| JEFF WOODHOUSE | |
He doesn’t just like fish, he has a love affair with them, in his living room, in his garden and at times, in his freezer. Lately he has spent more time either running clubs or assisting them to become successful. Now he admits to being too old to chase monsters, he’s happier getting as much fun as possible out of what’s before him. |
Out of the ShadowsSince last October or November time, my interest in fishing has declined rapidly. I can’t pinpoint the exact reason, it might have had something to do with my dog getting what we thought at the time and was diagnosed as, kennel cough, that then tracked onto his chest. We thought we were going to lose him then and I spent every waking and sleeping hour with him, but the little fighter came back and by Christmas was bouncing around again. We thought it had passed.
Then I came down with a bad cold over Christmas, went out on a bleak New Year’s Day to open the new year with some fishing (as is my usual custom) and got myself a dose of bronchitis instead. That took about 8 or 9 weeks to clear up and fishing was put right on the back burner. I did manage to go out on short trips doing a bit of spinning, but for no longer than an hour or two, literally. It got so bad with me that normally during the close season I devote my time to big carp fishing (still trying for a 20lber, would you believe?), but this year I couldn’t be bothered with that. I attended the Clattercote Teach-in day, took the rods and everything, but left them in the car preferring to just take photos of the event and have a play with Graham’s (Cecil B. DeMarsden) Nikon D300 camera. I did fish the Clattercote match itself and that was the only time I fished at all during the close season. Do I get a prize for that? So what for the coming season? I couldn’t, for the life of me, raise any enthusiasm about anything. Add to this that, just 4 weeks ago, I had to revisit the vets with my dog where he was again diagnosed with kennel cough. I wasn’t happy with that and did my own research on Google with his symptoms. Everything I read pointed to the fact that he probably had lymphoma, a cancer. The prospects were dire since many sites predicted that at this stage he would only have between 4 and 8 weeks left. Sadly, I had to go again last Thursday (the 12th) and have him put to sleep. His main organs were beginning to fail, he was very swollen around his stomach, probably his liver and spleen as predicted, and he had lost all interest in life. I miss him greatly, he was perhaps the best dog (even with some earlier problems) we’ve had so far and as I write this yet more tears run down my cheeks. I hope that explaining this may in some way be cathartic although I have no regrets and I am dealing with it better than I did with my previous dog. Where did that leave me for June 16th? I had planned our group’s annual barbeque on the lawns of the hotel, but only six members (we are a very small group anyway) had said they could, or would, try to make it. In the end it was just 5 of us and that included Roger, the boatman. (Note for Mr Clay, Barry returns his regards, by the way.) What usually happens every year as the close season is drawing to an end, I visit the hotel stretch a few times, feed a few pellets and just look at the flow of the water. In the previous two years I have gazed into the shallow whirlpool at the top end only to be very surprised at what I saw. In 2006, it was the week before the opening day, I saw a shadowy shape moving around and noted it was a carp. Not a big one, about 8lbs or so. However, another shape came through some rougher water and this was a bigger carp, maybe 18 or 20lbs even. My jaw was dropping all the time as these fish came heading towards me unafraid of my outline against the sky, but this was not all – by a long chalk. Yet a further shape came out, almost a yard long it seemed, a good thirty-pounder rolled in the three feet deep water and careered off into the boils of the weir. I told Roger about the incident and he said that he’d sat up there one day eating his sandwiches and he’d seen a carp ‘bigger than a Labrador’ just appear over the shallows, turned and drifted away again. So, I hadn’t been seeing things and I know there are carp in our weirpool, old George had one out a few years before that weighed 17lbs. I too had a tussle with one that stripped almost all the line off my centrepin and burnt my thumb in the process before the fish turned over and threw the hook. Last year I went again, same spot, as I waited to meet George Gerring from the EA. The same three shapes appeared in the pool, but this time the thirty came straight up to the edge, underneath my protruding foot. I did try to get a picture on my phone’s digital camera, but having no polarising lens on meant I mainly got reflections off the water. You could just see though, a head shape and a bit where the tail started and it was broad across it’s back.
I went again this year, but with the weather being so bad the weeks before, the river was just about settling back and you still couldn’t see more than a foot or so below the surface. I then went to look at the few stalls at the Marlow Regatta (the main event was hijacked to the International Rowing Centre at Eton some years ago) and the fairground in the park. Looked at a few swims we used to fish not that long ago, but all now hidden behind a mass of willow and Norfolk reed that’s been allowed to grow. Very depressing. So, the season was underway, and the barbeque went well even though we were few in number. The day after I tried a couple of hours lure fishing and caught one very small pike, hooked and lost another better fish that looked like something really big had had a go at it sometime. Then came last night. I rustled up some gear, my new (bought in an attempt to revitalise my interest) Free Spirit 11/2 lbs rod, put some pellets in a bait box for the PVA bags, and ensure I had some offerings for the hook. Arriving just before 9 p.m. I was only there for a short stay. I tackled up with a fairly straightforward hair rig tied with a very soft braid, put a Cotswold Baits drilled crab pellet on the hair, a Melt-Ex bag of mixed Sonu pellets attached to the hook and swung the lot out.
A couple of more casts later and I had a knock – knock – knock and after striking it soon landed a small 4 pound, or so, bream. Well, it christened the rod at least. The bait was still OK, so I simply attached another bag, having dried the hook and bait carefully first so as not to melt the PVA prematurely, and swung it all back out again. It was just after 10 that I had two very strong tugs. Straightaway I knew it wasn’t a barbel, they just give one tug and bury their heads deep and swim upstream. I knew it was too strong to be a bream, although very similar in its tugging. A chub of that strength was either a) quite out of the question or b) I had a record of such weight that it would blow the fishing world apart. Bang, bang, bang, the rod jerked under enormous pressure as the fish wanted to go off on a run downstream, again uncharacteristic of many normal species, even big eels. I tried to slacken off the drag a little and, would you believe, I couldn’t remember which way to turn it. I probably tightened it rather than slackened it, but even so the fish took a few yards of line. By now I was worried, would the line hold out (Kryston Snyde 11lbs), would the hook hold out (Korum Seamless S3 barbless, but only size 12), would the rod hold out? Would I hold out? The beast finally broke surface and in the failing light it looked like a small, but almost full grown black Labrador. I started looking for calmer waters where I could land it as the flow in front of me would make the fish weigh three or four times heavier than it was, and it looked to me like the 18 or 20 pounder I’d seen in previous years. I tried once more to slacken off the drag, but again I most likely tightened it. Talk about us old folk getting confused? Still it struggled and took yet more line and the rod was bending double almost. What a christening night it was turning out to be for it. Speaking (or thinking in this case) too soon is always a problem and after about 2 minutes fighting this bully of a fish, it turned and slipped the tiny hook. The feeling at that moment was so overwhelming that I had to put the rod down and walk up the bank a while. It was definitely one of the carp and probably about 18lbs I guessed, although in the dark it could have been bigger, who knows. As such then, it wasn’t THE monster I had seen in previous years, maybe the middle one, but it also explains why one of my friends has been smashed on his 8lbs American Bass line. What a thrill though. Not a success maybe, but neither a failure, depending on how you define it. Just like the scarred pike of the day before, I’d had some fun out of it, I’d fooled it with a rig and bait and it was safely freed to fight again another day. However, this encounter has fired me up once more and rest assured – I’LL BE BACK!
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