Must be mad!

I know it's a bit of a worn out old cliche, but how many times do those words, imagined or spoken, punctuate the life of an Angler? You must be mad, they must be mad, I must be mad. The permutations are many, and frequently applied, especially in the life of a Carp Angler.

Do you fancy day out? Was the general theme of the text message. Why not! It's been far too long, and given the very mild spring like weather we have been experiencing lately, it should me most pleasant. A reply to the affirmative and several text messages later plans were made and the date was set.

What a difference a few days make, it is now freezing cold! My tackle including winter clobber is cluttering up the kitchen, the car has a fresh white toupee from the flurries of snow and hail that have punctuated the night and its two forty five am and I can not sleep.

So considering the above, I am still awake and my alarm will sound in little over three hours I find myself experiencing a "we must be mad" moment.

The question is, are we?

It is tempting to write that I will let you know the answer in a little over fifteen hours time.

But that would not be the real answer, would it?

We are, totally barking mate!

Now that's more like it!

I did manage to eventually fall asleep only to be rudely awakened, five minutes later. Or at least that's what it felt like. Perhaps it was my sleep depraved, groggy state of mind, or the fact that it had been so long and I was out of practice, but it took me ages to get everything together and packed into the car. There was no way I was going to get to the lake for the arranged meeting at seven thirty. In fact the way things were going I doubted that I would get to the lake before they opened at eight.
As it turned out I need not have worried about either. A pile up on the M62 ensured that my mate was equally late. In fact by pure chance my mate turned out of a side road onto what is a fairly busy road, and ended up right behind me for the last 4 miles of the journey. Upon arriving at the lake, it turned out that we were the only anglers waiting and the owner had opted for a little lie-in, making our late arrival fairly inconsequential.

Tickets purchased and tackle barrowed to the swims we set about getting down to business. This did not take long as we were both convinced that we were still in winter fishing conditions. Ivan opted for single baits cast to likely looking spots while I went with a small bag of pellets on one rod, and a small 5 bait stringer saw itself flung to a nice snagy spot on the other. Like our baiting strategies swim choice was made on the assumption that the fish were still in winter mode.

We spent most of the day tucked behind a brolly sheltering from the snow and hail showers. Even during the dry spells the wind was so biting and the shelter so inviting, what with its banter and endless brews, that little time was spent exposed.

The short day flew by, but even with little time spent watching the water a couple of interesting observations were made. Fish showed late on in the day well out into open water. Clearly our assumption that the fish were still holed up in the winter areas was wrong. We should have really sussed this out earlier in the day, because we had made the mad observation that it was snowing, yet the margin was littered with debris from the bottom coming up. Clearly if the bottom had come up a day or so before, the water temp was, or at least had been, well above that needed to get the fish moving. Had we blown it? Hard to say really because the area we were fishing can and will produce all year round.

It was virtually dark and our departure from the swims was almost imminent with just the rods left to pack away, when my right hand rod signalled a pick up. It was a steady tightening rather than a run, it may have developed into a run, but I was far too quick for anything to develop. With the light almost gone, and three nasty snags in close proximity, it was all a bit scary getting the fish by feel alone out into open water, but out it came. Once I was happy that there were several yards between fish and snags I let out a relieved Yeeeeeeeeeeeees you beauty!

As punishment for my premature celebration, a second or two later all went solid, and in the bat of an eyelid the fish was gone. Upon retrieving my rig it was festooned in lost line, with a particularly nice clump around the hook. Post mortem results concluded that the line must have been attached to the snag and levered my barbless hook hold upon tightening.

Totally gutted with no time left to resurrect the situation I had fluffed our only chance of the day.

Or at least that's what we thought. A few minutes later, when the Baitrunner on Ivan's now alarm-less rod started to give of line, with that unmistakable zipping noise we had a re-think.

Bloody hell, the last minute kid strikes again!

After a short but spirited fight Ivan was smiling down at a pretty little near Leather of 14lb 6oz. Not a big fish, but a blank saver, and on a day when conditions were far from ideal.

Ivan's capture lessoned the gloom of my loss, and we went away convinced that we were in a much stronger position thanks to our observations.

Next trip would be a different story.

MAD?

No way. Fish don't get caught from in front of the tv. You either go out battling the weather, or you don't.
Nice to hear that you both enjoyed yourselves in the conditions.
Better luck and more of it next time.



Now, if you'd have gone out for a quick 3 or 4 hour session, like I often do, then that would have been mad.

great read,about time too,somebody else has mad as me,i call it character building really,then i normally see somebody in a suit,in a traffic jam for 2 hours going to work,then the same home.NOW!!! they are fecking mad .!!!

Nice one Andy .. looking forward to the next one.
Must get round to writing some scribble myself

A week on, and the mad rollercoaster that is British weather, means forecasts suggests a suntan is more likely than frost bite. With this in mind, and considering the observations of last week, my plan of attack was slightly different. I was also planning on using the dastardly trick of using the clocks going forward to my advantage. This is a "seen it all before, got the T shirt" day ticket water with fairly ridged opening hours. Not surprisingly the fish tend to feed like mad between the hours of dusk and 8am when they instinctively know it is safe to do so. Unless they have now honed their skills to such an extent they know all about BST, my baits would encroach upon that safe time to the tune of an hour.

Knocking off a little time by being more organised, and in practice, I arrived at the lake with 20 minutes to spare. Its amazing what a few miles difference makes. Back home it was a clear fresh morning, however, frost never entered into the equation. Upon descending into the valley I was more than a little surprised to see the frost covered fields glistening in the morning sunlight. My heart sank a little. As beautiful a spectacle it was, a fairly heavy frost can only be bad news for such a shallow lake. Never mind, I was once again the only angler present, so with choice of pegs at my disposal, frost or no frost, I should be able to make it happen. Taking advantage of being a little early I spent the time observing the water. Signs, or rather lack of them, didn’t look encouraging. Indeed on that frosty morning it looked every bit like a water slowly awakening from a long slumber. With a relatively warm day in prospect, I consoled myself with the fact that shallow water also warms fairly quickly.

Upon opening I shot round to my chosen peg like a rat up a drain pipe. Ok slight exaggeration I hauled my fat carcass round the lake as fast as my heavy legs would oblige. Plan A was quickly put into action. With rods already set up, a single had been lobbed about 90 yards and a tiny bag plopped next to a fallen tree within minutes of arriving. With that done, I set the alarm on my phone for 10 am (plan B) and set up the rest of my kit. Within no time at all, I was sat back, rods out, and enjoying the first brew of the morning. Talk about organised.

10 am came all too quickly with no fish falling to the extra hour trap. Bugger!

