A Year of Song - Dave Marrs

Many have been the band or musician referring to a particularly happy or memorable year through their song or performance.  This is nothing new and indeed from the top of my head, performances by artists ranging from Frank Sinatra ‘It was a very good year’, Kid Creole and the Coconuts “Best years of our lives”, to the one I perhaps enjoy most of all, David Bowie and “Golden Years” all spring to life. This is a recant of what to me, was perhaps the very best and most enjoyable year of my angling life.  An idyllic time spent enjoying a great job and then time off spent fishing some of the loveliest venues of a hallowed corner of the country, deep in the Cambridgeshire and Norfolk Fens.  I certainly often find myself reliving what were great days, which were very easy to bear under the sun, the mood and now, the memories.

Currently with a couple more really young kids I can’t really do a lot at the moment fishing wise nowadays.  I do try to snatch hours here and there lure fishing, but other than that I really need the missus to disappear to relatives for the odd weekend before I get to have a ‘crack’.  Without wishing to appear discontented, I think it is also worth mentioning that over the last couple of winters very occasionally, I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of the odd day out on the boat with Rob Shallcroft (thanks Rob) and the Portabote and I also get out here and there when we can.  Such a day out is a real treat, always enjoyed and is always eventful – even if it isn’t a fish stacked bonanza. It really makes for a great day when you wake up thinking that something eventful is going to happen and packing kit the night before, sleep doesn’t come too easily and it reminds of days when my time was my own and I chose my own pursuits.  How times change though, back in the day I always tended to be very comfortable in my own company truth be known, aside from fishing with one good buddy I actually preferred to beat my own path.  Although my very best friend Nick Clare (get well soon mate!) and I fished together fairly regularly, I think it is also fair to say that I’ve managed to fish more nights on my own in remote Fenland venues, than my missus has ever bought shoes!  Each night and each venue fished during a decent stint before I bit the ‘married’ dirt again, brought many different and many unique memories to be mouth-wateringly savoured these 15 years on.

Summer 1998

So with a bang, I started my third season on the Fens, having moved to Lincolnshire back in 1995.  I must point out at this stage just in case I haven’t before, that for the vast majority of my angling life I’ve been a Zander fanatic.  Having heard rumours of them not a million miles from where I grew up in Corby as a young lad, I actually caught my first proper one from a Leicestershire pit in 1993 at the first time of trying and the following season, I caught my first two doubles of 11lb 9oz and 10lb plus three back up 9’s too, the Fens didn’t give them up so easily though.  I’d started on the Fens in the summer of 96 and by the time that the 98 season came around, I’d had a hard earned double of 11lb 6oz with a couple of 9’s and quite a few other Zeds of varying sizes from four of the five Fenland venues I’d been concentrating on.

By the opening night of the 98/99 Season, you just couldn’t get rid of Baddiel and Skinner singing ‘3 Lions’ in their moronic tones (I sincerely would love to see the pair of those chimps with 3 Lions on their chests……) for another of England’s attempts at the World Cup. I attempted to escape it all and the first session of the new season saw me on a swim I’d found on a large Fenland river the previous September.  Originally I’d seen the area mentioned in an Angling Times return, ‘Zander showing at…..’ and when I turned up for a look midweek, a dead Zander of about 3lbs which had been recently thrown up the bank (a big match had taken place the weekend before), was starting to fester on the bank.  I gave the fish back to the Mother river and set up my kit.  I can honestly say I was so excited, as my previous and only trip to the swim in Sep 97, saw me enjoy a fantastic if somewhat unpredictable nights sport.  I’d put two rods out, one live-bait paternoster off the near shelf in about 14ft of water and a dead-bait cast to the middle of the river (hardly scientific fishing) I then wondered as the cloak of darkness covered the river, when the Zander were going to put in an appearance.  In those days, I catnapped in a chair with a sleeping bag wrapped around me, there were no comfy bed-chairs in my armoury then and as midnight came and passed, I began to feel that perhaps this river was going to be a tough nut to crack.  At about 0340hrs I was awoken from my slumbers as one of my very cheap buzzer alarms sounded.  Grabbing the rod, I was frustrated as I missed the run and also lost the live-bait which had been doing the business.  I re-baited and put the rod back down on the rest as I reset the monkey-climber (check out me back in the day……).  The one thing I couldn’t understand was why I couldn’t set the indicator as it was repeatedly pulled out of my hands – “A run you nob”, I quickly wound down and hit what was clearly a run and was happy as the through action, 9ft Mitchell Merit VST leger rod was bend double as a decent fish held sway.  Eventually I managed to get the fish under control and landed a 16lb 4oz pike, which at the time was my second best and thrilled me to bits.  It was followed an hour later by another pike of about 9lbs or so, then as soon as it got light, I started getting run after run and landed (but missing a few too) four Zander to 5lb 14oz.  To me, this was an extremely interesting first night on what was going to become one of my very favourite venues and one on which I’d spend a decent bit of time over the next 12 years or so.

Anyway, back to the first night of the season.

