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Stick float dace and roach crowded out by a crucian carp surprise

July 18, 2019 at 8:06 am

With only a few afternoon hours to spare this week, I took the short drive to my local river Cut this week, finding the level the lowest I have ever seen it, the bottom visible right the way across, despite the water being murky. I walked downstream to try one of the new swims recently created by the Environment Agency, depositing my tackle box on a raised grassy fishing platform. The river here has been narrowed and contoured using willow faggots, backfilled with branches to speed up the flow.

Testing the depth with a plummet, I found only 18 inches in the middle and about two feet close to the willow faggots on the opposite bank, deciding to trot my 3 No 4 ali stemmed stick float as close to that side as I could. Putting a couple of small balls of liqudised bread on that side, I was ready to run through with a 6 mm pellet of bread on a size 16 hook. First cast in, the float sank like a stone and I lifted into a nice dace that tumbled across the river to the net.

Introduced by the EA a couple of years ago as 4 inch fish to the river after pollution, these dace have grown well in the Cut, which never had dace before the stocking.

The dace were now lined up along the willow and I took several despite a harsh downstream wind, that was putting a bow in the line, trying to drag the float downstream. Mending the line worked in my favour against the fine biting dace, the sudden jerk of the line inspiring them to sink the float, the follow through hooking a fish just about every time.

The bites were still fussy and retreating further downstream, so I chanced another small ball over to bring them back up.This had the effect of bringing a small shoal of rudd into the swim and I took a few of them along with more dace.

Bringing in a small dace, there was a swirl behind it, then another and I saw a large perch chasing it in, lifting the dace clear in time.

This dace was too big for the perch, but the next one across was grabbed again, the perch boring deep with its prize until the hook pulled free. That was the last of the dace, the shoal swimming off upstream creating a bow wave, no doubt with the perch in hot pursuit.

I put over another small ball of bread and trotted down again, the bites becoming very finicky and I went down to a 5 mm punch in search of more positive bites. It worked. Easing the float into the bay opposite and holding back against the weak flow, brought a slow sink of the float and my first roach of the afternoon.

The roach were getting better, although the bites were barely tipping the float, apart from a lift bite that brought the best rudd of the afternoon.

More roach.

Then a chub.

Then a 3 lb 8 oz crucian carp.

The float had gone straight down like the chub before it and I stuck into a solid lump that woke up with a start and dashed off down stream against the backwind, turning to run upstream along the opposite side, a broad flash of gold as it rooted along the bottom sending up a shower of bubbles. I have caught common carp here before, but the fish was too short and fat, realising that this was my personal best Crucian. I let it go where it wanted, without putting a strain on the size 16 barbless hook. From the high bank, the angle of the landing net was too steep to the water and the carp was in and out twice, before it was three times lucky and I hauled it up the bank.

The British Crucian Carp record stands at 4 lb 10 oz, this barrel shaped crucian was just over 3 lb 8 oz on my scale, certainly a specimen.

This topped my afternoon’s fishing session, anything else would have been an anticlimax and I packed up, tipping the remainder of my fish into the net with the crucian, before lowering them back into the river.

 

Abu Garcia 507 Mk2 fishing reel review. Bread punch on the waggler for carp

July 15, 2019 at 7:34 pm

Back in my serious match fishing days, Abu closed face reels were my ultimate choice for waggler and stick float fishing, first with a pair of 506’s, then with a couple of 501’s. The 506’s had their locking pawl removed to allow for back winding, while the 501’s came ready for the matchman with back wind. Over the years, one of my 506’s wore out, refusing to pick up line reliably, while the gears went on a 501, being replaced by a new old stock one from a closing down sale, both still giving good service. The remaining 506 is in use on my spinning rod , the original use for the American market.

For feeder fishing an open spool Abu Cardinal 54 had served me well, being replaced by a Shimano 2500m Aero XT7, which has recently found its way onto my 12.5 ft Normark float rod as a combo for tackling the carp on a local lake. This reel on the float rod has not worked as hoped. Yes it casts well, also having a retrieve rate of 6 to 1, it is ideal for staying in contact when a carp runs toward you. It has an easily adjusted drag, which when released allows backwind, but at your peril, as it can tangle.

