Popular Tags:

Bread punch crucians and rudd defy the cold at Allsmoor

November 28, 2020 at 4:02 pm

A sudden cold snap had covered my garden bird bath with ice this week, but by lunchtime weak sunshine was filtering through the trees, as I set up my pole to fish Allsmoor pond close to my home. There was no surface movement of fish and the outlook seemed bleak, two other anglers confirming that they had not had a bite between them. I was pleased to see that someone had removed the Tesco trolley from the shallows in this swim and that the lilies had almost died back. Although a natural holding area for carp, the lily bed offers an instant escape route for the better fish in summer.

Setting up with my usual 3 No 4 short waggler rig, I was more concerned with the leaves coating the surface, than worries about getting a bite, the punch always produces fish at Allsmoor. Mixing up a near wet mix of liquidised bread and ground carp pellets with a dusting of 2 mm krill pellets, I was hoping for a few carp and crucians among the inevitable rudd.

Four decent balls of feed between eight and nine metres were just on the edge of the deeper water, spreading out to provide a wide area into which I could place the float with its size 16 barbless hook and 6 mm punch of bread. Leaves were still falling and being blown round from the east end of the pond, requiring accurate casting into the gaps, the lightweight rig often snagging up on sunken leaves.

Bites were instant, as rudd crowded in over the feed and I was soon working overtime hooking and stripping back the willing red fins.

After twenty minutes, the elastic made a brief appearance from the tip of the pole as a small common carp made a rush for the decaying lilies, but was dragged back to my landing net instead.

Almost as round as it was long, this mini carp packed a powerful punch on a cold day.

A few more rudd, then the elastic was out again as a crucian searched out the bottom for a snag. The hook can be seen barely holding in the skin of crucian’s top lip.

It was then back to bashing through the rudd, some nice ones among them.

The sun had long gone and a chill breeze was sweeping across the surface from the east, moving the leaves about and causing me to warm up with tea and a sandwich, while I put on my jacket to keep the cold from my bones. It was still only 2:30, but the temperature was dropping fast.

Some clonking gudgeon had now moved in, giving carp like bites, that dipped and the float, then slowly sank away, each bite getting me ready for something bigger.

These crucians played around with the bread for up to ten minutes before moving off and I dropped two or three being too enthusiastic and impatient in equal doses, bringing them to the surface, then watching them swim away off the hook.

Finding time for my last sandwich and a cup of tea had to be fitted in, the float constantly going under.

The light was going and I was having trouble seeing the float among the leaves and made the rudd below my last fish.

It had been a busy afternoon, but despite thermals and the fish catching work out, I was now chilled to the bone and ready for home, followed by a hot shower.

O

2 lb an hour on a late autumn afternoon.

EA restock the River Cut, 15 minutes later it was polluted again

November 26, 2020 at 2:41 pm

I was at my local River Cut to watch the Environment Agency restock the river, following pollution that killed a 1,000 fish in the summer. The river looked in perfect condition and has been fishing well despite the pollution, this 650 roach, dace and chub a top up to replace those lost.

The EA fish farm truck had arrived bang on time at 10 am from Calverton near Nottingham and was soon ready to offload the fish, while myself and another club member looked on. This is a UK wide service paid for by income from fishing license fees, being part of the wider fishery improvement work carried out by the agency.

The fish are carried in oxygenated tanks at a level of 300% of normal and were netted out into buckets, then introduced into their new home in the river.

When the fish had been stocked, the farm truck drove off to another destination, while my friend and I watched the fish spread out across the river. We then stood chatting at the outlet channel and were stunned to see a thick cream coloured solution pouring from one of the underground tunnels.

In minutes the river had been transformed from a clear flowing stream to an alien looking one.

I called the national EA Incident Line on 0800807060 and had an instant response, the information being relaid to local agency officers and Thames Water, who sent investigators to the scene. Fish were topping all over the river and we feared for the worst, but thankfully no fatalities seemed apparent.

Returning to the river four hours later, there were two EA officers taking river samples along its length, the upper section at the outlet where the pollution had entered now being clear, although a thick sediment was coating the bottom. Further down the river was still highly coloured.

Fearing that the fishing had been ruined, my friend Mick was on the bank the following morning for a test fishing session and his smile said it all, reporting a steady catch of gudgeon and roach from his favourite swim.

Panic over, but ironic that this often polluted river, should suffer again only minutes after receiving more fish. No doubt in time we will find out what and where this latest influx has come from and hope that there are no long term effects on the fishing.

 

 

Bread punch chub and roach reward persistence on the Blackwater

November 19, 2020 at 5:14 pm

The river Blackwater in Surrey is notorious for flash floods, acting as a rainwater drain for the towns and housing estates along its valley, it goes up and down like a yoyo and I was fortunate to catch it on the way down, after days of heavy rain this week. The skies were threatening, when I arrived before lunch and was welcomed to a new swim by a light shower, but this had blown over by the time that I had settled my tackle box onto the sloping bank.

I had managed to find a gap in the trees with just enough room to clear my 12 foot Hardy float rod, when my box was perched close to the bank. It was still a bit of a parrot cage, but the swim offered the option of trotting a stick float down the inside, through the middle and across to the bushes on the far side.