On my first trip of my two weeks holiday, I arrived after the 70+ mile drive an hour or two before dark on 15 Jun only to find the bank completely overgrown and deserted.  My baits went out immediately and by the arrival of darkness, my somewhat flimsy and definitely not fit for purpose DAM bivvy was put up and I just awaited the arrival of the toothy terrors I was after catching.  If you’ve never done it before, I’d wholeheartedly recommend a spot of night fishing.  To me, the anticipation I feel as I watch the sun sink at the end of a busy day, the calm in the air as the traffic dissipates on the surrounding roads and the open air orchestra as bird and insects come alive, makes evening time a true joy.  The rods went out at midnight, a brew on the go and I sat back on my chair making a bet with the devil on my shoulder.  A run before 01.00am I bet and I honestly can’t remember the forfeit that I promised the devil I’d pay (within the confines of my own tiny mind) should I not succeed.  Not to worry because at 0047hrs I had my first run of the season and within a couple of minutes a nice zed of 6lbs 11oz sat within the confines of my net, within an hour I had another of 6lbs 2oz landed and returned.  To me that was a real result but it wasn’t over there, as the dawn cracked a run saw a beautiful pike of 17lbs 6oz landed.  Interestingly, although I fished this area many, many more times over the next 13 years, I’ve never landed another pike anywhere near this size from the stretch.  Bizarre, to land two pike in my top fice in my first two trips to the area I really thought I’d fallen on pike heaven.  Another nice pike of 11lbs finished off what was a cracking trip as I packed up first thing in the morning and headed home to watch the previous evenings World Cup game on replay the next morning.

The rest of my two weeks summer holiday went in a haze of fishing, beer and World Cup games.  I fished until I could fish no more, driving hundreds of miles with the price of fuel not being quite the totally inhibiting factor that it is today. I fished almost every night, then drank beer and watched the World Cup game at home each morning, before heading to bed and starting the whole process off once again each afternoon with a quick trip snatching live-baits.  I fished 4 different venues during two weeks in Jun 98 and caught zander from all, the holiday culminated in a superb new PB of 11lb 10oz on the very last night of all.  I flew back over to work and as I wasn’t due in work until the next afternoon, I scampered down to the bar to catch up with the lads and the gossip.  As an added bonus, England were playing Argentina in the World Cup semi-finals.  Say no more but as the West Ham fans hanged effigies of David Beckham from the heights, I was already getting ready for my next fishing leave.

Back again – September.

Robbie Williams was belting out ‘Millennium’ and was at number one in the charts as I headed back for my next trip home and onward to the Fens, to be honest I much preferred the Manic Street Preachers and their hit ‘If you tolerate this’ truth be known.  Anyway I was on my way home and joining me on the transport to the Airport was none other than my Officer Commanding, he was a top bloke and absolutely encouraged a real ‘work hard, play hard’ attitude, which of course all of us lads in his Squadron absolutely loved.  Don’t get me wrong, there was no weakness, if you dropped the ball he was the proverbial ton of bricks but he always fought tooth and nail for his lads and was a real blokes, bloke. We had a chat during the half hour journey about what Disco Dave would be getting up to on leave, then he wished me the very best of luck with the zandering and we parted ways as he flew North.  Getting home about lunch time and picking up my car, I went to my Mums office for a brew and to say hello, I then headed back and packed up my gear.  I had a hunch and headed back to the very first Fenland drain I’d ever seen, let alone fished.  I’d had a good number of sessions on it over my first two Fen years but although having landed a few Pike and a very big Eel of over 4lbs, I’d never yet managed a zander from it.  This my 3^rd season in attempt - would this be the night?

Once I’d visited a decent little area of the drain and bagged a couple dozen live-baits, small skimmers, roach, rudd and perch, sorted, I headed off a couple of bridges downstream.  Hitting the swim I fancied, one I’d fished a fair few times I started to set up.  Three rods were the order of the night.  One bait was fished just over the inside shelf a couple of rod-lengths downstream with a nice little bait banging away on a sunken paternoster.  One dead bait was cast on a ‘popped-down’ rig to a far bank culvert and another live was cast to the middle two rod-lengths out.  I sat back and waited, wondering if this would be the night I cracked my duck on this drain.  As I relaxed and the day’s events and travelling took their toll rendering me a bit sleepy, I sat back in the chair and watched the cloak of darkness descend.  I will never tire of the atmosphere, a remote Fenland water will bring as darkness falls, and the wildlife literally seems reborn as all around you comes to life.  Bats performing Arial wizardry, birds in song and rustling everywhere as field mice and other creatures move in the grass beneath your feet.  Your senses are heightened and sitting back with a nice cup of tea, you can suck it all in and just melt away.  Before long it was dark and I was dozing in my extra comfy chair, a sleeping bag wrapped around me, warm and in one of my favourite places sleep took me and I dozed off.

I didn’t have too long to wait, as at about 0045hrs I had a run on the inside rod and could feel the pressure of a smallish fish struggling to resist coming in.  I soon had the fish under control as it was as I suspected a small schoolie Zed of a couple of pounds.  It was only as I pulled it across the top beaten towards the net that disaster struck and my first zed from the drain fell off an inch away from the draw cord of the net.  I was gutted, totally gutted and to make things worse, as I pulled the rod out to check the hooks and re-bait, the zed had managed to get the rig tangled around my middle rod on the far bank as the alarm on that started screeching.  Or so I thought!  On checking the rods, I actually had a screaming run that was taking line at a rapid rate of knots.  I wound down and hit the run, an awesome feeling hit me as this fish felt pretty substantial indeed.  Under control and no mistakes, a nice zed started making boils right underneath the rod tip, it fought well but was soon in the net and I was thrilled to bits as it was a nice fish!  On the scales it went 9lb 3oz and I was thrilled to bits – I had to fish the drain for another 5 ½ years before I would beat it.  Another schoolie shortly afterwards and it was a happy, happy man who packed up first thing in the morning and headed off home for a few beers with his dad later that afternoon.  Chuffed wasn’t the word, I’m still bloody smiling about this one now as I write this 15 years later, what an enjoyable session.  I fished that swim a fair bit during the two weeks off I had and managed quite a few more zeds as they were resident, I learned that some years it fished and then others, it simply didn’t.  I also managed a 13lb 6oz pike which fought like stink in the darkness, lean, mean and striped like a tiger that pike went like an absolute train as it fought and fought.

