It was about ten to five when the thought first occurred, just as I was contemplating wrapping things up for the day work wise. I was supposed to be off out with Lisa to buy a new tumble-dryer to cope with the increased capacity of wet baby-grows, which had been stacking up at an alarming rate since Izaak’s arrival a few weeks previous, but as I gazed out of the window at the surprisingly sunny conditions after two weeks of constant downpours, I suddenly had the feeling that now would be a good time to go fishing.
I went downstairs to gauge the situation and enquired about the possibility of postponing the imminent trip to Currys. A deal was done which would see me taking Izaak of her hands for a few hours at the weekend (no worries there – another dad and son trip around a lake somewhere!) and within minutes I was sorting out my gear.
Ten past five and I was en route to Blackwood Pool. The controlling club has embarked on an ambitious project this year which will see all the current carp removed from the water to be replaced with a handful of young prime growers destined to achieve specimen weights in the future. The obvious upshot is that the current stock’s days are numbered prior to relocation.
As such, I had set myself the target of banking ‘The Parrott’, the lakes largest inhabitant, before such time as he went on his long-term holidays. The only problem was that most of the other members had exactly the same plan! Mine was slightly different however, in that I hoped to catch him off the top, which allowed for my newfound addiction to surface fishing. And so it was – ten minutes later I was pulling onto an empty Blackwood car park to begin another tactical assault.
My prior attempts at the challenge had been pretty unremarkable. First time out I fished with Mart and we bagged a couple of small ones each to scraper doubles before the conditions knocked it on the head, and second time out with Chesh things were repeated; after positive early results the wind and rain moved in and that was that.
As I walked down to the water I wondered how the evening would progress. Having pushed to get out and do some, I now needed to make it count. I walked around the inlet looking for any signs of activity and dropped down into Peg-3, which is usually a good bet at this time of year, but ten minutes later nothing had stirred, other than some monster roach attacking the mixers. There was a bit of a cold wind pushing down towards the dam but most of the area I was fishing was pretty sheltered, although the area seemed devoid of fish.
I trekked round to the far bank and started introducing mixers into a few swims, both close into the margins and further out into open water to try and find the fish. I settled back to watch the water and within minutes the first definite carp swirl broke through the heavy surface rip.
The fish seemed quite close into the bank, no doubt inspecting everything the fresh wind blew into the waters edge. I applied a hookbait into an area where regular swirls were appearing and strained my eyes to keep sight of the hookbait. I was still using the waggler set-up from my last trip twinned with a dipped corkball hookbait.
Within minutes I had my first chance, but the carp seemed to abort at the last possible second. Ten minutes later and the same thing had happened twice. Time for a rethink. There was quite a rip on the water and I wondered if the super-buoyant hookbait was proving difficult for the carp to suck in. I needed to see things closer up, but having left my binoculars at home I would have to try and draw the fish closer in for a better look. It took a while but eventually I got the fish feeding confidently within inches of the bank as I took cover behind bankside features, popping up every few minutes to introduce more mixers. I was watching the mechanics of the set-up just a few feet out when all became clear. With a sudden drop in wind which saw the surface go flat calm, a carp approached the hookbait and cautiously sucked. I reckon a normal mixer hookbait balanced with the weight of the hook would have slipped straight down, but the corkball just bobbed about waiting for more force before allowing itself to be sucked in. The carp, bemused by its apparent inability to suck in the mixer, suddenly realised that something must be amiss and showed its disgust, boiling under the surface and powering off out of the area.
The problem I had was that my mixers were a bit too small to fish on their own. The shop had no Pedigree Chum mixer which I normally like to use, so I had to settle for Morrison’s own – a poor substitute in my opinion, a mistake I won’t be making again! They were not as uniformly shaped so kept falling out of the bait-band on the cast, hence trying the corkballs. In addition, the waggler method which had proved effective on my last session was giving me a bit of trouble in that I could not see much of the float top in the very windy conditions. I made a wholesale change and reverted to my controller set up and then decided to try what would be in effect a cocktail hookbait. I had softened a few mixers before leaving the house and so cut a mixer in half and placed it in the band with a third of a corkball, shaped and cut on the sides so the band would cut in and hold the biscuit in place directly above the hook. It looked the business – even if I do say so myself!
I cast the rig as far as I could into the middle of the lake to see how the bait stood up to a distance cast, and then feathered the controller to see both it and a secure hookbait plop down onto the surface – perfect. I reeled back into the feeding area – the wind now dropping as the evening wore on – and sat back just in time to see a nice common come up for a freebie a couple of feet from the hookbait. Seconds later it appeared again from the deep making a beeline for my bait. It was textbook really; lips opened, bait sucked in, lips closed, line tightened… fish on!
A new set-up brings this double figure common to the bank
The fish put up a good scrap, however, my 7.9lb hooklink held firm and I was soon able to coax the little steam train into the net. The scales registered 10lb 4oz and I had my first double in the bag. I set up the camera on the self timer, took a shot, and returned the fish to the water. The prolonged battle had spooked all the fish from the area so I quickly got myself sorted out and went elsewhere in search of fish. Tucked right down in the corner of the lake is a little peg that juts out like a peninsula into the lake, and some of the floaters which I had introduced earlier had been blown into the little bay to one side of the peg, and said biscuits were getting mopped up by a group of fish with complete confidence – Time to go stalking.
Getting into a situation where I would be able to offer a hookbait with a net at hand was going to be extremely difficult, but not impossible. The fish were inches from the bank, and with little cover I would need to remain unseen. I stealthily made my way up around the back of the peg, each step a baby one as I lifting my feet much higher than normal in an attempt to remain undetected. It took a good while to get into position, at which point I used the cover of the only tree in the area to kneel up behind and observe the fish. I kept trickling in the mixers and the fish slurped away contentedly.