On the outside of a bend, the flow was pacy along my bank and I fed upstream a couple of heavy balls of liquidised bread, mixed with ground carp pellets, ground hemp and hempseed, squeezed up hard, watching the feed break up into lumps when it reached the bottom in front of me. Setting the 4 No 4 Drennan stick to trip bottom, with a 7 mm punch of bread on the size 16 hook, I was surprised to see the float dive away downstream only yards away first cast. I missed the bite, but next trot connected further down the swim with a chub that flashed on contact, bending the little Hardy rod over as it absorbed the initial run downstream. The chub dived into the snags along my bank, but pressure pulled it clear and my first fish was soon on its side ready for the landing net.

I followed another ball of feed with the float, the line coming off the ABU 501 spool acting as a brake, lifting the bait from the bottom, the float going down again with a smaller chub battling away under my rod top.

It was good to see these fish, the tiny chublets of a few years ago now giving a good account of themselves. I missed a couple of quick dips of the float and and added more depth, letting the float run, holding back, then letting go again, as it progressed down the swim. I held back and the float pulled down, the instinctive strike boiling a small tumbling dace on the surface, which came off. A few more trots and it happened again, this time with a better dace that stayed on for longer in the fast flowing stream. Shallowing up again, the bites were sharp dips, which took the bait off. The dace were there in the shallow water down the inside, but I couldn’t hit them. I used the next size down, a 6 mm punch, increasing the depth again by a foot, then bulked the shot, thinking that the dace were attacking the shot, mistaking it for the hemp. Easing the float down, the rod top wrapped round, this time a better chub came to the surface and I lifted my finger from the spool and let it run before closing the bale arm to steadily bring it back to the net.

This chub had fought like a dace, tumbling over on the strike in the fast water. Maybe they were chub after all. The Blackwater used to have some really big dace, but they seem to have disappeared in recent years, so maybe it was wishful thinking? Leaves were now being blown like confetti onto the surface, making holding back difficult, the float collecting leaves as they drifted by. I fed a couple of firm balls up and over to the slower water three quarters across, but again the strong downstream wind was causing problems, putting a bow in the line, making holding back difficult, needing to constantly mend the line to straighten it to the float. A good bite and the fight of a roach was unmistakable, as it zig zagged along the far shelf, before being brought across to the net.

It was hard work trying to control the float in the wind, a 6 No 4 float would have been better, but the river was shallow and clear over there and I prefer the sensitivity of a light float. A few more trots and the float gave a couple of dips, then a downstream sink as another roach made off with the bread.

Presentation was still a problem, my long 14 foot Browning would have controlled the float better, but there was not the head room for it, even the twelve footer clipping the branches above me occasionally. Despite the wind and leaves, the roach wanted the bread giving positive bites and I hit most of them.

The roach were a decent size and playing the next fish, there was a swirl behind as a pike grabbed the roach, snatching it from the hook with a sideways swipe. I watched the pike swim upstream opposite me and devour the roach in a shower of scales, then swim, waving its tail in the current to the cover of an overhanging bush upstream.

The bites stopped on the roach line, but the float carried further down alongside the bushes and disappeared, the strike bending the rod right round as a chub tried to make it to the safety of the far bank snags, keeping the pressure on to turn it away. This chub fought me all the way back to the net.

I fed a couple more balls toward the middle, ringing the changes with the float, tripping through, to well over depth. The roach came back, taking them at all levels, but a tight line to over depth seemed to work best, often hooking them just five yards from my rod top.

The coarse feed had settled among the gravel and the bites, when they came were unmissable.

The wind had picked up again and I had dropped a few balls of feed down the inside line, shallowing up to try the 7 mm punch stopped and started down the swim with a longer tail, taking this chub at the far end of the trot near the fallen birch tree, the float lifting high on the surface, then sinking out of sight. This was a battle as it tried to snag me all the way back to the landing net, running upstream then drifting back to be scooped to safety.

My bait tray told a story of missed bites and a few dropped fish on a day when effort exceded results.

By 3 pm the light was fading fast, the rain had held off, but that wind, although from the south, was getting colder. Five chub and seven roach on light tackle was a just reward in difficult conditions.

Rudd entertain at the clay pit

November 11, 2020 at 5:26 pm

In a contrast to last week’s freezing conditions, spring like weather drew me out of Lockdown this week to a local pond that I have never fished before. While out walking, I had often peered through the chain link fence and wondered who had the fishing rights to the tree lined water, guessing that it was private property belonging to the golf course that it bordered. Fast forward a few years and the golf course is being built on and the fence has made way for a foot path, leaving it open to fishing.

The one problem is that the pond is close to a busy road with no parking nearby, but a convenient grass verge allowed my wife to drop me and my tackle off. Problem solved. A short 50 yard walk saw me settle down into a well used swim judging by the litter, lager cans, empty sweet corn and meat tins being scattered among the bank side vegetation. Twenty yards away is an empty litter bin with KEEP BRITAIN TIDY in gold lettering on the side.

I had a scout round, filling my bait bag with a variety of bottles and cans, then dumping them in the litter bin, my good deed for the day.

The manufacture of bricks was once the area’s main form of employment and clay pits were common around the town, the popular Jeanes Pond being one that still exists today, while most have been filled in to make way for housing estates. This pond has all the characteristics of a clay pit, being very deep and in the hollow of an old watercourse.

I have no idea how deep this pond is, but the sides shelved away quickly, being five feet deep at 4 metres out and seven feet at 5 metres, when I plumbed the depth. As an unknown quantity, I had brought worms from my compost heap, just in case it was full of perch, as well as my usual bread punch. Due to the depth, I opted for a heavy 2 gram antenna rig, that works well at Jeanes Pond, the shot, bulked 18 inches from the size 16 barbless hook, getting down to the bottom quickly.