Later on during my leave, I arranged to meet up with one of my army buddies who had fished when he was younger but as adulthood arrived, he gave up, preferring the other delights life offered.  We served in the same squadron and so being on leave at the same time with Roy hailing from Peterborough which was pretty much directly on my route to the Fens, we agreed to meet up and I picked him up on the main ring-road by the Edith Cavell junction.  As we drove East, I couldn’t help myself singing the praises of my chosen venue to Roy promising him that we would catch big preds for sure.  As it was going to be a social, we stopped off in a little Fenland town near to the venue and dived in for some beer.  Bonus, there was a stash of  two pint cans of Fosters left over from the summers World Cup promotions and so we bought a few of those to see us through.  The plan being to stay up and fish for as long as we could but have a lazy stay the next morning and head off after lunch, midweek we wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.  

It was almost dark as we pulled up to the swims and got the rods ready.  Roy had brought his mega-gucci ridge tent which took him about an hour to put up, I got two rods out for myself and one for Roy and then popped up my little day shelter, which was really all you needed if rain wasn’t on the agenda.  By the time I finished and cracked open a beer (I always operated a strict, ‘no beer until the bivvy and rods are out’ rule) Roy was just about set up and sat on the spare chair I’d brought along.  I kid you not this was to develop into about to one of the most enjoyable sessions I’ve ever had, as no sooner than I’d sat down and sipped my first beer and I was away and wound down into a substantial feeling fish.  One feeling I really hope I’ve not felt for the last time, is the feeling in the pitch darkness as you strike into a solid zed in fourteen or fifteen foot of water thirty yards or more out in this big water.  It is an immense feeling as the rod doubles over and a very obvious moving weight makes its presence felt on the other end.  Brilliant, it was a very excited Roy who placed the net in the margins for me as the fish ploughed about in its attempts to escape.  ‘Don’t move the net Roy, let the fish clear the drawstring and lift’, I needn’t have worried as Roy professionally netted what looked to be a cracking zed and one which may go double figures.  Old Roy was jumping about excited to bits as he looked at this fish which I weighed in at 9lb 9oz.  He took a cracking photo and we were both chuffed to bits, for me it was job done as we’d managed a real decent fish and hence saved my reputation (Zanderman Disco Dave in the bar back overseas at work).  It wasn’t to end there either, we must have had about 20 runs that night as I landed six zander and a couple of pike, whilst big Roy had a small zed, a couple of pike and I lost a total munking zander after allowing it to wallow in the marginal lilies before I could net it for him, definitely a double for sure!  As things quietened in the early hours we bid farewell as we headed to our respective bivvies all of ten yards apart.  A lazy morning and brunch turned into an interesting lunch time as we noticed some disturbance on the far bank.  I quickly cast a small bait over to the disturbance and quickly caught a schoolie on the drop (a fairly common occurrence on this water I found, a few years ago when the schoolies were in evidence).  Roy had a cast over too and nailed this small zed almost immediately, however that was to be the end of that session as we ran out of bait.  I drove back home, dropping Roy off in Peterborough on the way and headed off for a few pints with my dad which rounded off a great leave in good style!

Back Again – End of the 98/99 Season

Aside from a few days snatched at New Year, I wasn’t home again until March and I was to be fishing with my best mate, Nick Clare who’d recce’d a stretch of a serious big fish water and we had planned to enjoy a three day/night session on a pretty remote stretch.  I always enjoyed my fishing with Nick, he’s a legend and a very good angler to boot.  Having so much in common, we always had a good laugh too be it at ourselves or anyone else we could rip the piss out of.  The year before, I’d seen Nick off and caused all his alarms to go off at once in the middle of the night but watched in shock as he dived out of his bivvy then headed straight down the bank head first into the margins.  If he ever found out that was me, he’d kill me so I hope he isn’t reading this!  We set up anyway, three rods each and were only fishing a few hours before Nick managed a nice 14lb 8oz pike.  What a nice fish but such great pike didn’t half give you the feeling that you were playing the mother of all record zander, when you hooked into them in the middle of the night!  Now we didn’t have all the fancy all-weather clothing back in those days but I guess we were four stone or so lighter too and so layers of ‘last years fashion’ gear tended to do the job (not!).  Nick and I enjoyed literally a couple of tinnies of beer and retired to our respective bivvies, the rods being on the alarms.  Tucked up in my sleeping bag on my very first bedchair, I was chuffed to bits, nice and warm.  Fortunately events were to see me getting dragged out of my slumber as a dead chublet fished on the far bank was taken.  I’d only had one zander previously from this venue and it had weighed all of about 1lb, but this one was fighting well and feeling a bit better in size.  Soon Nick had it in the net and it looked like a half decent fish, weighing in at 8lb 1oz.  Oh well, I hadn’t blanked and I don’t know about anyone else but I always find the end of the season a really hard time to catch.  If you can find them, you’re laughing but it is hard to find them, so more often you’re not laughing!

That being the end of the nights action we settled into the mammoth three night session and the daily routine which right now with two young’ uns’ at 8 months and 2 years old, I dream of.  Getting up, a brew and butty, back to bed for a snooze, check the rods, check the bait and all is well, catch a brew and back to bed for a snooze.  I get no sleep now and I often dream of the bivvy days.  Anyway I digress, that was the end of the action for the pair of us as we didn’t experience another run.  I suppose we were quite mad as we’d decided that run or not we’d see if we could bore out one of the drains big fish, but alas it wasn’t to be.  That said, another chap joined us to fish a few hundred metres away on the second day, a really decent bloke called Paul Woodward from Arlesey, Beds.  Would you believe that we had 6 baits peppered all over the drain, four lives and two deads and Paul tipped up and from a swim about 200 metres away caught two18lb+ pike in his first hour of fishing!  I felt like giving up.

