My Uncles Forty

Many stories litter the annuals of pike fishing history that assist in dispelling the myth that lightening does not strike twice in the same place! This is another such story, which exhibits such elements of luck and coincidence as to make it almost unbelievable for some!  

You may recall, back in February 2014, I was the fortunate captor of the current Chew Valley record pike. An incredible fish, weighing 44lb 6oz. The sort of fish that even seems frankly unrealistic when one allows their mind to explore their piking dreams; that 99.99% of pike anglers never have the privilege to see in their angling lifetime.

But, how about two of these beasts of myth and legend? According to Neville Fickling’s notable pike anglers list, only Eddie Turner and Nige Williams have actually caught two 40lb+ pike themselves, but how many angling duos have shared each other’s captures of 40lb+ pike?

My uncle, Mike Heyes and I have been fishing together since I was eight years old (I’m now twenty six). Mike had only previously dabbled with angling, tagging along on the odd trip with his elder brother, Phil Heyes, who was quite a successful match angler throughout the 80s, even by national standards, but Mike had never really taken to the sport. It is fair to say that even now, Mike doesn’t take his fishing too seriously. He isn’t motivated by catching big fish and is at his happiest fishing a simple waggler setup on a local commercial carp pool. Unfortunately for Mike, I do the driving and the car generally finds its way to waters where there is a chance of something special or where the surroundings and the environment make it a pleasure just to be there! Mike has always been happy to just go with the flow and in his advancing years (he will be sixty in February) he has realised there is more to fishing than simply catching fish and his desire to experience more waters throughout our small island has increased tenfold.

I started fishing at Chew Valley in 2013 with a friend of mine, Kristian Schofield. Kristian is a very motivated and dedicated piker and it was him who suggested we give Chew a try and endured the constant engaged tone for hours that first year. He managed to get some tickets and very kindly invited me along. I spent 8 days pike fishing on Chew Valley with Kristian that year and was rewarded with my first twenty and a few jacks. It’s fair to say, Chew hasn’t been kind to Kristian, but the less said about that the better, eh pal! This was enough for Mike to show an interest in fishing Chew and it was decided that we would both try for tickets in 2014 with Mike and I fishing together and Kristian fishing with another of his friends.

On the first of our days for the 2014 trials, I caught my 40lb+ pike and Mike was there to do the netting and assist with the weighing and photography. This was an incredible experience and it was clear from the conversations that followed, that it had inspired Mike and stirred the suppressed piker within! No longer the laid back take it or leave it attitude. The laissez fare “I’m just here for the experience” comments had disappeared and it was clearly evident that he wanted one for himself! I reassured Mike that what had happened that day, would never happen again. We had had our full quota of Chew Valley fortune and to even contemplate a re-occurrence was so wholly unrealistic as to be almost laughable to even suggest! Did he not know anything about piking history, had he not read the books, the list, listened to the stories and appreciated the rarity and significance of such fish! We needn’t bother upgrading our 40lb Avon Scales, so confident was I that a fish in excess of those proportions would never find its way into our landing net again.

Recounting this I am reminded of how dismissive I was of Mike’s new found enthusiasm and ambition, given my “greater experience” and knowledge. I usually don’t like being proven wrong, but I could not think of a better way to be put in my place!

Our next session on Chew was 22^nd and 23d October 2014. It had been a long wait, given the level of excitement we were experiencing about returning to the scene of our greatest angling achievement. Not much had changed, our fishing plans were the same as before, but there was a distinct air of confidence and a very relaxed feeling in the car that night as we travelled down the M6. We hadn’t bothered to attempt to find out about any recent captures of big fish or any “going areas”, we didn’t care what others were doing. Doing our own thing and using our initiative had served us well previously and we were going to stick with it. There were no conversations required, except to express our anticipation for the days ahead and to prevent me from re-arranging the central reservation, so it was a quick and quiet journey. The weather was unseasonably warm and we wanted to head to an area that gave access to both shallow and deeper water so that we could cover our bases and one that was unlikely to result in a battle for a swim or competing for the fish in that area with others. I had a couple of areas in mind, so when we arrived in the car park for Wick Green Point at 04:30 to find (inevitably some might say) 3 vehicles already parked up, it was off to our other chosen spot at Nunnery Point.

We turned off the road at 04:45 and drove down to the first lay by to have a look around the area in Herons Green Bay. The water level was way down, which although not a complete surprise did change things slightly as this meant that the spit on the end of Nunnery point might be exposed providing a nice beach like swim with access to the deeper water out towards Wick and also the shallower water to the left of the swim over towards Denny Island. Back in the car to the car park at the end of the road and a quick walk to the end of Nunnery Point revealed this to be the case and with no other anglers around, it was an easy decision to make this our home for the day.

A short but very warm and sweaty walk (the thermometer in the car was showing a temperature of 14 Celsius at 05:00!) with only the necessary equipment and we were setting up. The usual double act ensued, with Mike setting up the shelter and chairs and I went about putting the rests in and the rods together. I offered Mike the choice of rods and he selected the right hand side of the swim. Such a simple question and one which doesn’t ever quite register as being particularly significant, but significant it proved to be. All four rods were rigged up with a simple running ledger rig, 4oz lead and a pair of size 2 trebles, standard fair when fishing for big pike with relatively large dead baits on big waters. The first rod was baited with a mackerel tail and was lobbed out about 40yrds towards Wick Green Point in what we believed to be around 10’ of water. The other three rods followed suit spread from right to left into open water and we sat back to take in the very pleasant morning. Just on first light a trout angler waded around onto the end of the point to our left but out of view. The kettle went on and an early breakfast of porridge was washed down with a nice cup of tea. What a morning, an absolute pleasure to be outside, warm and still, with the sun rising like the anticipation within us. A cacophony of bird life interspersed by the metronomic whoosh of fly line providing the backing track to another wonderful day by the water and with a tangible sense of something to come, there was nowhere else to be at that moment.

A single boat hurriedly passed through into Herons Green Bay at just on 08:30 and no sooner had they been obscured from our view by the stones jutting out into the water the right hand alarm burst into life!

