Days of thunderstorms and their associate downpours had made outdoor activities pot luck, as to whether a soaking was on the cards, or not in recent days, but the forecast for the afternoon was dry and after a few household chores, loaded up the van to take the short drive to my local pond.

The pond is classed as a balance pond, acting as an over spill reservoir for a brook that runs in from the forest through housing estates. The pond was doing its intended job, the banks had been breached overnight showing a tide mark that extended way beyond where I now put my tackle box, the water still just over the bank. A heavy mist kept humidity high, almost to the level of a light drizzle, but there was no wind, which meant no surface drift, the float fisherman’s curse.

As with previous visits to the pond, my approach was to soak some liquidised bread crumb, press it into loose balls and bait an area twenty yards out. Using a cut down pole float, bulk shotted at the  base to allow an 18 inch tail to fall free to a size 14 barbless hook, bait was a double punched 7 mm pellet of bread. This was all cast out on my 12.5 foot Normark float rod. The difference now was, that there was another foot of water, due to the extra flow coming down the brook. Like most carp, when not browsing through the deep sedimentary mud, they cruise around close to the surface, these being my target fish, the punch pellet being slightly buoyant.

When I first fished this pond eight years ago, it had a good head of rudd, which tended be a nuisance, attacking the bread, but like the numerous perch and gudgeon, that I am told were once in abundance here, the only fish are now carp. This now means that any bite will be a decent carp, as with the previous observation, small carp would often be taken along with the rudd, but not anymore. I assume that the deep mud and coloured water have made spawning impossible to the extent that the rudd died out and the carp just get bigger.

I did not need to wait for a bite, the float dipping several times, before vanishing, followed by the V of the line behind it. I leaned back into the strike and nearly got impaled by the float, as it was catapulted out of the water. I had missed one of those express train bites, having watched the bite develope, picked up the rod in readiness, seen the line tighten and failed to connect. The next bite showed interest as the float cocked, the bristle rocking from the turbulence of a carp as it pushed the bread around. I was on the verge of striking as the tip sank to the surface, only to pop up again and be still. The bread was gone. Next I tried striking at the slightest movement. Nothing.

I mixed up some more feed and lobbed it into the swim. The float disappeared again. Missed it. Doing nothing different, the float was gone, the line followed and I made contact with an explosive force that was an unseen carp, that bent the rod double in its first run. Twice I thought that it was ready for the net, but each time it ran again, left and right making for the bankside tree roots. This was fun, the fish was not large, but good sport, a stepped up carp rod with heavy line would have stopped it dead. I had the time and inclination to wait until it was ready for the net.

The hook was just in the side of the mouth and dropped out in the net, this well rounded four pounder being returned immediately. Mixing up the last of my feed, I cast out again. Bubbles had been bursting in the swim from the off. The carp were there. Why couldn’t I catch them? Each bite was a variation on a theme. I tried going deeper by a foot. Twitching the float as a bite progressed. Bigger baits. Smaller baits. I suppose this is why people get addicted to carp fishing. A very learned friend of mine, who knew of my fishing habit, once described angling as the pursuit of the brainless, by the mindless. These wild carp certainly have a brain and I was losing my mind trying to catch another.

I called my wife asking her to delay dinner by an hour. I cut her conversation short. I had another bite and had to go. Missed that one too. With minutes to the new deadline, the float went again and I was in. About the size of the first, the fight was just as hectic. Each time I gained line, I had to give it back. At last the golden flank of a carp flashed, when it rolled; a sure sign of it tiring. Soon it was in the net, the hook barely in the skin of the top lip.

I think that they were playing a game of balance the bait on the end of your nose without being caught.

Whatever the reason for the missed bites, maybe next time I will try a pole with a lighter float and a heavy elastic. This pond is half a mile away from home, I have to go back.