Anyway, Paul and I talked about a small drain where we both used to fish for bait and he mentioned its pike potential having taken a few good fish from there himself.  I couldn’t believe him to be honest, the drain was to narrow and shallow for a big double to turn around in surely.  As the last morning of the 98/99 season was to dawn, it was very cold, damn cold with all the ice and bright skies you’d expect of your worst Zander scenario for the last day.  To be honest I was threaders with it and packed up very early in the morning, three nights in one swim is something I find very difficult to do and in fairness, I was just gagging to get in the car and disappear.  My dad and I had arranged to meet about lunchtime to watch a recording of what was to be a great boxing match, Lennox Lewis v/s Evander Holyfield.  My time estimation suggested that I had still a couple of hours of what had been my favourite ever fishing season left though and I felt it would be remiss to allow it to go to waste.  Therefore the car packed up solid with all my gear, I bid goodbye to Nick and wished him all the best until I could get back the following June and we could fish again.  I also said goodbye to Paul, he was a ‘proper’ specimen hunter and a real good bloke, a bit older than us and with some very fine fish under his belt – a very decent bloke too, I’ve never met Paul since and so if he is reading this, I hope all is well with you mate!

I was itching to drive home but didn’t want to waste the last day of what had been my most pleasurable season ever.  I’d had great sessions in the sun, the rain and even in minus 6 conditions on one of the hardest Fen drains ever, everything this season had turned sunny side up – it had been truly fantastic.  Normally on the last day I enjoy a small parade, where I let my livebaits go, wishing them well for the future but on this day, I decided to visit my bait catching venue and put a rod out for pike.  The car was crammed to its gunnels with crap from the three night session but I made sure I could grab a rod and net and so, a 6oz roach was paternostered just off a pumping station in literally two foot of water.  Well, it was only there about  five minutes before the float disappeared and a powerful fish took off.  I couldn’t believe it, what a beast which when landed and weighed, beat my pike PB by a full pound at 19lb 2oz and it was caught Ppiking, not whilst zandering (although I’d have taken a zed from the water if on offer – but to this day, I’ve never, ever heard of one from here).  Talk about chuffed, this season had truly been the very best season of my life from the very first night, through to the very last minute.  I headed over to enjoy the video of the previous evenings boxing (remember video’s?) over a pint or two with my dad, I really was a very happy bloke all the way home.  Truly, I enjoyed many more catches during the 98/99 season and although I’ve upped most of my PB’s since, I don’t think I can remember a season I’d rather sing about though……………….

Dave Marrs Aka Fentiger01

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

A Natural Progression ? - Peter Webster

My earliest angling recollections as a youngster are from when I was around seven or eight years of age, I would take my late Dad his flask of tea to him where he had been night fishing for Tench on a local railway pond, owned by the mining company Cementation, this involved a walk of around a mile or so, through the local estate (housing not country), in those days children were safer than in today’s world, or were we?, I grew up quickly and was probably a lot more street wise than today’s eight year olds so any dodgy looking bloke offering sweets, or the chance to see some puppies, would have probably got the V’s, even at that age.

What I do remember was the first time I saw the Tench my Dad had caught during the previous night; they were as black as coal, probably due to the clinker lined pond situated right at the side of the Doncaster to Leeds railway line. These Tench were not large by today’s standards, probably around the 5lb mark, but to an impressionable eight year old they were mightily impressive and even today, just months from my 50th birthday I can still see them in my mind’s eye, looking back I now realise these, and a near 20lb Pike caught from the same pond by my father’s friend,” Uncle Barry to me” who was bailiff on the Cemmo , were the first seeds sown that years later would drag me into the world of the Specimen Angler.

My Dad was a typical hard drinking miner, consequently mine and my siblings early childhood were not easy, not to mention my poor Mam who had to scrape what she could together to provide for four hungry kids, it was a hard life and I can well remember hiding under the table with my mother and sisters when the Rent was due and someone was knocking on the door.

Despite my father’s failings it is definitely where I get my love of Nature and the countryside from, on the odd occasion he would take me bird nesting from a very early age, a common practice in those days and one that I carried on in to my teens amassing a nice collection and I make no apologies for enjoying this pastime, even if at a later age I could see the other side of the argument. I would be bursting with excitement when a frosty Sunday morning came around hoping for a very rare offer of a morning’s Ferreting to look forward to, rare because most of Dad’s ferreting was what could loosely be described as poaching, and a small child is a bit of a hindrance in such situations.

I can never remember going fishing with my dad other than a couple of hours on the “Cemmo” pond after I had delivered his flask, due to this I recall a couple of friends and I would sneak on there and after scrounging around for some old discarded line and a hook we would dig up some worms and dangle them under the landing stages trying to catch the Perch that hung out in the shadows of the boards, this form of fishing was termed “Pimping”, an unfortunate phrase but what did we know at our age.

On one particular Sunday evening I remember begging my Mam if I could go out for half an hour, even though I had just had my Sunday night bath, which I always had to have, whether I needed it or not, of course she relented and I and a friend snuck of to the Cemmo for a spot of Pimping, we were so engrossed, lying down on the boards peering into the water, straining our eyes in the search of a stripy, that we didn’t notice the bloke sneaking up on us until it was too late, “Peter is that you” came a booming voice from behind, my heart sank as I recognised the voice of uncle Barry, and I turned around almost in tears as I realised I would be in big trouble now, we had managed to drop the line in the water so we explained we were just looking for Perch, and we would never “Pimp” on the Cemmo, after a bit of a rollicking and a promise he would tell my dad I was there we trudged off home, me full of dread fearing a smacked a**e the next time I saw dad, fair play to Uncle Barry, he never did tell dad but I did get a clip round the ear from my Mam for leaving the street so late in the evening. Unfortunately my Dad died when I was Ten years old so that was the end of my fishing experience until my early teenage years.
A couple of years after my Dad died my Mam found love again and the family moved 15 or so miles to another suburb of Doncaster, My stepfather did not share my love of all things nature but he did help build my aviary where I housed my Canaries and Quail, and didn’t even complain when I brought home a varied selection of wild bird chicks such as Magpies, Crows, Kestrel, and Owls.

