My Fishing Nirvana

I awoke at 6am in Plymouth, with that familiar feeling of a gentle fluttering in the pit of my stomach. The same feeling I used to get as a baggy-trousered schoolboy when I was about to spend a day’s fishing at Kingston Bridge on the Thames, over 25 years ago.

It mattered not that the likely catch for the whole day would be few obliging Pope, gudgeon and if we were really lucky, maybe our Holy Grail the odd Roach or Perch. Although rarely did we manage to trouble these rare and beautiful fish as sadly our level of competence of the piscatorial arts did not reach this exalted level.

I digress though, fast forward if you will 25+ years to the present day, having returned to the sport only two years ago and spent most of that time relearning and learning new skills, that same feeling is still in the pit of my stomach as I leave for my first day’s fishing in over six months (due to family commitments). Yes, a day free of my much loved kids who seem to have an unlimited appetite for watching High School Musical constantly and who now know every song and dance routine in the damn thing and seem constantly disappointed when I refuse to join in.

My own personal Nirvana

My choice of venue for this chance of what has been an all too rare occasion to escape family matters is Bake Lakes in Trerulefoot in Cornwall, a lovely commercial fishery owned and run by Tony Lister. As I cross the Tamar bridge and look down at the tiny little boats bobbing slowly up and down on a beautiful blue river below my thoughts drift back to that baggy-trousered little boy, those familiar feelings of doubt, will I catch anything! Am I good enough? However, that little boy didn’t have the knowledge that has since been imparted to me by the likes of Bob Nudd, Will Raison, Matt Hayes Dave Harrell and even the wonderful Kenny ‘the Nose’ Collings. Yes my DVD collection, whilst not extensive, does have some quality names to it, but will it help me? My confidence is bolstered; surely I must have learned something by now (although, previous outings would not seem to point to this fact). The A38 now stretched out in front of me like the Elysian Fields taking me to my own personal Nirvana.

But which swim?

On arrival at the fishery, I had a brief chat with Tony, who advised me that the tench were beginning to show on Dunes Lake which is a silver fish only lake and would also probably be the quietest of the seven lakes on the complex. So, I loaded up my trolley and walked the short distance to the lake. As I crested the hill the lake lay down in a small basin below. It was completely empty and I had the choice of any swim I liked. I could feel my heart racing and the excitement building, pick the wrong swim now and all my hopes for the day could crash and burn. But which swim?

“Think lad,” I told myself sternly, managing to make myself jump in the process, I then looked around in case anyone heard me and had called the ‘men in white coats’. Now, what did Bob, Will, Dave et al recommend. Suddenly, like a clarion call from the depths of my befuddled brain, came the voice of Matt Hayes: “It is always worth selecting a swim facing directly into the wind as quite often the fish will follow the wind and although this can make casting more difficult results are often worth it.”

I picked up a few blades of grass and grandiosely tossed them into the air just like Tiger Woods does, I nodded knowingly and set off to my left, selecting a swim that about three rod’s length out had some freshly growing water lilies just barely breaking the surface. Yes, I thought as I surveyed my swim, most professionally done, had all those hours illicitly watching fishing DVD’s, whilst my wife thought I was working in the study (small bedroom but the only part of the house that I can escape the my wife and three daughters!!) really paid off.

Tackle selection

I selected my weapons of choice: a TFG 13ft ‘Starving Whippet’ float rod, Shimano Exage reel loaded with 4lb Ultima Power Plus and Preston PR21 Size 18 hooks to Nylon (2.5lb) and a Drennan 3AA Insert Waggler.

Bait

I spent the next 15 minutes plumbing my swim and fine-tuning the Waggler set up and once happy I put the rod down. Time to consider bait. I opted for a brown crumb based groundbait laced with maggots and boosted with a Tutti-Frutti flavour enhancer (John Wilson tip I think). I threw out three cricket ball-sized balls of groundbait just to the side of the Lilies and then spent the next 10 minutes getting all my kit, bait waiter, catapult, seat box, landing net, etc, all neatly laid out and ready to go. Finally I was ready, excitement now at full pitch it was time to get my line in the water. The anticipation of the riparian delights that lay ahead had me coiled like a spring, I could not resist it any longer and needed the release of that first cast and to see the tip of my float sitting pert and proud just above the water’s surface.