So why am reviewing an Abu 507 Mk2 reel? Too many times now, I have had lose line wrap around the handle, or back of the spool, when waggler fishing for carp with the Shimano and complained to my wife, too near to my birthday, that I had lost a carp due to the line being trapped. “Why not get another reel?” she said “The kids can buy one for your birthday.” Having always used the 500 series of Abus for float fishing with no line problems, I looked for a more beefed up version of my other reels and there was the 507 Mk2. A much larger spool with a retrieve rate of 5 to 1, which would outpace the smaller spooled Shimano, five bearing support and an adjustable switchable drag, which would give me a safe backwind option. At under £60 brand new on-line, I was sold. Before I could change my mind, my wife placed the order and it arrived in time for my birthday.

This is what arrived, a padded zip up case, with compartments for three shallow spools and a deeper one, I assume for heavy line. Also included were spare sets of chennelle for the spools, to prevent the line from being sucked behind the spool, breather holes already in the spools have got this problem covered.

Loading a 100 metres of 5 lb line to a shallow spool was surprisingly quick, compared to a 501, the 9 mm larger spool and retrieve rate saw to that. With line loaded, I set off in the early evening to the nearby carp lake, where I found that spawning was in full flow, black mud being stirred up in front of me.

The larger carp were not my target tonight, but the multitudes of one and two year olds that have bred naturally in this council owned green space recently. Having lobbed out a few balls of liquidised bread toward the island, I tried an underhand side cast, the float landing well beyond my feed close to the island. This was already better than the Shimano, a powered overhead cast usually required for this distance. First cast the float bobbed and slid under as the 7 mm pellet of punched bread was taken, feeling a slight resistance as a mini common was sped back to my hand.

Next cast a small mirror took the bread, the perfectly balanced 507 bringing it quickly to hand.

These micro carp were taking it in turns to pounce on the bread the moment the float hit the water. I decided to feed another three balls across laced with krill powder

It was the same result for a while, more mini carp, chucking them back each time, then resistance and a run along the island brought a slightly larger common, a slow retrieve bringing the juvenile fish to my bank and the landing net.

A few more of these could provide a bit of sport and a decent net in the remaining hour, so I put the keep net in. I continued casting and hooking the very small stuff, but another better common soon followed.

This were lying close to the far shore, the cast needing little effort to peel the line from the spool, while keeping the punched bread on the hook, for yet another mini battler. This time a surprise rudd.

Once prolific in this lake, I have not caught a rudd here for a while, but it was good to see there are some survivors. Fed by a brook, gudgeon were also a nuisance fish in the lake, they may be deep in the mud, but no one has had any for years.

The reel was performing well, balancing the Normark, as I stuck into more small commons, when they sank the float out of sight.

The float skated across the surface and disappeared and I instinctively lifted the rod as the line arced round following a proper carp, that accelerated away under the trees, leaving a black trail of mud. Backwinding, I remained in contact as the carp tried to get around the end of the island, but I laid the rod over, still back winding, but keeping on the pressure, bringing the fish to the surface. The carp, about 5 lbs, was foul hooked in the tail, pulling away like a dog on a lead, slowly coming back to me, then pulling away again. It turned and ran back as I retrieved line, turning away again as it passed, pulling hard for the island, but slowing to a stop and I pulled it back toward my landing net. With barely enough water to swim in, it turned over, flapping in the mud, the hook pulling free and flying back. Slowly it took stock of the situation, then with an almighty effort the carp powered off into deeper water.

This was my cue to pack up, the light was fading and I had enjoyed non stop action of one sort, or the other, putting over a dozen small carp in the net.

This had been an effective testing session for the Abu 507 Mk2. No tangles, or trapped line, more importantly I had been able to forget about previous worries with the Shimano and get on and fish.

 

 

 

CZ452 Varmint .17 HMR searches out hide and seek rabbits

July 12, 2019 at 1:26 pm

A brief evening visit to one of my permissions gave me a frustrating hour, as rabbits darted in and out of the long grass alongside a warren hidden beneath a pylon this week.

The farmer had cut a strip of grass for animal feed, but already it is growing back, giving cover for an active warren, several rabbits being visible as I drove past it along the lane. Once in the field, I approach slowly, until I was spotted, getting down to crawl a further twenty yards. Although I could still see rabbits going about their business, once down behind the scope all I could see was grass. Extending the bipod legs on the CZ452 by three inches helped, clearing the grass in front of me, but apart from a few sets of ears twitching, a shot was awkward as I had to rest on one elbow to raise my body for the scope.