I soon found my way back into fishing through the local youth club, and a keen teacher who knew the value of keeping young lads busy when they could be up to mischief. Most of the fishing with the youth club was in the guise of small matches between ourselves, but we also had a couple of seasons fishing in the Boys Club where I did become runner up in the all England Boys Club Championships on the River Ancholme.

During my Teens and early 20’s I organised an Angling Club at my place of work, we had monthly matches on venues such as the Trent, Witham and local waters such as the Warping Drain, I also pleasure fished on local waters when time permitted as I had a young family during this period of my life, I then went through a period of very little Angling activity for a number of years as I got seriously into working Terriers, another Field Sport that I think stems from my Fathers influence, I owned, bred, and worked mostly Border Terriers and I still own one to this day, I just wouldn’t be me without a Terrier by my side.
I was probably 40 years old when I seriously started to target Specimens, I had already amassed a decent PB list through my pleasure angling exploits, I was introduced to the Angling Star which ran a competition called the Climax Challenge, an angling competition that allocated points to specimen fish over a certain size, the winner being the one with the most points at the end of the year. This competition gave me a great deal of motivation as it gave me an idea what size of fish I should be aiming to catch, it created a table which was updated monthly and I must admit I used to really look forward to seeing how well I was doing, or maybe even wasn’t doing as well as I thought, the fact you have to travel soon struck home and the costs required far outweighed any rewards gained through the competitions prizes, never the less after a couple of years of plodding along I decided to give it my all and gave myself two years to win the competition.

I did win the Climax Cup the next year, actually winning it on the last day of the competition after a taking big catch of Perch which included a new PB of 4lb6oz, and I must admit I really enjoyed the dashing about, planning which specimen to target that particular week, the venue chosen, then the plan executed to fruition, with a specimen caught, or even a PB fish in the net, something that we big fish anglers strive for. Most northern anglers I would guess are realistic enough to know that you aren’t going to break many National records if you fish North of Leicester, which was the Southern boundary for the Climax Challenge, but to get a Venue record or a PB is their main aim, that was my aim and motivation in any case.

I bowed out of the competition half way through the next year after some silly new rules were introduced which made the competition go off in a different direction, this may have been the final nail in the coffin as it were, as not long after the Magazine sadly folded?.
My Angling at the moment concerns only a couple of Species, spring sees me targeting big Perch on a couple of large Canals local to me, the summertime finds me chasing Carp, Catfish and Rudd on my Syndicate water which is run by Neville Fickling.
The winter is reserved for one species only, and that’s the Pike, earlier in this story I alluded to a near 20lb Pike my Uncle Barry caught from the Cemmo, I only saw a grainy photograph of the fish but I was amazed a fish as big as she was could be found in a water so small and close to home, I told myself there and then I would catch my very own 20lb Pike one day, that desire ebbed and flowed over the years due to circumstances I found myself in, but every time I caught a Pike I remembered Uncle Barry’s Cemmo fish. 
I caught my first 20 from a local drain quite a few years ago now, she weighed spot on the money at 20lb, I had made my way back to the car park by last knockings and I was wobbling a Roach around the two static dead bait rods when I felt a slight grab on the bait, the adrenalin started to pump as I recast the Roach to the same spot, time and time again I recast, all to no avail as she did not provide another chance, not to be out done and as a last resort I repositioned one of the static rods on the spot, the Smelt can’t have hit the bottom as before I could clip up the drop off she was away. 
The fight wasn’t memorable as is often the case with Pike caught in midwinter on a relatively shallow venue and she was soon in the net resting while I got the gear ready for unhooking and a quick photo, much to my annoyance I did not make a very good job of the latter, in my haste and excitement I forgot to place something on the mat such as my rod or the scales to provide some scale to the photo, and to be honest the resulting picture could have been of a fish of any size what so ever, in today’s age of remote control camera’s and a lot more experience on my part I am glad to say this occurrence is a thing of the past, but I must confess it was a lesson I would rather not have gone through with my first ever 20, and you can imagine the leg pulling, good humoured I have to stress, that I had to endure from my fishing mates of the time.

I am not a glory hunter by any stretch of the imagination, that being someone who will fish anywhere and step on any one to catch a known fish, but!! If it is in my area and I do get the right info I may give it the attention it requires, if you know what I mean. Speaking of glory hunters, the world of the Pike angler is said to be full of ruthless cutthroats who will stab you in the back to gain a shred of information pertaining to a 30, but in all honesty, all the lads I have met and fished with have been a pleasure to know, and that includes some of the top Pikers in the country, there is only one rule to follow “you don’t have to tell them owt just to impress them”, if they are good at what they do they probably already know anyway.

If I am honest I like to catch big Pike, that being a fish over 20lb’s, on my doorstep so to speak, one such venue a heavily fished northern canal is five minutes from my front door, and even though it is well past the glory days of old there are still the odd Canal Queens to be had to the Pike Angler who can give the venue the time it requires, and it has been kind to me over the last few years.

There are a couple of small rivers locally that have miles of untapped, or at least seldom fished stretches and it will be here I will be turning my attention to, once the dreaded ice descends and covers the still waters or drains that I fish, it would be nice to think that maybe I could catch a 20 that has never been hooked before, are there still such fish out there in my neck of the woods? Who knows the fun is in the effort for me.

The high point of my Angling adventure to date is the capture of my one and only 30lb+ Pike, and would you believe it she came from the same venue as my very first 20 many years ago, she is a fish I doubt I will ever better, even if I catch a bigger Pike I just don’t believe it will carry the same emotion or, in my own mind Kudos, due to the venue and the fact that I went my own way to catch her when everyone else went in a different direction, literally.



