The only problem with a long period of expectancy is that it can often lead to a let down. That’s why it can be a good idea to have a contingency or alternative plan, in case things have to change. And so it was that as usual, my closed season explorations involved looking at two waters I wanted to fish. Well actually two is a bit of a dodgy description, as one was a whole series of land drains on the Romney Marsh, the other a stretch of the lower River Beult. Neither of these places was far from home, so fish spotting and flow studying was very easy. In the end, I fished both, but with startlingly different results.
The Romney Marsh is criss-crossed by drain ditches or “Sewers”. To say the sewers are alive with fish is gross understatement. The Environment Agency manages the marsh by continual clearance operations, depth management and dredging where required. From time to time, you might return to a swim you fished one day, only to find that the bank has been buried under several feet of sticky black sediment, dragged from the bottom by a long armed JCB. This is a bit disconcerting at first, especially when you start to think about alterations to the sub-surface environment. However, what you have to remember is that the sewers aren’t there naturally. They were dug as a means of removing water from the land, so the area could be cultivated. Luckily for us anglers, many miles of fishing have been created. This fishing has been preserved because of the need to maintain the sewers and for that reason only.
All species are there, and as sure as a slow period on other waters can lead to the doldrums, a day on the marshes fishing for the Rudd has frequently put a spring back in my step. Although I’ve not caught any monsters yet, they’re bound to come my way one day. As soon as I work out a way of catching them, I will. As well as the Rudd (which I’ll add, are particularly golden, with bright crimson fins), many other species complete the gamut.
Perch come readily to both spinner and worm. Neither method seems to sort out either large or small specimens. But again, the colours are brilliant and the fish are very obliging. Tench are green, slimy, orange eyed, prolific and most interestingly, visible for much of the year. This makes stalking of individual, or certainly groups of fish, a very satisfying pastime. Of course, Pike make their presence known and will occasionally help themselves to your hooked fish. I could go on about the other species (they’re all there), but I won’t. I’ve not devoted any time to them yet.
The water levels are controlled by a series of pumps, which are spaced out along the sewers. When they kick in (automatically), the waters before and after flow quite fast. One particular pump station has held my interest for a while. Here, the drains form a Y shape. The top of the Y is where two of the sewers converge before the water is pumped out and off to the river Rother. I haven’t seen other anglers about there, so I thought this would be different for my traditional June 15th midnight cast into the new season. I sought permission to fish there and it was confirmed after some negotiation involving beer. Tench were going to be the target for the first night, and I decided to use halibut boilies/pellets with a “Vitalin” based groundbait. I decided not to pre-bait, as I knew bream were around, and I didn’t want to give them something to home in on to the detriment of my true target. That being said, I spent a fair bit of time spotting fish along the stretch, and I’d seen some pretty large “slabs”.
I arrived at about midday on the 15th. I first knocked up the groundbait, and then crept around to where I was going to fish. The pool on the outlet side of the pump house was about nine feet deep. This soon shelved up to about four, then a gentle slope up to a variable depth, mostly about two feet deep. I threw ten large balls of groundbait out about halfway and so that they were pretty well spread up the slope (the sewer is only about 15 feet wide at this point). The thinking being, that as I was going to cast at midnight, the fish would probably be well and truly on the bed of bait and I wouldn’t have to put more out on top of them. The water was relatively shallow, and large splashes would spook the fish, a too concentrated bed of bait would be hard to cast onto in the dark.
Returning to the car, I set my airbed and sleeping bag up in the back (a Mondeo estate has enough room to stretch out in with the seats down). About an hour later, I crept back to the swim with a rod rest, chair and made up 10’ Avon cane rod paired with a trusty Mitchell 300S. I could see several Tench like shapes milling around, so was extra careful putting the rod rest in gently. I left the fish to it and went back to the car to doze and wait for the off.
Radio 2 alerted me at about 11:45, so I switched on my head torch and again went back to the swim. It was black as a very black thing where I was going to fish. The luminous nitelites on my rod tip, landing net handle and rod bag strap glowed nicely, so I was able to lower into my chair without incident or trip. Starlight was just enough to make out that although the water surface was pretty flat calm, there were ripples showing fish movement.
I’d rigged up with a 4ssg sliding leger (4 shots on a short link of 2lb line, attached to a swivel), stopped by a quick change link. Main line was 8lb Pro-gold, with an 8lb Pro-clear hook length, about 12” long. A simple short hair and a size 6 super specialist hook, presented a halibut pellet boilie. As I heard distant church bells, a gentle underarm flick resulted in a light plop, which I judged to be right among the ripples and certainly not splashy enough to spook any fish. Looping the line back over my finger, I reclined in the chair and looked up at the stars. A wind had picked up, so the clouds were moving around over the moon, showing that the wind was blowing in a pretty straight line towards me, concentrating any loose fishy type food at my end of the sewer. So, I confidently sat back and waited. It wasn’t long of course, until I was sound asleep.