Calmness remained. We’ve been here before. Just as I set off towards the rod the realisation that this was not my moment, struck me and I stopped dead. Calling Mike forward with line still peeling from the spool and the alarm seemingly responding to the bird life, he arose from his chair and approached the rod with confidence. I have an irritating inability to stifle the control freak in me and irrespective of my relative youth, I began to coach Mike through the process. Mike has only caught a handful of pike and fishing with open bail arms and rear drop offs is relatively alien to him, so it was well received.

He picked the rod from the rests and under instruction, flicked over the bail arm, wound down tight and lifted steadily into the fish. Line was taken under little tension and the word was given to tighten that drag down and bend into the fish to avoid the hooks slipping. Very quickly a better indication of what was attached was given as the 2.75lb TC rod took on a much more alarming battle curve and line was still taken from the reel. The fish kitted left towards the other lines and Mike responded by lowering the rod to the right and applying equal side strain. I reacted quickly and dropped the middle rods onto the ground with slack lines and urged Mike to keep the line under tension and the rod up high. The fish then broke the surface around 20yrds out and a stalemate was reached.

I took the net and waded out as far as my wellies would allow and asked Mike to walk slowly backwards with the spool clamped. “It looks a good double”, “Take it easy, nearly there”, “Bloody Hell it’s definitely a thirty!” as she slides into the waiting net without concern. It was a one way conversation, speech wasn’t possible at this stage for Mike as he focused all of his attention on ensuring that fish made it safely into the net, no doubt with memories of the issues he had netting my fish earlier in the year very prominent in his mind!

I stood with the fish in the net in the margin while Mike removed the rod and returned the other rods to their rests. I knelt down and unclipped the lead and trace, revealing the true frame of the fish for the first time. It was another mammoth clearly and I was fully aware at this stage of what had happened, but I wanted to retain the composure that surrounded us and simply asked Mike to prepare the mat, scales and camera up near the trees at the back of the swim and kneel down behind it. I removed the arms of the net from the spreader block and rolled them up in the mesh. I hoisted the fish from the water and carried it quickly over to the mat, at which time I noticed that the hooks had transferred themselves into the mesh of the net and were no longer in the fish. The scales had already been adjusted for the wet net, so she was weighed immediately with no need for unhooking.

A large slice of humble pie was served up to me at this stage as the needle on the Avon scales went round once, twice, three times, four…. Oops!

The needle swung past the 40lb mark and absent mindedly I stated that the fish had bottomed the scales when it reached 40lb 04oz, as had happened with my fish in February. The disappointment and frustration on Mike’s face was as clear as the joy had been seconds earlier. This was obviously a very big fish, but we were faced with the possibility of never knowing just how big. The fish was returned to the water in the net and a quick discussion was had regarding our options. There were none. There were no other anglers about and the best option for the fish was to take a few quick snaps and slip her back. Mike was adamant that any thought of retaining the fish while waiting for adequate scales was dismissed and he was right of course, the fish’s welfare was the priority and we would have to live with the “what might have been”.

Mike slipped on his Musky Armour gloves in preparation for holding the fish for the camera. Mike doesn’t wear gloves for handling pike due to a lack of confidence or a fear of the fish, but in order to protect an injury incurred as a result of a lawn mower accident, that actually caused the loss of the tip of his middle finger on his right hand.

A few very quick snaps were taken and Mike insisted that the fish were returned to the water irrespective of the quality of the photos taken. He had difficulty, due to the sheer size of the fish, holding and presenting it well for the camera, but that didn’t matter. He had caught it, shared a few precious moments in its presence, admiring its mighty spotted flank and feeling her bulk in his arms. The experience was enough.

The fish was returned to the water in the mat and Mike fired off a few release shots. As I cradled her in the margin I held onto that thickset tail wrist and with an effortless flick she filled my right boot with water and cruised away like a U-boat leaving port.

I turned to Mike and let out a “yeehah” and offered him my sincere congratulations, trying to cement that moment in both of our memories for eternity. Not much was said in reply, Mike was in awe of his achievement and I left him to breathe it all in sat in his chair, while I tidied the swim and readied the rod to be re-cast.

As I sat back down, I couldn’t shake the guilt that had enveloped me due to the unknown true weight. I put myself in that position, thinking about how I would have felt in February had Dave and Warren not stepped in to assist. We didn’t even have measurements of the fish to estimate the weight. It was a huge fish with an enormous girth and I started to mentally compare it to the images of my fish in my mind. Was it the same fish? No, it was definitely shorter but with a much bigger girth! I recounted the Avon scales when my fish was placed on them and recalled vividly the needle swinging much further past the 40lb mark and an audible indication when the spring had hit the bottom of the case, which was conspicuous by its absence on this occasion. I picked up the Avon's and started to pull and sure enough I pulled the needle past 44lbs before it wouldn’t go any further. Had the needle actually settled on 40lb 4oz? Mike was satisfied with my little demonstration and with the doubt visibly lifted, accepted the reading as the true weight of the fish.

I had decided that I would not make the same mistake again and only the most trusted of my angling friends would be informed of the day’s events, until after we had returned home, to ensure that we could fish for the remainder of the two day session unmolested.

The rest of the session passed by without event, save for a jack at last knockings and a rainbow trout to me on the second day.

We had another session booked the following Thursday/Friday and then another at the end of November. We ended the 2014 trials, having fished 8 days, catching fish weighing 44lb 06oz 40lb 04oz, 21lb 04oz 17lb 12oz and 17lb 10oz plus a jack, one 5lb Rainbow Trout and one 5lb Brown Trout. What a year it had been and dare I say it, one never to be repeated!

Full Circle

As the 2009/2010 season drew to a close I had hardly fished at all, missing the entire months of November, December and January due to the first lack of enthusiasm and motivation I had encountered during my time as a pike angler. A combination of work and personal issues had meant that after a couple of sessions early October,  it was mid February before I again wet a line and at this point I had an extremely modest season’s tally of just six pike under my belt from the handful of fishing sessions ventured upon. I wouldn’t have returned to angling at all that season had it not been for my new partner asking why I didn’t want to go any longer with a mountain of fishing gear in the garage and photo’s of pike all over the house. She pushed and pushed until I eventually agreed on a short session with her which resulted in a total blank.

