The Elusive Perch and the Grumpy old Man

The old man and the perch

A cold Saturday morning and I’m just emerging from my pigsty. That’s how Mum describes it anyway. I hastily close the door behind me to hide the household from the carnage. After fumbling my way down the stairs I quickly check the time.

Excellent, enough time for a splurge of butter on a piece of lightly toasted Hovis.

All the tackle is waiting by the door ready to be loaded up. Ten minutes to go. I run back upstairs to the bathroom. Upon connection with the door handle it appears my smaller sibling is blow drying and styling her hair. Five minutes to go. I walk back into my room and look in the mirror – hair; if I’m going to catch a big fish I want my hair to look good for the picture. Furthermore, putting my trousers on the right way round could help. After finally gaining access to the bathroom I was in and out in two minutes. Women couldn’t manage that, could they?

No perch but….

I slip on my camo coat over my hoody and quickly do the zip up. I save the hat till I actually arrive; might have more effect that way. Anyway, after a 10minute journey down the road I jump out to open the padlock, quickly brush my hands together and have a little shake at which point I decide its time to briskly get the Russian style hat on. Dave follows on through and turns the Vectra round in the mud, a look of loathing creeping across his face as dirt sprays up the side of his shining paintwork. I try not to laugh.

With my gear slung across my shoulder I make my way across the field, the frost crunching under my feet. I pause for a moment as the lake comes into view, the mist hanging over the water never fails to stop me. A fish rolls near the island, but I can’t be sure whether it’s a bream or a carp, not that it matters, as perch are the intended quarry today. I stop talking to myself as my foot falls down a rabbit hole and I collapse in a heap on the frost.

Just before Dave pulled back out the gate he remarks that I seem to be travelling light today, but for the life of me I couldn’t think what I’d forgotten. I arrive at my chosen swim after having almost completed a full circle of the lake. It’s only now I realise what’s missing as I look to put a bacon sarnie in my stomach and have a sit down. My chair. Looks like it will be the unhooking mat today. I unfold the mat and manage to squirm into some sort of prenatal shape and this, for the better part, was how the day was to be spent. As opposed to catching perch that is.

I hook three or four worms on a light link leger and place it down the side of some lily pads. The lily pads should have died back months ago. I place this rod on the rests while getting down to the serious business of acquiring a few gudgeon for livebait, but where were the gudgeon? After 30 minutes or so of uncomfortable float fishing I chuck my rod to the side and resume my huddle on the mat. Much to the amusement of the old sod a few swims down, on his comfy £ 200 seat box.

After a few moments of contemplation I hear what sounds remarkably like one of the tones on my Delkim. I spring up ready to strike although the bobbin sits motionless and the alarm silent. I look over the other side of the lake and to my surprise a pair of birds are the culprits, darting backwards and forwards one pursues the other through the woods. I look up higher into the trees and the pigeons take off with gusto, along with every other bird in the area, apparently they didn’t want to get too close to their new residents. The birds make a sharp rightwards turn and start flying straight towards me over the lake, it was now I could see the yellow hooked beak and talons pinned back against their body. Peregrines. They twist and turn over the water before passing not more than 15 feet to the left of me.

To continue my spell of good fortune a kingfisher passes only moments later, followed by a roe deer sprinting through the otherwise grey, lifeless woods. As if things couldn’t get any better I find a Peperami fire stick in my bag. Although the idea of eating a whole one didn’t take my fancy, I tear a chunk off and tie myself a hair rig with my 6lb reel line. I think a bit of experimentation is in order so I give it a nice long hair of about 1.5cm, something I had never done before.

Upon casting out it is only minutes before the first carp arrives, although in the mean time I have thoughtlessly devoured the rest of the meat, meaning drinking my two bottles of water is almost compulsory. The fish still has the Peperami on the hair, and the coffin dodger a few swims down is now giving me evils. He may have a nice chair but I am now into the fish.

With each cast as perfect as the last, only landing inches from the tip of the island, I know it is only a matter of time before it takes off again. Almost as if the fish knows how I am feeling the alarm sings its merry tune just as I begin to lose interest again. The fish are not huge but all pristine condition common carp, plump and fighting well. Although before long things take a serious turn for the worst, I underestimate the power of the wind and my beloved chunk of spicy meat is now a resident of the island. An evil grin quickly spreads across the wrinkled face as he thinks he may now have the upper hand. Although after five carp I am now streaks ahead of his measly skimmer.

After a little rummage in the tackle bag I come across an old spicy shrimp and prawn boilie. Just the ticket. While my light carping may have been going brilliantly the perch were not so interested. I continue to feed chopped worm and maggots regularly but it seems to have little effect.

Mum packed a good lunch today. I try to untangle the cling film but it just doesn’t seem to work. Right, none of this faffing around. With a violent rip the cling film effortlessly splits and two of my three mince pies are now air born. I try to grab the first as like a jack in a box I spring through the air. Just inches away but I can’t reach, and now, like crowd surfing, the red maggots march it around their box. I try to think about the second but it was too late as I see it slowly descending over my marginal baited area. Perhaps the perch will take more of a fancy to my mince pie then the chopped worms.

The smile briefly appeared again, he seems to be watching my every move. As quickly as it came the smirk leaves once more as I lift into yet another carp. At around 7 or 8lbs this isn’t a bad fish and gives a good account of itself on my lighter tackle. The maroon coloured boilie hangs from the carp’s bottom lip. All of the fish have been hooked a nice distance back on the bottom lip or the scissors.

For the first time that day I hear the old man speak, in an unexpectedly high voice he squeals , “that better not be a boilie, you realise they’re banned”?

I quickly dispose of the evidence and place a few worms on the hook. He rises from his seatbox and with the pace of a snail makes his way to my swim.

I calmly reply, “won’t find any boilies round here, only been using worms or meat today sir.”

He scans the area before making his way back to his box.

With his back turned I quickly place another boilie on the hair and the rig’s returned to the spot. Within moments of tightening up the alarms starts to shriek once more, remarkably similar to his voice. Another common, this time of around 5lbs graces the net. I hear granddad mutter something under his breath before shaking his head.

The old man just smiles…. something like this

The clouds move over and the skies open fire. Only light drizzle mind. Things are now looking up for the stripies perhaps: overcast, so I’ve been told, is the best perch weather. Although somebody obviously forgot to tell the perch.

A red Renault Clio spins up to the gate. I recognise it and Mum leans out the window, “Your room’s a bloody pit, get it the car.”

On that note I quickly pack up and wait for more abuse when I reach the car. The old man just smiles…