Having broken the top three section of my pole a few weeks ago, I was keen to try out a replacement section, that I had adapted from one gifted to me by a good friend. Once the heavy elastic had been refitted down the middle, the new section was a close match to the original pole. I mixed up ground carp pellets and damped down liquidised bread, then squeezed up a couple of small balls, one over the 4 metre line, with the other at 5 metres. Setting the float just off bottom at 4 metres, I cast over the feed and waited for signs of interest in the 6 mm punch of bread. It was not immediate, the antenna gently raising and lowering fractionally after 5 minutes, before slowly sinking when a small rudd swallowed the bread.

Not a bad start, with no surface activity, I had wondered what fish were in here. Dropping the float back in had a speedier response, the float settling, dipping, then submerging.

A better rudd. I even got the landing net out for this one. Without putting in more feed, the rudd had got the message and were now taking steadily. I now switched to a small red worm to see if there were any perch about. The float dived a way and I lifted into another rudd.

The rudd really went for the worms, the float sliding away and out of sight before it had settled.

After several rudd, I was having to search for more worms in the bait box, while trying to get a reluctant worm onto the hook was proving fiddly and I went back to the punch, as it is so much quicker to bait the hook. I had moved out over the 5 metre line and added a foot to the depth, but was getting lift bites, striking on the lift and getting some better rudd.

Raising the float back up to the five foot depth, the bites were more positive and regular tight balls of feed kept the fish there. I had one of those bites when you know that it is a big fish before you strike, the float slowly sank and steadily continued down and out of sight. The elastic was coming out of the pole before I lifted and I quickly attached another section of pole as the fish continued down and across. It kept going without slowing, bending the pole round. The the float pinged back, it had come off. Judging by the empty luncheon meat cans, the regulars here come for the carp and this was a large one.

The fine wire size 16 hook was opened out slightly and I bent it back. Time for my lunch time sandwich and a cup of tea. It was now quite warm and I took off my big heavy jumper. The sun had come out from the cloud, being directly in front of me and I had to shield its reflection with my hand to see the float. I fed another ball of feed and went up to the 7 mm punch, then went back to catching rudd.

This one was a lipless wonder with no top lip. The pond is very clear, but these fish are pale for rudd, which is unusual, more like those from murky waters like gravel pits.

The local fishermen that remember these old clay pits, say that they were full of crucian carp and I was hoping to see some today, but despite the bread now coating the bottom, there was no sign of bubbles on the surface from the bottom feeders.

I tried fishing deeper, but the lift bites returned and I missed more bites, this rudd being an exception among a stream of much smaller fish. I shallowed up again, but the bites had become difficult to hit, still being small fish, so scaled down from a 7 mm punch to a 5 mm. The bites improved and so did the fish.

It seemed that the rudd were no bigger than this and there would be no crucians, or manageable carp, so after a period of “just one more”, I made the decision to pack up after this last one.

I couldn’t complain, the sun still shone, I’d watched a heron fishing opposite, seen wagtails, long tailed tits and even a flock of green parakeets robbing a wild rose bush of hips, all for the price of a few pence worth of bait.

Three and a half busy hours had put over 6 lb of rudd in my net on a warm sunny day. If this pond has not been filled in by next spring, I’ll give it another go. I’m sure there are a few surprises in store.

 

 

 

 

 

Bread punch beats the cold on Lockdown

November 6, 2020 at 5:49 pm

Freezing fog caused me to delay my fishing this week, waiting for morning sunshine to break through and melt the ice on the van windscreen before I ventured out after lunch. I was well aware that three hours fishing would be the maximum possible with sunset at 4:30 pm, with more fog threatened at around 3. The drop in temperature has been quite sudden and it seemed strange to be getting my thermals, thick woolen socks and heavy three ply jumper out of the wardrobe, when a week ago I was working in the garden wearing only jeans and a T shirt.

My original plan had been to take a drive to the River Blackwater, but now with time tight, I decided that my local River Cut was a better option, only to find a diversion in place that doubled the distance. Not to worry, fishing is all about relaxation and rushing often often ends up with frustration and tangles. I am well drilled in unpacking the van, then loading the trolley, so once parked in the only lay-by, I was soon at the weir and tackled up.

It was unusual to see less water than normal coming over the sill, with only a slight back eddy coming across the main river to my left, which had little flow, my 6 No 4 ali stemmed stick barely moving toward the foam. Dropping in my first ball of liquidised bread, I watched it break up into a cloud as it gradually sank to the bottom. With the float set six inches off the bottom, I put in another ball of feed under the tip of my 14 foot Browning and lowered the float rig down with a 6 mm pellet of punched bread on the size 16 hook. It had only travelled a foot before the float dragged under and I was playing my first fish, a small chub, that rushed off toward the fast water.

This gave a good account of itself and I leaned out to net it from the high bank. Chub are usually the first to move in on the bread and when the float lifted then lay flat, I assumed that it was chub number two, but the dogged thudding fight as it rushed around the pool, said roach, a flash of red fins among the foam confirming my guess. This fish felt like an ice lolly to touch and it wasn’t long before my fingers began to feel numb.

Fish can tell when they are lightly hooked and often fight harder, this one being no exception to the rule, taking me from bank to bank, before I could slip the net under it, where the barbless hook dropped out once the pressure was relieved.