We fished together a few more times on venues that had been kind to me in the past but things did not go too well. ‘It’s your sport I thought you knew what you were doing?’ She teased me, ‘you’re not very good at this’ was another comment which really only served to motivate me to prove her wrong.  Maybe she intended to have that effect all along?

One day I received a text informing me of a friend’s capture of a decent fish, as we were very close by, we went for a look and as we gazed upon a lovely 21lber I said to her ‘that’s what a big pike looks like’. ‘Is he a better angler than you’? She countered as we walked back to the car.

Monkey off my back

Enthused by the 20 we had just witnessed we returned home and grabbed some gear and visited the scene of my greatest moment in pike fishing some 6 years beforehand, for a short afternoon session.  Runs were forthcoming immediately but bizarrely the first four I somehow missed, striking into nothing, an affliction I had not often previously encountered. Whilst feeling slightly embarrassed I tried to explain that I really did know what I was doing, but must be a bit ‘ring rusty’. A few more barbed comments were delivered by my partner and as I look back I realise that it was first class banter, although it didn’t feel that way at the time.  Shortly afterwards, would you believe it? The 4^th rod that I had made up for Lynda was away.  She made no mistake with her 1^st fish of any description and soon a nice nine pounder was safely in the net.  As I am sure you can now imagine she found this quite amusing.  Salvation was to come for me however as shortly afterwards the float belonging to my left hand rod which I had cast some 10 yards upstream in the nearside margin suddenly appeared in front of me travelling at a rate of knots its view having been slightly obscured by our shelter, although I had been checking upon it every few minutes, the strike was met with a solid resistance and a short pike quickly came into view, it was drawn into the landing net, and upon trying to lift the net out of the water  it dawned on me I could have something a bit better than I had expected. A short but incredibly fat pike of trout water proportions was unhooked and weighed at 18lb 6oz! Result! The monkey was off my back.  Photographs were taken and we retired home for the evening.

At home basking in the warm glow that only a good pike capture gives, I formulated the plan for the following weekend which would be the last of the river season. Naturally a pre- dawn return to same spot was decided upon. It was the last Sunday of the season and four rods were cast into position in darkness.  As  the sun came up over the horizon on the far bank, I noticed that the water was far more coloured than it had been the week before.  I had in the past discovered that this spot had not fished well when the land drain upstream was discharging its contents into the river. It didn’t feel right and although over the years the area had been very kind to me, it was the last fishing day I had available that season and I didn’t want to waste it. We decided to pack away the gear and move toanother nearby venue.  This second venue looked spot on but after an hour or so no runs was forthcoming. 

I had over the previous few seasons been fishing a land drain some 10 miles away without a lot of success. I had caught fish and they had been of a good average size, all over 15lb in weight but captures were isolated and a lot of rod hours had been fished for each capture, my best from the venue weighed 19lb although a friend had caught a 21, and I suspected that the water held bigger pike. Fish were nomadic and long stretches of the 12 mile long drain seemed completely barren. I had in my possession however some photographs of fish to 26lb caught by other anglers from the water over the years, a stamp of fish I yearned to catch.

As we struggled for a run on this much easier water my thoughts turned to the drain, it was the last weekend of the season and we were blanking, knowing that a run if it were forthcoming it would more than likely be a jack or double at best, I began to feel that we should instead be on the drain, where a blank would be likely, but we were more likely to encounter a better stamp of fish should we be so fortunate as to receive a run. I consulted my partner and we agreed on another move to our third venue of the morning.

After the short drive we arrived at my favourite swim and I wasn’t surprised to find it vacant as the drain was not heavily fished and access not easy. I had previously negotiated an arrangement to park on private land, and had never before seen another angler in the area.

We set up and fished, after an hour or so had passed I heard a vehicle on the drove and shortly afterwards was surprised to see 4 men with rods climb over the floodbank, they asked me if I had caught and I truthfully replied nothing, I asked what they were fishing for and they informed me that they were fishing for anything but would happily give me some live baits if they caught anything. They then asked if any barbel were present in the water which amused me as they obviously had little knowledge of the fenland drains. They seemed quite rough, traveller types and bearing in mind that there were miles of unoccupied drain either side of me I was a little disappointed when they set up some 30 yards away. Unfortunately they were not very quiet and I started to get a little agitated with the intrusion to my peaceful morning.

Salvation was to shortly arrive in the form of a dog walker who approached my swim from the opposite direction to the anglers. He stopped for a quick chat, overlooking the anglers upstream of me and asked if they were foreign?  I replied that they were English and had only just arrived ,but they were making a racket and I was considering a move. He then informed me that he had earlier in the week whilst walking his dog seen an angler unhooking a pike weighing around 24lb in a swim some 400 yards downstream, and gave me a landmark for swim identification.

 I thanked him and after weighing up the move for all of about a micro second decided to leave our new found friends and had the rods and gear packed up and after wishing our neighbours the best of luck for their session began the walk downstream.

It was our fourth swim of the morning and it was now about 11.30 the sun was high in the sky and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. It was warm and I was sweating buckets on arrival, quickly tearing off my cold weather clothing and looking at the swim. The water in the drain was very clear and I considered that our chances were very slim. To the right of the swim in the nearside margin was a large overhanging tree, its branches were touching the water halfway across the water, and an amount of debris had collected up against the branches, it looked a good place for a pike to lie up.

I gently under-armed a half mackerel as close as I dare and was relieved to see the float and bait land unmolested by the spiders web of branches right under the canopy and in the exact spot I wished for. I then cast the other two rods into open water, one to the middle and the other to the far bank. All three rods were then clipped up to audible back biters and I made a mental note to myself that if one were to go I bet that it would be the one under the tree.

My other half and I then lay on the floodbank with the sun blazing directly on to us; it felt as though summer was just around the corner it was so warm and pleasant. She put her head on my chest and content with the world I began to dose and dream of the triumphant moment when I would finally catch a fish weighing over 20lb’s from this challenging water.