A jogger trotting down the lane helped, scattering the rabbits back to safety beneath the pylon. This gave me the chance to crawl another twenty yards over the curve of the field. They began to come out again. I was able to lower the legs a couple of inches for a more comfortable view and had a perfect bead on a sitting rabbit, when the brown shape of another crossed my line of sight. The first one chased after it up the field. I followed them until they disappeared into longer grass. One of them bounded away, appearing briefly then hidden again. It stopped and sat up, head and ears barely visible. Adjusting the scope parallax beyond a hundred yards gave a clearer picture. I fired, it arched up clear and was gone in the grass.

The other rabbit now sat up, only its ears visible. Aiming between them and lower, I fired again. It vanished from sight.  Much closer, near the pylon, a rabbit ran into the cropped grass and I snapped off another shot. Missed it? It ran back to cover as another previously unseen to the left, got up and made toward the pylon, passing into the scope view. This shot made no mistake and the rabbit lay still. Four shots and three rabbits an a matter of seconds?

The sound of a car in the lane to my left cause me to look round. It was a police motorway traffic car, the lane serving the M25 as access for authorised vehicles. An officer was looking out at me. I gave him a thumbs up and he waved back, continuing slowly down the lane. He probably saw the action unfold. I am known to the police as having permission to shoot in the area and was thankful, that he had not decided to check my documents.

I waited another ten minutes and got up, walking toward the pylon. The third rabbit had been a yard from safety. Thirty yards on I found the second rabbit with a wound exiting the back of its neck. It had been flipped over backwards. A good shot at that range. The search now began for the first rabbit. I knew that it was over to the left and further still. The grass here was taller and thicker and I quartered the area up and down, but could not find it, despite it being the largest of the three. Once hit by the expanding Hornady 17 HMR bullet they rarely go far, but eventually I had to give up. It was a waste of a life and of good meat.

In the spring the pylon area had provided many meals, the grass was short and a hollow had provided cover for eighty yard shots, but now repopulated, only one side is accessable until haymaking takes place.

Riddled with burrows, a few more visits will be needed before the numbers are reduced, although the currently unshootable grass covered field beyond, is home to the largest warren I have ever seen, which is full of willing replacements.

Local pond worth the walk for bread punch rudd and carp

July 10, 2019 at 8:46 am

With my van in dock having a new gearbox fitted, there was only one option open for fishing this week, the long walk down to my local pond in bright sunshine, working up a sweat with my loaded fishing trolley in tow. Pausing in the shade of the lane, I got my breath back ready for the last two hundred yards to my swim.

Walking along the bank, I could see that the shallows at the inlet were full of carp getting ready to spawn, not a good sign for my expectations of a net of carp this afternoon. There were no other anglers present and settled into a favourite swim away from the lily beds, although on such a hot afternoon, the lilies were holding most of the fish out of the sun. Lily beds usually result in snags and lost fish for me and prefer to draw my fish out into a safe area.

Damping down half a pint of liquidised bread, I threw four soft balls in a square, eight to nine metres out. There was an immediate response from the small rudd that plague this pond, although some better sized fish were soon searching among the bread crumbs. Setting up my pole to six metres, I intended breaking down to four with a long line of three to hand and a 2 No 4 waggler half a metre deep and a size 16 hook. The pond is very shallow, with thick black silt covering the bottom and by the time I was ready to fish at 12:30, there was already a dark stain beneath the surface, where fish were searching for my feed.

First cast in, the float sailed away and a half decent rudd kited off across the pond.

Trying to avoid too many small rudd, I had started off with a 7 mm bread punch, but this one had taken the bait and swallowed it in seconds.

These rudd were fat and in their prime, needing to net many of them, although most were swung to hand, my keepnet soon filling, taking two a minute. Continuing with the occasional small ball of feed, kept the decent rudd interested, the better ones fighting all the way to the net.

Usually on this pond, the first half hour is dominated by rudd, only to be eventually pushed out by the carp, but I was still catching these beautiful fish after two hours.

At last bubbles began to burst on the surface and I dropped the float in the middle of them, watching as it lifted, then sank slowly away, the elastic zipping out from the pole tip as a small common carp made off with the bread. Stirring up mud, the fish circled away from me, as I followed it with the pole raised, the red elastic stretching down into the water.