After a couple more shallow trots into the foam without another bite, I added another six inches to the depth to trip bottom in the 30 inch deep swim, the float dipping and sinking next cast. The rod bent over again and I thought that another small chub was rushing away with the bait, hugging the bottom, then surfacing as I swung it to hand. A monster gudgeon.

This was the beginning of a gudgeon raid, as the shoal settled over the bread feed out in front of me. I kept going bashing my way through them, as sooner or later I knew that the roach would follow. I usually get a triangular hot spot form in the eddy, where the feed collects on the bottom and becomes filled with roach, but today the fish seemed to be in a narrow back eddy, which headed back into the boiling weir. Adding another six inches to the depth, with No 6 shot spread from the hook link up to the bulk two thirds from the float, an underhand cast put the float between the slack and the back eddy, watching it sail upstream into the weir, often going under as it settled. More gudgeon, but also the odd roach began to show.

These were all fat fish in full fighting fitness, that headed straight into the fast water and I struck all of them with my index finger covering the spool of the ABU 501, able to momentarily give line by lifting the finger to allow the line to run free on that first rapid burst of power from the fish.

By 2:30 the fog had started to roll in again, blanketing out the low sun and my breath began to huff steam as the temperature fell, while it was already becoming difficult to pull the hook though into the punch in the low light.

I had no intention of packing up yet, despite the discomfort and I kept feeding and catching, even if most of them were gudgeon.

All fish were welcome, not least another small chub, which rushed around the pool to be swung in.

There used to be many fine chub to be had from this pool, along with carp, but those days seem to be gone, even the large roach were missing from this session today, hoping that they are growing fat on sweet corn, judging by the number of empty cans littering the banks.

Every time that I was ready to call it a day, the rod would bend into another roach and I would press on catching gudgeon again until the next one came along.

This was the last one that came out on my camera and I packed up after one more roach.

It had been a very busy two and a half hours with about 60 fish, mostly gudgeon. Feeding a small ball of liquidised bread every other cast had used up the equivalent of two thirds of a loaf. The cold had slowly crept into my bones, despite frequent cups of tea, but I feel that afternoon was worth the effort, although my wife had other ideas.

 

 

Pike force a move at Braybrook

October 27, 2020 at 2:05 pm

The weather forecast was dry with sunny intervals, while the rest of the week would see rain and strong winds, so with bread from the freezer, I took the short drive to Braybrooke recreation ground to fish Jeanes’s Pond, arriving at 10:30 to find that I was the only angler there. I was pleased to see that the leaves had only just started to fall, which would make fishing easier.

I set out my stall in peg 18, well out of the wind, to fish the bread punch close in on the pole, putting in just one ball of white liquidised bread four metres out, followed by my 4 x 14 antenna float with a 5 mm punch of rolled bread on an 18 barbless hook, fished just off bottom. The float sat motionless for about five minutes before a tiny tell tale ring radiated out from the fine tip. It sank slowly out of sight and I lifted into a reasonable roach that pulled out the No 6 elastic.

A very nice first fish. Without feeding, I dropped the float over the same spot, this time only waiting a couple of minutes before the float sank again and another autumn roach coming to the landing net.

When the water is cold, the bites can be slow, but they were predictable, a slight movement of the antenna followed by a steady sink under the surface. Another nice roach followed.

I ventured in another small ball of feed and the float sank as a decent roach bounced the elastic. Suddenly the elastic stretched out. A pike had grabbed the roach and was swimming deeper into the pond, the light elastic offering little resistance as it turned and swallowed the fish. I lifted the pole as the 5 lb pike made several lazy runs, eventually swimming parallel to the bank along the surface out of range of the landing net, before diving again and coming in close, as I broke the pole down to the top three sections. I have had dozens of pike on at Jeanes’s Pond and never landed one, but this time I had one on the surface in front of me with the landing net ready. It was not to be, the razor sharp teeth cut through the line as the pike boiled on the surface.

That was the end of what promised to be a good session. I tied on another hook link and started again, feeding a couple more balls, one in close and one 5 metres out. The bites came back, but the good roach were gone, small roach, rudd and even a couple of baby perch taking the bread, including this lipless wonder.

Another angler arrived, new club member Mike, setting up in peg 16 and not long after he was playing a good fish, that was boiling on the surface. It looked like another pike. Walking round, I could see that he was struggling to land the pike on a 5 metre whip, while his landing net was too small to cope and went back for my own. Mike had been fishing cubes of luncheon meat, fairly hooking the pike in the jaw and with no elastic had good control of the fish; I netted it quickly. My camera was ready, but a flip of its tail launched the pike back into the water, so no pic for the blog.

Back at peg 18, still being cautious with the feed, I was beginning to get some better sized roach on the 5 metre line.

Then it happened. The pike was back, making a surface attack on a good roach as I readied the landing net. Already down to the top three sections of pole, I pulled hard against the pike and the hook pulled free, another quality roach meeting its doom. That was enough for me. The pike would wait for the better fish to return, then grab one and kill the swim again. Easy pickings.

Too early to go home and with sandwiches to eat, I loaded up my trolley and relocated to peg 2, close to a lily bed, where the wind would be at my back. It was much deeper here, over 4 feet and fed a couple of small balls along the drop off close the the lilies. Light rain showers were blowing in with the wind and I pulled my hood over my cap to keep my neck dry. So much for the weather forecast.

