Twin Lakes, West Ashby, Lincs
"It'll be too wet again for the switchback but we'll go wherever you fancy" said Ernie a couple of days prior to our latest outing. Not only had I promised you a proper trip to the switchback (Neals pits) but I was also champing at the bit to get there. Ernie was right though, it had rained nearly everyday for weeks and although we could have driven down to the switchback we never would have got back up the steep, slippery hill. "How about the smaller lake at West Ashby?" I suggested. Ernie agreed and we arranged to meet at noon again.
It was bang on twelve o'clock when I slithered into the carpark. A quick scan around for Ernie's car revealed he was already by the side of the smaller lake. As I got closer I could see he was already set up, umbrella and all. I really wanted to be round the other side but Ernie can't walk very far and this spot was ideal for him. I opted to fish in the peg next to him as it meant we could fish either side of a small island. It was a drab day but the lake looked quite inviting with trees lining most of the banks. Now details on this lake were a bit patchy to say the least. The chap that stopped for a chat on my last visit to the big lake sounded quite positive - "a lot of Bream but nobody really fishes it."
With Bream in mind I decided to ball some groundbait in about twenty yards out next to the Island. I could hear Ernie having a giggle to himself as I cannon balled a load in. "Bloody hell Mr Taylor". With all these pole cups, pva bags and fan dangled things people aren't used to seeing a good old fashioned bombing session. Anyway I eagerly set up my tip rod with a small groundbait feeder on a short link with a long hook length. Ernie was fishing the pole. Concentrating on his side of the Island he fishing at about nine metres.
My first bite didn't take long. Ten minutes at most and the tip started showing signs of fish. Unfortunately they turned out to be small Roach. Three Roach in three casts and then nothing. Ernie snared a Bream after about half an hour but only a small one of about a pound. An hour passed and neither of us had a bite. I was wondering what to do when Gary the bailiff turned up. "This lake is OK but you tend to get a few then nothing" Gary said, describing exactly what we were experiencing. "Lot of Pike you see, that's the problem." added Gary. Certainly made a bit of sense. Just as all our hopes were slowly ebbing away Ernies' float dipped and then disappeared below the surface film. His elastic shot out and another, slightly bigger Bream was netted. My quiver tip remained motionless.
"Here he is!". Gary pointed towards the car park entrance. A large silver Range Rover was bearing down on us at pace. He hit the edge of the field and snaked alarmingly towards the three of us. It was Sim, the owner. Now it isn't the sort of Range Rover you see on Emmerdale, it's a bling machine like the ones you get in Rap videos. "Yo guys, how you doing?". A quick, surreal chat with Sim ensued before he was off again, flooring his truck in the thick mud. He nearly lost it, the big shiny alloys with rubber band tyres totally unsuitable for the terrain. "He's a nutter" said Gary. Ernie and I nodded in agreement as Gary left shaking his head.
Another biteless hour followed and I decided to have a wander over to the big lake. The nearest point was only about a hundred yards away and it was an area described to me as 'Tench corner' on a previous visit by Gary. Hmmmm. I went back to my gear and wetted about a pint of pellets. I returned to Tench corner and threw the lot in along with some maggots right next to a massive overhanging willow tree. I returned to pack down some gear and put anything I didn't need into the van. Ernie decided to stay put as he he had some bigger Bream in his peg, one came up right next to his float as I watched (probably to tell him he had too much sticking out!).
Tench Corner
Within the first few minutes it was obvious that I had made the right move as I caught a precession of quality Roach on the pole next to the tree. I even had one at range on the tip and corn. Half an hour passed and Ernie came over for a chat. We chatted for a bit and Ernie decided to call it a day. He turned to walk the short distance back to his gear when my elastic shot out alarmingly. I quickly added a couple of sections as I held on for dear life. "Must be a Carp Ern?" I declared as the unseen beast made its bid for freedom. "Nah, its a Tench, male". After a nervous couple of minutes he turned out to be half right. A female Tench of around four pounds was netted. "Knew you'd do alright in the end Mr Taylor" Ernie declared as he he wandered back to his car. The Tench sealed it for me. I was happy and decided to call it a day too.