The rudd had moved out and the bites changed to dips and hold unders and I bumped a couple of fish, that I assumed were crucian carp just sucking at the bread. Leaving the next bite until it slowly edged under, I struck into solid resistance and the stand and fight, tumbling battle saw the elastic out again as the golden flanks of a large crucian flashed beneath the surface. Taking my time, I brought the pole back to four metres and drew the crucian over the net. Hooked in the very tip of the upper lip, the hook came out in the net. Phew!

Fine bubbles were now over the feed area, a sure sign of crucians, but the bites were slow to develope and I missed a few more, before a switch to a 5 mm pellet produced a more positive bite and a fish.

These small brightly coloured crucians are bait stealers, tending to sit stationary, sucking at the bread, barely moving the float. In the past I have lifted off thinking that the bait is gone to find one hanging on the hook. For this one I timed it right.

With an early evening commitment, I had set my time limit at 3:30 and bang on time the float crept away and another small crucian came to the net.

Packing up is never easy when the better fish are finally coming on the feed, but I had had an absorbing time catching rudd, being an enjoyable interlude in a busy day.

A satisfying net of fish, making the uphill walk back home worth the effort.

Magtech 7002 semi auto .22 gets lucky waiting for hay making

July 4, 2019 at 10:54 pm

A wet spring followed by sunshine and heavy showers, caused a growing spurt on the grasses around my local farms this year, closing the brief window available early on for shooting rabbits. After a frustrating evening with rabbits playing hide and seek among the nettles and thick grass on a large warren, I had decided to wait for haymaking to take place before venturing out again.

Assured that the contractor would soon be arriving to begin cutting and baling, I took a walk around to get the lie of the land, looking for latrine areas and feeding spots on another hot afternoon, while taking the opportunity to talk with the farmers, about their intentions once the grass was cut. Finding out when and where cattle will be put out to graze will also help, when planning a visit. An area already partly cut was pointed out, which had a couple of rabbits in full view, but they were too far off for the Magtech, although an easy shot for the CZ 452 HMR locked in the gun cabinet at home. Noting this for an evening visit next week.

Moving on to the next farm down the lane, two rabbits were lying out in the shade as I drove slowly into the yard, but as I watched, they got up and melted back into the undergrowth. Picking up the Magtech and loading a full ten shot magazine, I moved a few steps at a time listening for movement.

At the gate I stopped and waited, to my left was good view into the empty barn and a grassy area beyond, while ahead the track was bordered by long grass, a clear rabbit run passing down into a green depression in the ground, that sloped up to the wall of the barn, the grass cropped short by nibbling teeth. At the gate I had clear site of the area 25 yards away, with several runs giving access from a bed of brambles. The ideal place for an ambush.

A rustle through the grass to my right on the other side of the fence, was probably one of the rabbits disturbed earlier, passing unseen along the rabbit highway, watching with the rifle poised as the grasses parted past me. Now on my side of the fence, I glimpsed its raised ears. It knew my intentions and flat to the ground it crossed the track into more long grass. Through the scope I could just make out the brown fur of its body. It came out of cover and dropped down into the depression, as I squeezed the trigger, hitting it in the body, bowling it over, but not out, as it scrabbled for one of the bramble exit holes. Crack, the sound of bullet on bone stopped it dead with a clean head shot.

 Walking to the next gate, I disturbed another rabbit, that picked its way through the brambles only yards away, but out of sight. A shot, or two, blind into the brambles may have hit it, but there it would have stayed, a waste of meat.

I walked back to the farmhouse to show off my prize, being assured that the grass would soon be cut, the concern being that the feed quality of the hay would be reduced with each dry day. I look forward to the days of no hiding place again.

 

River Blackwater wakes up to the bread punch

June 27, 2019 at 7:46 pm

Torrential rain at the beginning of the week had worked through and I found the River Blackwater low and clear, when I arrived on Thursday. This stretch is relatively new to me, my club Farnborough and District AS only acquiring the water at the turn of the year. The bottom end of the stretch narrows giving several deep runs, where I have had good roach and dace fishing on the stick float, but today I walked up toward the top gate, where the river is very shallow, finding a swim with just enough room for my 12 ft Hardy among the trees.

