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.

Dave Horton - One Good Deed

I first shared this little tale through the pages of a small circulation Irish Piking magazine (An Luis) back in the early 2000’s?

I’m hoping then that few if any of you will have read it already and that it entertains you and fills a few minutes of your life’s as intended.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I have Irish blood coursing through my veins (my father having been born and raised in Tipperary town) but the one place in this world that find myself most comfortable and at home in is Ireland.  For many years now I’ve nurtured a dream that sees me living somewhere on that beautiful Island and god willing one day I will!  Here and now though in the cold light of day and the stark reality of the present I live on a somewhat different Island surrounded by people with whom I find myself increasingly at odds with and the majority of whom I seemingly become ever more detached from.  Don’t get me wrong, I recognise the fact that the common denominator in all my conflicts is me and that I can be a difficult man but on the whole my brother man (and woman) disappoints me more often than not and even if I am able to recognise and (slowly) accept my own failings, it still doesn’t alter the fact that there are some who’s failings are yet greater!

Here then is a Piking tale that contains considerable good and just a little bad, that will I hope paint the picture more clearly to you of what I’m getting at. 

The story begins with me driving a couple of hundred miles across country in the dark, in order to get a reasonable nights kip on a mates couch (Les Moses) and wake just a short jaunt down to his local river in pursuit of the awesome Pike it held!  Forgive me for not naming the venue but even with this passage of time I’m mindful of treading on the toes belonging to those more local than myself.  Some if not all of you will work out the venue I’m referring to but at least I can say I didn’t tell you eh?

Previous ventures to the river had seen Les and I share multiple catches of BIG Pike, with his best going over 28lbs and mine just a pound less.  Confidence then was high especially when the river conditions were at their optimum best following flood conditions.

I’d first met Les (a good, good man) in the late 90’s when I’d been asked to give a presentation to his local region of the PAC.  Despite being well versed at giving these presentations I don’t mind admitting that I get a little anxious about giving them (few of us like public speaking?) especially if I attend on my own (please take note people I won’t be alone in feeling that way).  Anyways, there I was, stood anxiously in a room full of strangers, 150 miles from home in the late 90’s, when out of the crowd emerged  a stranger (Les) who was to become a friend for life with his warm words of welcome, a kind smile and a pint!

Les, he won’t mind me saying so, is a bit of a scally wag which meant we found common ground and empathy quickly.  Even before we shared great fishing and more than our share of bad times together we discovered that rare natural understanding from which lasting friendship grows.

Anyways back to the story.  It was about ten at night and a tired Horton decided to pull into a motorway service station for a refuel and a coffee.  Parking the car up near to the Services entrance, my headlights picked out a forlorn looking figure standing with an empty Petrol can in his hand.  Already starting to recognise an opportunity to help someone I wandered over and enquired if all was well with him?   “Not really.”  He started and proceeded to tell me how he was driving home in his Van and had realised he’d left his wallet at work and was on the brink of running out of fuel.  Could he perhaps borrow a fiver to get him to the next Services where he’d hopefully find another “generous soul”  who would maybe lend him another so that he might repeat the process until he made it home.  He would ofcourse take my name and address in order that he could mail me the fiver back if I were good enough to help him?  Blimey this was my lucky day I thought to myself!  This bloke really was up shit creak and I was in prime position to help him!  To cut a long story short I gave not the £5 he was asking for but the £30 he’s need in order to get home without stopping again and so that he wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of having to ask some other stranger to lend him some of their hard earned cash – I even bought him a coffee and a pastry (incidentally I’ve never ever bought myself a pastry from a motorway services because I wouldn’t justify the extortionate price of one  for myself – but when I asked him if he wanted anything it that which he pointed at and that which he got!) so that his little tummy might stop rumbling!  Feeling pretty good about myself, we shook hands warmly and parted company so that I might take a leak and he’d go fill his van up with diesel.

