I had promised myself another visit to Farnborough’s Shawfield Lake before the leaves drop, driving through thick mist and heavy drizzle, that had cleared to sunshine by the time I arrived at mid day. Letting myself through the padlocked gate, the lake looked welcoming with a tinge of colour and little wind.

I was hoping for roach and skimmer bream, plus a possible tench or two and pre-baited with a few balls of liquidised bread before setting up my pole. There is about 5 feet of water 20 feet out and it was not long before my float bobbed, then slid away with the first fish of the afternoon, a 3 oz roach. With this in the keepnet, I swung out the rig again to an instant response, the float going straight down with a better roach. The line went solid as a pike grabbed the fish and made off. Not again! I had this problem on the River Blackwater two weeks before. The heavy pole elastic slowed the pike down, causing the hook in the roach to pull free.

Putting in another ball of feed, the fish were back and the net began to fill with roach to 4 oz. Then it happened again, the pike taking a roach just short of the net, its back breaking the surface, causing me to jump with surprise. I let the line go slack, putting on another two metres of pole, giving the pike time to turn the roach. Expecting larger fish, my rig was 5 lb main line to a 2.8 hook link and size 14 hook, enough to handle this 4 to 5 lb pike and I swept the pole round, stretching out the elastic. Against the resistance, the pike turned and I got the landing net ready, but its sharp teeth went through the hook link and the rig catapulted back into a bank side bush. This was annoying, luckily being able to retrieve the rig, which needed another hook link. The activity had scared off the roach and I got out the tea and sandwiches, having put out another ball of bread.

Watching my motionless float, the sound of splashing fish drew me to look at my keep net. The roach were panicking on the surface as the water boiled further down. I lifted up the net to see that the pike had a roach across its jaws through the net, only letting go when I pulled the net up onto the bank. The roach was dead, its scales now missing and the crescent shape of the pike’s jaws from stomach to back. This was the last straw for me, that pike would return. I had considered moving to another swim, but decided to pack up and head back home. There was still time to fish the pond ten minutes walk from my home.

By 3:30, I was ready to fish the pond, placing my tackle box on a makeshift platform of a pair of kitchen doors screwed into logs laid in the reeds. Lacing the area with several balls of liquidised bread, I settled into a rythm of a rudd a chuck, a necessary evil until the crucians and carp moved in.

The platform was not too stable, the constant swinging in of rudd causing my tackle box to rock back and forth. Adjustment to the box legs soon got me fishing again, the rudd getting bigger as I fished out the small stuff.

After an hour of silver bashing, I would have expected to have seen fine bubbles from feeding crucian carp, but this was not happening and I was beginning to believe the rumours, that the pond had been fished out by migrant workers, fishing for food. A slow sinking float, that met solid resistance, banished these thoughts, as a small common carp stretched out the elastic toward the nearby lily bed, before eventually coming to the landing net.

At last a decent fish, although it was back to rudd again next cast. Usually, once the carp have moved in the rudd move out, but as the light was beginning fade it, seemed unlikely. The float dithered and bobbed before sinking and I struck into a small colourful crucian carp, that I swung in.

I have been plagued by these bait stealers before, but today it was welcome, giving a brief fight.

The sky had darkened as a rain cloud emptied over the pond and I checked my watch, 5:30, two hours without a proper crucian, unknown for this pond. A couple more rudd and I got my reward, when a hard fighting crucian took the 7 mm bread pellet, almost tipping over as the platform rocked on its log, as I slipped the net under the fish.

The light was now going fast and my camera was refusing to flash due to a low battery, this pic and the following rudd being blurred.

As I leaned forward to put this fish in the net, the platform shifted and I was thrown backward against the bank, just avoiding getting my feet wet.

I had intended packing up at 6 pm anyway, so what was another 10 minutes added to a pretty rubbish afternoon? I was able to retrieve most of my tackle from the boggy water round my box, saving my disgorger and bread punches, but losing a sharp pair of scissors in the mud.

It had been worth the move, this 7 lb net in two hours, testament to the effectiveness of the bread punch.