The bottom was visible right across, but a couple of balls of liquidised bread soon had fish heading into the clouds of particles, the float sinking away with the first of several small chub.

Then another ball of bread brought a surprise, a small skimmer bream out of place in the fast flowing shallows.

A better fight meant a roach had taken the 6 mm bread pellet and the landing net came out for the first time from the high bank.

The roach were now queuing up, many swingers, plus the odd netter.

The roach were slowly drifting back down the swim, taking longer to get a bite and longer to net, so I added more bread to the tray, damping it down and throwing further back upstream.

The roach followed the feed and I began to hit fish on a tight line as I followed down with my rod.

This clonker took off the top of the rod, tail walking in a shower of spray, but staying on the size sixteen barbless long enough for the net.

I had had a couple of small dace, but my next was a beaut, doggedly tumbling and rolling to the net.

These dace were hard to hit, tipping and holding the float just below the surface, often hooking the fish only to lose it seconds later.

This roach was competing with the dace in only two feet of water, the bite taking the float straight down, while the dace continued to play games with me, losing, or missing the majority.

Keeping a tight line just off bottom and going down to a smaller 5 mm punch was the answer, although some still hooked themselves, only to come off again. Regular feed of tight, damp balls of bread kept the bites coming in a short area.

As quickly as they had come on the scene, the dace gave way to roach again and I gave a couple of bread punch tutorials to passersby, the roach sitting over the feed five yards down the trot, making it look too easy.

The best roach of the session came during one of these demo’s, making sure that I did not rush it to the net.

I was still taking a roach a cast, but had to call it a day after almost five hours, having run out of feed, this roach being my last fish.

One of my watchers helped me bring in the net, he being amazed at the number of fish. I tipped the contents of the keepnet into my landing net, which he was supporting, unfortunately he let the landing net slide to one side and many of the fish fell onto the bank, needing to be scooped up again, covering them in dirt. A quick photo and a weigh in at just under eleven pounds, soon had them back in the river.

 

Stick float river season opener madness

June 19, 2019 at 2:36 pm

Time was at a premium this Sunday June 16th, the first day of the coarse fishing river season, it being Father’s Day and dedicated to Family and not fishing. Monday was forecast with good weather, with heavy rain returning for the rest of the week, so it would have to be Monday to fish the river, but then friends invited us over for coffee in the morning, this was extended to lunch…….. Driving home my wife commented that I would not have time to go fishing now, as we were seeing other friends in the evening. I knew this and was already calculating how much time I would get to actually fish.

Once home, I was rushing around sorting tackle, getting changed and taking bread from the freezer, before loading up the van. Time was slipping away as I drove down the drive, my wife mouthing the words, “You’re mad” as she waved me off. Yes, I suppose I and many other anglers take things to the extreme for a bit of fishing, but this was my only chance on the river for the rest of the week. The ground is still waterlogged from the last floods, when we had a month’s rainfall in a day.

Slowed by school traffic, I arrived at the carpark, loaded up my trolley and set off on the 500 yard walk to my chosen swim on the river Cut, where I had ended the season on March 14th. Then I had two large chub, a lot of nettable chub and roach; today was an unknown.

The bankside vegetation was stained with silt from the floods of last week and I dragged my trolley through black mud to reach the river. This was not going to plan, it was 4 o’clock already and I had not even tackled up. Having promised to be on my way home by 6 pm, this would have to be a very quick visit.

I could see a raft of 3 to 4 inch chublets close to the surface in the sunshine and decided to make up a heavy bread mix, that would go down quickly and roll along the bottom. Setting up my 12 foot Hardy float rod, with a 3 No 4 ali stemmed stick float and starting with a 5 mm bread punch on a size 16 hook, I was ready to fish in 15 minutes.

Putting in two firm balls of bread, one close to the opposite bank and the other two thirds over, I followed down with the float. Despite the previous floods, there was little flow, but the float soon slid sideways and the rod bent into the first fish, a 6 inch chub. Swinging this in the rod tangled in overhead branches. In March the trees were bare with plenty of clearance, now the elder tree was full of leaf and flower it hung much lower catching the line, leaving the chub hanging over the river. Putting the landing net out under the struggling chub, I pulled it back to me, releasing the line from the branches. The tiny chub had now moved into the swim, diving away with the bread. After throwing back a few and missing others, I increased the punch size to 7 mm. The next fish was a decent rudd, which I netted, keeping my rod down. The larger bait seemed to be working.