After a while a high pitched noise interrupted my peace, for a short while it seemed dreamlike before I realised this was no dream, the noise was for real and in a moment, without consideration for my partner I was on my feet to see that the float under the tree had disappeared and line was peeling off the spool. Aware of the potential for problems due to the branches and possible roots under the water I was on the rod in a flash and gave the fish maximum side strain to try and get her out from under the tree, the rod initially took on an alarming curve but the fish turned and was soon being played in open water. I caught sight of her in the clear water and remarked that I thought it was an upper double when suddenly the fish surged off with alarming power taking braid from the tightly set clutch.  And I thought to myself that perhaps she was a little bigger. The fish soon began to tire and was pulled into the net that Lynda had at the ready.  Lynda tried to lift the net from the water and couldn’t manage to.  At this moment I realised that surely I had my much longed for twenty from this water that I had struggled so much on. The net was indeed heavy, the pike was laid out on the unhooking mat and the trebles removed easily from her scissors.  She was then weighed and photographed. At 24lb 4oz she was at the time my second biggest Fenland pike, a feeling of pure elation swept over me, and there and then I asked Lynda if she would marry me? She agreed to but not until I had caught a pike weighing 30lb. My enthusiasm for fishing had returned, but unfortunately I had run out of season. Rather than wait and hope for the brace it seemed fitting that we should wrap things up at 13.00 and celebrate over a pint in a nearby pub whilst looking at the cased pike on the wall, a monument as to the waters former glories.

The fish I has caught actually matched up to a photograph that I had obtained of a 21lb 12oz pike caught earlier that season.  It was the smaller half of the brace caught by the angler, and I wondered if the 26lb fish that I also had a photograph of would perhaps fulfil my dream of a 30lb pike and my lady’s hand in marriage.

I was at the time blissfully unaware of how much better things would get over the next two seasons on the fishing front. The fish that was at the time my first twenty from the water is now my third biggest from the venue, and although I didn’t know it at the time it was to be the start of a very productive period for me on other waters too.

Did I keep my promise to Lynda? Well let’s just say I returned from the jewellers several hundred pounds lighter the following week! She seemed quite pleased when I said we would set a date when I catch my first 30, deep down I knew this might take many years to fulfil if at all, but I wanted to tempt fate.

The season came to a close, at a time when my motivation had returned in full.  My doubts about the venue, and Lynda’s regarding  my Pike fishing prowess, were both vanquished, but I was to have to wait until the following October before I could quench my now insatiable thirst for pike fishing, and quench it I did, but that’s another story.

At the time of writing having achieved my long dreamed of 30+ pike I look forward to my wedding in a month’s time.

Tying the Knot

Having been divorced once due to my love of pike fishing it seems quite fitting that I will soon me marrying for a second time with pike fishing having played a very significant and positive part.

Since the time of writing the previous paragraphs Lynda and I married on the 16^th of August 2014 with several inspirational pike anglers also being present for the wedding. 

A moment shared

Much of my fishing time currently is spent with our young son Lucas who is showing much of his father’s enthusiasm.  I no longer yearn for the day of my first thirty, or indeed personal best. Preferring instead to concentrate on developing my young apprentice’s enthusiasm for the sport, I look forward to a time when he is desperate for his own pike fishing goals and they can be accomplished together as father and son.

After recounting this tale to a famous and accomplished pike angler on the banks of Chew Valley Lake he replied ‘The Lord works in mysterious way’s’.

Tight lines

Jonno

Jonathon Myles

A Fish Called Fred

My first outing of the unofficial Pike season, turned into one I will remember for many a season and not because I caught a notable fish or a PB, but because the pleasure of observation took over from the hunger of anticipation normally associated with a days long awaited piking.

With a disappointing pre season lure day on Rutland behind me, the urge to get into dead bait mode was strong, so for my season opener I decided to fish my local reservoir, local meaning less than a mile from my front door. I hadn’t fished the “Res” for a couple of seasons as the fish are generally small, although plentiful, but reckoned it would be an easy way to get in the swing of things. Albeit a trapped nerve in my shoulder was causing serious discomfort and had precluded me from driving to the PAC convention.

The “Res” is bisected by a causeway, which carries the local rail line, a tunnel joins the two areas of water and fish move freely between the two, albeit that each area of water is distinctly different in appearance, bottom, bank side vegetation and access.

The main "res" is a featureless basin with a sandy bottom and an odd mussel bed and 50% of the banking comprises of  steep pitching stones, with no tree cover and it can be a wild and inhospitable place in any other than a slight breeze. The “Little Res” however is totally different “kettle of fish” nice pun yeah?, immediate access from the roadside, with plenty of tree and bush cover on two sides, although the best pegs require packhorse and jungle skills to access.

I had spent the weeks through, September getting all my piking gear sorted and putting the kids bit bashing gear and my occasional carp gear to bed. I ventured onto the small “Res” the Sunday before ‘D’ day for a shakedown session, to be met with choking brambles, cow shit and had great difficulty negotiating the route round to the side of the “Res”.

The level was a good 3ft down and  much of the exposed bank was deep mud and the normal path overgrown and passable. After sinking in mud up to my knee, I finally staggered to the only accessible spot giving me access to an area of overhanging willows flank of the "Res". I had decided to take with me three rods rigged up for float ledgering – bad move. I quickly found that at the distance I wanted to fish towards the  willows that it was difficult see and gauge the floats satisfactorily so I quickly replaced the float rigs with ledger rigs and put two baits out a about 40 yards hard up against the willows at 9-10ft deep.

I ended up with two jacks and had another four runs which resulted in nothing,  The trapped nerve was proving painful and troublesome, but it was not going to get in the way of my ambitions. I packed up early afternoon as I had other things to do and contemplated a more organised “proper” session the following weekend – the first weekend of Pike season proper!

The following Saturday, I decided to make a recce, in anticipation of a Sunday session and ended up clearing most of the jungle of brambles or as much as one guy with a dickey shoulder, a pair of tree loppers and some secateurs could manage. Actually quiet impressed myself!

So Sunday morning is arrived, “The Bus”, a Peugeot 806,  already loaded with everything required and no more (3 dead bait rods). I passed the water in the dregs of darkness at circa 6.45am and proceeded a further ½ a mile to the local Maccy D’s for some breakfast.

