He is also a very keen angler, having come back to the sport in 1995 following a break of several years. In this regular column he will tell us about his progress as an angler – his thoughts about the sport, what he learns, the fishing trips he makes, the anguish, the humour, in fact everything he experiences as his angling career develops. | |||||||
A COUPLE OF GRAVEL PIT SESSIONS My first fishing trip, once the river season had ended, was to the Midlands gravel pit that is featured high on my list of current venue priorities. As I was intending to fish just an overnighter I had brought the Bedchair Brotel, which is ideal for that purpose. As a general rule, two nights or more and the bivvy puts in an appearance, but for one night, the Brotel rules supreme!
For my first session the weather forecast was for a reasonably mild night. But with a lot of rain on the way from mid-evening I positioned the shelter so that I would stay as dry as possible. There’s nothing worse than lying there in a soaking wet sleeping bag. Believe me, I’ve been there, done it, and got the (wet) tee-shirt to prove it! So a little homework, to find out which direction the prevailing wind is coming from, can prove invaluable. For my first session on the pit I chose a swim that had a sharp drop-off a couple of rod’s length out. I intended to fish the drop-off through the night with one rod, while the other occupied a spot into open water about fifty metres out. To ensure accurate baiting-up took place I cast and set up a marker float, which enabled me to not only catapult the balls of groundbait out to where I wanted them, but also the baited hook.
Lost the plot As I arrived late in the afternoon, by the time I had set up and cast out, it was time to settled down and wait for the action. That’s where the story loses its plot though, I’m afraid to say! Apart from a few single bleeps, the only noise to shatter the peaceful calm of the night came from a Canada goose that sounded like the ornithological equivalent of a drunken karaoke singer on a Friday night at the local! It kept me awake until 4.00 a.m. when it finally decided to stop its ‘honky tonk’ and get its head down for what remained of the night.
Almost a week later and I was back on the gravel pit. This time I saw other anglers for the first time, a couple of pleasure fisherman. One of them was in ‘my’ swim, but it didn’t bother me too much as I want to fish as much of the water as possible. Well, at least as much of the section that I’m fishing. Trying to fish everywhere effectively on a couple of hundred acres would be an impossible task in just a few months. This session saw me intending to do two nights, so the bivvy put in its first appearance since I fished in France last October. I was all settled down for a peaceful couple of days fishing when another pleasure angler who is a regular on the water came along to have a chat. I really did not want to hear what he had to say. “Watch out for the rats,” he told me. In an instant, just like a word association game, my mind went straight to a visit I made to a Suffolk gravel pit last summer when I had been overrun with the vile creatures. And I’m not exaggerating either. Pilgrim’s Progress carried the photographs of holes in the bivvy where the rodents had forced an entry during the night. But on this occasion, I’m happy to say whatever they got up to on the outside they didn’t try to do it in the close confines of my fishing shelter. But if I do get paranoid, I’ll dispense with the bivvy and get myself a metal shed that I can transport to the water’s edge on the back of a truck! A hybrid on boilies
At just after 10.00 p.m. I was awoken from my sleep by the right hand Micron that was letting me know something was on the end of the line. Striking, I could feel a fish that was trying its hardest to elude me, but was never going to do it as it was connected to 10lb line, which was obviously far too much a task for it. Although it looks like a bream in the accompanying photograph, in the flesh, it was very much like a roach. The truth was that it was both – a hybrid! At 2lb 13oz, I was just wishing it was the latter. No more bites through the night meant I was able to get a good sleep. I was actually quite tired, and not even the thought of rats stopped me from drifting off into the land of nod. I landed the hybrid during a downpour, so consequently had to peel off a few layers for the night. Still, it was very mild weather-wise, and tucked up in the sleeping bag I was as snug as a bug in a rug, as they say! The next day saw the temperatures hit almost summer levels, so I took advantage of that by hanging my wet clothes on a nearby tree to dry out!
That night, I again had one fish. This time it was a true bream, but at a shade under 2lb, I’m glad it was caught at 8.30 p.m. while I was still awake! Now, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate every fish that I catch. But it is no fun being woken every fifteen minutes during the night when a shoal of 3lb bream have moved in to your baited area! Still, on this occasion it wasn’t to be, and I again got a decent sleep. But it’s not really what I went for. If I want a good night’s sleep I’ll stay at home! But then again, you don’t catch fish tucked up in bed at home do you? Unless you’re like me and you have dreams that you’re fishing and suddenly jump up to strike at your rods, scaring the life out of your wife in the process. But that’s another story! | |||||||
A change is as good as a rest, or so they say. Well, I’ve recently dusted down the fly gear and had a couple of sessions after trout. So, am I about to become a ‘Fully-Fledged Fluff Flinger’? There’s only one way to find out. Check out FISHINGmagic next Thursday when all will be revealed. The Reverend Stewart R Bloor Pilgrim’s Progress – read it every Thursday! |
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