The story that follows tells the tale of my love for a section of ‘old’ England and some of its inhabitants, the very prey I have chased with varying degrees of success and vigour on many a day or night for the last ten years or so.
For those of you who are expecting a guide on how to catch record nudging specimen predators on every other trip, you may as well press the ‘back’ button and move to another article, as you will not find such info here, I ain’t that good! Equally this goes for those of you expecting an article on rigs, tactics and a top ten water handbook. However, those of you who wish to immerse yourself and bask in a warm, velvety haze of nostalgia, grab a glass of your favourite tipple, relax and please read on, for this is for you! This is the story of an angler known in some finer and some not so finer circles as ‘Disco Dave’. I am sitting in a small room overseas in a rather comfy chair with only my books and photos for company and some of my favourite songs providing a pleasant interlude to the silence. As a song from a bygone era played earlier I found myself a little swamped in a wave of nostalgia, drifting away to summer nights I’ve passed beneath a brolly in a lovely part of the country. A place I never dreamed would invoke such passions within me. My love of fishing started around 1980 at the age of nine or so. In a way I believe it helped me that no one else within my immediate family shared my new interest. This, some of you may find strange. However, as a man brought up to be extremely respectful towards his parents and elders, in all honesty, I am fairly glad about not having an angling father. He may have perhaps inadvertently pressured me slightly towards his own angling ends. That is not to say that I didn’t enjoy the one and only time my father and I fished together. For me it was the first time in my 15 years or so I’d been able to spend a couple of hours, more as a friend than a child, equals, each armed with a fishing rod, except for the first time in my life it was my dad asking me for the advice. I look back on that early morning trip and it mattered not that we caught gudgeon, it was one of those life changing moments, those gudgeon were as worthy as salmon, and still rate as much to me! A year later, much against the wishes of my parents, I joined the army and my fishing then definitely took a back seat to other activities. Of course I managed the odd trip during the first couple of years spent up in Yorkshire. However, as I grew older and my late teens arrived, as with many other young men both past, present and future, my passion for angling definitely took a back seat as girls, a thirst for the outside world, a need to prove myself and beer all arrived. Not necessarily in that order may I add!
In 1993, back in the country after a few years spent in Cyprus and other places, most not quite as exotic, I decided after another pretty shattering ‘six monther’ that I would have to take up again what had previously been the love of my life. In addition to this I feel it only fair to point out that this time there would be another passion in my life as I married late summer ’93. We lived for the first couple of years of marriage in a delightful area of the country not to too far away from Melton Mowbray with its lovely rolling countryside, which to this day still invokes a certain amount of pride within me for what is truly another beautiful slice of our nation. I really have been spoiled by my surroundings on occasion. It was whilst in Melton that I was to hear about a predator that I had only previously heard rumours of – zander. I think it’s fair to say now that this predator was to have a major bearing on my life. I was in a local tackle shop waiting for some bait as I overheard two local anglers talking about an explosion of unwanted predators in a local Pit. After a few enquiries I decided to give the ‘Zeds’ as they were affectionately known, a bash. A dark and blowy September evening in 93′ was to be my first attempt. After only an hour or so one of the table tennis balls I was using as a bobbin rose an inch or so towards the butt of my rod. I struck but missed. I vowed to be back the next day, true to my word I was and within half an hour of the session I managed a zander of 3lbs 15oz and I was hooked. I fished the pits for the rest of that season and the next season also and was lucky to be rewarded with stacks of zander to 11lb 9oz. In fact I very nearly did the magic brace during those happy days, with one fantastic early morning session in November 94 producing a number of good fish including that PB of 11lb 9oz and a cracking 9lb 12oz zed in amongst a good bag. Those were very happy days indeed, in fact I didn’t fish one night session for those zander. Rather I fished mainly afternoons, standing in complete solitude waiting for my somewhat primitive BJ buzzers to give off their rather obnoxious tone. Whilst waiting I felt it to be so very rude not too take in the superb view of the nearby village which was sometimes silhouetted against the backdrop of the sky as the light faded. The chime of the church bell every hour still gives me a shiver now if I think of it. Those were truly fantastic days, finished off with a pint in a pub with the wife on the way back from an afternoon at the pit after the old zeds.
