thought Id have a last few casts right below where Id parked my car. Second cast and bang Ive only gone and got one, and in it comes all 2lb of pike when a big pike follows it in and turned away at the last moment. Quickly unhooking the jack I cast back out and 3 or 4 casts later Ive hooked the big thing. The fight was unspectacular until I got it on the bank, and with limited space I had to go to the top of the bank to unhook her when to my surprise there were 2 police cars in the car park and talking to them was the bobblehatted bailiff. Hell, Ive got me best rod and reel and Ive left me EA licence at home theyre gonna confiscate my gear aaarrgghh. Anyway I unhook the pike while glancing at them ,slip her back into the net and take her back down and let her go. Lighting a fag I creep back up to see where they are and you wont believe this, they only havent seen me 40 yards away and theyre making theyre way upstream to where I was fishing earlier. Waiting til the coast was clear I sneaked up to my car and they`d almost blocked me in, but by going through a little bit of hedge I was off, looking in my rear view mirror all the way home. When I got home I expected them to be sitting outside my house but I never heard another thing although I dare say they know who I am from my car registration. i must say that I did have a valid EA licence, Ijust didnt have it with me, and technically I didnt do anything wrong, but even though that stretch has the best barbel gully I know, I for one will never fish there again. And to make matters worse my mate has managed to get in there and can now take guests but wont take me in case Im banned. I have another story that I will post later too

many moons ago my mad fishing mate Scoot phoned me up to see if I fancied a mornings fishing on a carp "puddle" for a laugh. No says I, I havent renewed my EA (or NRA as they then were) licence yet it being the 2nd of April and the close season was still widely enforced in my area. Anyway 30 minutes later hes standing at my door grinning saying to hurry up hes got the maggots. I remind him we both havent got NRA licences , and the fact that I was a club Bailiff to boot. Dont worry he says, I saw them yesterday, you never see them twice in a year never mind twice in a day. Even my missus is giving me stick, saying just go, so well what the hell, grabs my best float rod and old 410 and off we go. Lovely little lake it was, we were the first there then 4 other people turned up to fish. I was doing the best on the lake, landing 4 carp to 3lb in the first hour when something caught the corner of my eye. I looked up to see 3 burly men dressed in robin hood green walking purposely down the track. Unbelievably I recognised one of them as I had had a few words with him on the last day of the season on one of my lakes when he was being a bit heavy with 2 young kids I knew who had forgotten their licences, and then after sorting that out he came to where I was fishing and yes Id left mine at home too. He thought I was daft I think as I trotted off home to get my Licence before he confiscated my tackle.Anyway Me and my daft mate just looked at each other and tried not too laugh (what else could we do?). Anyway they came onto the lake and I try not to take any notice and continue to feed and cast, feed and cast when I noticed that my friendly NRA biliff had walked past the other 4 and came straight up to me and said " good morning Mr Flook, can I check your licence please" and thrust his ID under my nose. I fumbled around in my tackle box, stalling for time but eventually had to pull out my old expired licence and then try to blag them that I thought it went one year from time of purchase etc. Anyway, needless to say he confiscated my tackle (with a smile if you ask me) and it took me 9 months to get it back, plus a ?90 quid fine, and then the club said I was not fit to be a bailiff anymore and booted me out. That was my first and only time Ill fish without an EA licence. ps I was checked about 8 times lasy year, every time on a river, and out of the 6 anglers on that lake that day only one had a licence

Drain I used to fish had a really top bit (don't they always...) by someone's house where another drain came in. Needless to say you weren't meant to fish this bit and it was crammed with pike some winters.

You could get around this by setting up 50yds down the bank, walking the rods up the road, casting into forbidden territory, then walking back to your gear paying out line behind you.

Cracked it - or so I thought. Several other people soon cottoned on to this, as did the owner.

Next thing you know, they got a large flock of extremely aggressive geese, which now go for you as soon as you step past the first No Fishing sign.

My mate had a holiday home in Ballycastle, N.I which just happened to be a mile away from a couple of isolated loughs which were fly only rainbow trout fisheries. As my fly fishing skills are limited to say the least we decided to fish the worm at 5.00 am one beautiful summers morning. First cast 4 lb rainbow after a couple of hours we had four lovely fish not one of them under 3 lbs. Suddenly a bloke appeared over the far hill waving well we took off accross the fields loaded with our spoils only to find out that the bloke waving was in fact a local neighbour who wanted to know if we caught any and if so could he have one as he was partial to the odd trout!