It was now time to introduce a little bait, with the hope of inducing a couple of fish into action. The fallen tree was given a little scatter of Mainline Fusion, a spot about 80 yards out into open water was baited with about a pound and a half of Active Eight and a couple of big spods of pellet for good measure. With the traps set, I sat back with yet another brew, enjoying the lovely morning sunshine.

About 11.45 a number of fish started to show slightly further out than my baited area. At the same time a fish cruised round the island passing the fallen tree by only a few feet. It was just like someone had thrown a switch. To say things were looking up was an understatement.

Ivan turned up about 12 pm and after telling him about the recent activity I confidently assured him that we were going to have em! As if to confirm this, a fish pushed itself clear of the water almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Unfortunately the fish were showing at range. I say unfortunate because neither Ivan nor myself are particularly experienced or very good at long range casting. My personal dilemma was, do I abandon my baited area and thrash out a single, or do I sit on the bait and hope that the fish drift over it? Ivan's dilemma was more about the limitations of his line rather than choices. Spooled up with serious jungle warfare, Lily busting line, his first few casts dropped short. As is the case sometimes, once he started to try and squeeze those extra few yards out of his casts, things started to go wrong. I won't embarrass Ivan or bore you with the details but he proceeded in having a proper mare.

A few rigs later, and after abandoning the long range options, Ivan was eventually fishing. Time for the kettle to earn its crust!

Another pleasant sociable day passed all too quickly. Unfortunately the day also proved uneventful. On reflection my swim choice seriously limited Ivan's chances and no doubt he blanked as a result. I had no such excuse, blanking from a favoured area that offered plenty of scope and access to showing fish.

Due to a reduction in competition because of the thinning of stocks by natural wastage, we knew that the water was a little more difficult than it had been previously. That said there was this nagging doubt that there was something not quite right. Relatively poor results in isolation mean nothing, but we instinctively knew that we were missing something vital.

By observation we had already pieced together many pieces of the puzzle. What we could not see at this point in time was how they slotted together and what sort of bigger picture they made. My mood as I pulled away from the car park was one of despondency. All the way home my mind raced with questions and ideas, were my rigs ok, had the bait been hammered, were the old productive spots now treated with caution, would something a little out of the ordinary bait wise fool them, how about trying the neglected water? Slowly it dawned on me, for the first time in a long time I was actually thinking! Without even realising it, the gauntlet had been thrown down and it had been accepted. By the time I got home blank or no blank, the smile was back on my face.

good read!

solution............zigs!

LOL these fish point and laugh at zigs from about 150 yards away.

They have seen it all before Mike. We may now call them zigs, but these fish learned the relevant lesson on anchored crusts.
Tried zigs/anchored baits previously and although they were not totally useless their life span was about two weeks. After that they remembered lessons learned, and started testing if they were tethered or not by blowing a vortex of water at the hookbait from about two foot away.

As you may have noticed my blog is not up to date, there is another trip to be written up yet. Things will make much more sense when I reveal what I have learned since.

lol nice one, look forward to reading it

Lovely

Knowing that something was not quite adding up, I decided that being cautious was probably the best approach. As such, the baiting strategy adopted for the last trip was abandoned, or at least put on ice for the time being. Singles and small PVA traps would be the order of the day, until I got my head round what was happening. Fish have been consistently showing in open water at range, so hopefully I would secure the peg that best offered access to that water.

Really getting into the swing of things now, I managed to shave another 10 minutes off the packing and travelling times, which saw me driving down the lane a good 30 minutes prior to opening. As with my previous trips there were no other cars present. Just as the smile was breaking out across my face, I spotted something out of place. (Ha ha, poet didn't know it ) A few more yards down the lane and it all became apparent. This week I was not the first in the queue, somebody on foot had beaten me to it. Turned out to be a young lad of about 14 years old, sporting gear of the transitional type. You know the sort, more specialised than general tackle, but not yet quite fully fledged Carp gear. Despite his tackle being totally inadequate for the peg, I knew exactly where he would be heading, but hopefully asked the question all the same. Slipped up there, totally forgot about the implications of the kids being off school.

First choice of peg already out of the running, I found myself with decisions to make even before the gates opened. Yes I know, in theory, that is bad angling, and I can hear you all tut tuting at your monitors as I type. Thing is, on this type of water if you spend an hour watching the water, weighing things up, all the best spots are already taken. In fact during the real busy times of the year opening time is almost farcical. Think of old black and white footage of a Le Mans start.

Because of the angle of the bank, one of my options was to set up in the next peg along, and cast to the exact spots I would have fishing in my first choice of peg. This was quite feasible as the extra yardage was not a real problem. There was however, something of a gambol associated with this. If it turned out that matey could cast more than 40-50 yards we would have a clash, and he would have right of way. My only other option was to go back into the peg I fished last week and go for the big chuck. Not really being set up for long range, I bottled it and went for the gambol. Before I had even got all my gear into the swim a new arrival jumped into last weeks peg. Oh dear, lets hope the kids rods are as inadequate as they look!

I had not even got my alarms in the dirt when the young lad was at my side "scuse me mate do you have one of those thingys for putting baits on hair rigs that I could borrow?" I informed him that the thingys were called baiting needles, and if he would be patient and give me 10 minutes, I was sure that I would be able to find a spare one that he could keep.

While I was sorting out my gear a mate of the lad turned up, obviously pre-arranged that they would be fishing the peg together. If it turns out that they can both cast, I would now be in serious trouble. Out comes a big bag, and they proceed in wrestling with what look like an oversized set of bagpipes, that turn out to be a bivvy. Or at least a shelter masquerading as a bivvy. Initially my reaction was scorn. This is after all a day ticket water, and the forecast was for the warmest day of the year so far. Recognising almost instantly what a grumpy old sod I was being, my attitude melted. To them this was not just another day out fishing. It's the school holidays, and they are probably best mates out on a marathon angling adventure. A wave of nostalgia swept over me, leaving me with an involuntary smile. Happy days! They probably have not the slightest concept of how lucky they are, or how precious their current experiences will become in retrospect. Carp fishing is great, make no mistake about it, but, you just can not beat the mystery, thrill and excitement that goes hand in glove with being a young novice. How sad that knowledge robs us of some of the excitement and mystery. The term, ignorance is bliss could have been coined for carp angling.