The rudd was full of fight and in perfect condition. The following trot saw the float slide away again, as an even better rudd fought for freedom.

I swung in another smaller rudd and yes, got the rod tip stuck in the tree again. While I reached for the landing net to release it, the rudd wriggled free, falling back into the river. Luckily the line did not bounce up into the branches and I dragged the net through to catch the hook. I then , hooked and lost another good rudd at the landing net, the line springing back to tangle in the nettles at my feet. I could hear my wife’s comment, “Serves you right for rushing.” Time to sit back, have a cup of tea, relax and undo the tangle.

I put in another ball of bread and followed it down with the float. A fussy bite and a slow sink met firm resistance as a decent roach now came to the net.

The rudd had now cleared off and this was my only roach, the bites now coming at the end of the trot, where the conker tree branches met the river. More small chub, plus a rod bender of 9 inches kept me interested. I tried another ball out in front of me, hoping to bring the fish back up, the result being sharp dives and nibbles, missing the bites, the hook stripped bare in a couple of yards. I swapped back to the 5 mm pellet, squeezing it on the hook and bounced a dace, that stayed on long enough to see its tumbling fight. More missed bites, until I held the float back hard midway down the trot. The float dipped and I struck into a better dace, this time keeping it on long enough for the landing net. While playing this fish, I missed a call on my phone.

These dace, introduced two years ago, have grown rapidly, but are not easy to catch in the shallow river. Dace, the saxon word for dart, describes them well, they will rob bait from a hook in seconds, often somehow crushing a maggot to a skin without getting hooked.

I checked my phone. It was my wife reminding me not to be late home. A few more missed bites, then the float dived away at the end of the trot, the Hardy bending round as a fish dived for the sunken branches. It was a chub, not massive, but that first run was impressive, as it ran toward the sunken branches, it turning to search out safety along the opposite bank. Keeping my rod low, I avoided the parrot cage of elder above my head and slid the landing net underneath.

Time to pack up. I would like to have fished on, there may have been more chub there, but I had my orders, time has a habit of slipping by quickly, when it is in short supply.

Not a bad net for such a short visit. I spent more time getting to and from the river, tackling and packing away, than actually fishing. Was it worth the trouble? Of course it was!

 

 

 

 

Bread punch roach dominate at Braybrooke

June 7, 2019 at 6:05 pm

Reports of tench being caught at Braybrooke Park drew me to Jeanes Pond this week, a sunny afternoon being a last chance before a forecast week of rain. A strong wind was blowing across the pond, which would have made fishing difficult in a favoured swim next to lily beds, so I settled for the easy option in the lee of the clubhouse.

There was only one other angler on the water and he was in the next swim. Fishing the feeder with maggot over toward the lilies, he was catching a succession of quality roach, topping his session with a 12 oz tench. There are much larger tench in the pond, but intending to fish pole and bread punch, I would be happy to catch a few of the smaller tench that had been introduced by the Environment Agency a couple of years before, plus a net full of prime roach.

This year the pond has been plagued with tiny roach and rudd and my plan was to feed tight balls of liquidised bread and ground fish pellets, while using a 4 x 16 antenna float with No 8 shot strung out close to the 3 lb hook link, to drop straight through the small stuff. That was the theory anyway, the proof would be in the pudding.

Plumbing the depth, the main shelf was only three metres out, dropping off again at four and I fed four balls to start in a square over the area, setting the float to fish just off bottom. Dropping the float in the centre of the square, with a 6 mm bread pellet, I watched the float dip and glide away and I swung in a small rudd.

A good size for the first fish and I was soon back in with a few smaller rudd and roach. A burst of bubbles over the feed promised something else and I lifted the float, dropping it dead centre. In seconds the antenna dipped, then popped up again, dithered then dived as a small tench made off with the bait, stretching out the elastic, making me think that I had a better fish.

This little battler was covered in some sort of lice, which had no effect on its fighting abilities. Bubbles were rising steadily from the feed and the next drop in saw the elastic out again as a better rudd stormed off.

I resisted putting in more feed, as so far the tiny roach and rudd had kept away, bubbles were still bursting in the surface and decided that less was best. Another pretty rudd followed.

The next fish stayed deep, fighting hard as it moved around the swim, thinking that it was another small tench, being surprised to see a good roach surface for the landing net.