Needing fuel myself I figured I’d see him at the pump too.  Smiling to myself and humming “Everything is beautiful” I drove down to the petrol stn and was a little surprised not to see a van of any sort?  Certainly I’d been pretty quick and I doubted I’d missed him but somewhere deep inside me stirred an uneasy feeling.  NO!  I wouldn’t allow myself to think what I’d started to think and so I tried my best to shut it out!  The next couple of hours passed without event and eventually at about midnight I pulled up at Les’s place. “You’re a little later than expected?” he said and whilst making my apologies I related the tale of the poor fcuker I’d met at the motorway services and how I’d saved the day. Les smiled wryly, at the same time shaking his head and muttering as he left the room momentarily.  When he returned he furnished me with a local Newspaper already open on page 5 with the bold headline “Motorway Services Petrol Scam!”  I didn’t know wether to laugh or cry when I realised that the very plausible “Paul?” that I’d met some 100 miles or so earlier and had seemingly shown honest respect and gratitude to the simple but kind man that had pressed 3 crisp tenner’s into his hand and bought him a coffee and cake, had likely been little more than a confidence trickster!  Even faced with the mounting evidence I clung to some desperate hope that Paul would honour our verbal agreement, stop my already dwindling faith in humanity, restore my faith in myself for being able to judge the good and bad in my brother man and mail me the money he said he would to my place of work, the Fire Station.  NO NO NO!  I simply refused to accept that I’d been mugged!  I even tried to console myself with the fact that I’d done something that made me feel good, though I wasn’t sure I felt £30 good?   I slept very little that night and all too quickly morning was upon us with the ever cheery Les enthusiastically waking me to begin the assault!

A hearty breakfast (Les always looks after me) and we were on our way.  As luck would have it another factor Les and I found in common is that we both abhor early starts so it was gone eight before we were at waterside and ready to launch the 10ft Ally boat we were to fish from.

The river was in fine fettle and was just as Les had predicted, only just becoming fishable after being in flood for the best part of the winter.  Previous experience had proven this to be just about the optimum time to fish for the rivers Pike.  Today that would simply be re-affirmed! 

Les had in the past been a bit of Salmon ghillie and was first class at positioning a boat in the most appropriate position to get the most from a swim.  The “plan” was to drift along one of the margins and take it in turns to cast a bait to “Pikey” looking spots.   Lives and deads, cast into every nook and cranny, invariably solicit a rapid response from any Pike that have taken up residence there and had proven to be very productive on previous trips.

We had only been fishing perhaps 15 mins and had presented baits in maybe 4 or 5 swims when we happened upon the first really horny looking one.  We were taking it in turns to cast our baits into these often quite restricted swims and it was Les’s turn to fish this particularly small one.  A perfectly positioned under arm plop saw les’s half pound bait land exactly where he wanted it and within seconds it was taken.  The spirtited fight that ensued resulted in a fine looking fishing of about 18 lbs.  Several hundred yards and half an hour or so later we came upon a slack that was large enough for us both to fish.  I dropped the anchor and we both swung our baits out to fish perhaps 10 yards apart.  We had simultaneous takes, with mine being a tiddler that was easily dealt with.  Les though was into a much better fish that was taking line as it headed upstream of our position.  I’d just dropped my jack back in when I witnessed Les’s BIG fish turn beneath the boat and throw the hooks!  A few quick words of consolation were offered whilst we both quickly hooked fresh baits on and got them back out into the slack again.  My bait reached the tail end of the slack first and “plopped” under!

The fight was similar, the outcome different as minutes later we were weighing our first 20 of the day!  A great start at 24lbs and we’d only been out an hour.  I’d love to say that the action was fast and furious but in truth it wasn’t and rarely is on this particular venue.  In fact you can fish dozens of great looking swims and hundreds of yards on this river and not get a sniff of a Pike and today was a case in point.   It was then a couple of miles and quite a few hours later that we encountered our next BIG Pike with just a jack a piece to each of us in between.

As luck would have it, it was my turn to drop a bait into this swim and as is usually the case, if a Pike is present, the 6oz (the baits were getting smaller) Roach was taken pretty much immediately.  I wound down hard and the rod wrenched in my hands as an obviously BIG Pike gave it best for the initial few seconds before being bullied back towards the boat.  It was all over in a flash as the bait came flying back in a sorry looking state for me to examine. The teeth marks were BIG and I felt the despair only a fisherman who’s lost a whacker does!

The swim required a better look so we dropped the anchor and both got our baits ready.  Decent baits were running out so I mounted a dead one of about a pound whilst Les stayed with his more moderate live one and we both got them out into the slack.  Both our baits made it unmolested to the end of the slack but as I rapidly retrieved mine in order to clear Les’s line, it was engulfed in a BIG swirl.  This fish, like all her sister’s on this river fought like a Demon and set off upstream at a rate of knots against a not inconsiderable flow!  This time the hooks held and after the initial surge another mid 20lbs fish was bullied into the net.  A little BIGGER than the earlier one this fish weighed in at 25lbs 4oz (interestingly this fish had appeared in one of the Angling papers some months earlier at a claimed weight of 32lbs and had been one I’d hoped I’d bump into) and was ofcourse my 2^nd twenty of the day.  