Deciding that I needed all the help I could get, I opted to fish three rods this trip. My first rod, baited with a 6 bait stringer was cast to a fairly reliable spot on the edge of an overhanging bush. Like the first rod, my second was also cast to a spot that I knew had produced a fish this year. This is a spot some twenty yards out into the lake from the overhanging bush. This again is a known producing spot, but it has a bit of a strange and interesting history. It used to be an area that had an obvious feature in the shape of a fairly large weed bed. In fact "the spot" was right on the edge of the weed. What is interesting, is that the weed bed is long gone, to the tune of many years, yet this now apparently featureless spot continues to produce. Needing to make a fairly long cast with my third rod it was baited a tiny hand rolled hook bait in conjunction with a little stick of crumb. This was lobbed about 80 yards to the area in open water where the fish have been showing.

Time to sit back in the morning sunshine, with a nice cup of tea and a roll up. No, not that kind of roll up, just Golden Virginia, no extras to spice it up. Sitting there all content soaking up the atmosphere, I happened to glance round at my young neighbours. Good grief, all that time, and neither of them had yet cast out a single rod. I wonder what is taking them so long? Ten minutes later, and they had still not cast in. What was even stranger was their inactivity. They were not busy, like anglers preparing to fish, they were sort of, just sat there. A few minutes later the penny dropped. Poor kids had been patiently waiting for the promised baiting needle.

Besides a couple of knocks on the rod cast to the overhanging bush the next hour passed without event. One of the kids came over and politely asked if I had a hair rig that he could use. He only had one pre tied rig per rod, and had managed to snap one of them. Out came the tackle box, and I quickly tied him up a new rig. Not wanting him to lose another rig, my rig, by it being secured by a couple of overhand knots I decided to walk over to his peg and tie it on myself. What a good job I did. If by some miracle they actually hooked a fish the rigs they were using were totally lethal. Their weights were threaded up the line and then tied in place some eight inches from the hook length swivel. Cue a sermon on death rigs, and why leads should be free to drop off in the event of a breakage. I also mentioned that they would be banned from this and many other waters if caught fishing in such a way. Out came the tackle box again, and after tying a few rigs, we were all fishing safely. Just out of interest using soft rods and casting out small PVA bags he had managed to snap two pre tied hook links commercially sold as carp rigs. Somebody out there should be bloody ashamed of themselves.

My good deed for the day done, I retired to my own swim and pumped up the Coleman for another cuppa. A little while later, the guy who had dropped into the peg I fished last week, walked round for a chat. During the conversation he admitted that he had only caught three fish since the start of 2006. I dismissed this as an irrelevance and took it more as a sign of his ability. There was however, a nagging doubt, and if I listened carefully, an alarm bell could be heard faintly ringing, in the far distance of my mind. After he departed I started to think a little more about the implications of what he had told me. True he did not look like a particularly experienced angler, but he certainly looked and sounded better than three fish a year. This is a water where in the past, a real noddy could have a red letter day, and fluke three fish in an afternoon.

Clearly things had changed. For a start you can not miss the massive and frequent fly hatches. Not such a big deal face value. Turn the clocks back a few years though, and this would have been unthinkable. Other than the massive head of fish it contained, this was virtually a barren water. Anything even resembling food would have been gobbled up within a split second. Throw a handful of maggots at the water, and it would prompt a response not out of place in a Piranha film. Seriously, that is not an exaggeration. The other strange thing is, even the Bream are conspicuous in their absence. Not that I am complaining, because they are a constant pain in the backside. Surely the balance could not have tilted so much, that even the Bream can now take or leave anglers bait? Yet this would appear to be the most obvious answer.

Facts were stacking up:
1, despite quite a bit of pressure, the first fish of the year did not come out until the second week of March.
2, Only an handful of fish have been out since.
3, Two of those fish were over 25lb the biggest going 29lb. Massive fish for the water!
4, To my knowledge not a single Bream has been caught
5, Knowing for a fact that I have been on fish, yet blanked.
6, Obvious and large amounts of natural food.
7, Reports of people struggling to an extent previously unheard of.

Yet it still does not quite add up, I can not accept that the balance has swung so dramatically in the space of a couple of years.

Back to the fishing, and the pattern of the fish showing for half an hour shortly before midday, was once again repeated. Again despite the activity this period proved to be bite less. I am seriously beginning to wonder, if the area that they are showing in, may not be a feeding area. Perhaps I would be better concentrating on likely looking areas close by, but not directly on the showing fish? With this in mind, I wound in my distance rod and belted out a single towards the far margin behind where the fish were showing.

A little while later another angler on his way round the lake stopped his barrow in my peg for a chat. Now this guy both looked and talked the part. Amazingly he also had a tale of woe to tell. Despite being the angler who had recently caught the 25lb'er he had fished hard last year, for a tally of six fish. This was starting to blow my mind. Relating my own sob story about lost fish and blanks, I happened to comment that I can't even catch one of the Bream. "You wont mate, they have all been taken out" came the innocent reply. BINGO! "And"......
What there's an and?

"Five of the old originals passed away over the last year" I instantly knew he was telling the truth, everything fitted like a glove. What a revelation, I am mighty pleased that he chose to stop and talk, not just hurry past to his choice of peg. True, I would have found out sooner or later, but at least I now know what I am up against.

The rest of the day passed by uneventful. Even seriously overstaying my welcome, virtually having to be thrown off, could not produce a last minute reprieve.

So that's the story so far, as I type my blog is now up to date. I will not be venturing out doing battle with the crowds Easter week, so my next trip will be after the kids go back to school.

I have now resigned myself to the fact that on this particular water, I have it all to learn again. Talk about goal posts being moved, they are positively out of site. While I find my feet, there will be a fair bit of blanking to be done, and I hope I will not bore you too much along the way. On the bright side the water is now a proper Carp water, with a realistic stock density, natural food as well as the Carp having decades of experience to fall back on. How much the Carp will grow, over the next few years is any ones guess. But one thing is for certain, they will grow, and I expect great things for the future of this water.

Lets hope I have great things to report next week.

Oh dear, this is getting a bit like watching paint dry. Just how much longer can I continue writing about blanking?

After the revelations of my last trip, I decided that trying something a little different may be the order of the day. For different read retro! After deciding that I looked silly in the flares, tank top, shirt with huge collars and platforms I went out and bought some Sweetcorn and a couple of tins of Bacongrill instead.
Yes I know not exactly innovative or ground breaking, but when your confidence is low, it is hardly a time for mad experiments. What I was looking for were known fish catchers that may not have been seen for some time. Sweetcorn was to be fished as it comes, but the Baconrill was to be doctored slightly. Frying Bacongrill in a hot chilli powder that contains mixed chillies, garlic, cumin and spices produced a delicious smelling not to mention tasting result. In fact it smelt and tasted so good, that my daughter kept pinching a cube or two every time that she went into the kitchen. Even I found it delicious, which is really saying something, because un-doctored I hate the stuff so much, that in the past it has literally made me physically sick.

