Looking Back- Part 2

Match fishing

"I didn't know there was another match man living in the village?" This was Tony, a local angler just before a match on a nearby pond. Truth is though although I have fished a few matches calling me a match man would be stretching it a little. I went along with it though. Bit of psyching out never hurt anyone in competition.

I've been fishing since the age of about nine. There was a small  tackle shop at the end of my street that I spent many an hour in and eventually worked. It was during my time spent in the shop I became aware of this strange part of the sport/hobby I loved. Let me explain. It's not because fishing is based on luck because it takes skill and experience to catch a lot of fish. The draw for fishing spots or pegs is where the luck comes in. You see, despite fishery owners and match organisers best attempts there are usually better pegs than others on most venues. Imagine playing darts against someone but when it came to your turn all the numbers over 10 were blanked off. That's how some matches are. You draw a bad area and have no chance of winning, you could sit there for five days and still not beat someones' five hour catch.

What is good about match fishing though are the characters.The owner was a match angler and they came in the shop all the time. One of the likely lads, Tom Bedder was a regular. Such a nice chap and sorely missed. I think his was the first funeral I ever went to. He could talk fishing for hours and I was probably only 14 or 15 but he never treated me as if I didn't know what I was talking about. "Carp are like Bream that have had their brains removed" was one of his more memorable statements. The late Ivan Marks and Steve Toone also supplied the shop and came in often. I used to ride my bike for miles watching matches all over the place. Someone recently asked me how come I could lay bricks, "Because I watched somebody do it once" I replied. Just watching those guys in action taught me so much. Pleasure fishing was always my thing though and I sometimes claimed the odd scalp. I remember walking past Andy Finlay at Brooksby Pond. He had a couple of blokes watching him try out some latest technique no doubt. I had a mooch around looking for signs of fish. A few tail patterns gave away some feeding fish and I freelined a worm over the top. It didn't even reach the bottom. "What's he doing" asked one of the blokes as I bent into a hefty carp. "He's stalking," replied Andy.

My first match was the River Soar Junior Championships. I drew smack in the middle of an area called cyanide straight. After catching the one resident gudgeon I proceeded to be bored shitless for the next couple of hours before I packed up and went home. The next year I drew a better area opposite The Boat Pub at Normanton-on-Soar. All was going well and I caught steadily until around 11.30. It was a warm summers day and the boat traffic got heavier and heavier. At one stage they were queueing to get onto the far bank moorings. I may as well have cast my stickfloat in my mates jacuzzi bath. At least I lasted until the end to find out I'd come nowhere. I fished a few more more matches over the next couple of years including some with Frank and Dean Barlow but I never really got into it. I just couldn't get my head around being restricted to one peg for such a long time.

One match that sticks in my memory was at Zouch on the Soar. I once sold all my fishing kit to buy a motorbike and I'd just manged to get back into it at the end of my teens. I arrived at the draw and drew my peg. I didn't know whether it was any good or not cause I'd never even seen that section of the river. The whistle went and I fished across with a waggler, catching steadily right from the off. I had probably four pounds in the net when I started hearing motorbikes. Donnington Park was close by and the bikers were all heading there to watch the British GP. I caught a few more fish before my mind started to wander. Losing my float was the final straw! I was off with a good couple of hours to go. The next day I found out that five pounds had won it. Not the only time I'd tip a winning catch back.

In my early twenties I got sidetracked by all the usual things and fishing took a back seat. When I did fish it would be roaming around trying to catch big Barbel on the river or sneaking down to a disused quarry to plunder its Perch stocks. I didn't fish another match until I moved here. Mill Road Lakes was my favourite venue. Countless times I would pull up and catch carp straight away off the top while all around seemed to struggle. I became friendly with the owner and was encouraged to enter one of the Friday night matches. The following week I turned up and finished second. I fished the candle, which might aswell have been a spacecraft, the looks it got from my competitors. The next Friday I was informed the candle method had been banned.

Determined not to be beaten by these blokes I kept going. They even banned floating baits all together. They all fished with poles while I plugged away with rod and line. "Fucking hell, that's not a carp, its a cow!" exclaimed a bloke opposite as I slipped the net under a mirror (17lb 12oz). It was about my fifth match and I caught fishing the smallest float I could find with double caster about six inches deep. I only had one more fish but that was 12lb 8oz and I had won my first match.

Winning on rod and line meant a lot to me at the time although the report in the Angling Times stated that I had used a pole. This pissed me off. Silly really cause I use a pole a lot now but I did resist using one for a long time. Anyway these night matches really suited me. I didn't have time to get bored or waste a whole day in a bad area. Unfortunately the match report, the constant banning of stuff and the owners obnoxious wife pissing me off on virtually every visit  meant I stopped going to the lakes altogether.