Before coming to fish, I had put two “waterproof” plasters on my finger to cover a dermatitis sore, they lasted twenty minutes. Should have read the instructions. Probably said “do not get these waterproof plasters wet” Ha!

Another couple of balls of feed kept the bubbles and the fish coming, another nice roach responding to the bread punch. A friend had fished the pond on the punch at the weekend, saying that he had only caught very small fish, but I was still having success on, or just off bottom. I did have a brief spell of catching the tinies, but going up to a size 7 mm punch seemed to solve that.

The float shot away and the unmistakable rolling fight of a better tench had the elastic touching the water as it ran round the swim, the net eventually catching up with it. The fight had be brief, but there was still plenty of energy left, its muscle power making hook removal difficult. This was the only other tench of the late afternoon apart from another similar fish dropped earlier. This may have been it.

I tried more feed and got another cracking roach next cast, the float barely settling before it cruised under.

The landing net was out constantly, the 3 metre long handle needed from the high fishing platform. This was becoming a workout. Who said fishing was a lazy man’s sport?

 Rudd were making up the numbers.

Now the local school was disgorging, teenage pupils crowding around a sunken shopping trolley at the edge of the pond opposite. They were trying to pull it up the bank, when one of them tipped head first into the green water. Did he fall, or was he pushed? The answer was that half a dozen of his mates ran back up the path, before he could extract himself, the other half stood and laughed, until he climbed out with punches flying. In full school uniform, his mother would not be pleased!

As the afternoon went on, the bites got cagier, the sailaways of earlier, now became like those of winter, light dips and pauses, giving way to eventual slow sinking of the tip, the setting of the hook being a surprise to both fish and angler.

Changing the punch for the smaller 6mm seemed to speed up the bites, maybe the fish had had there fill, but I had put in less than half a pint in total, so that was unlikely to be the reason. Small bubbles were still rising and the keepnet was still filling.

Grape sized balls of feed had maintained interest for the fish and I was waiting for another tench.

I had intended packing up at six, but the float continued to sink and I was stuck in the “just one more fish” syndrome, forcing myself to stop thirty minutes later.

It had been an enjoyable four hours, no pike trouble for a change, plenty of sizeable fish and the threatened showers had held off, although the wind had created an anti-clockwise surface drift.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Horam Manor Fishery entertains on the bread punch

May 23, 2019 at 8:32 pm

The East Sussex village of Horam proved the ideal place for a spot of R & R this week. Still suffering with a painful ankle, I booked my campervan into Horam Manor Country Park for a couple of days, seeing that a fishery is among the facilities, which include nature trails and horse riding. Only fit for sitting beside a lake for a few hours, I opted for Great Pond, close to the parking area and overlooked by The Bistro, with a selection of food and drinks available all day. What more can you ask for? Oh yeh, all this for a two rod fishing ticket of £5.

There are nine lakes and ponds to choose from, relics of medievil iron working along a stream, where the ore was exposed down the steep valley, the ore once dug out and smelted on the spot, the ponds getting the name of hammer ponds, where the rough iron was taken from the charcoal kilns and forged with hammers into ingots. Now tall pines and bluebell woods mask this once early industrial site.

Setting up along the dam, I mixed ground carp pellets with 2 mm krill pellets and liqudised bread, then added water to make up several soft balls, that I put in 4 to 5 metres out over the deeper water. Using a 7 mm bread punch pellet on a size 16 barbless, the float cruised off with the first bite and a rudd came to the net.

Several rudd followed in rapid succession, before a slower, steady submerge of the float indicated the first of many carp, that strung out the elastic, letting the fish have its head, until ready for the pole to be pulled back to the top two joints, the landing net ready and waiting.

This mirror was quickly returned, the no keepnet rule going against the grain with this ex-matchman.

Another hard fighting carp. Its a pity that the barbless hook rule seems to have been ignored here, many fish being without their top lips.

A better sized mirror carp, that fought well on the light pole tackle, 3 lb hook link, to 4 lb main line. With carp above double figures in this pond, I was taking a chance, but preferred these tactics to those of many around me fishing matching twin stepped up carp rods, when if they hooked fish of this size, skimmed them back across the surface. There was one bivvy set up on the pond, most of the more serious carp men and ladies seeking out the isolation of the lakes further down the valley.