My arrival was delayed a little by traffic, so it was only ten minutes till opening time when I turned onto the lane. The sight the greeted me, was both lovely and horrible at the same time. Lake looking awesome with its shroud of mist in the morning sunlight, and a Carp pushing itself clear of the glass like surface, completed the picture of the perfect Carpers dawn. Horrible was the queue of cars, and the other angler, who by his body language had quite obviously also witnessed the spectacle. Not only was I far from first in the queue, but one, if not all of those in front of me were aware of the location of the fish. "Confound it, what jolly rotten luck!" said I, or words to that effect.

Lucky for me, the guy in pole position must have seen the pained expression on my face and took pity on me. No, he was not mad enough to give up pole position, but without any prompting or cajoling from me, offered to give up some of his water, if I wanted to fish the adjacent peg. Adjacent peg being the same peg that I had fished last time out. What a nice bloke! Here was a total stranger, somebody who I had met only minutes before, offering to potentially reduce his own chances, so that a fellow angler could improve theirs. Feeling a little guilty about taking advantage of his kind nature, I was a little reluctant to take him up on his selfless offer. Two things changed my mind. First of all, he was quite insistent that it was no trouble at all, and besides he actually considered the water he was giving up as naturally belonging to the adjacent swim. For me, this was a strong argument, because despite the modern accepted boundaries, I fully agree with him. Secondly I thought back to the very same pegs a couple of weeks prior, and how I gave up my time, not to mention a fair amount of tackle helping others. What the hell, what goes around comes around! With my faith in human nature, and the cosmic balance, restored I graciously accepted. Still, what a bloody nice bloke! An oasis in the desert that is carp angling, a desert that is littered with inconsideration, rudeness, greed and cut throat competition!

Tickets purchased and gear barrowed to the swim I set about getting my rods out. I quite fancied fishing the Bacongrill to the overhanging bush. With a nice piece selected for hook bait and a stringer tied up I wound it up for the first cast. Dropped short! Upon winding in, there was an empty rig. Ok I did not expect to get the stringer back, but hook bait, yes. Oh dear, clearly the meat was a little soft. With my hair now sleeved with tubing I had another crack at it. Bloody hell a little too far left this time. Wound in, no bait! Ok time for a PVA bag. Out went a bag packed with tasty smelling meat. Ok feather it, bit more, one last little tweak, Arrrrrrrrrgh short again! Why did I feather it so much? This time I knew that the PVA bag had taken all shock of the cast, so I wound in really gingerly. No bait! Ok clearly the meat was far too soft. This was a problem because I had really wanted to fish an alternative to Boilies on two rods. A quick decision was called for. Fish Boilies to the overhanging bush, and fish the meat in the margins in the evening? Sounds like a plan to me, as the fish are known to sometimes feed in the margins of an evening. A butterfly Mainline fusion, with a six bait stringer was cast out towards the bush, and as sods law would dictate, it dropped inch perfect. Bloody typical!
My second rod was baited with a plastic and real corn combo and then cast into a gap between two islands. With my spod rod, I then accurately baited the area with a kilo of corn. My reason for using plastic corn was the fact that if need be, I wanted to leave that rod sitting on the bait all day. As such, the plastic was just an insurance against little fish leaving me fishing with a bare hook for half a day. My third rod was baited with Active 8 and a tiny stick of Boilie crumb. This was lobbed as far as I could, in the direction of the area where the fish had shown first thing. To be honest I did not fancy my chances because quite a stiff breeze had now blown up, and I was casting directly into it. It was a pleasant surprise when the cast travelled the required distance. True I could have just blasted out a single but I am always a little more confident if I can get out some free offering, even if that does turn out to be a tiny amount of crumb.

While all this was going on, there was an almost constant procession of anglers walking round the lake. By my reckoning virtually every productive spot should now be covered. This was confirmed a little later, when one of the regulars who had walked round before purchasing his ticket, decided not to bother.

With all the rods sorted and my tackle tidied it was time for a cuppa and a smoke. After about an hour, something shows over the baited area between the islands. Only trouble is, I was looking at open water over my left hand rod at the time, so I only saw the movement in my peripheral vision. Was that a Coot or a fish, was the first question? A minute later, and with no coot surfacing, the question was Bream or Carp? Time for another brew I think, just to steady the nerves. "Did you see that?" Shouted the angler in the next peg. "No what did I miss?" Turns out that the second I reached down to fill the kettle, a Carp popped it head out over the Corn. Typical the second I look away! I don't want to sound a smart arse, or a doubting Thomas, but I rarely trust stranger's interpretations of fish sightings. Its amazing how many times, apparently experienced anglers, identify Bream or Pike activity as Carp. Just as I was adding the finishing touches to my brew, my right hand rod drops back an inch or two, and then trundles off. With all eyes on me, I jump up, wind down, and ease the rod into a time perfected strike. Or at least it would have been, had there been something to offer any sort of resistance at the other end. Instead my rod just lazily sailed past the vertical. Instantly my heart dropped. I don’t know what is worse on the nervous system, losing a fish or missing a run. In retrospect losing a fish is obviously worse, because you know that you have fluffed a real chance. A missed run can be put down to all sorts of culprits, both scaled and feathered. That’s not what I am talking about though, I am talking about the effects at that very instant of realisation. I think missing a run can have the greater shock value, because it happens at a time of maximum adrenalin rush, going from maximum high to low, in a split second. True the effects are short lived, but they are none the less extreme.

My mate Phil paid me a visit for a chat and a brew late dinner time, and I cheekily greeted him by announcing that I could now catch one, given that my photographer had arrived. Half an hour later and it looks like my words could turn out to be prophetic when my left hand rod rattles off. Instantly kiting to my left, the fish has me on the back foot. If it gains too much line in that direction, there is a real chance it will end up in the bay which reaches to my left, ending up almost behind me. If this happens the fish will almost certainly be lost, because of the snaggy and abrasive nature of the bank that my line will inevitably end up running against. Thankfully by applying side strain and winding like mad, the fish thought better of that option, and headed back into open water. With the Carp out into open water and the threat now considerably reduced, I slackened off my clutch, determined not to lose the fish after doing all the hard work. Suddenly and much to my surprise the fish just gave up. In fact there was a split second when I thought it had come off, but no, it was still attached. My confused brain cleared. There was at least one Bream left in the water. True it was a bionic Bream, with the heart of a lion, but it was a slimy, snotty bait thief all the same, and I hated its every molecule for having the audacity to pretend to be a Carp. At least it amused the other anglers present, and even I saw the funny side, when my neighbour loudly assured me that I must be awesome to catch the only Bream left in the lake. "Not any more its not" came my defiant reply, as I marched of with Bream in net. With the Bream re-located and reunited with its shoal mates, in an adjacent water being developed for match fishing, I settled back down for a natter and a brew.

