Sunday evening 17th September to Tuesday morning 19th September.
By the time I reached home Sunday morning after completing my last night shift, it was gone 11a.m and I was well and truly cream crackered.The prospect of boiling up a sh!tload of Hemp was unconsciously making me feel worse, but I knew it had to be done. My gear needed sorting too, but that would have to wait until after I’d eaten that afternoon. So after a quick shufty round to twodogs gaff on the ponce for a stove (Feckin Coleman packed up again) I brought two large pans of the black stuff to the boil, piled the whole lot into a large bucket, secured the lid, and fcuked off to bed. It was now 12:30.
I woke at 4p.m to the aroma of roast chicken and duck fat spuds with renewed enthusiasm; dressed, and then went about sorting my gear for the session. My bastardised hemp looked good, and was duly added to some red band and mixed in another large bucket. All that remained now was to scoff down my dinner!
Dinner well and truly consumed, I loaded my car for the long, arduous journey to the lake and arrived 2 minutes later to discover only one other angler on (Mick the float) who was talking to twodogs brother Jamie. I sat with them both for a while before realising it was getting late. “Where you going to fish” J enquired. “Haven’t decided yet” says I “Anywhere on the wind I suppose”. He then pointed out that a particular swim had been consistently producing fish over the past few weeks, and seeing as the wind was pushing straight into that particular bank I could see no reason to ignore his advice.
I quickly organised myself as quietly as possible, and began to bait 2 marginal spots on either side of the swim about 3 feet from the bank just off the rushes with my home made bait dropper that consisted of a small plastic tub with a handle, duct taped onto a long telescopic landing net pole. The water level was down considerably since the last time I had fished the place, which was some time ago, and fortunately I was able to stand on the now dry lake bed for accurate placement. By now, it was almost dark; I carefully placed both rigs in situ on slack lines, and then sat back on my bed chair contemplating my sleeping arrangements. Could I really be arsed to erect my oval knowing it was to be a pleasant enough night?
The lake was flat calm, and I was the only angler on the place. I lay back and watched the night sky for a while before drifting off, listening to a hushed voice on the radio and the sounds of various creatures merrily going about there business. It wasn’t long before I was awake again however; the resident fox had decided to investigate as to what was on offer in the carryall under my bed chair. I still don’t know who had the biggest fright that night! Cheeky beggar. Strange though, how vulnerable one feels without the added protection of a shelter, and it occurred to me later that I was fishing in the swim next to 'Dead mans'. Anyway, the rest of the night passed by with no action, although my confidence hadn’t waned at all, dawn broke and the ducks suddenly jerked into life again, time for a coffee I thought. After a quick rummage I realised I’d forgotten to bring a mug, so instead I rolled a smoke and had a swig of water. About 07:30 my mate Neil rang to find out how I was doing, “Nothing yet mate” was the reply “Where are you bruv"? Turns out he was in his lock-up just across the way; he appeared minutes later with a mug and stayed for a while.
It was now around 08:30, so I stoked up the single gas cooker in readiness for a brew hoping that fate would indeed prevail. And I was not to be disappointed; for no sooner had I stirred my coffee and picked up the mug, so my left hand rod sounded off with such ferocity it was positively unnerving! Coffee mug and contents hit the deck in an instant
I descended the bank somewhat clumsily, and just at the point of lifting the rod to set the hook, the reel stopped moving! Too late, I was now past the point of no return expecting the worst so I hit it. Fish on, and it’s on the surface some 30 yards or so from the bank, but I’m dubious, it feels wrong somehow. At 20 or so yards I was none the wiser; the fish was doing nothing, I was winning the battle and quite easily I might add. Suddenly, I see the dorsal fin break the surface and now I’m guessing at a lake record Bream. Doh
At 10 yards I’m sh!ttin bricks, I’ve seen it for the first time in it’s entirety, and realise I’ve hooked one of the lakes 2 resident Grassies, and I’m convinced it’s the bigger of the two although I have never personally witnessed either on the bank, only cruising the surface in the warm sun.
With my clutch set, I had no option but to let the fish dictate the game plan under the tip, it was doing it’s own thing, and I wasn’t about to upset it, I knew how fast it could travel by the initial run, and I had also witnessed a short burst shortly after our eyes met for the first time
Fifteen minutes had passed and still no joy, I did attempt to net it at this point
and decided it was a futile exercise after it decided to make for the middle in record time. It was bang on the hour when I finally managed to slip the net cunningly beneath it. Arms disabled (Mine, and the nets) I gathered the mesh, lifted the fish to the mat whilst simultaneously grabbing my phone from the bivvy table, knowing that Neil was working locally I called him, “Neil, I’ve got the big Grass on my mat, where are you?” to which he replied “Fcuk off” and promptly cut me off! W*****r, does he not believe me ffs
Providentially, he had returned to the lock up and by the time I was dealing with the fish, he appeared on the scene to lend a helping hand as self photography would have been virtually impossible.
The fish itself weighed in at 32.08lb
A new personal best for me.
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Strange, but I fancy a large Tench on float gear. 
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