She did provide me with a laugh once though. I went down one evening with my fly rod and soon had a group of fish feeding on the top. The owners wife approached, wildlife running for cover as she did so. Adopting her usual tone she tried to put me straight- "Oh no, you wont catch anything like that, its been tried before". Here's your four quid, stick it up your arse I thought as I handed over my money in silence. Just as she had turned to walk away the biggest Carp in the group engulfed my bait. I knew the lake quite well at the time and the fish was nearing 30lbs. I struck and almost instantly I knew I was seriously under gunned. My fly rod bent to the butt and beyond, flexing wildly as the Carp went nuts. Its fortunate that a short while later the hook pulled cause I would probably still be playing it now.

Those matches were around 2002. They still have matches there now and I often see the results in The Angling Times. Its still the same people fishing them. Ten years, one venue, catching the same fish. Not for me I'm afraid. It still provided me with my first match victory though and the place still holds some fond memories.

It wasn't until 2010 that I really thought about match fishing again. A trip to my local pond with Mrs P one Tuesday night saw us squeezing in the only empty peg during a match. It was a balmy evening and Mrs P fell asleep while I eyed the match men intently. Nobody seemed to be catching much. I could beat this lot I thought as the time passed oblivious to the fact that I too was struggling.The next week I turned up to the draw and fished my little socks off. I came second with over ten pounds of Roach and Rudd. I continued to fish the matches, even notching up a couple of victories. By my reckoning I could catch 4/5 pounds of bits from any peg which would be a good weight if the Tench and Bream didn't feed. The other guys all fished for bonus fish so if my method was right I had nobody to beat cause I'd be the only one fishing that way. That's Ivan Marks logic. With the summer season fast approaching I had to knock the matches on the head in favour of work. I was really impressed with the other guys though. A great bunch that brought back memories of some of the characters that used to come in the shop. Very welcoming and willing to tell you anything I vowed to return the following year with the thought in the back of my mind that I could win the whole series.

2011 started of ok at the local pond. I scored a couple of seconds and a third in the first three matches. I was dealt a bit of a blow on the series front though. The series would not only be decided on placings but also total weight. This was a disaster for me. My 4/5 lb had gone out of the window. My results got progressively worse as I chased bigger weights. A couple of bad draws finished me off and my interest waned. The fire, however, was far from out.

Toad Hall was an old Trout fishery up the road that had recently been converted into a coarse fishery. Matches were due to start running on Thursday evenings in May. The first match was eagerly anticipated by myself and I was a bit disappointed when only six others turned up. As it turned out it was a fantastic place though. A bite could result in a five pound Tench or Carp or Bream or Chub! F1's, Roach, Rudd and Perch were also in abundance. I came second with nearly 17lb. As the weeks went by the numbers gradually dwindled but the fishing just got better. I still can't understand why the matches weren't more popular. I even managed three or four victories and it was great to learn a venue with the others as it was not only a level playing field but also a bit of a journey of discovery. Just what fishing should be, I can't wait for them to start again.

Woodlands is less than two miles from my home. I had never been though the gates. "We're having a charity match at Woodlands Phil, you fancy it?". I sure did even though I'd never even seen the place. Apparently I drew ok and I got down to my peg and set up about four different outfits as John Wilson would call them. I had never fished the method feeder and started off on this. Ten seconds into the match I was playing my first Carp! It came off as did the next two while I got to grips with the method. To cut a long story short I came nowhere but learnt more in that five hours than I had for months. If I fished the same match again I'd come second, no shadow of a doubt. Also in that match a bloke caught a big perch. I noted the peg.

The next match was also a charity affair at Woodlands. I drew at the wrong end of the lake but on a reasonable peg. I fished the method again but still spent too much time sodding around with other things. Either side of me didn't weigh in. I put 43lb on the scales which I was happy with. This was less than half of Tony's winning weight though. Again I had learned a lot, not from watching other people this time though as I couldn't see most of them!

The final match at Woodlands was another Charity match organised by the local cafe. I drew ok and blitzed it. I doubled the weight of my nearest rival. Admittedly the standard of the field wasn't the same as the first two matches but I would have been hard to beat that day. "I had to go down to a 20 to try and get a bite today" said one of the guys afterwards. "I caught all of mine on a 12!" I said. That's confidence! I even won four prizes in the raffle (I just took one) so I guess lady luck was shining on me that day. The Trophy is looking at me as I write.

One final chapter in my most prolific match fishing year is a winter league. Farlesthorpe is a venue I dislike. Despite this I knew some of the guys and thought it might be a laugh. I was right. "I can't talk for long, I'm fishing in the county champs" said Ernie as he answered his phone. We got some mileage out of that one. Anyway, first match I tipped away about three pounds of bits in disgust, eager to get home. Three pounds and three ounces won it! Bollocks. The next two matches saw me win my section and then disaster struck. On my final match there I was next to a lovely old man that had not weighed in more than a pound in the first three matches. I caught my three pounds of bits again hoping for another section win. Oh no. Unbeknown to me some Ide had been stocked. Two people caught them including the old fella next to me. They settled in front of him for an hour and he batted out eight pounds of the horrible creatures. It just made a skillful match a total lottery. I didn't return.

After a winter of roaming around catching all and sundry will I get the match fishing bug again this year? The Tuesday night matches start again next week so we'll soon find out. Read about it in my next Diary.

Till next time.