Phil left for home late afternoon, so as to avoid the rush hour. Almost as soon as his car was out of sight, my right hand rod fished over the corn was picked up. Isn’t it weird the things that can flash through your mind in that split second between alarm sounding and rod being struck? In this case it was, oh great perfect timing, you just had to wait until the only guy on the lake who I can knowingly trust with a camera, has pi**ed off home. As it happens I need not have worried, because I do not make an habit of photographing Tench. On reflection perhaps I should. It would certainly brighten up my tales of blanking if there was a photo or two, even if it is a Tench.

Once again, the rest of the day went by all too quickly, with no carp to show for my efforts. In fact it turned out that the Bream and Tench that I had caught, were the only fish of any description to grace the bank. By my rough estimate there were at least 20 rods fishing. That’s virtually the whole lake stitched up, yet not a single Carp had graced the bank. This to me, was something of a revelation. Previous trips saw one or two other anglers on the bank. In these circumstances blanking can be down to location as much as anything else. Not today though, somebody had to be in the right peg, and in the past that would dictate that at least one angler would catch. Clearly being on the fish was not enough anymore. These fish would not make a mistake until they were feeding heavy enough to take one eye off the ball. That will not stop me trying to trip them up with something a little different, at least on one rod. But in my heart I now know, that it will be all down to being in the right place at the right time. Lets hope next weeks trip coincides with the right time. As for the right place, after todays fiasco, it looks like the alarm clock will be set an hour earlier in an attempt to get back in pole position.

Cracker read Andy. maybe you should try some bait screws ideal for soft meat and pastes. Just a idea Andy not being critical

next time andy... sounds like the carp are being a bit finicky at a few places at the moment,you know yourself when they are avin it you can catch em on a clinker..nice read

Great stuff mate.. i hope i'm reading this and i am envisaging the place i think it is... excellent, makes it worthwhile loggin on.

Same here

Yes I am sure that you are picturing the correct water. But just to make sure I will refer to it as Sid's Valley. My reasons for not naming the water are varied, but originally my main motive was to spare my blushes if I struggled. That was based on the knowledge that the lake was not so much of a push over as it had been in the past. Little did I know at the start of this blog, that even this was totally out of date, and things have changed even more dramatically over the past two years. People quite rightly associate the name of this water with screaming runs and multiple captures. Naming the water would instantly conjure up this image in many peoples minds, and either consciously or sub consciously prejudice their interpretation of events.

Ironically it turns out that I care very little about my own blushes, and I am more concerned about conveying an accurate picture of a water undergoing something of a metamorphosis. If this was my only consideration I would now be perfectly happy to name the water, however I have been asked by the owners not to over publicise the water. Apparently I did such a good job previously that it got uncomfortably busy. They have now settled back down to a nice level, and don't want to go back to a situation where people from as far away as Birmingham are camping out in their cars all weekend.

Mark my words, unless something silly or dramatic happens, like a massive stocking, in the next few years this water will really come of age. Its happening as I type, but it is early days, with the natural food just starting to get a proper foot hold and weights just starting to creep up.

My blog needs updating, currently it is a week behind, and with another trip imminent I had better get my finger out and get typing.

10 years since I even walked round the place let alone fish it. Many, many fond memories and laughs - you larging it up may just persuade me to re-visit one day

brill read m8,we can all go to waters and catch a few but then wheres the challenge in the end,theres something special ,greater in going somewhere else for that special feeling you get set in, to catch from and achieve and re-set past emotions back on the same path but on a higher level,good luck.....judging by your writing you`ll know what i mean!!!

for if its the same place i`m imagining,i caught a big tree once, there was a fish in it somewhere a 13lb`er,sylcast black did the job.!!!

That extra hour makes all the difference, it was serious hard work prising myself from under the nice warm duvet. My alarm clock was even given a long hard stare, while unfocused eyes tried to work out if it was me or the clock that were messed up.
After a long spell of hot and settled weather, the predicted wind rain and falling air pressure has arrived just in time to greet me and the birds. Conditions were looking really good, let's hope no one else is stupid enough to get up at this time of morning.

Thankfully my head cleared quickly, so after a quick bite to eat and a pint of steaming tea I was soon on the road. That's when I noticed exactly how much of a difference that hour makes. True the roads were not deserted, but they were considerably quieter than previous trips. After sailing through a junction that normally takes five to ten minutes of stop start motoring to navigate, it occurred to me that getting up an hour early, would actually put me at the lake about an hour and twenty minutes sooner.

This suited me down to the ground, because after two unproductive trips in the same peg, I fancied a change of scenery. Driving down the lane approaching the lake is something of a heart in mouth situation. Because of a bend in the lane, you can not see the gates and more to the point, any waiting vehicles, until right at the last moment. Thankfully, the sight of a deserted lane greeted my eyes as it came into view, confirming that losing an hour sleep had not been a wasted exercise.

Almost as soon as I pulled up my phone began to ring. There could be only one person phoning me at this time of morning, my mate Phil. Phil who was conspicuous in his absence, had arranged to meet me at the lake. Turns out that he had casually set off in the direction of the lakes, but after traveling about half the distance, had suffered something of a memory failure. After establishing where he was, I instructed him to take the next left, carry on down that road, turn left at the junction etc, etc. About ten minutes later he phoned back asking, "Should I be in the middle of a really rough looking estate?" Me and my dodgy directions! Trouble is, most of my driving is done in auto pilot, because I am so familiar with the routes. If I am asked for directions, I have a nasty habit of forgetting lights and junctions, if my route would normally pass straight through them. After establishing that I did not mean that junction, I meant the fourth one, two miles down the road, he was back on track.

A short time later I heard a car approaching down the lane. My initial thought was, flipping heck he must have drove like a man possessed to get here that quick. Before it even came into sight though, common sense told me this was not Phil's car. We now had a problem. Despite one or two chancers trying it on, peg choice is meant to be on a first come first served basis. By virtue of the fact that somebody had turned up before Phil, our plan of picking the most favoured adjacent pegs, could now be in serious jeopardy. Lucky for us, it turned out that the new arrival was Scott, one of the regulars. As I suspected Scott was more than happy to accommodate Phil, even though he was yet to turn up.