After a slow start again, it was soon a fish a chuck, but apart from this rudd, the fish were much smaller.

The sky turned black and the rain began to lash down.

With no waterproofs, I abandoned the swim, taking refuge under a bankside oak tree until the rain eased, following blue skies fooling me into fishing again. The punch bread was dry in its wallet and I had stowed the seat cushion safely in the dry pocket of the bait bag, so it was business as usual when I emerged from cover with more roach.

I should have used the dry period to pack up, not realising that this was just an interlude between even heavier showers. It was now just as wet under the tree, due to the runoff from the now sodden leaves and went back to pack up before the rain had stopped.

About seventy fish in total, a typical net of bread punch fish, which unfortunately draw the pike in for a meal that can be achieved with little effort.

 

 

Big crucian carp tops short break at Hitcham Ponds

October 22, 2020 at 10:59 am

I always try to fish Hitcham Round Pond in the Autumn before the leaves fall, arriving at noon to see the last of the sunshine, as dark clouds were being driven by a strengthening breeze. I was hoping for a few crucians and common carp, plus a skimmer bream on the bread punch from the Intertype AS water, taking advantage of the exchange ticket offered to my own Old Windsor AC.

I had not fished this swim before and found it shallower than expected at only 30 inches with no drop off. Unusually there was no surface activity, such as roach topping, or carp rolling, even the surface was devoid of bubbles from feeding fish. The weather last week had been cold and wet, but today the southern breeze had brought a pleasant rise in the temperature. The water had a bright green tinge.

With no noticeable shelf to aim at, I made up a sloppy mix of coarse liquidised bread, ground carp pellets and ground hemp, while keeping my eye on my 4 x 16 antenna float. It did not move, the 6 mm pellet of bread on the size 16 barbless hook ignored by the many small roach that fill this pond. Not a good sign, but I fed an area straight out in front between six and eight metres out, dropping the float in to the side of the nearest feed. Still no bites, so I went down to the 5 mm punch, the smallest for a size 16 hook, the shot strung out to allow the bread to fall through. Finally a bite, with the bait just off bottom. The float tip dithered and slowly sank;  not the crucian that I had expected, but a small roach.

It had taken time to catch this fish, but now the shoal had woken up and moved over the feed, each fish getting smaller, so more balls of feed went in on both lines to feed them off. Over the eight metre line a lift bite brought a palm sized skimmer bream, which raised my hope of better things to come.

Hope springs eternal and I continued working through the small stuff, both roach and small skimmers. The bites were still difficult to read and hard to hit, some better silver fish bouncing off against my heavy elastic. My next tray of feed was heavier and I went back deeper toward the bottom on the eight metre line, being rewarded by the sight of clusters of bubbles bursting on the surface. Still very small roach and skimmers, until I went up to a 7 mm punch, when the float lifted and bobbed before purposely submerging. The elastic was out following an initial run, then a classic rolling fight as a big crucian carp fought in circles. Breaking the pole down to the top three, the elastic did its job of wearing out the crucian, the golden scaled flanks visible each time it rolled beneath my feet, the landing net ready when the carp popped up on the surface.

I was lucky to land this crucian, the hook being in the very tip of the nose, falling out in the net. I had caught a 3 lb 8 oz crucian from the pond last year and this one was slightly smaller, a couple of ounces short of 3 lb, but it fought to the max.

I lobbed out a couple more balls onto the eight metre line and poured myself a cup of tea, letting the feed settle before casting over again. The surface was disturbed by the movements of a large fish and I waited, the float wavering in the boil, then slowly sinking out of sight. I lifted into the fish, which exploded into life as it powered toward the island stripping out the elastic, while I countered the run by raising the pole and turning to my right, the 35 year old carbon Shakespeare pole creaking under pressure, but again the 12 -18 red elastic did its job, slowing the carp and forcing it to curve back to my bank. As the pressure eased, so the common carp sped up again, heading along in front of me, while I broke the pole down to the top three sections to stay in contact, it passing at top speed heading for the lily bed on my right, with the elastic following. I turned the top three to the left taking the strain and crack, the bottom section split and folded half way up. The carp kept going and I was effectively now on a hand line with no control, watching the elastic disappear into the lilies as the common boiled on the other side. The hook came free, and I was left with a dead pole.

Time for another cup of tea and a think. I have another top three kit for this pole with a lighter elastic fitted at home, which can be swapped over to the heavy elastic, so it is not the end of this pole. It was still only 1:30, too early to go pack up. Back at the van was, my 14 foot Browning rod, so the pole was packed away and returned to the van and I walked back across the field with the holdall.  At the swim I set up the Browning with a fine antenna waggler rig. Probably an hour had elapsed since the bust up, the wind had changed to in my face, drifting the leaves that had been piled up in the corner round to my side of the pond. The light rig kept hanging up on the floating leaves, while the wind drifted the float away from the eight metre line, where bubbles were still rising. I managed to drop a small crucian and four ounce roach, probably due to too much bow in the line. The pole allows a positive upward strike. The fish were just nibbling at the bait and my success rate of hits to missed bites had quadrupled in a negative direction.

Before the pole break it seemed that the bigger fish had taken over the swim, but now I was back on the small stuff and decided to pack up. Usually by now bursts of bubbles from the numerous common carp in the pond would have been coming up over the feed, but today was not usual.