Waking with a start (after dawn sometime) I swept the rod back in an involuntary strike, to hook absolutely nothing. The rig pinged back into the grass behind me. On the first attempt at standing up, my legs gave way, as they hadn’t woken up yet. I tried again more successfully, but as I raised myself, a large bow wave made off down the sewer. Bugger! I’d seen a couple of Carp about while fish spotting, and although Tench were my real target, one of these possibly “virgin” fish, would have been a more than welcome distraction.
So, what was I to do? I was very confident that the Tench would put in an appearance, but at the same time, I stood a fair enough chance of hooking a reasonable Carp. I was using 8lb pro-gold as a reel line, but would it stand up to the rushes of a Carp hooked in shallow water? 8lb pro-gold is pretty tough stuff and will actually put up with more than 8lb on a straight pull. But that being said, with a bit of weed about, It was surely going to have to cope with a bit of extra strain. No problem there, as I got a spool out which was loaded with 10lb, giving me a bit more power. 8lb pro-clear is a “true-rated” line. This means that it does what it says on the label, and breaks pretty much about the 8lb mark (provided the knots are OK). It stands a bit of abuse, and is an excellent hook link. Pairing it up with 10lb reel line isn’t a problem, as long as you take a bit of care with clutch control. I had several different optio
ns though. Braids, co-polymers etc were available (I always carry far too many hooklink materials, as well as hooks. It gives you a lot of tactic and rig choices).
Re-tackled, I flicked the bait back out, gently took up the slack, looped a bit of line around my finger, and reclined back in my chair. I checked my watch, it was still only half past four, and the sun was just coming over the distant horizon. Being marshes, the horizon is very low. That means that the sun spends a long time “up”. By that I mean that it doesn’t come up or go down over any hills or treelines, making daylight last longer. Therefore I was looking forward to a long fishing day, great!
Patches of bubbles were appearing over the bait, Tench were “having a go” at the feast, and now my confidence was high. Touch ledgering is a great way to fish. Once you get the hang of it, you can concentrate on every tremble of the line. Line bites are indicated by small plucks which then drop back, as a light ledger weight is moved a fraction of an inch. Fish aren’t spooked like they can be, by the “twang” of a bolt rig, or a bowstring tight line. Close range, a direct “feel” to your hook, with only a light weight (the only reason for any weight is to actually cast your bait out, not to hook the fish) on the line, is so revealing. You start to visualise exactly what’s happening with your bait. I could feel fish brushing up the line. Every so often, I’d gently finger the reel spool, to regain slack line, while maintaining the loop around my finger.
But for some reason, I didn’t get a bite. The sun came up fully, illuminating the scene with glorious sunshine. I was hunkered down low in the chair, which although quite high on the bank, was still below the level of the long bank side grasses. An overwhelming thought crept in to my mind “FOOD”! Taking care to bend over as I stood up, I sloped backwards. Looking down in the swim, it was plain that fish were still there, but they were now off the bed of bait and seemed to be feeding in the deeper water. It was probable that the ground bait I’d put in had now gone. I reached down to the bait bucket and took a handful of loose halibut pellets. Followed by a couple more, this went out onto the slope, making a pitter patter sound. Back at the car, out came the cooker and on went the kettle. I waited ‘til the kettle boiled, and sat back, happy that I still stood a good chance of a fish or two. Even if the Tench didn’t oblige in my swim, I’d go and find them elsewhere. The shallow water was perfect for spotting fish and flicking a worm in front of them as they moved around. But that was for later.
A full fry up was the order of the day. While eating, I had a chance to fully appreciate my lovely surroundings. As I looked around, a movement about 100 yards away caught my eye. Coming down the path towards me, was a Hare. Being brought up in Kent, I was used to seeing wildlife or course. But my childhood was right on the suburb/countryside border. I never saw a Hare, and in fact only saw my first about five years ago. This particular animal obviously didn’t see humans as a threat, as he nonchalantly carried on walking along the path, grazing occasionally on tufts of green stuff as he advanced. Eventually, he walked up and sat down about twenty feet away. He looked at me, straight in the eye for a while then stood up and walked away again. Weird!
As I cast out again, no bubbles were visible at all, so I was thinking of changing over to a lobworm, which would probably give me a Perch. But, a ripple appeared right at the waters edge by my feet. Looking through the reeds, I could make out the outline of large tail. The Carp was back. I froze; the fish was literally four feet away, nose down in the margins, mopping up bits of groundbait and pellet. I had no idea of size, but it looked nice. I lifted the bait out of the water gently and lowered it back down, very slowly, into the margin. My heart was thumping, in slow motion I dropped down into the reeds and grasses, relying on my fingertip for bite indication.
