I've been struggling a bit recently and its bloody raining again so let me take you back to a balmy summer day last year. Its a warm tale of fish and friendship so make yourself a coffee or something stronger and sit back and relax.
It was a chance purchase. I don't normally buy fishing magazines but somehow Improve your Coarse Fishing found its way into my shopping basket. I returned home and had a quick flick through and saw an article that started an improbable journey.
Steve is a bit older than me. He'll admit to a couple of years but its probably nearer five. Anyway neither of our Dads were much into fishing so in the beginning we were always grateful of any advice or mentoring we could get. Luckily for us a local bloke took us under his wing. Steve first and then me. Every week we would go somewhere together and serve our fishing apprenticeship. With all the paedophile paranoia around now this sounds a bit dodgy but I can assure you it wasn't. It was all about the fishing. Our mentor is no longer with us and his funeral was one of the saddest days of my life and probably Steve's too.
Steve and I didn't know each other until our early twenties. It wasn't until we met that we found out how much we had in common. Our fishing teacher stopped going with us suddenly years apart with the same excuse- "You are getting too competitive". I think what he meant was he had taught us to a pretty good standard and he needed a new challenge. I didn't mind Steve being competitive. That was the least annoying habit he had. I was once playing a big Carp at a local reservoir with Steve looking on. "Bloody hell.......that's shoulders," Steve cried as he caught sight of the biggest fish in the lake on the end of my line. 'Shoulders' was a Carp nearing thirty pounds. Ten seconds later the hook pulled. He still reminds me of this episode now, twenty years on.
Improve Your Coarse Fishing had a four page spread on a Lake I was familiar with- Willesley lake in Leicestershire. I had fished it a few times and Steve and I nearly ended up there in a strop after getting refused a night permit for Nanpanton Reservoir. A hundred year old Lake it nestles in a heavily wooded area of the county. On one side it is bordered by a scout camp. They must have had some national Jamboree there one night as hundreds of kids sang into the small hours round a massive camp fire. They certainly made more noise than my bite alarms. Anyway, according to the magazine Willesley was fishing its head off. Big bream catches were being taken by the handful of non-carpers that had been fishing there.
I read the article again and again. The bloke was catching on the method feeder, something I was becoming very proficient at. I fired a text off to Steve and he too bought the magazine. Now we live a hundred miles apart and Steve has only been fishing a handful of times in the last ten years. Like some of my other friends he has most of his time taken up with his children. Something in the article stirred the inner angler in him though. I knew it would. We arranged a day convenient to us both and I drove the 110 miles to the Lake while Steve had a far shorter Journey. As is always the case it was in a different place to the one in my memory and I only found the entrance to the Lake by a sheer fluke.
A quick look at Steve's gear revealed that not only had he not been fishing regularly for about fifteen years but also that he hadn't bought any gear in that time either. Luckily I had enough for both of us. He had been to a place called Go Outdoors though. "Are these any good?" Steve thrust a large bag of 15mm halibut pellets under my nose. "Er..........not really," I replied as I dampened a couple of pints of micro pellets mixed with a little groundbait. Keepnets were put in and rod rests and chairs set up as we made ourselves comfortable for the day. The sun came out and shone brightly as I explained to Steve the importance of clipping up and counting reel turns. This proved invaluable as about twenty minutes in he had the biggest tangle I had ever seen.
It took me a while to get going and I swapped over to a normal feeder after getting some iffy bites while Steve stayed on the method. A Cormorant was sunning itself on the Island. It was big bird and had its wings fully extended as it dried them off in the warm summer breeze. He he eaten all the bream I wondered before eventually my tip arched round. Ker.......lunk. My tip rod had a healthy bend in it as I slowly brought in the first Bream of the day. Steve soon joined in on the action and despite jousting with a nearby tree a few times he started catching fairly regularly.
The first couple of hours passed in a blur. Our swims got stronger and stronger. I was even getting the odd fish before the feeder had time to settle. "Blimey, you two are untidy!" said the Lady as she appeared behind us. We had a look round and in the rush to get fishing our stuff was strewn all over the place. This coupled with pellets and groundbait everywhere made our platform look like a child's playpen. We paid the woman for our day tickets and had a quick tidy up while we chatted away, distracting her as best we could.
As the session went on I was catching a little more often than Steve and he was soon on the defensive. "You've mixed my groundbait so it wont stick," he said, searching for an excuse. Truth is he was out of practise. Bit like my match fishing against dedicated match anglers. I find myself off the pace. Anyway it was just a bit of friendly banter as we both caught more than either of us expected. We fished on until late afternoon and had a thoroughly enjoyable time. At the end we had over sixty pounds of Bream between us.
Sitting by a wooded Lake in the sunshine with an old friend is really one of life's great pleasures. I'll leave you with the pictures and if you've got an old mate you used to go fishing with or play golf or whatever, pick up the phone. Memorable days in your life nearly always take a bit of effort.
Till next time.
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