A few quick shots and a happy Horton sat back to take it all in.  I had a move in mind but Les had other ideas and what’s more he had my best interests at heart too!  “You cast out again Dave I think there might have been two different fish down there?”  Les offered.  Well, I have to admit I was convinced that both takes had come from the same fish and also it should have been Les that was putting a bait through the swim.  Les though was having none of it and went on the explain his reasoning.  “Go on Dave you might catch a third 20 and after last night events I’d like to see that!”  With that I quickly hooked one of the remaining little live baits back to the head of the slack.  God it’s good to be wrong at times!  The take was a carbon copy of the first and the fight just as spectacular but the weight was better still!  At 26lbs this was our last fish of the day and still remains one of my favourite days fishing ever.

I’d love to finish on a high note but sadly I can’t for as I’m sure you’re probably guessed already? Old muggings here never did see his £30 quid again. Would I do the same again? Yes I most certainly would (and have) for I genuinely believe in the old adage “one good deed deserves another” (fortunately so it seems does Les) and I live in the belief that for every snake of a human there is out there, there’s at least one good man to balance them out?

Dave Horton

Is this what its come to?

Is this what its come to? Are other areas of the land experiencing the same levels of wanton destruction and ruin of once beautiful and peaceful pike fishing locations? My own favourite water which I have fished for the last 27 years is almost a no go zone now. 

Weekend trips to this highland loch for me are now a thing of the past due to the moronic element who now frequent the place. I’d love to say that they are campers or dare I say trouties, but the sad fact is most of them are pike anglers and I use that term very loosely. And by my reckoning 99% of them are my fellow countrymen. They are at most guys who are having a jolly weekend away, cheap tents, lots of booze, inadequate tackle, inadequate experience and as you can see no regards whatsoever for others around them or the land they are on. Recently the chap who posted these photographs on a facebook page (I will have a rant about this later) was contacted by my joint RO of the Glasgow region to offer some assistance to try and curb this behaviour. 

The good folk in charge of this loch run a pay on the bank system for permits and we have asked if they would entertain the idea of giving out flyers (which we offered to help write up for them)  when collecting permit monies, outlining the rules of the water and what pike tackle is required to fish there, also the idea of placing permanent notices at access points around the loch has been forwarded to them and that we would gladly help out. I can only hope that something can be done as it really can’t continue as is. Now on to the fishing aspect of the water. Sad sights as in the photograph are all too common nowadays, and who is to blame? The pike in the pic is just under 20 lbs and why was it found like this? Was it killed by the fools who reckon that the cheap, buy it now pike set ups that you can buy for pennies are fine to use? Because “Yeh the guy in the shop says thats all I need” Are these shops going the extra step to ask if the folk buying these kits have any of the other essential pieces of tackle needed? Forceps, Side cutters, Nets, unhooking mats etc? And if they are not asking this, why not? Because it must be glaringly apparent that these folk are probably new to pike fishing. I, like many others have seen it all, from the runs that last 10 minutes whilst the guy is lying sleeping in the bivvy to the olde favourite of letting the 2^nd run develop to help hook the fish. I had a run in with a group of guys who after netting a nice double proceeded to dump it on the bank and with boot on the pikes head try and rip the trace out. When I got there and unhooked it I asked what they were doing and I got “ I aint putting my hand in there, have you seen the feckin teeth on that” my answer was simple “Then why the feck are you fishing for them?” Now by my thinking it is not solely newcomers causing the troubles cos I’ve lost count of the amount of decent home made traces I’ve had to remove from fish, simply because the hooks are a bit deep. We all know that we shouldnt be deep hooking pike but with the best of intentions it does happen at times, but if any pikers who dont know how to deal with the situation please have a long hard look at your bite indication, go with someone who knows how to do it or simply stay at home. 