A big u-turn and I am parked outside the gate to the small “Res” and all quiet except for the sound of birds and the bait fish breaking the surface on a still mirror of a surface.

Gear out of the bus and on the bank and two trips round to my spot, way much easier after my earlier jungle clearing activities.

By 8.00am I had three rods out with smelt, Joey and a large Mack after removing its head. Despite my best planning I’d forgotten to pack a towel "doh!" ,but had a pack of faithful baby wipes. I lent down at the waters edge to rinse of my hands and as I rose to upright, noticed a snout, a good double fish, as little as 12 inches from where my hands had been in 8 – 10” of water! As I rose in pleasant shock the fish turned and the water boiled, leaving cloud of slit where it had laid. The strange thing is all my rod rest where out in the water and I was paddling about whilst setting the backbiters and obviously was unconcerned.

For the next twenty minutes every time I moved I noticed a boil and muddy cloud a few feet from my toes and assumed old Pikey was quiet happy sitting at my feet. I rummaged in my bag for my Polaroid clip on's, as things began to brighten up and “Fred” as I will refer to him could be seen clear as day drifting in a out of the clear shallow patch at my feet. He looked a low double and I was gripped by this close encounter, shame my camera couldn’t see through the glare!

Some minutes later my left hand backbiter sounded and I hit a positive run, it was only a jack of about 6lbs but it gave a goods account of its self, as it came towards the net I noticed that Fred was sat there bold as brass at my feet, despite all the hullabaloo I was making. The jack tail walked as came in towards the net straight over Fred who just moved gracefully out of the way, but then turned and followed the jack to the net, for a split second I honestly thought I was going to net two fish.

Anyway the jack shed the hooks in the net, so it was quickly back into the water and Fred appeared to have moved off. Not more than three minutes passed and back he drifts into view, I toss the mackerel head that was lying next to me, a foot from the edge and the remains of shredded Joey from the encounter with the jack a further foot out. For the next hour Fred came and went and swam over the free offerings and seemingly totally disinterested. By this time I was focused on Fred’s comings and goings and the fishing seemed somehow less important.

A little Kingfisher was screeching is shrill song as it darted across the water and back and I started to think this is just awesome day on the bank, just me, nature, almost hidden from the main road, just a stones throw away.

 Out of the gloom a long shadow came into view heading for the Joey carcass, it glided by and swam straight through between the bank sticks holding my left hand rod, I was literally still as statue and holding my breath - non of this would have visible were it not for the Polaroid’s! Fred circled round again and headed right up to the Joey and with flared gill covers sucked in the Joey and chomped on it a couple of times before casually sauntering off.

I thought I’d had my time with Fred and smile to myself with deep satisfaction, but not fifteen minutes later and he was back! The Mack head had got washed right in to the edge so I slowed leaned down and picked it out , he didn’t flinch,  I tossed out in front of where I could see his snout. Sure enough maybe a minute later, he slowly moved towards the Mack head and again with flared gills took the Mack and gave it a good chomping, turned and moved out of sight. Surely this was goodbye Fred?

Moments later my right hand rod screamed off and I got out my chair and into the water to pick up the rod, as I did the middle rod went too! Shit I thought, I hit the first and felt a couple of thumps and then nothing, so put down the rod and hit the other, same again, two missed!!! Both baits were ok so I recast the first and set the alarm, I was about to cast out the other, when I noticed Fred not more than 3 ft from my toes, I hadn’t thought of trying to catch him, we’d become “close” as I was so engrossed in observing him and this unique (to me) prolonged close up behaviour.

With mixed feelings I succumbed to the urge and dropped the half herring bait, I was about to recast, no more than two feet from the edge in 10” of now somewhat cloudy water, although I could still see the odd shadow and fin manoeuvring. I had the rod in my hand with a big bow of slack line over the bait and almost immediately the line started to twitch and tighten, I hit it immediately and the rod curved in a big arc as the fish  powered off. It broke the surface, my heart pumping and at such close range I could see it was a fish of around 15lb, it gave one big shake of the head and fish and hooks parted. I was partly gutted and part feeling guilty for having hooked the guy I had been quietly feeding and observing.

I didn’t see Fred again during the session, although another free offering disappeared whilst I wasn’t paying attention! I almost felt relieved not now to be on tender hooks watching my old mate sniffing the toes of my muck boots, but to capped it all off , the Kingfisher later came and sat on the adjacent jetty and stayed there for a good fifteen minutes before I moved and flew off screeching. I kicked myself for not bringing a decent zoom camera, only the pocket canon for captures!!!

I packed up at 1.00pm having landed six jacks, lost another four before the net and had at least another six runs, but Fred was way uplifting than counting runs.

By the time I’d made two trips back the car the trapped nerve in my shoulder was pounding and I was in significant discomfort, the wife gave me no sympathy for going fishing, but I wouldn’t have missed such an awe filled morning no matter how much the pain.

Can’t wait for the next session, will take something special to beat today – more to fishing than just catching fish!

Pete Crisp Aka Crispy PAC.

Give n Take - Dave Horton

Fishing is different things to each of us and can even be different things at different times to some of us too?  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m often driven almost entirely by a desire to catch another BIG pike but I can also see that it’s not just the fish that make the fishing!

Fishing (in this instance piking) is about so much more than catching fish but it is without doubt the fish that are the catalyst and indeed the cement that often holds together or occasionally shatters all the peripheral factors that it brings to each of us.

I am by nature quite a social animal and suspect that this fact has even had some bearing on the kind of job that I do for a living?  For without doubt the Fire Service relies heavily upon team work and camaraderie and I like to think my fishing does too.

As I sit and reflect upon approaching 30 years of piking now, I can see that the brother pikers and the mates I’ve made through piking are as important to me as the piking itself.

I’ve met Fire Fighters the length and breadth of the country and in having done so I’ve concluded that there’s a kind of “generic” Fire Fighter and the same is pretty much true of pikers.  It’s no surprise to me then that I find common ground with most of them.  I genuinely like my brother man and when it comes to pikers I generally bloody love em!   Ofcourse there’s exceptions but on the whole pikers are my cup of tea.  