Well I am fast approaching my 50th year on this ever changing island of ours, some of the changes are for the better and some for the worst, for most of that time the Pike has been persecuted mercilessly, during my childhood smaller fish were regularly taken by my father, and no doubt thousands of others, for the pot, then it was the match Angler’s and club’s turn to be the villain, tossing any, and every Pike caught, up the bank, but with the advent of the PAC most clubs and some individuals can be shown the error of their ways through education, even up to last year the problem was still occurring on one of my local waters, the Pike though is still here, and thriving, hopefully they can withstand the current onslaught that is affecting some of our waters at the moment. I don’t just mean the immigrant population either, today there are a damn sight more Pike anglers around, and the one thing some big Pike can’t handle is angling pressure.

Let’s hope Pike anglers out there remember what they are handling if they do manage to catch their dream fish, that fish has possibly been through the hands of many anglers during its life and its only there for you to catch because they have treated it with care and respect, please treat it the same way and return her safely to possibly make another angler’s dreams come true.

Just remember it’s all about the fish, yes, we do have to stick hooks in their mouths before we can enjoy their company, but after that they deserve the utmost care we can give them.

My one true regret In angling is the fact my Lad Daniel has no interest in angling what so ever, and at 22 years of age I stopped trying to cajole him into accompanying me years ago, obviously I blame his mother.

Tight Lines
Pete Webster

Big girls ain't easy By Phil Wakeford

Not only are Big Girls far from easy but they can prove very expensive to entice as well and many men have been chasing them all over the world without bagging one, though they may have seen a good many and tried to tempt them. They may even have had to suffer the indignity of seeing a competitor suitor make off with the big girl they were after and whom they had spent many a restless night dreaming of. Yes these girls have got it all and don’t they know it? They often flaunt themselves in the sun near some of the most beautiful beaches in the world for all to see, but when it comes to actual physical contact then suddenly they are all coy and may disappear altogether without so much as a wink. Yet like all of their sex there are also those rare days and the right set of circumstances, when they seem to throw caution to the wind and will literally force themselves on the first suitor that happens along and makes any sort of half hearted offer to them.

Yes big tarpon can be the most fickle fish in the world when they are “not in the mood”. I can’t exactly recall when I was first attracted to a big silver king/queen (as they are often referred to) but I can say that it was a mighty long time ago. Images of tarpon adorn many T shirts and can be found in any big game fishing book, together with impressive stories of their fighting capabilities, written by famous anglers like Zane Grey and Ernest Hemmingway. Sadly they do not swim in British waters, but whenever I have found myself in warmer climes, where they are to be found, my enthusiasm has been rekindled to have a go for one.

My first opportunity arose on a family holiday to Florida back in 1998. With our young son in tow, we had done the usual visits to Universal Studios, Bush Gardens and Sea World. We had travelled south in a hire car via The Everglades and Sanibel Island ending up in the Keys, for our second week at Islamorada, right in the heart of tarpon country. One afternoon, following a recommendation made in a bar the evening before, we visited Robbie’s Café on Islamorada to feed the fish, and what a sight they were. Perhaps a hundred tarpon milling around under and around the landing stages, with sizes ranging from about twenty pounds to seventy or more. For a buck we bought a small bucket of sardines to hand feed the fish, and these girls were certainly not backwards in coming forward, nearly taking my wife’s fingers off (only joking) so keen were they to take the free offerings before another in the shoal snatched the prize away from them.

Fishing for these semi-tame (but free to leave) tarpon was naturally forbidden, as they are a tourist attraction, but feeding them and seeing/touching them at close quarters certainly leads you to the conclusion that they can’t be that hard to catch and sure enough before long I was enquiring after a captain, with boat, to take me out after them. At the time my finances were not great, and as my mate Rodders told me I was “prudent” with my money. That said these days I am retired and he is working his socks off, but I digress. Anyway a trip was booked with a local captain and the cost shared with none other than a Vietnam War veteran whom I had befriended in the aforementioned ‘Safari Club Bar’ aka ‘The Dead Animal Bar’, which is still going strong today.

The fishing proved far from easy but despite this, and the session being temporarily interrupted by a thunderstorm, both the vet (David, who had some impressive bullet wounds in his lower legs) and myself, caught modest tarpon of around 20 lbs plus a mangrove snapper of perhaps 8 lbs on the small live-baits fished under the nearby bridges.

Even though I’d had a taster of tarpon fishing I didn’t feel as if I’d been there and done that sufficiently to tick off the species on my fishy bucket list. Interest was re-kindled some years later in 2001 when discussing the species with a mate at work, Andy Hunt. Andy was fresh back from a family holiday on the island of Tobago in the Caribbean, where he had hooked and lost big tarpon from the beach and caught some reasonable ones out in a boat with a guide called Kester, who I recognised as having fished with Matt Hayes on a program for Sky TV.

Now selling a holiday to Tobago to the Mrs was not altogether difficult, though we did end up booking into the Rex Turtle Beach Hotel in the month of August which as I later found out is not an ideal time of year to chase the Big Girls. The holiday was one great success all around, and having tracked Kester down I did manage four or five morning sessions after tarpon. Having done some homework regarding tackle I had taken quite a bit with me including an up-tide boat rod (previously purchased for Mahseer) and borrowed a big baitrunner reel loaded with 65 lbs BS braid.

On my first morning out with Kester, again using small lives as bait (known generically as jacks on the island), I hooked and lost the biggest tarpon encountered on the trip. We had used the small boat to get out to the sea side of the reef at Pigeon Point, and cast baits at a pod of cruising fish in about 4 feet of water. My first cast at this pod produced a confident take and as I set the small circle hook I experienced that classic tarpon performance as five feet or more of silver king took to the air in an impressive aerial display of silver and green all covered in sea spray. This is a common reaction of a tarpon upon feeling the hook and is the image captured on a million T shirts by artists such as Guy Harvey.