 

Blackwater chub saves the day

October 16, 2020 at 9:12 pm

I was optimistic for my first visit in a few months to Farnborough and District’s River Blackwater. Recent heavy rain had caused flooding, but I now expected the river to be fining down with a decent bit of colour; just right for some autumn roach fishing. As I walked over the bridge, I was disappointed to see the bottom right across. It was crystal clear and lower than I have ever seen it, but undeterred I pressed on upstream to one of the few swims where fishing the stick float is possible from the bank. Stopping at the swim, I realised that I had left my landing net pole back at the van. Being on the Blackwater Valley public path, there was no way that I was going to leave my trolley unattended, so it was back to the van again, then back upstream to the swim.

Three quarters of a mile walked and half an hour of wasted fishing time. I placed my box in the only gap in the trees. It had greatly reduced in a year and my first retrieve saw the rod top line get caught in the overhang. I would have to be more careful next time. First fish, a gudgeon, was safely steered through the gap, but later as I leaned out to net a roach, the rod top got caught again, leaving the roach jiggling about on the line until it fell off, springing the line up into the branch, causing a tangle. I managed to snag the line and float with my landing net and pulled it free, but the float broke in half. Another broken float.

I decided to load up the trolley again and to walk back downstream to a swim past the bridge that has no trees. When I got there, it was occupied by another angler. What next? Go home? Getting back to the bridge, I decided to fish above it. I had caught roach here before until a pike had turned up. It was worth a try.

I am not one to chop and change swims, but was not too happy with this one either, as from the high bank, I could see right across the bottom. Attaching another float from a winder, I trotted through, finding the depth was under two feet, but with no wind, float control was easy from the top of the high bank. I fed  liquidised bread, mixed with ground hemp, damped to allow small balls to be squeezed up. The idea was to let the feed carry down the swim toward the bridge, where I assumed the roach would be holed up. About the fourth trot, the float dipped then sank and a big gudgeon was swung in.

This was taken about half way to the bridge, and following down another ball of feed, the float went again in the same spot as the rod bent into another gudgeon. Encouraged, I repeated the process, again another bite in the same spot, but missed it. There must be a hollow there, holding the feed and fish. Another missed bite and I scaled down from a 6 mm punch of bread to a 5 mm. That’s better! The lightweight Hardy bent round, the flash of a roach clearly visible as I struck, taking my time to bring the fish back upstream against the strong flow. I guessed that the weir half a mile upstream was fully open to run off the overnight rain. From the high bank, I had to lean over with the landing net to get the net near the roach, the angle to the water too steep for comfort, but I guided it over the rim and scooped it up.

A fussy bite and another gudgeon followed, but the next cast the float passed the hot spot, drifting round to a side eddy where the float sank. I struck, the rod bent, then dead weight as I reeled back a stick. Another trot that passed through into the eddy brought back another twig. I now cast out to the middle, allowing the float to swing round to fish six feet further out, the float taking its time to reach the bridge, where I could just see it. Suddenly it was gone and I struck as the line stretched tight. Wham, the rod bent double as a long silver fish rolled on the surface and ran downstream, while I backwound the ABU 501. This was a reasonable chub, which was now searching for snags along the side of the bridge. It rolled again in a foot of water alongside the wall, thankfully heading out to the middle away from the snag filled eddy, while I held, then reeled to keep contact. Ten yards downstream, the chub’s white mouth was clear of the water and I steered it toward the net, again having trouble getting it stay in, lifting the pole with my foot to finally secure it.

A sigh of relief and time for a cup of tea and a sandwich. I fed a couple more balls out and down, followed by the float. Another bite in the same place, I paused and struck. Nothing. The bread was gone. A chub would have run with it. The float again travelled all the way to the bridge without a touch, then a dip and a dive. Another monster gudgeon was bending the rod again. They fight hard for their size. I tried back over the hollow. A couple of dips, but no proper bites. I think the fish could see the float in the shallow water and were wary of the bait.

Back over to the middle and the float worked its way down and under the bridge. It disappeared with line following and I swept the rod back. A definite fish, not a gudgeon, but a roach by the feel of it, as it tapped the rod top on the return. For safety, I leaned out with the landing net and brought it in.

This was my last fish landed, a smaller chub did manage to reach the snags in the eddy, depositing the hook in a branch. I let the line go slack for the chub to swim out, which it did leaving my hook behind.

All in all it had been a frustrating session, I couldn’t be bothered to untangle the hook link with cold hands and the light was going, so I packed up, the saving grace being the chub in my net, my personal best for this part of the Blackwater.

Bread punch commons and crucian carp late call at Allsmoor

October 9, 2020 at 6:08 pm

It has been a week of showers and sunshine. Every sunny day I had previous commitments that stopped me fishing, the others it rained. Then after a morning of heavy rain, the TV forecaster was talking of a glorious sunset, as the clouds would melt away. It was still raining at 2 pm with a strong wind and I gave up on the idea of fishing and got on with something else, but a patch of blue in the sky was creeping closer, giving me hope of that promised golden sunset. I gathered up my gear and loaded the trolley for the only fishing option available at short notice, the walk down to Allsmoor pond not far from home. The blue sky passed quickly, driven by a chill wind; not too welcoming for my arrival at 4 pm.

My preferred swim would keep the wind at my back and the sun out of my eyes, but when I got there some kind soul, or souls had launched a Tesco trolley into the water, too far from the bank to reach. What logic was behind this act of vandalism? Tesco is about half a mile away and the last 300 yards is over a rough path. There are some strange people about.