My immediate group of piking mates comprises of a nucleus of old stalwarts with peripheral individuals coming and going over the years.  Some of them simply drop out of piking but still remain friends and some of them apparently never grasp the fundamentals of friendship and loyalty and once their cover is blown get dropped by the wayside (Snakes).   You see relationships, not just fishing ones, rely heavily on compromise, respect, loyalty and give and take and unless there’s fair play they are doomed to failure!  My oldest (literally lol) piking buddy is the long suffering Adrian “MR K” Kisbey.  Ade and I found each other as strangers on the banks of a local gravel pit 25 or so years ago.  Where the gift of a few excess Livebaits won me a friend for life!  In the early days Ade worked long hours and rarely fished anything other than weekends but where we could marry time up we did and he regularly financed a lot of our fishing.  Raising a young family on a Fire Fighters minimal wage saw me in a position where all I had to offer in return was my time, my seemingly boundless enthusiasm, drive and an occasional uncanny knack of locating good fishing!  It was a good combination and to this day MR K is my most frequent fishing partner.   Our personal situations have changed over the years and our relationship has had to evolve.  These days I’m in a healthier financial position and our roles have altered a little with Ade having retired and having more time on his hands.  It’s clear then that the give and take in fishing, doesn’t necessarily have to be the fishing itself.  That said the wheels do tend to come off if one of you encounters good fishing and decides for no other reason than greed to indefinitely exclude the other!  Ade and I have over the years exchanged some excellent fishing and here I’ll relate a couple of fruitful transactions that have helped keep our wheels turning.  A decade or so back Ade and I managed to find ourselves divorced from our long term wives within a year or so of each other.  At that time Ade put a roof over my head for upwards of a year whilst I found my feet and together we slowly came to terms with our new lives.  Much self-analysis, abuse, seas of tears and a few laughs here and there cemented further our friendship.  I’d become single first and as such was ahead of the game in as much as after the best part of two winters out of fishing I started to find the inclination to pick up a rod again.

You’d think that with all the extra time on your hands and with no one to answer to anymore that you’d fish more frequently but my experience is that this is simply not the case!  In truth when you’re depressed (and we both were) it seems that the things you enjoy most elude you soonest and seemingly take the longest to find again too?

Despite our varied lack of interest in anything fishing related, Ade and I couldn’t help but be intrigued with rumours in the local pub of a BIG pike having been caught from a local river.

To cut a long story short I decided I’d go check the rumours out and bugger me if I didn’t go and catch the fish at my first attempt (all 31lbs of her) on the first occasion that I’d been fishing in almost 2 years!  This fish was the catalyst that got me back into fishing after my self enforced break and was also to help Ade find his way back too!

A year later, In, identical flood conditions, I caught the self, same fish for a second time, this time weighing just 8 ounces less.

The Give!

A further year later and the piker in Ade was by now waking up and he was making infrequent yet concerted efforts to try track this same fish down but it simply wasn’t happening.  It took flood conditions to create the ideal conditions for location and capture of this fish and when 2 winters after I’d first caught her, these conditions arose again, I figured that if she was still around that she’d be ripe for capture?  There’s no merit in catching the same fish over and again (even 30’s) in my mind so I certainly wasn’t going to try to myself (My own little self imposed rule is that I’m happy to catch a BIG pike twice before I won’t target it any more) but I decided to try help Ade do so instead.   Armed with a bucket of the right stuff, Ade with a single rod and me with the net we set about tracking her down.  I honestly felt that if the fish was present that it would take the bait within minutes but when 15 of them had passed I started to conclude that she was no longer alive?  Leaving Ade in position I set off to see if there was another more likely looking spot for him to fish and I’d only been gone 30 seconds when he called out to me that he’d seen the BIG pike chase the 1lb live bait to the surface and take it!  Moments later we were photographing Ade’s first 30!

I’m not trying to kid anyone reading this into believing that I’m the most selfless or benevolent piker in the world and rest assured if I hadn’t already caught this fish twice I’d have been trying to again alongside MR K.  Further to that I don’t mind admitting that often when I’ve encountered good fishing, I’ve generally milked it a bit before I invite anyone else along but always without exception Ade finds himself included eventually and it works just fine for both us like that!

The Take.

The give and take in fishing doesn’t then necessarily pertain to fishing alone but it is ofcourse important and often does.  So when, some years later, whilst fishing a 20 acre gravel pit, Ade was fortunate enough to a 32lbs fish, he was magnanimous enough to give me the heads up too!  A fortnight later (there’s something in this time scale if you ask me) Ade and I set up together in the same swim from which he’d caught his recent 30 and fortunate as I often am I was to land a fish, Late morning, that was just a few ounces smaller than the one that Ade had caught recently.  Unsurprising, we concluded that I’d caught the self, same fish?  Elated, I down loaded the pictures from my camera that evening and was to become even more elated when it came to light that I had infact caught a different fish from Ades!  Naturally we were both excited by this fact and the rest of the winter was spent by each of trying to catch the fish the other already had but that as they say is another story.

More Give.

The predecessor to this forum saw me meeting, on line and inviting a complete stranger by the name of Darryl (The Baddie) Kirkbright out for a couple of days fishing.  The Baddie, it seemed was struggling to catch that all elusive 20 pounder and I at the time had access to a bit of drain that quite literally held upwards of a dozen and what’s more I’d caught most of them!  Sympathising with his obvious plight I contacted him through the forum and invited him down for a bit of easy fishing. I hope I don’t offend Darryl when I tell you that when he arrived at mine he wasn’t quite what I expected.  For some reason I’d got it into my head that I was going to be taking out some skinny little youngster that had little or no life experience let alone fishing experience.   How wrong can you be? 

