I finally got on the bank for the first time in just under a year, a year in which I seem to have caught everything bar covid. For a while I couldn't walk (sciatica), then I couldn't breathe (bronchiectasis), then I couldn't sit on a box ( neuropathic groin pain). All three at once at one stage. Anyway, I finally dusted the cobwebs off my gear and drove out to Lord Byron's old place
The woods on the estate have several idyllic ponds, and I headed for one which, while not entirely untouched by the controlling club's carp-stocking obsession, has an interesting mixture of bream, ide, chub, tench and barbel. Catch or not, it's a lovely place, and the only person I saw was on a horse glimpsed through the trees,
I'm glad there was no-one about; tackling up, I shaped up like someone baffled by a tricky Ikea flat-pack, even though it was nothing more complicated than a long rod and pin with a bit of peacock just heavy enough to flick out a couple of rod lengths. I thought I was fishing it quite nicely, feeding swims at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock, one with maggots, one with little dabs of defrosted year old groundbait, but I didn't get a bite for a couple of hours. I filled in time by fiddling with the depth and shotting to try and offset the tow - it's a circular pond in woods, and the breeze swirls the water round and round, towing your float and recycling little clumps of floating weed . Both Steve (Aknib) and I have had the card for this water, and we'd noticed you only seem to catch late in the day. True to form, after a biteless couple of hours, with a blank on the horizon, the last 90 minutes brought 8 of these recent stockies (as if Bream, Ide, chub, Barbel and tench weren't enough for anyone)
And 4 of these nicely coloured bream
Plus a couple of little perch.
I'd found it hard to get started again after such a long lay-off, but a warm afternoon and a few bites reminded me how good it is to get out. I might even try it again.