Tuesday April 24th
Partney Brick Pit, Lincs
I was quite looking forward to the first evening match of the year. Run by Spilsby Angling Club, Partney Pit had been stocked with a lot of Carp over the winter. It has a fairly decent decent stock of Bream, Tench and Roach too. Partney can be a difficult place to fish though. The stocks seem to change year on year. One year I could catch three and four pound Bream regularly. I haven't seen them for a few years now, presumed dead. The same thing happened with the Rudd. Nothing seems to grow very big in there apart from the odd reclusive Pike (I caught one at 23lb a couple of winters ago).
The last to arrive, I found the gateway had been partially blocked by someone. I winced as I aimed my battered van through the gap. Phew, just made it through. Right, draw time. Anywhere will do I thought as I had done zero research or practise. I hadn't even transferred my kit over to my seat box. You'll notice I am making excuses already. I had a look around at draw time and despite my best efforts Ernie had failed to turn up. Some fall out with the committee had seen him stop at home. Shame I thought as I dipped into the draw bag and pulled out peg seven. Not usually too bad.
I set up with a good deal of enthusiasm. A method feeder and short pole were assembled and I mixed a bit of groundbait before the all-in. Six pm came and I cast around twenty yards out with the feeder and clipped up. I had three casts in the next fifteen minutes, all to no avail. I decided to have a look on my short line to see if my hemp feed had attracted anything. A couple of Rudd later and that was it. It died. I struggled on for a while, searching for a bite while the bloke opposite me caught with annoying regularity. I was beginning to get bored when my fellow angler on the next peg had a visitor.
They chatted for a while and I learnt all about taking cats to the vets and that his pole was worth £1650 and various other titbit's. "You caught much then?" the visitor asked my opponent. "A couple of skimmers but thingy over there is bagging," he replied talking about the bloke opposite us. "His first fish was about five pounds" he added as I discarded my pole and threw the feeder out in desperation. "I knew that peg would win" said my fellow competitor. This really struck me. I was pegged near to him on a match last year albeit a different venue and he said much the same thing. It instantaneously killed my remaining enthusiasm. It also made me feel a bit sad. Fishing for me is all about the unknown. A mysterious underwater world that, as anglers, we get the occasional glimpse of. As soon as you bring any degree of certainty into it my interest wanes.
Old matey opposite continued to bag up while my mate next door went for a walk. Fed up of looking at my motionless quiver tip I decided to pack up. Typically after emptying my keep net and packed away my landing net the tip went round and a small carp of around a pound was unhooked in the margins. It was a bit manky. Hope they aren't all like this I thought as it swam off into the depths. A worse thought was that maybe I had fished it wrong and peg seven would win the following week.
I packed all my stuff into the van and went to see Tony for a bit. He was on peg one right in the top corner of the pond. As usual he was plundering the margins. Turns out he had caught a couple of decent carp in the last ten minutes. His float sailed under again and a decent Tench was quickly subdued. This restored my faith in the place a little. Tony hadn't had them in his swim for long enough to win though. He reluctantly called time just as his peg was starting to produce. I strolled back to van wandering whether to return the following week.
Partney Pike
Thursday April 26th
Neals Pits, Old Bollingbrook, Lincs
I hadn't been fishing with Rob for ages. Some people have busy lives. He wont mind me telling you he has three children, various pets and a very high maintenance wife. Rob also does a lot of charity work so opportunities to go fishing are thin on the ground.
Despite Robs' busy philanthropic lifestyle he suggested to me that with his wife in a good mood he may be able to venture out later in the week. We both settled on Thursday evening as I could finish work early and Rob could come over. "Where you taking me?" enquired Rob. "We'll go to the Lakes just up the road, we can take my van cause I'm not really bothered if anyone damages it, in fact I probably wouldn't even notice!" I replied. I knew this would please Rob. He has a very well known TV firm plastered all over his van and whenever he takes that all people do is talk to him and ask him questions all day. Leave the man alone- he's fishing. Not that we would be seeing anyone but |Rob wasn't to know that. "Oh and travel light-we'll be walking for a bit" I added.