Back to the fishing. I continued round to a swim opposite and mixed up my ground bait, bread crumb, ground carp pellets, ground hemp and hempseed, putting four balls in 7 to 8 metres out. I then set up my pole with a small waggler rig swinging it out over the feed. The float sank immediately and a small rudd came in.

These rudd are an occupational hazard in this pond, you have to wade through them before the better fish move in over the feed. I often catch a few decent rudd, but this time they were all small.

I scraped up more groundbait into balls, hoping to feed off the rudd, but they just kept pulling the float down.

Then a good sign, pin hole bubbles bursting over the feed, while the float went in and did not disappear immediately. It sat, then lifted, before sinking to the surface and cruising off. Lifting into the strike, the heavy elastic came out as the hook was set, the fish unaware for a second that it had been hooked. It steamed off to the right toward a bed of lilies, unchecked by the 12-18 elastic, causing me to react by pulling back against it, a risky move that could have pulled the size 16 barbless hook free, but the carp turned broadside on and headed out into the pond, where I knew it could be beaten.

If it had turned into my bank I’m sure it would have been lost among the many snags. Like the shopping trolley opposite, someone has thrown the recent council tree trimmings into the water, my swim needing to be cleared with the landing net before I could put my net in, even then I had to leave a large ten foot bough in the water, it being too heavy to lift. I got the impression that one of the locals is anti fishing.

It was now apparent that the rudd had cleared off, as again the float just sat unmolested, until a series of dips and bobs of the tip indicated a crucian carp bite, as it sucked the punched bread between its lips. A slow submerge and I was playing a nice crucian that stirred up the mud with its rolling fight.

As can be seen, this otherwise perfect crucian had a badly ripped mouth, victim of a large barbed hook. Back out again, I cast to the middle of a burst of bubbles. No dithering this time and the float sank away as another crucian made off with the bread.

So much for that golden sunset, a black cloud was now moving in from the west, blocking out the last remaining rays and I was having trouble seeing the slot in my punch. It was only 5:15 and sunset was not due for another hour, but the sullen gloom crept closer.

The next fish ran like a carp, but was one of the colourful crucians that inhabit the pond.

Bubbles were steadily rising now and a bite was certain each cast, this time it was another common carp that that fought all the way to the net.

That dark cloud was now overhead and a heavy drizzle began to hiss on the surface and I pulled my waterproof jacket over my head, not having time to put it on, as the float was gone again.

These small crucians had taken over, the poor light creating strange colours from my camera.

Darker still, the camera was struggling without the flash. I could still see the float though and netted another.

The flash was on for this last crucian. It was still raining and I had to pack up as it was getting darker by the minute. It was just after 6 pm, that golden sunset would have given me another half hour of fishing.

      

A short but sweet session from a small local pond that never fails to fill my net. This a free fishery under the control of the council, which is unfortunately open to abuse by the mindless few.

 

 

Homespun cider making made easy

October 4, 2020 at 7:00 pm

It is cider making time again, the temperature has dropped and apples are abundant, either to be scrounged, scrumped, or gathered from the wild. Over the past few weeks we have gradually accumulated over 60 lb of several varieties of donated garden windfalls, both cookers and eaters along with feral apples gathered from local hedge rows. It was time to literally dust off the cobwebs from the “equipment” stored each year in the shed and begin on a cool, dry late September morning.

A typical mix of apples in the washing bin, ready to be processed.

Here is the production line that I have used over the years to extract the juice from the apples ready for fermenting. Don’t laugh, yes it looks crude and very basic, but don’t forget that people have been making cider for hundreds of years with very rustic equipment, mashing the apples with heavy poles and pouring the rough juice into barrels and leaving it to ferment from the natural yeasts in the air and the apples themselves. My two pieces of modern equipment are a garden shredder, for creating the mash and a car hydraulic bottle jack for compressing the juice on my home made wooden frame, which is screwed and glued together using 4 x 2 rough timber. As can be seen, the frame is held in an old Workmate.

This is a two person line. My wife cuts the apples into pieces that will fit into the shredder, removing any rotten fruit as she goes, while I collect the mash from the bowl beneath the shredder.

Note that much of the mash is already juice. The mash is ladled into an old ice cream container, which has netting, or muslin draped over it. The netting is then folded tight over the mash, forming a parcel of mash, squeezing out some of the juice along the way into the container. The parcel is lifted out, the container emptied into the 5 gallon bin holding the squeezed juice. Without a press, just wringing out the mash parcel would produce about 75% of the juice on its own.

The parcel is then placed on the press platen, the secondary platen placed on top then a block, followed by the jack, which is pumped to squeeze the remaining juice out.

This image shows the roasting tray around which the press was made, with the pine platen, part of an old shelf, in place and the parcel ready to squeeze. The tray can be lifted out easily to drain the juice. I considered fitting a drain plug at one time, but this takes only seconds to lift and pour out the juice, so why complicate matters? Due to the tannin in the juice, it soon turns brown, but a test taste proves it to be pleasantly sweet. Sweetness means sugar and sugar ferments into alcohol. Floating a hydrometer into the juice gave a Specific Gravity (SG) of 106, enough for around 6 % alcohol, when fully fermented. Enough for a pint, or two around a summer BBQ.

This image shows the press at full squish, with the juice flowing into the tray. Another platen and parcel would speed up the whole juicing process, but this system and rig produced 3 gallons of juice from 6o lb of apples in 2 hours. We started with a cup of coffee at 11 am and finished with a toasted cheese sandwich at 1 pm for lunch. Perfect timing. I used to make 6 gallons of cider each year, with a break for lunch, but you were very ready for that cup of tea at 3 pm.

