The Indian Summer is long gone, now we have cold foggy mornings and thermals on to go fishing, with no sign of sun before lunchtime and darkness by 5 pm. On Friday morning, a weak sun was peeking through the mist, as I drove my wife into town. Seeing the drying roads, she commented that I hadn’t been fishing this week. “Not bothered” I’d replied. Sad, but true, going fishing at this time of year requires enthusiasm, which I didn’t have. A frosty chill on the water, lowers the body emperature of cold blooded fish and can shock fish enough to stop them feeding, so who wants to sit in the cold and struggle for bites? Not me, but by the time that I had returned home, the sun was bright and warm on my skin. I changed my mind. Allsmoor Pond is very close to my home, it is very shallow and quick to warm up, with a south facing aspect. At least I would be warm.

Of course, although I had got my liquidised bread from the freezer and swapped my float rod for a pole in quick time, I arrived at Allsmoor to see that the mist was rolling in again, shrouding out the sun. Only a month ago, the lily bed was stretching over in my direction, now it had died back to the far side. There were no signs of fish movements, although there was a plus point, there was no wind and no leaves littering the surface. It didn’t take me long to set out my stall, strawberry flavoured groundbait, a 4 x 16 antenna float rig to a size 16 barbless hook with a 6 mm punch of bread and I was ready. A few small balls of groundbait out at 8 metres, soon persuaded a rudd to respond to the punch with a slideaway bite.

As I steered this small rudd past a branch in the water, it became entangled in a length of line attached to the branch. I pulled the line in. I intially thought that it was a night line, a baited line left in the water over night, for a carp to swallow, to be pulled in and taken for food the following day. Thankfully there was no baited hook, but the line was a surprise, it was at least 20 lb breaking strain. The biggest carp that I have had out of here was 8 lb and that was on the pole with elastic and 5 lb line. No need for this stuff.

I coiled it up and cut through the coils with my scissors. It was tough old line. Who would fish with anything this strong? Poaching was rife in this pond at one time and I am sorry to say that I have found many here over the years, but none with a fish on. A favourite was to attach the line to a brightly coloured aerosol can, which was then tied to the end of a whippy branch. When the carp swallowed the bait, it would run and hook itself against strain of the whippy branch. This was the method used by a gang of four East Europeans, that was emptying another local pond of carp, they would sit on bank side seats and watch for movement of the aerosol can from the opposite side of the pond. They would then go round and collect the carp and put it in a wetted canvas bag. These four were observed and caught by the club secretary, who was also a retired police sergeant. There were live carp in the bag, which were released. I don’t know what happened to the gang.

The rudd were feeding, but I had no sign of my target carp, but the rudd were obliging, despite being very cold to the touch, so continued taking them at regular intervals. Nothing big, but keeping me busy, pulling back, breaking down to the top two sections, unhook, rebait and extend the pole and swing the rig out over the baited area again.

Colour variations, usual red fins.

Green fins.

Orange Fins.

Usually, when a carp comes around into the swim, the rudd move off, but this did not happen, the only quiet periods were taken over by gudgeon.

The path around the pond is very narrow and every minute, or so, my pole blocked the path, while supported behind me, as I unhooked a fish and rebaited the punch. I was aware of a pair of trainers to my right, as I blocked the path again and appologised to the legs, saying that I would only be a minute. The legs had a voice. “Don’t worry, I’ve been watching you from the other side of the pond. It’s good to see a real fisherman, who knows what he is doing fishing this pond.” This began an All Our Yesterdays conversation about match fishing in the 70s, through to the 90s. We had both fished for competitive teams in Open Matches, Winter Leagues and Nationals and both had been tutored to fish the Bread Punch by top London anglers on the Grand Union Canal. He still had his rods, reels and poles of thirty years ago. We laughed over the fact that I am still using my 50 year old rods. He was no longer married and was considering taking up fishing again, all he needed was a new keep net, as his old one had been eaten by mice. It was now 4 pm, the fog was coming down and the light was going fast, so we shook hands and I began packing up.

I had gone up to an 8 mm punch, but still caught rudd, or gudgeon, trying to attract a carp, but I think the cold weather had put them off. Last month I had seven common carp, three of them around two pounds, but today was a different story.

Summing up, this was not my expected result, a few common carp would have brightened a dull day, while I wonder what has happened to the many crucian carp that were the main attraction here a couple of years ago. At least I’d met a like minded angler, who may just get his rods out again.

Recent rainstorms, had put some life back in the drought affected River Cut near my home and I was determined to fish the river, before Winter got a grip. The temperture had already dropped, when I arrived on a bright afternoon this week, but was pleased to see that the leaves were still on the trees, rather than covering the surface of the river.

I had not fished this swim for some years, when better flows had produced good nets of roach and chub on the bread punch, while trotting a stick float beneath the trees. Now the river is shallower, with less pace and I opted for a lightweight 2 No 4 float, fished over depth through a cloud of groundbait, with a 6 mm punch of bread on a size 16 barbless hook. I mixed up liquidised bread, ground hemp and a fine strawberry groundbait, that was very sloppy to sink slowly in the clear water. Fishing “The Slop” on the Grand Union Canal, had worked well for roach in the past and it was worth  a try today. The idea is to feed little and often, producing a column of fine groundbait that keeps fish in the swim without actually feeding them. Although suited to fishing a pole, I use my twelve foot Hardy rod that does not bounce off small fish, yet can handle any bonus fish.

As expected, very small roach and chub were the first fish, flashing over deep down on the strike. Each time I expected the rod to bend into a perch, but no such luck today. The dace below did put a bend in the rod however, tumbling over and over as it tried to shake out the hook

I was over casting the float downstream, with a single No 8 shot a foot from the hook and a No 6 midway, the float slow to cock and often sinking out of sight, when it did. A better roach was next, searching out the opposite bank foliage in seconds of being hooked.

The small chub had been beaten to the punch by very welcome roach, this one barely sucking in the punch before it was hooked.

More small roach, dace and chub followed before another bite produced a rudd, that surfaced immediately scudding across the surface.

This was now a bite a chuck, although a brief spell of wind blew in a collection of oak leaves, dragging on the surface line. This roach taking on the drop.

The sun had by now sunk below the houses of the estate that lines the Cut, the river running through a narrow green corridor of wilderness hemmed in by a busy road and houses. Recently the Town Council have begun a steady programme of mature tree removal, leaving wide gaps along the roadside, which has destroyed any illusion of peaceful solitude, when fishing here. At least the fishing is holding up against the constant threat of pollution and water abstraction, to supply the thousands of new homes built in the area over the last ten years. The other side of this major road, no longer bluebell woods, but a thriving community of 4,000 houses and a school. Such is progress?

I kept feeding a small ball of groundbait every cast and the fish kept obliging by taking the bread punch. My next notable fish was a solid dace, that fought all over the river.

A decent rudd, one of many, still hanging onto the punch.

There were too many fish to photograph, this final chub being landed at 4 pm and time to pack up, before it got dark. There was now a chill in the air and I was glad that I had put on a thick woollen shirt.

It had been a busy two hours, and well worth the visit.

A mixed bag of silver fish, roach, dace, chub and rudd.