Now came the tricky bit, two anglers two pegs, who fishes where? Technically I was the first to arrive, so in theory at least, that gave me first choice of pegs. Hoping that the problem would resolve itself by Phil not wanting to fish the same peg that I did, I asked the question. Alas the problem was not resolved, so out came a coin. Heads or tails? Bugger! Wouldn’t you just believe it? Guess who’s fishing that same peg again?

Well it was all fairly academic, two rods cast to the productive spots, which are not currently producing, and one chasing anything that shows its face. Just to be a little different one rod was baited with two tiny Enterprise imitation pellets. These are the same as the plastic corn but made to look like 4mm pellets. These were fished with a PVA bag of pellets. I reasoned that while PVA bags of pellets had been well used, normally an alternative more fish resilient hook bait is used in conjunction. Hopefully the fish will have learned that the pellets are a free meal.

With the rods cast out, it was time to set up my shelter and get out of the rain. For various reasons Phil had not been out fishing for some time, so being a little rusty it took him a little longer to get his stall set out. Once sorted, the kettle had its arse burned, and within no time Phil was savoring his first brew in anger for many months. Mine tasted good but I bet Phil’s tasted even better.

Despite not being out for some time I felt that Phil was fishing well. His casts were spot on and he managed to introduce a scatter of bait very accurately. With fish showing in the area that Phil was fishing I felt that his chances looked quite good. I was not quite on the fish, but at least one rod was cast close to where fish were showing. A slight move, left to right down the lake, would see at least one of my rods in the zone. After observing the fish over the pervious trips I was confident that this would happen at some point during the day. It could prove to be a small window of opportunity, but some chance, is always better than none.

This trip was always planned to be something of a social. We had not had the opportunity to chat at any length, for some time. This coupled with the rain, meant that much of the day was spent sheltering, chatting and brewing tea. As such, we did not watch the water like hawks, but we did manage to watch enough to observe the movement of the fish. Same old same old really! Carp showed consistently, as they have been doing for weeks, mid water in front of three pegs. The only real variable is that on any given day, they may lean towards the left, right or centre of that area. What is also consistent is their stubborn refusal to pick up any hook baits. By now I have seen enough to conclude that no one is really catching with any consistency, just the odd fish here and there.

Despite what look like perfect conditions the fish just continue to take the mickey and keep us on edge all day long. While it is frustrating having fish showing over your bait all day long, I do find it intriguing. There is always that element of, if I can just find the right formula? To be honest that is the challenge! That is what keeps me coming back for more.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable day from a social point of view. From an angling point of view it was perhaps my worst trip yet. Face value it was just yet another blank, but no it was worse than that. On previous trips I have felt that I learned or observed something of value that may help towards understanding. This trip was a blank in every respect, to the point that I came away feeling quite frustrated and angry with myself. Without really noticing I had simply let the day slip by while just going through the motions. If I am ever going to really get to grips with the water, and catch above the average rate, I will have to work at it. This is not going to just simply fall into place.

Time to catch up

There I was plodding along nicely, getting in a day trip nearly every week, and then fate intervenes and swiftly pulls the rug from under my feet.
Obviously the knock on effect from this is that my Blog also grinds to a halt.
Hurrah I hear you all shout!

If my Blog was up to date, this would not be a problem however, it is not. In fact it is in deficit to the tune of two trips. Herein lies the problem. To fully understand though, we have to go back almost fourteen years back to the 93-94 season.

I was never one for keeping records, too lazy I suppose, but after flicking through Ivans fishing diary I realised how interesting and beneficial keeping records could be. Much of the information would have been simply lost to the mists of time without this record. Before my next trip I added to my kit a hard back note pad, a pen, compass and thermometer. If I was going to keep a diary, I may as well record weather conditions, wind direction, temperature as well as details of rigs, bait, areas fished captures etc.

Next trip out, I dutifully filled in my diary with much relevant information. Unfortunately against the recent run of play, I happened to blank. Blanks are a carp fishing fact of life, so being fairly philosophical, I reasoned, long term the information would be just as valuable. What I was not to know, is that this was just the start of things to come. Blanks started to mount up, weeks faded into months, months started to be counted in multiples. Before I knew it people were talking, and I was experiencing my longest blank ever. Even as a total novice I had not experienced such a lean spell. Looking through my diary it offered no clues. In fact the only conclusions I could draw from the information was, that I could blank in a impressive number of different ways. Desperate for answers and clutching at straws I irrationally started to actually blame the diary. After all, I had been catching my fair share before, but nothing since. It is a jinx, that's what it is!

By now I had not caught a carp for over 12 months. Needless to say my confidence was at an all time low. "It’s that bloody diary, it's a jinx" I wailed "Nonsense" replied Ivan "Your confidence has just taken a bit of a hammering that’s all. What you need is a trip to a bobbins water, get your string pulled and get a bit of confidence back." This was logic that I could not argue against. "Ok sounds good to me, what have you got in mind and when?" "Capesthorn stock pond, sometime next week?" He replied. Bloody hell the stocky, we are talking real desperation now. Capesthorn stock pond is a tiny puddle that at the time was literally stuffed with singles. This was a water where in the thick of the action you could literally lose count. It is so embarrassing that I can hardly bring myself to type the words. Yes I am that man, I am the one who managed to blank on Capesthorn stock pond. I still cant believe it all these years on. To the uninitiated I simply can not begin to convey how theoretically impossible that feat was.

Needless to say the diary went straight in the bin. After a few weeks licking my wounds I ventured out minus any writing implement of any description. Over the next 48 hours I bagged three fish, two of which were personal bests. Diaries? No thanks you can keep em!

Obviously the whole episode was an unfortunate collection of unrelated coincidences. Clearly, and logically, keeping a diary can have no influence upon catch rates!

Or at least that’s how I had it reasoned when I started another diary a few years later. That one also recorded a serious number of blanks before it was consigned to the bottom of a dustbin.

I now point blank refuse to keep any written record of my fishing trips. Yes I know, it is silly and irrational, but once bitten, or twice as the case may be. In fact I am so paranoid about the whole diary thing that I thought twice about starting this Blog. Believe me as the blanks have started to stack up, that paranoia has crept in, and more than once I have seriously considered deleting the whole thing.

Bloody hell that was a long winded convoluted way of explaining that my Blog is written from memory alone. With a memory like a sieve I have no hope of recalling both trips with any sort of accurate detail. So we will have to dispense with the waffle ( he says only just getting to the point 800 words in) and just have the bare bones and the highlights.

