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!