I had the perfect spot – the fading light was in my favour and my polarised glasses cut right through the surface to make out sizes shapes and scale patterns of individual fish as they surfaced. After ten minutes I had identified most of those present; Ugly was deep in the thick of it, merrily picking off as many as he could – no surprises there! In addition, two scattered mirrors of around 9-10lb competed biscuit for biscuit, at one point they were both trying to suck in the same one at the same time – one eventually head-butted the other before slurping up the biscuit – hardly Eaton Rules!
On the fringes was a stunning linear which I’d photographed for Dave Miller a few weeks earlier. I had it on bottom baits the winter before last but it was still the pick of the bunch, that is until another stunning mirror came to join the party. The netting which had taken place the week previous had thrown up a stunning pale mirror, almost fully scaled, it was a plump little specimen which I’d never seen before, and now here it was taking biscuits off the top right in front of me! Time to introduce the hookbait.
In reality, this was easier said than done, I was kneeling behind the undergrowth with a high bank right behind me and overhanging tree branches all around me. I eventually got a strategy sorted in my head, and with a little tinkering was able to hold the hookbait just above the danger zone, ready to drop down when the target appeared. Moments later it did just that and mopped up a few biscuits about two feet from the bank. The fish dipped slightly after taking another and I second guessed where I thought it would next appear and lowered the hookbait into position. The broad pale shoulder appeared again right on cue, and the head rose with lips extended to suck in the bait. All seemed well until I lifted into it; I made the schoolboy error of striking way too soon. The hookbait flew back up out of the water coming to rest, along with the controller, in the branches of the overhanging tree just a few feet above the water. The fish departed at a rate of knots taking all the other fish in the area with it. Gutted.
It took nearly ten minutes to get my rig out of the tree without snapping anything, and after applying a fresh hookbait I knelt down behind the marginal cover to consider my options. The area was devoid of fish bar one kipper a little way out mopping up a few stray biscuits. My best bet now would be to try and tempt this fish further in as time was marching on and darkness would soon be closing in. I crept back into position behind the undergrowth and started introducing mixers to the showing fish. It took almost ten minutes to get the fish coming towards me, but eventually I was able to tempt it closer in, biscuit by biscuit. However, it was proving a much harder task than I had imagined, and I made the decision to angle for it as soon as the chance presented itself, be it two pounds or ten!
It was another ten minutes after that before I got my first glimpse of the fish, and that’s when my heart missed a beat – it was the Parrott!
I kept feeding in the biscuits one at a time. The old girl was no walkover; far too old and wise to make a simple error. Each time she would slowly approach from below, give a quick investigative suck before deciding whether to take in fully. Then, unlike the others who would quickly fill their boots with any remaining free offerings, she would drop completely from sight for a good few minutes before appearing again, unexpectedly, to test another biscuit. The problem with this was that I kept getting the hook bait in the wrong place.
I remained calm, quit, and focused. I stopped feeding in the biscuits in order to narrow the options for placing the hookbait. The light was fading fast and I was beginning to get the feeling that the big old girl might prove the eventual victor before the evening was out. The fewer biscuits I introduced the less she showed – the plan was not working. As such I decided to turn it on its head – tip a good handful into the area to see if I could get her taking with more confidence. To be honest it was the best I could come up with at the time; although it was nearly June my hands were numb with cold, my body ached all over having been in the most uncomfortable of positions for the best part of an hour, and my concentration was waning.
Sometimes it’s that ‘last chance saloon’ mentality that makes something happen, and so it was to be on this occasion. With more biscuits on offer she started to show with regularity, no doubt bolstered by the fact that it was almost dark. I hovered uncomfortably with the hookbait just above the surface waiting for my chance. I would have just left it in were it not for the two manic mirrors that had returned into the area. I saw a swirl just inches from the edge a few yards down the bank. It was only a foot deep where the fish had shown and although too far away to see through the glasses, the thick shoulder breaking the surface could only belong to one fish – I flicked the bait as near to the fish as I could get it and dipped back down. I peeked over the sedges just in time to see her nudge the hookbait – at first I thought she had rejected it and my heart sank – but then a faint ‘schloooop’ sound emanated from the area, and with confidence growing she had another go at the biscuit, this time taking it straight it.
I lifted in and it felt as if the hook had set but there was no eruption, the fish actually swam calmly towards me. Confused I wound down again – had she spat it out? I lifted in again and all hell broke loose! Until the second strike, I reckon she did not know she was hooked! Either way, she was now off on one, trying to make it towards the post by Peg 12. I jumped into the margin (chesties on) getting my rod tip down low to apply as much side strain as I dared on 7.9lb line. I manage
d to slow her up but a series of long runs out into open water put distance between the fish and my waiting net. Having gone to all this trouble to hook it, I was determined not to lose it, so I tried to let the fish dictate the pace in order that she tire herself out. The fish made every effort to avoid capture, but surly to lose it now would be too cruel?
“Adios, Big’un”
Luckily everything held firm and after a while I was able to wade out into the deeper water and guide her into the waiting net – Target achieved. I made my way back to the bank with my prize, a grin rapidly spreading from ear to ear. Once back on the bank I gave her a quick check over, took a photo on self-timer and slipped her straight back…
“Adios, Big’un… been nice knowing you.”
The aches, pains and coldness had gone completely – It’s funny what catching a fish can do! I packed up for home, happy in the knowledge I’d banked the big’un off the top.
Now for that pale mirror…
Julian