My next trip was another Social affair. Ivans syndicate water was still shut for the close season so he fancied a day out wetting a line or two. Despite another very early start, we were most disappointed to find a number of people already waiting upon our arrival. There goes our chance of getting any of the favoured spots! In pole position was the nice fella who had kindly given up some of his water a couple of weeks previous. I really should know his name, but as I have already explained my memory is terrible. If you ever read this my sincere apologies, it is nothing personal, my memory is just total crap. He needs a name though, so from here on in I will refer to him as, motorbike bloke. Anybody who fishes the water will instantly know who I am referring to.

Upon enquiring where the other anglers were intending to fish, we got a bit of a pleasant surprise. Other than motorbike bloke, who was going to fish the first peg, their choices were a little strange to say the least. This left a couple of prime swims to choose from, and considering that the fish were giving it large between the islands, we were round there like a shot. Another plus is the fact that this peg is a good double swim, ideal for a social trip. Normally a coin would be tossed to see who would fish the slightly more favoured left of the swim, but I could not be bothered. To be honest I was just happy to be there in good company, besides I was fairly confident of catching from the right of the swim.

We then did what Carp anglers do, set up cast out and then set about trying to break the world Tea drinking record. A couple of hours in, Ivan experienced a strange occurrence that turned out to be a real eye opener. His left hand rod was cast to the trunk of a fallen tree. This can be a really productive spot however, due to its snaggy nature you really have to be on your toes. Dont get me wrong it is a perfectly viable spot, but you do have to stay on your rods.

His left hand rod knocked and gave a single bleep, this moved his indicator about half an inch upwards. Ivan jumped and made a move forwards off his chair, after a split second delay his indicator started to slowly and stutteringly drop back. Ivan did not hesitate and continued his forward momentum to make an instant strike. What happened next was a real shock. Despite all the above happening in probably less than two seconds and the total indicator movement up and down probably measuring less than four inches, his line picked up in totally the wrong direction. The fish was well and truly snagged a good eight foot to the right of where the bait had been cast. Work that one out for yourselves? Our only conclusion is that upon feeling the weight of the lead the fish has slowly kited without taking or giving any slack. Fluke or conditioned response? If it is the latter as well as it being very scary, it begs the question how often are these, and perhaps other fish getting away with it? If this would have happened in open water would the fish have spun the hook eventually, leaving the angler none the wiser? It has certainly left me with serious doubts about the effectiveness of semi fixed setups.

If I am really critical about my approach I can often identify my own faults, sometimes though I need a wake up call to be able to see the wood from the trees. By hooking this fish Ivan had provided that wake up call. Before Ivan recast his rod I kidnapped his rig and found exactly what I was expecting. Neatness, precision, it looked like it had been crafted by an artist not tied. Overconfidence is my biggest fault, I get blase and then stop paying attention to those little details that may give you an edge. With the rod recast and the mist in my mind starting to clear, we continued with our world record Tea drinking attempt.

Sometime later, our attempt was rudely interrupted by Ivans middle rod jumping up and down in its rest, accompanied by the wailing of a Delkim. After a spirited fight a nice looking Mirror slid over the waiting net. Instantly I knew that this was something of a landmark fish for Ivan. In the early Nineties he caught a lot of fish from this water, certainly a good chunk of its occupants fell to his charms. Despite this, his largest fish was just short of eighteen pounds. To be honest I doubt that there was anything much bigger in the lake at that time. My best fish was 17lb 8oz and I caught a fair few, more to the point we witnessed nothing bigger either in the water or on the bank. As I suspected, this fish at 22lb 6oz was Ivans first 20 from the water.

Some people say it, but you can see it in their eyes and their forced smiles that they dont really mean it. Personally I am genuinely pleased when friends catch, I get a real buzz from their excitement and emotions. In fact some of my fondest angling memories centre around other peoples captures. Its just as well with Ivan, anyone who has fished with him will tell you how often you end up on the wrong side of a camera. This capture was no different, I was really pleased that he had caught and even more pleased that the lake had paid its dues in the shape of a 20.

In this instance though, once the implications of the capture began to sink in and my mood started to darkenen. By catching that fish Ivan had inadvertently made me face facts that I was already struggling to come to terms with. The clouds had parted and behind them was a big sign in bold capital letters that read: “YOU HAVE BEEN FISHING LIKE A WAN*ER!” Worse still, it was in my own hand writing Ivan had innocently just added the exclamation mark.

Dont get me wrong, Ivan is a bloody good angler who has been consistently successful on every water he has fished. He is constantly working when he is on the bank if not physically mentally, and deserves every bit of success he achieves. There is nothing unusual about Ivan getting a result and I am not for one minute suggesting that I should automatically catch if Ivan does. What I am suggesting is that these fish will clearly pick up a bait if it is presented properly. If I was fishing effectively, given that I have been on fish every trip, in my opinion the law of averages say I should have caught by now. The only conclusion that can be drawn is that I have been fishing like a plonker. Once I had got all this rationalised and recognised as a very positive step in the right direction I was back to my old self and smiling again.

First 20 from the water, no doubt the first of many.




Our bladders waved a white flag sometime later, so the world Tea drinking record would after wait for another day. Sadly we received no further action even blanking through what used to be the witching hour of dusk. Anybody who has fished the water in the past will recognise that as a significant indication of how much things have changed. Clearly the lower stock ratio means that they are able to resist temptation until we are long gone.

There was much to think about for my next trip, starting with bait. It just wasn’t happening on the Active 8. Previously this had been a very successful bait on the water. Perhaps too successful, had it blown, were the fish treating it with caution avoiding any bait in the area? A change of bait, any not so common bait should suffice for the time being, and should prove that point one way or another. Pay a bit more attention to presentation and then see where I stand. Roll on next week!

Bait choice for my next trip was made simple by the fact that my local shop has a limited choice. It was something from the Dynamite range, or one of the bags of Nash bait that has been on the shelf so long that the local museum are rumoured to be interested in a bulk buy. This suited me fine because the Dynamite was in theory the perfect stop gap until I could get alternative bait sorted. I forget the exact circumstances, but a couple of years ago, just as I was about to set off for two or three nights on Selby, one of my bags of bait in the freezer turned out to be a bag of sprouts or something. I needed a quick fix so I grabbed a bag of Dynamite boilies from my local shop. Needless to say my first choice of bait was fished in the prime spots, while the Dynamite baited rod was half heartedly flung out, just to make up the numbers. I forget how many fish I caught, but distinctly remember that despite the two to one odds and the un-favoured position, the Dynamite rod produced half the fish. I was confident that the bait could produce and given its price, and the lack of millionaires fishing the lake, I was also confident that the fish will not have seen much of it. With the Meaty Marine purchased I turned my attention to rigs. These were tweaked and tidied, nothing groundbreaking or outlandish just simple rigs, but simple rigs tied well, with love and care.