Kester had told me what sort of bite to expect, how I was to let the rod be pulled down by the fish until it was pointing at it, before reeling in on a straight line and unbent rod to set the circle hook. According to him the fish would likely jump (as it did) and then head out to deeper water in its attempt to escape. Wrong! This one had other ideas and had clearly not read the book. Once the fish dropped back in the shallow water after jumping it was off at high speed across the reef. We did not have an anchor down as we had been sight fishing so we prepared to follow the fish along the reef. But as countless numbers of tarpon hunters will tell you everything is happening on fast-forward mode once you hook your fish. This is when the braid proved to be a poor choice for line as the fish ripped perhaps a hundred yards off the reel before we got underway. I felt a rasping sensation through the now fully compressed rod before it sprang, sickeningly back. The braid had been cut on the reef and my fish was again free. How big was she? Kester said 90 to 100 lbs and I had no reason to argue with his estimate.

Other trips were made during our stay which commenced with Kester picking me up at the hotel at some ungodly hour in order to launch the boat at Pigeon Point and be out on the reef for first light. We averaged a couple of tarpon per session plus some small barracuda to 20 lbs (remember the island record is 70 lbs plus!), some small tuna and Rainbow Runners and a single African Pompano.

My best tarpon from both this trip and another some 2 years later, was a modest 65 lbs but I enjoyed the sessions greatly and at 100 bucks for a mornings sport it was great value that I seriously doubt would be on offer today.

More years slipped by. Other holidays came and went, including a memorable one to the Maldives in 2010, when a single mornings fishing produced two impressive Sail-fish and a Wahoo. Jeez these big saltwater, tropical fish know how to fight and really do put our smaller freshwater species in the shade. With work out of the way (eventually) I started to think of that fishing Bucket List once again. 2012 saw an out and out, and very successful, fishing trip made to Texas after Alligator Garr in the company of Watto, Stevie Younger and Mark Gabriel, the trip written up by Steve for Pike and Preds magazine. But where to go in 2013?

The married readers amongst you will realise that being let off the leash as I had been for Texas could not be repeated on an annual basis, assuming you want to remain married that is. I considered the options for somewhere with good weather, good food and with perhaps good fishing thrown in for good measure too. Thailand was rejected following a previous holiday there which revealed that the coastal waters had been seriously denuded of many, many fish leaving some of the small, well stocked lakes on offer but they did not appeal. Antigua, Cuba and Mexico were all ruled out for one reason or another but what about a return trip to Florida?

Irrespective of what you think about the Yanks (who have many pros and cons) one thing you simply cannot argue with is the fact that they look after their fish and know the meaning of the word sustainable, which most of the world do not. To give you an example they had a very cold (for Florida) Winter a few years ago in the Keys which apparently killed off many of the Snook. So the taking of Snook for food was banned for a few years whilst the species recovered and now they are on the menu again. The taking of all species is regulated and tarpon are particularly protected. So you can fish in the waters of the Florida Keys in the full knowledge and indeed expectation of encountering good and protected fish stocks.

Exactly where and when to visit the Keys were the next questions that arose before making any booking. I had learnt from bitter experience that just booking a holiday, when it suits you and the family, is unlikely to result in good sport with the few exceptions to this for me being the fishing lakes in Thailand and my lucky morning in the Maldives. Some tarpon are resident in the Keys year round, with pockets I have seen at Robbie’s and other marinas such as that at Key West, but the main population migrate down the Atlantic Coast and pass through the Keys en route to the Gulf of Mexico during April, May and June of each year.

Having decided to stay in the Florida Keys during the month of May my wife got involved in exactly where we would rent and went searching on the internet having on-line conversations with numerous owners and realtors. Eventually a house was booked at a place called Key Colony Beach, which is part of Marathon Key, in the Middle Keys which I THOUGHT was in the heart of tarpon territory. This decision proved to be only partly true as I shall explain.

The tarpon migrate in their thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands for all I know, travelling down the east coast of America heading for the Gulf of Mexico. Much of their passage is blocked by the Keys themselves so that they are channelled through the passes between Keys and pass under the bridges connecting the Keys as the road runs from Key Largo (made famous by the Humphrey Bogart film of the same name) in the east and running out to Kew West some 100 miles away. The most famous of these bridges is without doubt the Seven Mile Bridge which connects Marathon to Bahia Honda, which on paper anyway put our holiday location in the right place.

All of the proper tarpon fishing takes place from boats as trying to control and eventually land a big tarpon from the shore is pretty much out of the question. I had intended to have a few trips with local guides/captains, to learn the ropes from them and then to hire a boat myself and do my own thing, which would obviously be cheaper and hopefully a lot more satisfying though no doubt more demanding.

By a massive stroke of good fortune I was given free use of a 22 foot boat fitted with a 90 HP engine, ideal for fishing for tarpon.

All I needed was a convenient bridge or two to head for. Problem, though we were close to a small bridge at Vaca Cut there was both heavy boat traffic through its narrow confines as well as very strong currents running either one way or the other between the Atlantic and the Gulf. My wife Maggie and I did fish here on several occasions catching barracuda, various types of snappers and grunts, some decent Nurse Sharks and a few tarpon, but none in the 100 lbs class that I was targeting.