The bread punch continued to take its toll of the residents of the pond, this common making an effort to reach the reed bed opposite, before the elastic persuaded it to do otherwise.

There were plenty of greedy little tench eager to get to the punch first, the bites and fight unmistakable.

A silver ghost carp put in an appearance.

These carp would be a match angler’s dream, free feeding with enough fight to make life interesting.

A bit of a lump. My wife (tackle carrier) asked if I get bored catching so many fish? Er, Never.

Mirrors were one to every three commons, interspersed with small tench and rudd. There are supposed to be some crucians in the water, but I never saw one, although several big perch were busy chasing small rudd in and out of the reed beds.

Look at the tail on this tench. I lost one of about a pound at the net trying to bully it in.

I had started at 1:30 pm, now it was nearing 4:30, but the fish were unrelenting, a couple more balls of feed had kept them coming, the commons mouths full of mud as they hovered up the fine particles.

I had stopped taking pics of the fish long before, but this chunky common carp and my last fish of the day, another pretty mirror warranted the effort.

I had honestly lost count of the number of the various species, as I attempted to fill in the returns form, say twenty rudd of around 4 oz, a dozen small tench to 8 oz, eight, or nine mirror carp to 12 oz and twenty five common carp to 1lb 8 oz. All in three hours. All on the bread punch.

 

 

Syndicate trout stream rewards persistance

May 18, 2019 at 11:34 am

Following up on my visit to a free urban trout stream, where the mayfly were just beginning to fly, I was encouraged to take the ten mile drive to my Hampshire syndicate chalk stream. The sun was shining and a light upstream wind was ruffling the surface, when I arrived after 3 pm.

Walking upstream it looked perfect, but something was missing, flies and rising trout. I had hoped to start with the White Mayfly, that I had used on the urban river, but was not so sure, deciding to make my way up toward the wier, before changing to a nymph.

This is what I found, when I got my rod down from its rack in the garage. A mouse had eaten the cork of the handle. Although off the ground, the mouse must have considered that it was worth the climb, only eating into one side, where my fingers wrap around. Maybe the floatant grease that I use had permeated into the corks, making a tasty mouse snack. The positive side is that I now have finger grips in the handle!

Without waders, I kept well away from the bank, pausing to study the river ahead, spotting a single rise 50 yards upstream close to the opposite bank. It rose again as I neared the spot, a raft of branches that had collected at a small bush. Another rise coincided with the first sight of a white mayfly lifting off from the surface. Casting was going to be difficult from this high bank, with trees hanging over the water, but a mayfly disappearing in a swirl ahead of me spurred me on. Sitting on the bank with my legs over the river, I made side casts up to the spot, but the upstream wind caught the leader each time, swinging it back over to my side. Mayfly were still lifting off, but a vertical cast saw the fly line land heavily ahead of the fish. It stopped rising.

The artificial was soon waterlogged, sinking on landing, so I got up and moved on, making false casts as I walked to dry it out. There were still a few Mayfly about and another rise a 100 yards ahead saw me approach with caution. Here cattle had broken the bank down and was able to stand at water level to cast, although once again overhanging branches called for a side cast.

The trout was rising every few minutes on the outside of the bend below a willow and I edged closer, increasing the length of my casts, being frustrated each time that I had the range, to catch on dead, long grass and cow parsley along the bank behind me. Plenty of time, mayfly were still coming off and the fish was still plopping away. Retrieving the fly for the second time, I went grass cutting, reducing the obstacles by hand, then inched back to my rod to start again.

The artificial was regreased, rubbed between my fingers, recast and ignored. The wind was still blowing the fly away from the bank and I aimed further in, watching it float down dangerously close to the bank. The trout took in a side swipe and I was in! An initial boil and it bolted upstream, stripping line toward the bend. Side on it was a long fish and not stopping, testing the rod as it bent to the butt. Against the pressure it came back, giving repeated, but shorter bursts of power each time. Standing at the tail of the pool, I bided my time, until it was ready for the net, drifting it across the shallows to be scooped up.

Not a wild fish, but a well conditioned stockie 17 inches long, fueled by a regular supply of Mayfly. After returning to the river, holding its head facing upstream, it kicked away to swim back to the pool.

I was content with this brown trout, walking back to the road, not being tempted by the few fish now rising to another Mayfly hatch.