After last week’s fiasco, I seriously considered setting my alarm yet another hour early. Was this perhaps taking things a little too far? If that extra hour did not produce pole position where would I draw the line, sleeping in the car all night perhaps? No I am far too long in the tooth for that malarkey. I am already getting up at a silly time of the morning, if someone else is keen enough to get there before me, they were welcome to it. As it happens, upon arriving at the lake it turned out that only Motorbike Bloke was keener than me, but only to the tune of ten minutes. We spent the time until opening watching the water and chatting about recent captures, or more accurately lack of them.


Normally when the water opens it prompts a scene like a La Mans start, or rather one in reverse i.e. all the cars speed into the car park and everyone jumps out. Things were altogether more relaxed this time round though because there was just the two of us. Rather than rushing off we spent some time admiring photos of our adversaries. In particular that of the big Common. I say big, at low-mid 20s it is not really big by today’s standards, but it is the bigger of only two Commons that the water holds, hence the big Common. It is not even a particularly pretty fish, it has irregular scales and is more of a gnarled dark old warrior than a bar of gold. That all said, it is undoubtedly beautiful in a rugged sort of way. Given its rarity and beauty, along with the lakes biggest resident, it is one of two fish that I would most like to catch. With our appetites well and truly wetted we set off for our respective pegs. As a parting shot Motorbike Bloke laughingly assured me that when I catch it, he would come round to my peg and take the photos of the Common.

Swim choice was academic, the fish were in the same place as last week and the only known capture since was from that peg. Let’s face it, it would have been rude not to! Five minutes later, and the late arrival who was stood hands on hips giving me the evil eye before doing an about turn, was obviously thinking along the same lines.

Although it did not take me long to set my stall out, due to the extended socialising it was comparatively late, so I was spitting feathers. Brews on the bank always taste good, the first one especially. With being that little bit extra thirsty that one hardly touched the sides, so the kettle was not even cold when it was pressed back into service. With my thirst quenched and now just drinking Tea for the pleasure of it, I sat back to watch the water for sings of my tormentors.

A short time later something funny happened. One of those fat rod rests, the middle one to be precise, started to make a funny noise accompanied by line being stripped from my reel at an alarming pace. Once I remembered from the dim and distant past that this signified a run, and after double checking that the offending rod did not belong to someone else. Like hell, I shot up like a scalded cat and could not help letting out an involuntary “YEEES” as my strike was met with a reassuring Carpy thump.


I remember thinking hang on Jackson don’t be premature, there is the small issue of an island and a fallen tree to navigate yet. At that exact moment the Carp, which was clearly clairvoyant, made a headlong rush for the back of the island. This was bad news! With the fish kiting on a long line, just clearing the island was not nearly enough, I had to get the fish a long way further right to avoid the fallen tree. With the angles all wrong I had no choice but to gallop several yards to my right and then hang on for dear life. Fortunately this change appeared to confuse the fish, which then took off in the opposite direction straight out into open water. With a few more yards gained and the worst of the danger avoided I eased back a little and slackened my clutch right off. After such a long wait there was no way I was going to lose this one to a hook pull in the margins. This proved to be a really prudent move because it was the margins where the fish decided to make its stand. Keeping deep the fish twisted and turned plodding back and fourth seeking out one of the many snags, sunken logs and stumps that litter the margins. Eventually the pressure told and although I had yet to bring the fish up to the surface experience told me that it would not be long. I slid the net forwards so it was more to hand and then started to apply some upwards pressure. After a little persuasion a very distinct and familiar flank rolled on the surface. To say I was gob smacked would be the understatement of the year. If you wrote it as a script it would be dismissed as totally improbable and far fetched. But this is not a film its real life, and the most unexpected and improbable can and does happen. It was the big Common and after a couple more half hearted lunges she/he was safely nestling in the folds of my net.

the most unexpected and improbable can and does happen!




Obviously I could not wait to take up the kind offer of photographing the Common. There was no point in hauling the fish up on the bank, it would have to stay in the net while I arranged the photograph. The barbless only rule meant that unhooking the fish in the net was easy and straight forward so with that done, I folded the arms and secured the net with a long heavy duty peg. My other rods were unceremoniously wound in and I set off round the bank. The only blemish on what would have been an otherwise perfect story is that upon arriving at Motorbike blokes peg he was engrossed in what was clearly a fairly involved and important phone call. As much as I would have loved for him to have been able to take the photos, as always the welfare of the fish came first. Although another angler was press ganged into helping photograph and weigh the fish at 22lb 2oz, it was not long before I walked back round the lake to share the experience with the only bloke who could fully understand the weird coincidence of it all.


On this water at least, almost anything after that would ultimately be an anticlimax. So it was fairly east to accept when the rest of the day turned out to be just that. It was smiles all round as I set off for home that evening.

Little did I know as I drove home grinning like a demented idiot that events were already in motion that meant it would be many weeks before I would walk those banks again.

cracking read m8 , and very well done on your capture

Nice one, Andy. Only two in the lane at opening time? How times change.

Lovely stuff Andy.

Nice result Andy ..... Kinnel the biker is hardcore int he heading down that dodgy road on a Moped B4 first light loaded with a 3 rod setup

Hardcore does not cover it, full rod holdall as well!

I don't know how he gets through the traffic without wobbling off, being hit, hitting a paper boy round the back of the head or getting pulled up by the police?

I once had a rod come lose from my pedal bike cross bar when I was a kid. That was bad enough, in fact it was carnage. Rod busted, front wheel busted, me being catapulted into what felt like the stratosphere, my head busted, tackle spilled all over the road.

He deserves either a medal or a straight jacket.


Nice bloke though, I sincerely hope he keeps on managing without any mishaps.

nice read m8
any more to come?

There are none to be written up, if thats what you mean. But there will be more to come when I eventually venture out again.

Shouldn't be long now, although I expect there will be very little to write about other than freezing my nuts off. That said you never know stranger things have happened.

Jacko superb reading but bloody hell after knowing you for 20years I have decided that you are the biggest waffler on this planet.
It ise definate after your tales of woe you still need somes lessons from the "Master".
Will send you a mail mate.

Cheers

Steve

PMSL Look who crawled out of the woodwork.

Cheeky bleeder, moi waffle?

Ok fair enough guilty as charged.


Lessons from the master? Nice to see that you are still the shy retiring modest type!


Let’s hope you have “mastered” using a landing net and camera in the last 20 years.

I admit photography never was my strongest forte... But everyone used to struggle with the old "Brownie" ..However as they say pratice makes perfect .. and I have had a lot of pratice haha..

Net what are they I just scoop them up in my arms!!