The man mountain that is the Baddie roared into the yard at the Fire Station where I live and work in his Range Rover and covered from head to toe in tattoos, all 20 stone of him swept me up in a bear hug and for the next 48 hours we never experienced a minutes silence – he was and it was great company!   We had a few jars, a bit of supper and bedded down early so that we could make a dawn start the next morning.  Excited as he was I found him perched ready on the couch at 4 the next morning in readiness for day one of our trip.  60 odd miles later, we arrived for first light at the drain and set about getting him to the going swim.  I’d chosen not to fish so as to give the Baddie the very best chance I could for at times pike do seem to find me irresistible?  To cut a long story short The Baddie had a field day!  My memory isn’t what it was but if I recall correctly he caught a dozen or so fish over ten pounds that day and best of all one of the resident 20’s showed up for him too!  It was it’s fair to say “Mission accomplished!”  We could easily have stayed put for day 2 but I really wanted to give the Baddie a crack at another on song venue I was fishing at the time and day two saw us arriving at the mighty Abberton Reservoir.  With the Baddies 20 of the day before tucked under his belt I chose to fish too and we set up side by side in a going area.   When fishing Abberton it’s very difficult to do anything above and beyond the next man but being able to cast a good distance is a BIG advantage and make no bones about it the Baddie can cast!  That day he out cast and out caught me and with no help from me what so ever he promptly caught his second 20 pounder!  I don’t know who was the more elated (oh yes I do)!

Fishing aside the Baddie and I got on like a house on fire and kept in touch on line from then onwards.

More Take.

The next spring the PAC organised a fish-in at the The Carp Societies, Horseshoe lake, Oxford and by way of thanks the Baddie was good enough to book the pair of us in for a little social.  

All expenses paid, I wasn’t about to turn him down and besides I looked forwards to meeting up again.  It was again a 2 dayer and for us atleast the first of these was uneventful.  News did filter around though that the opposite side of the lake was producing a few good double.  Armed with this knowledge I set off at dawn the next morning with a wobbling set up to see if I couldn’t turn something up?  My wobbling set up is really just my free roving float fished live bait set up because I like the try make the float plop whilst twitching the bait back and ofcourse you also get to see what’s going on if and when a fish takes.  Cutting another long story short I’d covered a few hundred yards of bank and could see that I was raising a few glances as I headed towards the static anglers as I repeatedly cast out my pound plus deadbaits when lo and behold I had a take!  I personally think wobbling is a bit like lure fishing but has the added bonus that the pike hang on to the free meal they’ve intercepted?  I felt the obvious take, opened the spool whilst I readied the net and wound down to a good resistance.  Minutes later the Baddie turned up to photograph what to this day remains one of the prettiest 20lbs pike I’ve ever caught.  Thanks Baddie!

I’ve got more anecdotes like this, that highlight the necessity for “Give n Take” but I’m mindful of the length of this piece already so I’ll hang on to them for a bit and perhaps contribute a follow up to this for the Pool in the future my piking brothers?

Dave Horton

The Pit by David Vassiere

The Pit

 The 2012/2013 season was tough for a lot of anglers all over the country, the seemingly never ending rain, interspersed with snow, and up and down temperatures made it a testing winter for all us pike anglers, and even though some caught consistently some really struggled, I was in the latter camp until I decided on a new direction and challenge and really tried hard to get to grips with a large pit I had previously struggled on.

The pit in question is a large pit set in the middle of the Norfolk countryside and covers some 85 acres but has limited access due to being very overgrown, it has an average depth of 14 feet with the odd deeper hole and shallower area, but due to not being able to get a boat on the water all this had to be found out with the aid of a marker float, the water is absolutely gin clear and the bottom is covered in thick weed growth.

I had fished the pit on several occasions in the past but had really struggled with only a 3lb jack from a dozen visits, and to make matters worse the few other people fishing it where not catching either and had no idea what fish stocks where present, this knocked my confidence and I eventually drifted off onto the other pits on the complex and the other anglers drifted off as well and the pit was left relatively unfished for a few years.

Anyway back to the story, up until December 2012 the fishing on the rivers and drains had been slow, not helped by the amount of flood water coming through, and the constant deluge of rain all together made the fishing near impossible, and though the odd double to 17lb had put in an appearance the fishing was slow and I was quickly losing interest in it.

It was during the Christmas holidays that myself and my mate Roger got chatting about the possibility of giving the pit a recce as we had both had enough of struggling on the drains and rivers.

 So on December 27^th we headed for our first trip down there, first light found us all set up with 3 rods out each with an array of baits cast out, but there was already a problem, with all the rain we had, had the pit was 3-4 feet higher than usual rendering nearly all of it inaccessible, but we decided to persist as you just never know until you try, anyway, the surface was flat calm and there was a variety of waterfowl everywhere, it was in a word bliss.

We were unsure as what to expect for the day, but we both agreed just to catch would have been a bonus as we were very much fishing blind and it was almost a chuck it and chance sort of attitude.

Just as the sun crept over the horizon behind us one of my microns let out a single beep, I watched the drop back intently and it just slowly dropped back, not 10 minutes in and my large mackerel head cast about 40 yards out had been picked up, we were both shocked at the instant response, and though I pulled out of what felt like a good fish we were never the less in good spirits for the rest of the day. 

Soon after this the same rod was away again and a low double came to the net, the fish had some vivid markings and was in mint condition, probably down to almost zero fishing pressure and the clear water.

The morning passed by with two jacks and another low double to my rods, whereas Roger only managed 2 dropped runs, which was strange considering he was fishing the same as me and using the same baits. 
At some point around midday we noticed that a few baits we had discarded right in the edge in 2 foot of water had gone and as there had been no waterfowl near us meant it had to be a pike responsible, Roger not being slow in coming forward soon had a half mackerel in the edge and not 5 minutes later it was taken by a fish of 15lb which turned out to be the biggest of the day, I added another jack and low double in the afternoon for good measure, we left in high spirits as what to expect in future trips down there.

I was back a few days later on my own as Roger was unfortunately unable to join me, and though I only had an afternoon to fish felt confident as there was a strong southerly wind blowing into the area that I wanted to fish, the pike where on the feed as well as I ended the day with 6 fish to 17lb 4oz and at one point it was difficult to keep 3 rods in the water such was the nature of the feeding.

I returned again 2 days later on my own once again, and though I am aware of not over fishing a spot I was guilty of going over the top, as I'm sure we all have been when we have been struggling then dropped onto some good fishing, anyway I fished hard for the day and again the fish where very obliging, managing 7 fish from 10 runs including 3 different 14lbers, the fish seem to average mid doubles in the pit, but the amount of food fish present leads me to believe that in a few years’ time some of the doubles could grow into bigger fish.