A big consideration dawned on me now that I had tarpon fishing literally on my doorstep. Pretty much all of the guides took their clients to the larger bridges either anchoring directly under them or drifting in the vicinity of them. If I ruled out Vaca Cut, for the reasons given above, where was the next, more suitable one. Well even though we were staying on Marathon I found that the start of Seven Mile Bridge was about 7 miles away by road and considerably further by sea/boat due to shallow water. OK, you might say it’s just more time and expense for fuel and that is correct but also we need to remember when the tarpon bite best i.e. at first and last light, meaning that at least one of the journeys to and from the bridge would have to be conducted in the dark. This has it’s own problems of navigation etc as well as being in somebody else’s boat and I am a renowned prop bender.

The waters around the Keys are shallow for the most part. The boat I had available was not fitted with an echo sounder and even if it was you needed to know what the underwater topography was like and you don’t learn that overnight. The ever present risk of getting grounded, damaging the boat or more likely the prop or having a close encounter with a bridge support (remember those fast moving tides) or with a power boat “controlled” by a drunken Yank made such journeys even less attractive.

Having asked around the local bars (another tedious but necessary task) I tracked down a guide based right next to Seven Mile Bridge by the name of Bobby Manskey and Maggie and I met up with him one evening to try for a big tarpon. Bobby had been out and about earlier in the day with his cast-net and had a dozen or so prime mullet waiting for us in a cage near his mooring. I should add that mullet are the prime bait at this time of year as they too use the Keys for their migration and the tarpon feed on them heavily. But you can’t catch the mullet on bait and also they don’t last well in a net before getting in poor condition or keeling over so you need to get them within 24 hours of your trip. Not something that the visiting angler can easily do especially if they are not skilled in the use of a cast-net.

Bobby Manskey 

It was not long before we were dropping, or rather positioning our anchor at a known good spot between the new and old bridges. The tide was running fast, about as fast as the Wye flows at Ross in the Winter, and the water had masses (no exaggeration) of floating weed streaming through with it, meaning that the line had to be mended on a regular basis. Tackle consisted of a one piece 7 ft rod suitable for 20 to 40 BS line and a Shimano 6500 Baitrunner loaded with 30 lbs mono and a fluorocarbon, rubbing trace of 50 lbs. A float (known locally as a bobber) and finally a good size (7/0), good quality, circle hook on which to lip hook a live mullet, completes the set-up.

Getting the anchoring just right, so that the boat ends up between the bridges, does not rub on the bridge supports and most importantly holds in the tide can take a few attempts but without too much trouble we were soon set and sent out a couple of hapless mullet to await their fate. We were not alone and there were ten or so other boats fishing the same general area but though a couple of fish were hooked it appeared that these were lost after various periods of time being fought. So clearly we were in the right area and Bobby had hooked up a tarp here the previous night. Would I get my chance?

One of the things I like about fishing (even for carp) is the suddenness you sometimes get when a bite happens. With pike a run is often preceded by a few bleeps of the optonic or dips of the float to pre-warn you of a pick-up. Well it ain’t like this with tarpon, or at least it wasn’t with the bite I got that evening. The mullet was taken in a huge, powerful spash and associated impressive vortex. The rod was pulled down and I successfully set the circle hook by winding on a straight, pointed rod. At this point all hell broke loose as the tarpon decided to put as much distance between itself and us in as short a time as possible.

Time is now of the essence as line is leaving the oversize spool at an alarming rate and if you are not quick on your toes you would soon be spooled. There were four of us on-board (but only me fishing) and Bobby’s little helper Liah, ran to the bow of the boat to cast off the anchor line, complete with buoy, to aid location later. Quite a while later as it happened.

With the boat free and under power we were able to follow the fish, retrieve some of the lost line and indeed got the fish on a short line, where it was jumping and wallowing after about 15 minutes. Bobby shouted something to Liah and she came along-side me trying to touch the line, which I was none too keen about in case she broke the line or pulled the hook out. Apparently if you can touch the leader with the fish on then it counts as a “caught fish”. However this was not something I had in mind and wanted to fight the fish to a stand still and if possible get her on-board for a photo. Nevertheless Liah did touch the leader and I could have claimed my catch there and then and cut it off. No thank you.

At this point the tarp got its’ second wind (or was it still her first wind?) and decided to tow the boat, first in and out of the bridge supports and then way out in the Atlantic for a mile or more. I’m hazy about how far we were towed because though we had hooked up the fish in daylight it was now pitch black. Fighting a strong and largely unseen monster of a fish in the dark brings its’ own problems. Where is it? How far away? Keep it away from the prop. Get that sea grass off the line. I hope the hook holds and the line doesn’t fray. What if the commotion attracts one of the massive Hammerhead Sharks known to inhabit the area that literally eat the tarpon off the line?

After the fight of my life, lasting over an hour, we got my prize along-side and Bobby was able to lift her into the boat with the use of a hand-gaff placed in the bottom jaw and me lending a hand. With a great sense of urgency, as none of us wanted to keep this beautiful and massive fish out of the water for longer than necessary, I eventually held up my Big Girl for the camera.

Phil holds up his first 100 lbs plus Tarpon up for the camera assisted by Bobby Manskey

Admittedly the pictures we took are not the best, but I hope the reader can get a good impression of the size and beauty of my estimated 120 lbs tarpon and I have a permanent image to remind me of that special evening afloat in the Keys. A dream had been realised after many years of trying. I had done battle with one of the World’s greatest sporting fish and won. During the rest of our stay other great fish were hooked. Some came off, for one reason or another, but other monsters were brought to the boat (no more brought on-board though) including several other hundred pound plussers up to an estimated 165 lbs. At that stage I had learnt a bit about how to tame the Big Girls in less than an hour by really taking the fight to them and constantly trying to throw them off balance with side strain.

I could go on even longer about fishing for these magnificent creatures in fantastic surroundings but I don’t want to spoil your day more than I probably already have. Go on, save up your pennies and convince the Mrs that you should spend some time in the Florida Keys chasing some of the local Big Girls.

A Strong Tarpon est' at 140lb swimming away