Many years ago when I was just about a teenager my local youth club entered an annual fishing competition for junior clubs to be held at Thornton Manor, the home of Lord Leverhulme who sadly died last year.
The venue was a lake of about 4 acres with dead end canal section.
We were excited as hell because it was the only time we ever got to fish there.
Anyway the day was a bit of a disaster as the venue was extremely peggy and we caught very little.
It was on the way home that some bright spark had the idea of poaching the place.
After some discussion we decided to night fish from the island which was never used as there was no access.A 13 year olds logic said that the fish would all be next to the island and jumping into the nets!
So, after a four mile bike ride and a totally unneccessary covert aproach to the fence via a field full of Jersey cows who were very interested in our tackle, a stagger through a nettle filled ditch,we got to the fence. It was 8 feet high and topped with barbed wire. Getting over it was a story in itself. Needless to say, two out of the four of us left a fair proportion of our jeans on the fence!
When we got in there, the aproach to the island was via a silted up section of the lake where no-one ever went. The water was only about a foot deep so we decided it was ok to wade it.
We forgot about the silt! Before we knew it we were up to our thighs in silt and water!
Our wellies were full of it and as we always took every bit of tackle we owned with us,plus flasks and provisions for the night we were soon struggling to avoid sinking altogether!
By the time we eventually reached the island we were absolutely covered with stinking black silt, rotting vegetation and various types of insect life.
The next challnge was to fight our way through thistles, nettles and Rose bay willow herb to actually find somewhere to fish from.
By now we were all suffering from a fatalistic determination that we would catch fish here or die trying! The silt nearly did for us anyway!
It was just dark and we're all struggling to tackle up in the dark; cold, wet, stinking, stung by nettles and eaten alive by mozzies!!
Inevitably at that age the noise level was increasing dramatically. Suddenly there was a huge baying as the hound from hell appeared on the far bank, jaws drooling and showing huge white teeth that we could see in the dark about 100 yards away. That was it, we were off!! I doubt that a cavalry charge made less noise than we did, crashing through the undergrowth, tripping up and falling flat on our faces with our tackle slamming on top of us!!
The crossing of the lake was hilarious in hind sight with nobody taking their time.
One of the lads just jumped, forgetting about the silt, went up to his waist and had to be dragged out by his now frantic mates! Bloody lucky we didnt leave him behind as the whole escapade was his idea in the first place!
Anyway we charged through that lake and then the shrubbery, hit the fence at full pelt and by this time I think mass (well the 4 of us anyway!!) hysteria was setting in. We had an 8 foot fence in front of us and the Hound of the Baskervilles in hot pursuit. The SAS would have been proud of scaling that fence as fast as we did! I still have a large scar on my thigh where part of me didnt make it.
A few years later I became friendly with one of the gardeners at the Manor and was telling him about our adventure. He said,
" I've been working there for 17 years and the only dogs that I have ever known to be there were Spaniels and Labradors!"
He looked into it by asking around in work and found out that in the early 1920's there was a huge Bull Mastiff which lived at the Manor, but at the time we poached, it had been dead for over 50 years!! Creepy or what?

I`ll tell you a story about 2 friends of mine who caught some really massive eels after one of them starting dating the wardens (not very good looking)daughter just for the info that on one particular night every week he went out to the pub, had a few beers , and that was the only night he didnt walk his 2 german sheperds around the lakes late at night. Like I say they caught some really really massive eels and then sent me on a wild goose chase for at least 15 years as I searched for the elusive "*%$^"?** lake"

and like Tony above we also had aprivate estate lake that at the time was at the end of a beaten old track and inhabited by a load of nuns. Now this lake was well known on the local fishing mafia as being the best Tench fishing in the world ( apart from poaching the other best Tench water in the world in the close season where the fish were obviously far bigger than in June, but as kids we didnt realise that )but anyway I ramble, this lake was only approachable before first light and with the aid of a bent taxi driver who dropped us off but was sworn to secrecy, and then a hike through a forest the SAS would have been proud of (oh the fitness of my youth). Many a time we were there at the crack of dawn, rods bent into 4 & 5lb tench on floatfished breadflake when the mother superior and all her hens would come down to the lake for a morning walk leaving us all hiding in the bushes, us doing the praying, hoping they wouldnt see us and call the cops which always meant a bit of cross country run, rods dragging in the trees behind you. Damn fine water though. Saw my first 20lb carp there to Mad Malc, all techno he was, 3 rods and special baits, we thought he was off his head, bit before his time he was, gave it all up now, shame innit

My old mate Dave Phillips told me he was once encouraged to fish a lake in Ireland on the assurance that it had never seen a line. So he sat there half the day without a bite, wondering why, until an old farmer walked up and asked what he was doing there? Dave got twitchy, thinking he was on private land or something, and began apologising. "No. Don't apologise," the old farmer said. "The only reason I ask is because this lake wasn't here last week - it's just a bit of flood water. Paul Harris of the Irish Tourist Board got some flack later on...

Anyone want trout for tea??