My joint RO joint recently had 2 fish with traces cut off in them, not stomach hooked, merely at the back of the throat. Did the guys who caught them not have any long forceps? My mate had a 19 lber from the same water with 3, yes 3 traces in her stomach, all with the swivel cut off? Thankfully we were able to remove them and after a nice long recovery swam off strongly. So we now have the camping ban on Lomond, we have a Trossachs water which used to have great fishing on it, and is now more or less ignored by most of the decent pikers that used to fish it all because of the numpties or as they are known up here, Jimmies or Noddies. Where does it stop? When will it stop? Where do we draw the line? And what can we do? We can help by keeping an eye out, note car numbers down, phone and report these folk to bailiffs and police, help keep the waters tidy by cleaning up not only our mess but any others left around, I know we shouldnt have to but any little helps. Which brings me nicely on to a bugbear of mine, Pike Facebook Pages. Now not all of them are bad, some have decent chaps running them and try and stamp out or educate the noddy element. We all know them, beachcaster or spinning rod on one rest , golf ball on a hook hanging from the line as an indicator, putting up photos of nice fish ,standing up over nice sharp rocks with fish held in one hand. I used to leave a polite reply along the lines of “nice fish mate but maybe a good idea to hold the fish low down with both hands, oh and invest in a mat when you can” this usually gets the reply of “who do you think you are? The pikin polis?” Well yes,if that what you want to think then  I am, I am a pikin polis as we all should be cos its a battle that needs to be fought every time we encounter it. Finally on to my all time favourite facebook rants. Naming waters, swims, showing photos of exact locations etc. When AGAIN pointing out the downfall of this practise the usual response is “ I dont see the problem ,everybody knows about it anyway” yes of course eveyone knows , but by broadcasting it and putting photos up it just highlights the fact that it is fishing well and lo and behold more Jimmies and Noddies appear to add more unwanted pressure on the fish we all know and cherish, they just don’t seem to grasp this simple fact. I am often asked why the PAC? What do they do for me? My thinking is rather than look for what I get from them is to what I can do for them, and just hope that maybe just one of my rants, fights, swearing at folk on forums might just sink in and make them think. Both PAC and PAAS are fighting the battle to keep our sport and dreams alive, and I for one thank them for it.

Ok, rants over, deeep breath and relax. So is it all doom and gloom up here? I’d say no, there are still plenty of beautiful waters, off the beaten track places, places that may require a long drive but are worthwhile for the sheer majestic unspoiled lochs which Scotland is famous for. There is still good fishing to be had in these places, our region (RA105) although a small membership has done reasonably well since the start of the year with over a dozen 20s caught and 2 members finally getting their 1^st 20 after years of trying ,especially Rab Allen . I think he has been after one for 103 years :-) They are out there. So after all this , is it still worthwhile to have a wee jaunt up here? Nope, stay away, no pike left, its a total waste of time.................

John Evans

Black & White & Fuzzy Edges

In a world of increasing unrest and increasing uncertainty there has to be a pressure cooker release valve for us individuals who seek one. The overcrowded nature of things could drive me to drink and drugs while reading and listening to the world order of stuff. A dorsal fin breaking water, a mass of bubbles, the big splash in the distance and resulting water rings breaking the oily calm. The sound of running water in and around your feet or surrounding the beam of the angler’s boat. The sounds of early morning and late evening as all around us comes alive, oblivious to the angler hidden and nested awaiting for the float to bury or the tip of rod to bounce or even that horrible man made shriek of electronic  alarm.

Big fish or little fish, swimming in the water are oblivious to the world order of things. But perhaps the predator underwater world order is only majorly disturbed by other predators. Otters have certainly disturbed the natural order of things though their unnatural and fast spread across our inland waterways during the last ten short years. Any self respecting big pike will need to adapt to avoid an otter out running and out gunning our pikes natural short burst of speed. I hang on to the hope that the senses of our pike can smell the oily otter territory and holt or at least be on red alert when the danger of this critter is close. When roving the banks of my rivers I always look out for otter droppings, these are often left on the overhanging base stumps of willow trees and are green/brown and often a bit shiny in appearance when fresh. If you really feel inclined to test their freshness, have a sniff and they smell just like a fishmeal carp boilee. It’s worth a look out as fresh droppings equal zero pike on that bank and you are completely wasting valuable fishing time in the area. I know of a water with a population of otters surrounding a big pike. This pike has amazed me with her ability to still be around, she has been seen this summer alive and kicking and I’ll not be disturbing her as she has enough to worry about without the man made disturbance of capture and a day or two sulky recovery from lactic acid overload and tooth ache to add to her surrounding vulnerability.