Sure enough Thursday arrived and the rain was still falling in fits and starts. Would it ever be dry enough to drive down to these sodding lakes. It had tipped it down shortly before Rob arrived at 5.30. The sky still looked threatening though as various dark looming clouds passed above. Rob gave King Kong's nipple a quick tweak to gain access to his gear and started transferring various items to my van. "Have you got a lighter," Rob asked. "No, I don't smoke," I replied. Rob looked surprised, startled even. "Really? How long have you been given up?" he asked. I looked at my watch meaningfully "Nearly four days," I said proudly. "Oh.....right, you're a non smoker then," said Rob with a thinly veiled dollop of sarcasm. As it turns out I did find a lighter under my seat along with £4.20 in loose change!
With the van loaded up we travelled the short distance to the field entrance. I parked under the usual tree and once again its branches scraped the roof as they moved around in the wind. "Not taking your chair?" Asked Rob as we we unloaded. "Er..........no, I'll sit on the bank," I replied. I was sure I told him it was going to be a bit of a trek. Still he was in the army I thought so he should be used to wandering over fields laden with equipment.
We set off through the first gate and up and over the first field. Now I had been here the night before with Mrs P and the dogs. I told her I thought I had seen a fox in the distance but couldn't be sure. This time it was more obvious. It was a big one too, perhaps the biggest fox I have ever seen. Incredibly shy though. It caught sight of me and scarpered, its big bushy ginger tail disappearing over the hill. I turned to Rob, expecting to see a look of wonderment on his face. Alas he was too busy having a rather animated argument with his posh chair strap to notice. Some eighteen rated mumbling was going on. "Not far now" I encouraged. Rob gave me a look that spoke only two words. The first was thank.
A glimpse of the bottom Lake lifted both our spirits and we were soon standing next to the water. Rob chose a secluded spot on the top Lake while I would try a spot I had been pre-baiting on the bottom Pond. Having only a float rod I set up a small waggler and plumbed up. It was surprising deep. With the depth and the increasing wind I changed to a bigger float and set it up as a slider . After the first twenty biteless minutes it was obvious I had brought the wrong gear again! A tip rod would have been ideal. The wind was creating such a ripple it was towing my float about all over the place. I laid on for a while to no avail and my confidence was virtually nil.
Putting my bits and bobs back into my tackle bag I wandered off to find Rob. I emerged through the dense bankside undergrowth and onto the path around the top lake. It was like a different world. An oasis of calm compared to where I had been. The Lake was flat calm, no ripple at all and just the gentle swaying of age old willow trees hinting at the surrounding wind. The world raves about High Definition 3D TVs. Your own eyes see in higher definition with a depth of field greater than any TV in the world. Sometimes you just need to stop and appreciate it.
Rob hadn't caught anything on his float fished corn offering so I decided to move around the Lake to another spot. I quickly caught a couple of micro perch on worm before the heavens opened. I scampered round to Rob and took shelter under his brolly. I sat there for a while before clocking how big Robs' swim actually was. "Mind if I have a cast," I asked cheekily. "Be my guest," replied Rob generously. Wonder if he'll let me sit in his chair for a bit too I thought as I cast as far to the left as I could.
So, there we were, sat under a brolly in the middle of nowhere during a flash spring storm. We chatted for a while while the rain bounced off the brolly and dripped off the surrounding leaves and branches. The rain eventually stopped and for a brief moment the sun came came out. Now it wasn't brokeback mountain or anything but it really was pleasant to be there. I was thoroughly enjoying it. Then it got better. Rob's float moved, then dipped before finally disappearing under the surface film. He struck.................nothing. "That could have been a massive Tench or one of the elusive giant Carp that are in here," I said, ramping up the tension. Trouble is I made myself a bit nervous as I too missed a bite. We re-cast full of anticipation. This was proper fishing. There was something down there and it was giving us the run around.
Ruddy Hell
In match fishing the fish are everything. The cake and the icing. In pleasure fishing the fish are just the icing. It turns out the sweetcorn robbers were small Rudd. It didn't matter though and we fished on until we couldn't see our floats. The fading light had beaten us.
Rob fought tooth and nail with his chair strap all the way back to the van. A distance of a mile and a half in his head (probably not even a mile in reality). If four days of no cigarettes made me a non smoker then a mile and a half walk makes him a rambler.
Footnote
I saw Rambler Rob yesterday- "You know when you made me walk two miles to that pond?"He asked. "Yes" I said. "Well a bloke in the tackle shop asked me whether I had been fishing recently and I said yes. Trouble is when he asked where I had been I had to say I didn't really know!"
Perfect
Till next time
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