The 95/96 season was a fishing nonentity pretty much for me as I managed only the one session in between moving house and my daughter, Rebecca being born. I was in love with Becky from the moment she was born. I am sure all of you fathers out there will agree, a daughter only has to contemplate even losing her smile to make you jump into action, either ready to rattle her favourite toy or as she gets older, pull the old wallet out! Call me Mr Selfish if you will though, for once she was settled and about 9 months old I started to get the old itching feeling that only a zander session would relieve. However, now living in Lincolnshire, I made a decision to turn my back on the Pits and make or break with a move to fish the Fens. An area until this time I’d only made the odd foray into via an afternoon drive or the like. The first drain I set my stall upon was the 20ft near the Fenland Market town of Whittlesea. Whilst it wasn’t to be the first Fenland venue to provide me with a zander, I fell in love with the place as soon as I had fished my first couple of sessions. I honestly hadn’t thought such a peaceful place ever existed. In mid summer evenings I’d have a couple of rods tucked into the bank side weeds as the sun would dip, grudgingly giving way to darkness. Magic hours, as the water would calm from a healthy ripple to a mirror like surface, coming alive as its roach and bream broke the surface sporadically all along its length. A beautiful sight as bats and other such aerial experts would fly in between the rods and the umbrella. Stood behind me the Whittlesea Chimneys, proudly dominating the otherwise flat land. I was immediately filled with a feeling of immense well being, sat quietly in really, the middle of nowhere, surrounded by natures finest, away from the hustle and bustle of town lakes and the like.
It actually took me about half a dozen sessions to catch my first zander. The 20ft initially refusing to give up any of its toothy inhabitants. My next port of call was Pophams Eau. I’d read in Steve Younger’s excellent book that Pophams was an easy venue. The 6th Aug 96 saw me sat in a fairly easily accessible spot on the drain by dusk with a decent amount of bait, ready for a run or two to make my night. This was the first time I had any realisation of the almost paranormal happenings, which I reckon occur in Fenland on a more often than would be believed basis. All night I sat rigid in my chair as what god honestly sounded like a woman, screamed the whole night through! The blood curdling sounds reverberated through the otherwise silent air for hours, sometimes appearing closer as the noise was easily transmitted across the smooth terrain in the chilly night air. I contemplated getting up and following the sounds to see if there was anything I could do. In the end, although thoroughly spooked I decided discretion to be the best part of valour and tucked myself tighter into my chair. After all, the sounds could have been miles away, being amplified cross country and in the back of my mind I thought, no one else from the houses across the road seemed to be too concerned. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks? The night came and went with only Eel runs to show for my dedication. I have to say, sitting dozing away for long nights in a metal garden chair will soon take its toll, even on a young man! At about half 5 in the morning, I noticed a few strikes underneath a nearby bridge and moved to investigate, placing a small paternostered live Skimmer bream underneath its supports. After a short while and one drop back bite later, I was rewarded with one of the most satisfying fish I’ve ever landed, a lovely little 2lb 6oz Schoolie zander. I enjoyed a couple more hours dozing, as the sun aimed towards its zenith and then grabbed myself together and visited a local shop to get some supplies for the following night. I also made a couple of discrete enquiries, thumbing through the local paper and asking the shop assistant if anything weird happened the evening before. Needless to say the assistant looked at me as if I was some sort of freak!
I caught more zander from that particular drain but soon I felt the need to explore other pastures. Unbeknown to me, another angler of the same age as I, and of an unbelievably similar background had also taken an interest in the Fens. Contacting each other first by letter and then via phone we discussed the Fens and tactics. It was then I embarked on a friendship with a bloke who was destined to become my best friend, a great zander angler by the name of Nick Clare. Now, Nick had one over on me as he had actually landed a zander or two from the 20ft, although unbelievably it had been I who had told him where and pretty much how to fish the swim in question. Work that one out! Nick soon received a tip-off on another venue and indeed on one of his first trips, managed to land a superb daytime zander of 11lb and 4oz. Being the good bloke that he is, he invited me down and after six or seven months of chat and one meeting, it was time to actually fish a session together. The plan was to share a fairly large swim half a mile away from where he had landed his big fish, happy days. As I write this piece I have a large smile on my face. We met up on a cold October afternoon about two hours before darkness and immediately set about catching live baits, which incidentally were in large abundance. Now, Nick had brought a large two man Cypry Dome, which we were going to share, each of us having a “lilo” and a sleeping bag and not altogether too much in the way of gear. First predator at dusk fell to Nick as he landed a clean little Jack pike of around 4lbs or so. Here’s where the smile comes in, no sooner had Nick landed the pike than my alarm sounded and I struck into a bloody good fish which was going some I can tell you! How happy was I as Nick netted what was obviously a very good double figure zed, weighed, it went 11lbs 6oz! I was thrilled, well until the temperature dropped to minus 6 that night and my flimsy three season sleeping back turned into tracing paper but that’s another story. We landed another 4 zander between us that night and a great friendship was forged!