A useful byproduct of cider pressing is the left over apple cakes. Once these would have been fed to the family pig, but the worms like them just as much, boosting the working of the garden compost heap and giving a ready supply for fishing.

We now have a bin full of juice, what next? When I made my first cider, I lived in a rural setting with my own trees and hedgerows full of crab apples a hundred yards down the lane. I wanted to be as traditional as possible, deciding to only use the wild yeast from the apples, that formed as a light foam on the top of the juice. Stirring in the foam, I then poured the juice into demi jons, put on air locks and left the cider to get on with fermenting in my kitchen. I racked them off before Christmas and did a taste test. Each demi jon had a different flavour, one very harsh and dry, two very bland and one perfect with a sweet dryness. From then on I used shop bought sachets of wine, champagne, or cider yeast, sprinkled over the juice, all giving good consistent results.

This year I have gone one step further, stirring in a sachet of nutrient twenty minutes before adding the yeast, which I started off in 100ml of warm water at 30 C degrees. According to the blurb, the fermenting time will be reduced, which will result in a happier wife, who gets fed up with cleaning around the demi jons.

Certainly the initial rapid fermentation that takes place within the first few days has been accelerated, the demijons below very active after only 18 hours.

I used a jug to remove the rough juice from the 5 gallon bin, then pour through a fine mesh, or sieve in to the demijons. I then use rolled up newspaper to stop the rapid fermentation from bubbling over as the yeast eats up the sugar, producing a thick brown scum of dead yeast, which will be removed after a few days.

After three days the cider had settled down and I cleaned the necks of messy debris, then fitted air locks, seeing bubbles blowing through the air locks immediately.

The lees and settled out yeast can be seen in the bottom of the cleaned demijons. These will be left for another two to four weeks, until fermentation has slowed down and the cider has changed to a slightly hazy golden colour. At this stage the cider should be racked off into a clean demijon. Racking is the process of syphoning off the cider from the lees using a tube, which is placed into the demijon with the clean container at a lower point. I put the full demijon on the kitchen worksurface, with the clean one on a chair below, sucking through the tube to draw the cider through and down into the empty one, watching the tube as it empties the demijon, allowing the tube to draw off a small amount of yeast into the new container, making it hazy again. Top up with water and refit the air lock. The emptied demijon will contain about 20 mm of yeast, which can be washed out ready to repeat for the next one.

A TIP HERE. To avoid the syphon sucking up too much yeast at this point, a small piece of cane can be tied to the tube with, say 25 mm (depending on the depth of yeast)  protruding from the end of the tube, which will prevent the syphon from getting too close to the yeast.

If a still dry cider is required, then move the demijon to a cold place like a garage, until the cider has cleared, usually about two weeks. All fermentation should have stopped. There will be a slight film of lees at the bottom of the demijon, which should be racked into a  clean one, avoiding the lees. The cider can now be bottled, pouring into a jug, then through a funnel into bottles. I use old pint beer bottles. Tasting it at this stage, the cider will be dry and acidic, but will mature enough after 4 to 6 weeks to be drunk, when left in a cool place off the ground. The longer the better.

A medium sweet still cider can be produced at this this time, after the cooling, by adding 4 oz of sugar, dissolved in hot water as a syrup to the racked off clear cider, when cooled, sealing the top of the demijon and giving it a good shake to mix the sugar, before bottling.

Obviously, the more cider that has reached this stage, the more experiments can be carried out.

For a dry sparkling cider, after the second racking, having brought some yeast through, keep the cider in the kitchen, until the lees have settled and fermentation should have stopped, usually another week, or two. Rack again, drawing through a small amount of yeast. The cider will be slightly hazy and can be bottled, adding a level teaspoon of white sugar to each bottle. Store in a cool place. The cider will clear leaving a paint of hardened lees in the bottom of the bottle, although care should be taken when pouring to avoid them, as they are quite bitter. I am told that the lees contain some valuable vitamins, but I’ll take their word for that. The beer bottles will contain any pressure generated, while a heaped teaspoon will result in a slightly sweeter cider. I don’t advise two full teaspoons for more sweetness, as a champagne style outpouring from the bottle, including the lees, will occur.

I prefer a strong, dry, sparkling cider and add 4 oz of dissolved white sugar after the first racking and top up with water. A slight, fresh fermentation will take place, when most of the yeast will be used up after another week, or two. Rack off again, drawing off a small amount of yeast, continuing as above.

I do not advise plastic caps for the bottles, as they can lift off, allowing air in, which will ruin the cider. Compressed bottle caps are the answer. When I first started bottling, I used a hand held swaging tool. The cap was placed over the mouth of bottle, the tool placed over it and tapped down with a hammer. Each year I tragically lost a few bottles this way and the precious liquid inside and eventually bought a much more efficient, safe alternative.

The original swaging tool is at the bottom.

I store my cider on a rack on the north side of the garage to avoid possible over heating in the summer. My usual output of 50, or more pints a year, resulted in a surplus, which has built up and am currently working my way through four year old cider. Three month old cider is drinkable, but it definitely improves with age.

I hope that this has persuaded you to have a go at cider making. There are many varieties of cider sitting on the supermarket shelf, but the satisfaction of making and drinking your own cannot be beaten.

Cheers!