I kinda have a love/hate relationship with cormorants. There do appear to be less of them around on the waters I fish, than say 15 years ago. I well remember watching a group of around thirty of them feeding one early morning on a welsh river. Up and down they dived, feeding in formation and more often than not surfacing with a decent dace to be gulped down quick smart before diving again. As an angler it was heart breaking to watch. After having their fill, during an hour of feeding I wondered how in the aviation world of mechanics and design they actually managed to get off the water and fly back to their favored white, self excrement covered branches. The first year that Chew opened up for us, in fact on the second day, Big Dave and I lost count at three hundred cormorants up in the trees on Denny Island as we headed towards Stratford. Our hearts sank, we’d seen this during the early 90’s on our local Chichester pits where a decent pike would be a big double looking like lizard thing. How wrong we were, over 100x20’s came out on Chew that day and all as fat as you like!  These days they are still around on the rivers I fish, but more often than not feeding solo or in two’s. Perhaps a couple of generations of cormorant bother has seen the DNA of prey fish coping with the big group feeding of the cormorant and the big black oily bird has adapted by feeding more solo or moved back to improving in-shore waters. These birds certainly give us a pointer towards prey fish location and I’ve often moved sticks to areas where I have seen cormorants feeding and found pike and in particular zander not too far away.

Talking about improving waters, across all the different rivers I fish, fry survival has been great over the past ten years. Silver fish populations have fared pretty well as the match weights demonstrate or my own cack handed bait snatching sessions prove. I don’t think it is any coincidence that the well published demise of our eel population has contributed greatly to this. In the late 90’s and early 2000’s eel bother when fishing was all part of the game. I can well recall having to pack up barbel fishing on many a sultry summers evening with swims a heaving mass of the wriggly things. Having plenty of eel sections in the bait freezer was taken for granted back then. A mass of eels will have had their fill of eggs on the shallow spawning grounds of our rivers, keeping fry survival low in tandem with large groups of cormorant feeding. In 1999 I reported to the EA that I’d seen hundreds of dead eels rotting on the bottom of the welsh river on a close season canoe paddle trip. The old bailiff on the Royalty had reported the same on the Hants Avon. Something bad was obviously occurring to mature eel populations and a few years forward the eel was in real danger, or so we were told. Bang ! , last year saw the biggest reported elver populations on my rivers for a couple of generations. I witnessed the amazing sight of 10,000’s of elvers running up a small feeder river close to my home, the small bridge where they could be seen in elver soup became a local viewing attraction for a few days. This year eel bother during zander fishing has become the norm again, so not only have the elver population returned big time but the more mature bootlace – 2lb eel population have appeared again too. Interesting and I’ve not a scooby doo idea as to why. I kind of expect fry survival to demise again over the next ten years in tandem with increasing eel numbers, hopefully some decent big river roach fishing will result as good current populations thin out and get bigger. Decent big river roach fishing has been very scarce for a decade or more so I look forward to that very much in the future as my bones get older and a nice comfortable roach swim will be the order of the day. It’s all about cycles and the anglers who have been kicking around for a good while, year in year out, will get a feel of what is happening on their waters and take advantage of the tip of the cycles for whatever species are at their peak sizes.

Apart from mankind’s ability to effect water quality, the biggest predator with an influence is naturally us the angler. For all the repeat captures reported there are equal losses from poor angling practices, handling and fish ending up in  Tesco carrier bags and as we know our quarry ain't no carp in the ability to survive and thrive on human intervention. Angling pressure in my experience does affect fish behavior and I’ve never agreed with the pike anglers who state pike catching is all down to times and moon phase. Natures push and pull obviously has a big influence and we all know there are windows of time when everything comes together perfectly allowing fish to be caught fairly easily when they are directly in front of us and that fact is not exclusive to predator fishing. Too many times however I’ve seen pressurized fish follow and worry decent live baits and not grab them, when on the very same day in a different place the float would be buried time after time with fish on the mat the end result. It’s no coincidence that at the end of the pike dates on Chew many of us report dropped pick- ups that three or four weeks earlier would likely have resulted in a fish on the boat mat. It’s during these pressurized more finicky times when blending into the background becomes important. Not joining the carp world completely in the disguise of rig and line but thinking about what may be seen underwater by a big fish that has seen it all in the past should be a consideration. There’s nothing more finicky than zander at the best of times, add a dose of angling pressure and converting pick-ups becomes an even greater headache. I’ve always believed that these really big predators in our natural waters are the Queens of their domain and no happening or event underwater escapes their senses. They haven’t survived and grown on to a great size over a decade or more without being in some way smarter than their surrounding compatriots. Perhaps it is luck, if that is the case, they certainly make their own luck. Stealth on the bank and equally on the boat can be the difference between a blank day or driving home with a smile on your face. Too many anglers are too ferking noisy for my likening and I’ll often shout over and tell them so before upping sticks and moving on!  Disturbing the peace should be a red card offence and the noisy angler banned for a month, with repeat offenders sentenced to a life of fishing any old puddle full of stunted F1’s. 

Thanks for reading my scribble and Play Up Pompey !