A few days later I was back again, this time with Roger as I had obviously kept him updated as to what I had been catching and he was keen to get down there, the conditions were perfect again and this time we managed to get an equal share of the pike, though he again caught the biggest of the day I certainly was complaining as new fish kept showing up and the doubles seemed to outnumber the jacks which made for good fishing.

I once again returned on my own 2 days later but had decided to fish a new area, the area in question was the entrance to a large bay and though the bay was strictly no fishing you could fish the entrance, though due to the high water levels it meant spending a cold day in waders,, the bay was very weedy and shallow and one rod was cast into it, one rod was cast into the slightly deeper channel in the middle and one rod was cast to the drop off, it was the rod in the deeper channel that produced the three runs which resulted in a dropped run and a brace of 13lbers which was a decent return for my efforts.

I gave the pit a rest for a few weeks after that trip as the rivers and drains had started to fine down and I was determined to take advantage of that, as it happened we only had a brief window of opportunity as soon the snow came down and slowed the fishing right down, I'm glad I did drop onto the rivers though as my only 20 of the season put in an appearance and as it came off a very hard venue I was over the moon, that was my only fish from that window of opportunity as soon the snow came and the fishing died right off and I didn’t even bother with the pit.

Two weeks later the snow had melted though the temperatures hadn’t improved and the rivers and drains where once again coloured, high and running hard which rendered them unfishable, so despite the biting easterly I headed for the pit with very little confidence, once again Roger and myself made the long walk round and were soon fishing in the reliable area and the fish were on the feed, which surprised us both as the water was bloody freezing, I managed to recapture Rogers 15lber from our first trip from exactly the same spot in the edge on the same old half mackerel, though this time she had put on some weight and went 16lb 4oz and was the biggest of the day, I added 3 other doubles that day and Roger had 3 as well, all in all it was good fishing considering the unfavourable conditions.

A week or so later we decided to fish a night on the pit to see if the bigger fish fed at night due to the clear water, we arrived just before dark on the Saturday and got the rods cast out, there was a nice breeze blowing and there was decent cloud cover to keep the temperatures up, an hour or so in though and the breeze died and clouds dispersed and the temperatures plummeted, this was not good as the weather had predicted a mildish night of 6 degrees so we hadn’t bothered with bivvies or sleeping bags, we forced ourselves to continue despite the cold but come first light there was a problem, the whole pit had frozen solid, anything we tried to break the ice failed so we went for a wander to try and warm up, soon though the sun got on the water and a south easterly wind picked up and the ice started to melt quickly. 

In the afternoon a few pike turned up, Roger taking the best fish of a little over 15lb, we felt this just rewards for our determination and left a pair of happy pikers, later that evening on the news we had discovered the temperatures had dropped to minus 9 that night, I vowed there and then to never fish another night in the winter.

We returned again a few days later still hoping for a big fish, but by now the constant cold weather had started to affect the fish and the sport had slowed right up, the usual dozen runs in a day had gone and I only managed a solitary run for a low double on a long range half mackerel, Roger faired a little better with a jack and 2 low doubles, one of them being a fish with have called the mug as she just wouldn’t leave us alone.

I then once again gave the pit a rest and ended the season on my favourite river, its somewhere I always end the season and a nice fish of 16lb brought the curtain down on a very challenging river season.

Soon the pit was calling me again as it closed at the end of March for fishing and we were both hoping to get a big fish just before they spawned, the conditions were perfect with a strong south westerly putting a nice chop on the surface, we have found these to be the best conditions on there, and though fishing into such a wind is not nice we are more than prepared to do it for the fishing is always good when we get these conditions.

The day was a success with a lot of fish turning up, I managed 4 fish to 15lb, while Roger had several to 15lb as well, but the day was most memorable for Rogers other half Kayla, who joined us for the day and was duly rewarded with a new pb of 16lb 4oz.

We planned to have one last trip the following weekend, and had arranged to meet up and with a friend of ours there who had struggled to catch much the previous winter, we had promised him a good days fishing as the weather was forecast to be perfect again, we awoke early in the morning to get there for first light, but all was not well, and that was me, I knew as soon as I woke I was ill but tried to ignore it as I was desperate to fish, we arrived and early and walked round to the swims, but by this stage I was feeling really rough and had no desire for the fishing.
I tried to soldier on but in the end I had to throw the towel in and leave, I was disappointed as I was confident of catching, and was even more disappointed when I received a phone call from Roger later in the day, and he recounted the day’s action to me, they both finished up with several fish to 17lb, the fish were really on it that day, possibly feeding up prior to spawning, to say I was gutted would be an understatement and I had already hatched a plan to fish it the first weekend in April, despite the fact the lake was by then closed to fishing.

We turned up early that morning for what would definitely be our last session on there until the following winter, it certainly didn’t feel like April though when we turned up as the thermometer in the car read minus 6 and we were not sure what to expect action wise, confidence was further knocked when we turned up to find the water level had been dropped by 2 feet to try and get the sunken islands uncovered for the birds to nest on, anyway we soldiered on and struggled, we had the odd finicky run we  put down to the fish either spawning or being right on the verge of spawning and therefore not really interested in food.

The day wore on the sun came out and it developed into a nice day and eventually Roger managed a proper take on a long range half mackerel, which we have found to be the most reliable bait on there, the fish weighed 12lb or so but was the length of a fish double that weight, whether she had just spawned or was an old fish we don’t know, but there was obvious signs of her being recently grabbed by a much larger fish judging by the size of the jaw marks, this has given us confidence for next season that there is a real lump in those 85 acres of water somewhere, just after that capture, to our despair a couple of jet ski’s turned up and we knew that was that for this season on there.

The jet ski’s showed a total lack of care to our presence and despite us occupying a very small area of the pit then persisted in running over the area we were fishing, this was clearly done on purpose and despite venting our feeling they continued and needless to say it ruined the fishing and we moved onto one of the other pits on the complex.

So there we go, the season up until December looked bleak for me, but by always having a backup plan you can catch fish even where conditions seems terrible, if it hadn’t been for the pit I probably would have given up by the new year, and though nothing really big showed up it was a new challenge and has fired me up for next winter on there.

David Vassiere