With my part of the UK already in Tier 4 and the new strain of Covid 19 rampant, the UK Government have been on catch up trying to thwart a rapid rise in infection, leading to greatly increased hospital admissions and ultimately deaths. Lockdown 2, announced for a month at the end of October, had seen a reduction in the original strain of the virus and hopes of a five day family Christmas were announced, only to be cut back to one day, as the new strain took hold. Many families, my own included, decided to err on the side of safety and restrict their Christmas interaction to Zoom calls.

With the announcement of a looming third Lockdown, it was assumed that Angling once again would be permitted as reasonable exercise and I went fishing yesterday afternoon, while my wife went off to the local Tesco to get stocked up with essentials. Sticking to the Tier 4 guidelines of minimum travel, I drove the two miles to Jeanes Pond in the hope of a few decent winter roach on the pole and bread punch, although it was blowing a gale and just above zero in temperature.

I walked round the pond to be in the lee of the hill and set up at peg 13, just in time for the rain to start. Covering up the liqudised bread, I fed a pigeon egg sized ball over the drop off 5 metres out and swung the 4 x 16 antenna float out to drop through the fine cloud of bread. I waited for a bite and waited some more. Lifting the rig and recasting after 5 minutes. The 5 mm bait was still there untouched. This is unusual, even after the succession of sub zero nights over the past few days, I would have expected a bite by now. I put in another small ball of bread two metres to the left, raising the hook six inches and cast over it. Another few minutes and a welcome ring radiated out from the antenna. A bite at last. Another ring and a half dip that held. I struck and missed the bite. More dithering bites, all missed.

I decided that the 4 x 16 float with a 5 mm punch in a size 16 was too big for these lethargic fish and changed the rig to a 4 x 14 fine antenna float to a size 18 hook with a 4 mm punch of bread. I put another small ball over the original spot and cast over it again. Another ring and the float slowly moved. Thinking that it was probably wind drift, I struck anyway and felt the resistance of a fish, that soon splashed upon the surface, before being lifted to hand. Despite my cold hands, it was freezing cold to the touch.

A small rudd. At this stage I was not complaining and at least it had stretched out the No 6 elastic a bit. I dropped the float in again. This time I felt the fish, but it dropped off as I lifted it to hand. I put a small ball over both areas and got out my bag of punch bread, selecting a strip of rolled bread. 2 mm thick, it punched out a tight 4 mm pellet, which slipped into the hook. Casting over the second feed area, the float sank as it cocked and I was bringing a roach to the landing net.

The fish had woken up, but the bites were still difficult to hit. Hooking a tiny four inch roach, I bulked the shot closer to the hook and stopped feeding. If there were better fish in the swim, they would be on the bottom by now and raised the float to fish just off bottom.

The wind had veered round causing an opposite drift, not helping bite detection, sporadic rain adding to the misery and after an hour at 2 pm, I only had five fish in the net, none of them the clonkers, that I came for. The original area had gone dead and I suspected that a pike had drifted in, but the wait for bites over the second produced a few more.

It was not pleasant fishing in this weather with diminishing results, another four inch roach and slightly better one being the final fish at 2:20.

Ten minutes without a bite saw me pack up at 2:30. I had used very little liquidised bread for fear of feeding the fish off, when their metabolism would have been barely ticking over, but who knows, maybe I didn’t feed enough? That’s fishing.

I arrived home not long after my wife, who was busy filling the freezer and shelves with supplies. Hearing my tale of woe, she agreed that I could make up for it by fishing the next day if I wished. My planning of a visit to a prolific river was interrupted by a call from an angling friend, who informed me of the good news, that angling was banned until further notice.

By law I can walk along and sit by a river taking in the scenery, but the moment I put a rod in my hand, I am performing an illegal act. What is the logic in that? Happy Days.