There was no slack between the splitshot, the rod tip and my index finger. I could feel the weight of the shot, and knew that the second that the weight abated, the bait would be in the mouth of the fish. That is, of course, what I felt. I lifted the rod tip, and the hook took hold. Within seconds, the four feet of line between the rod tip and the fish became ten, fifteen, then twenty, as the water was pushed aside by the rampaging fish. The clutch on the Mitchell screeched out and the rod bent to a horrifying angle. Although I don’t use cane rods exclusively, I do have a soft spot for them. The gently progressive action of this particular piece of cane was absorbing the shock of the fish very well, but it was probably on the limit. I slid down the bank on my backside, my feet coming to rest on a narrow ledge. I dropped the net head into the margin in readiness, but as I did so, I saw the tail of another fish. It looked exactly the same size as the one I saw earlier. But I’d hooked that one, hadn’t I? The fish I saw now, was still feeding. So incredibly, whatever I had hooked hadn’t spooked another fish, feeding inches from it. Weird!
Back to the task in hand, the hooked fish had now managed to get about twenty yards up the sewer. The clutch was set reasonably light, but all the same, this first run was surprisingly fast and very, very strong. I tightened the clutch adjustment half a turn, slowing the frantic clicking noise. A finger on the edge of the spool halted the fish, which then rolled over, smashing its tail onto the line. Thump, thump, thump as it kited across and made for the reed bed on the opposite bank, but even pressure turned it away from certain escape. I regained line and the fish came back slowly. As it came back, I saw quite a bit of weed had collected on the line, which slid down and gathered around the splitshot leger. Another run from the fish caused the weed to wedge itself against a small sunken tree branch. The shot link came adrift, luckily taking the collected weed with it. Now, with a straight line to the fish, few if any more snags, and a softish rod, I knew that lack patience would be my only downfall.
So I was patient, very patient. In fact, the fight went on for about 10 minutes, with the fish taking line back repeatedly, each time I gained any back. My arm was aching, as I got the nose of the fish up to the spreader block of the net. I lifted just enough to make sure, then sat back on the steep bank. I opened the bail arm and dropped the rod over to the right, into the reeds. There wasn’t enough room to manhandle the net properly, so I unscrewed the handle, enabling me to swing the fish out of the water and onto my lap. A gorgeous, dark golden common carp was my prize. I unhooked the fish and noted that the hook hold was well back in its mouth. The only way this fish had ever been going to get away was from the line breaking. It also meant that it’d been very confident on the bait (it’d possibly never seen a bait or hook before). I lowered the net into the margins, and then quickly scuttled up the bank again, to set up the self-timer on the camera. After a couple of shots, the fish was returned about thirty yards away, down the sewer. Sixteen and a half pounds of Carp had started my season with a bang. Now, what more was in store I wonder?
I had a rest, and sorted out my tackle, which looked like a riot scene, and relaxed while the swim rested. Nothing at all was showing, but I sat it out for a few hours anyway. To be honest, I got a bit bored, so I though
t I’d flick a worm out and see what was about. It was hot, very hot. I stunk. Through a mixture of two-day-old clothes, perspiration, dried groundbait and halibut pellets. So I decided to cut the session down to a day, head home, and shower and have an evening in the pub. Then, plink……plink. A very gentle tug of the line showed that the worm was being taken. My last cast had been up to the structure of the pump house, with the worm dropping right up against the wall, in quite deep water, about 8 feet.
I struck, and a steady pull from a hooked fish showed that the hook had taken hold. It was impossible for the fish to swim away from me (through the pump house!), so it came towards me quite easily. It then went past me easily, and started taking line…. very easily! The reel let loose its familiar howl, but I can assure you the clutch wasn’t set lightly. This fish screamed off, scattering ducks before it. It didn’t head for snags though, it headed for France! I suppose, because it couldn’t pull downwards, or away across the water from me, it could only go in one direction and that was where it was headed now, like a rocket. I snicked off the anti reverse and back-wound fast, frantically keeping contact and wondering if it’d slow down. But slow down it did, and eventually I slipped the net out again, and lifted it around another common.
A long fish was revealed on opening the mesh. On the scales, 10lb exactly. It had the classic “Wildie” shape, explaining its speed. I wonder how many truly “wild” fish there still are, living in truly “wild” waters across the country. Looking closely at the fish, there was hardly any mark on it. It was obviously quite old and dark in colour, but very lean and fit. I took a photo of one of its long barbules, which was forked at the end. The third weird thing of the day, but obviously completely natural.
I’d been very lucky. Although I hadn’t had the Tench I’d been after, my success with the Carp was great (lets face it, with carp charging around a small confined swim, you could forgive the Tench for taking cover somewhere!). Coupled with the weirdness of some of the events of the day, I was more than happy, and confident that the second day of the season, which I now decided I’d spend on my contingency water, would be just as much fun. I was almost right. The second half of this story didn’t turn out to be at all straightforward, as you’ll see.
Dunk Fairley