First cast and first fish

After turning down about half a dozen maggots that were either two skinny or offered low mobility, I selected two plump red maggots, who both seem to a have hip-hop like talent for dancing around. They were to be given the honour of adorning my hook and hopefully tempting my fishy adversary onto my hook. In one graceful, slow and almost balletic motion I cast out, only to see my float finish about 5ft short of its intended target. This wind might cause more trouble than I thought, I reeled in and tried again this time being more positive and punching the cast out more aggressively, the float landed exactly where I had intended.

I reached for my polarised sunglasses and as I put them on noticed my float jigging about from side to side and up and down doing a passable impression of me on the dance floor after a few pints of Tanglefoot. I struck, the excitement now pulsing through me and felt the satisfying tug of something on the other end, not huge, but after so long away from the bank this was truly the biggest of all fish no matter what is was. A fast run, jagging from side to side, towards the lily pads was soon arrested; whatever it was it was no match for my modern equipment.

As I could feel the fish rising to the surface, the baggy trousered boy within me thought roach. But no, the fishing gods were offering me something else most unexpected but equally beautiful. As I eased my net under the offering, I could see it was a fin perfect golden rudd of a about 1lb in weight. I looked at the vivid red fins and the golden shimmering body of the fish obligingly lying in my net. I looked around the lake, half expecting a spontaneous burst of applause from an appreciative audience but alas nobody was there to see my moment of triumph. I gently released my prize catch into next swim with a great deal of satisfaction. But like us all, as perfect as that moment was I wanted more.

The next half hour saw almost constant success, three or four decent roach, a small tench and more rudd and even a specimen gudgeon of about 2oz came and went. I felt I was ‘in the Zone’ (no idea what this means but heard Will Raison say this, so it must be good). It was time to up my game I thought and go for the bigger stuff. I reached for my bait box containing sweetcorn and poured a good glug of Tutti-Frutti flavouring over it and cast out.

Patience would be rewarded

At first the action slowed down, my float still in the water apart from a slight bob as the ripples caused by the wind. The old insecurities came flooding back; did I do right to change my bait? Have I lost the fish in my swim? Patience, I told myself would be rewarded. Then, rather surreally, my float lifted as in slow motion and rather apologetically slid gently under the surface, again I struck this time something solid on the other end. In direct contrast to the almost bite whatever was on the end of my line then took off like Dwain Chambers on speed, heading straight for the bank to my right. The rod bent double and with great difficulty I managed to keep the fish away from the bank and gained some control out in front of my rod tip. But this adversary did not want to come to the surface and fought back like a terrier. It must be a tench I thought, as there are no carp in this lake. My PB tench is 4.5lb and this was fighting every bit as hard. Then the pressure eased slightly and my quarry came into view, still trying to fight, but now a spent force. It was not a personal best and weighed just 2.5lb but what a scrap. If they all fight like that let’s hope I to get a new PB today I thought to myself and then dismissed the thought immediately in case I jinxed myself.

Fishing? No, I’m catching!

Over the next few hours I was transported into wonderland as I caught tench after tench up to 4lb, all scrapping like mini Ricky Hatton’s. Still there was nobody at the lake to witness my incredible session. Then out of the blue I heard “wotcha mate, any luck” from over my shoulder and I spied a callow youth dressed head to toe in the latest camo gear. “Sorry son, can’t talk I’m catching now” I replied.

“Don’tcha mean you’re fishing?” he offered.

“No,” I replied, “for the first time in over 25+ years of my intermittent fishing career I can, for the first time, honestly say that catching is a more accurate description.”

At that exact moment my float disappeared again and once more my rod bent double and the fish shot off nearly wrenching the rod out of my hand. After a five minute fight and with the audience (of one) I had secretly craved watching, there on my unhooking match lay a beautiful olive green bundle of joy weighing in at 4lb 9oz – a new personal best.

“Nice one” said my callow friend, “shame it weren’t a carp though, I caught two over 15lb last night.” And with an air of distain he trudged off. Philistine, I thought, and shame he can’t see the true beauty of what just happened.

By the time I packed away for the day I had caught 50+ tench to 4+lb, 25+ roach to 1.5lb, 20 rudd/golden rudd to 1lb and 10 bream to 1lb. Over a 100lb of fish and a new PB tench.

The baggy trousered schoolboy within me never thought this was possible, but what a day. Driving home with my right arm and shoulder as sore as can be, but with a huge smile across my face, a solemn thought interrupted my joy: “how the hell am I ever going to better this?” Should I retire knowing it couldn’t get any better?

No way, apart from my wedding day and the birth of my children, fishing is magical and nothing else matches it. Roll on next weekend.

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