Time has passed by fairly quickly since those first forays into the Fens and plenty of zander, including a few doubles have arrived at my rods; yet various rivers and drains still tend to hold my attention more than others. The Middle Level because of the size of the fish it has produced would be an obvious choice to most, yet for me it just doesn’t cut it quite as much in the atmosphere stakes. Although I have spent plenty of time on the Level over the years and have managed a fair few fish to 11lb 10oz from it, other waters in the area provide me with much more of the almost sickly feeling of nostalgia I enjoy, as I recall many happy days and nights on their banks. I much prefer the Great Ouse, either on its Eastern bank up at Ely, or on the Western bank further down on Ten Mile Blank. To be stood on its storm banks on a clear starry night is heaven to me, looking at the multitude of towns and villages abounding for miles. Lets not forget the sight of the Cathedral, described by some as the ‘Ship of the Fens’. Or what about at the start of the season? For my money there is nowhere better on earth to be than the River Cam around Waterbeach on a fine mid June dawn to take in the spectacular rise of the sun as it prizes itself from the ground, blazing its way aggressively through the sky. I guarantee you’ll have a view of its almost purple wholeness from what will seem like only a mile or two away, it truly is an amazing sight!
The people I have met during my travels have also added much to the atmosphere of the area. It didn’t take much more than a couple of season’s to start ‘bumping’ into the surprisingly small circuit of like-minded anglers. Great guys who are some of the nicest blokes you could ever hope to meet. Chaps like Nick and Chris Bishop, another ‘outsider’ like myself, who shares the same passion for the area. Graham Daubney, a superb angler and mate, a great angler abounding in knowledge of Fenland predators and with some absolutely awesome fish under his belt. Mark Barrett, a Fenman who is, in addition to being a great angler, an out and out gentleman. Sascha Welch, Andy Doughty, Dale Robson, Brian Birdsall, Big Nige and Dougie from Lincoln, the Westoby brothers and many more great chaps are all friends made during my time in the Fens. That isn’t to mention the ‘friends of friends’ such as well respected anglers like Chris Hammond who offer loads of friendly and knowledgeable advice on how to fish the Fens for its predators and who have a passion and an unquenchable thirst for the area and its wildlife. Even before you start fishing, a visit to a Fenland pub for a quick pint is almost always a great welcome in itself. Most are filled with memorabilia of a bygone era in addition to friendly staff and a lovely pint. In fact such is the measure of the inhabitants of one rather well known Fenland Hostelry in Outwell a year or two ago, that I was forced to issue some pretty fast talking in order to avert a scrap involving a couple of chaps rather bigger than I! The reason? A girlfriend had insisted on accompanying me on an early June pre-season recce of the Relief Channel, the only thing was, she suffered quite badly with hay fever. Jeez, we decided to stop at the pub for a very quick beer on the way back and of course she walked in looking like she’d been a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson, eyes streaming, red raw and looking like she’d had a good pasting. Three old boys then started to eye me up and it was only then I realised that they’d thought I’d been the cause of her discomfort. Ten minutes of tense ‘Kofi Annan’ level negotiations later and we were all apologising and the beer was being offered! Only in Fenland!!!
A lot has changed in my life over the last ten years or so. I am no longer married, cynics may say my love of overnight fishing in the Fens may have caused this, yet I am a believer in simple fate, what is going to happen will happen. My daughter is now a delightfully talented and beautiful little girl of almost ten. Nowadays it isn’t a rattle but an IPOD that floats her boat! Girlfriends come and go as with most blokes my age, some lasting longer than others, some have visited and enjoyed the Fens. Some have run a mile the first time I’ve mentioned I enjoy spending nights under the stars on my own, zandering in the middle of a bleak wilderness known to reprobates such as us, as the Relief Channel! I’ve moved about a fair bit over the last few years and as I’ve progressed further at work, I find I get less time and opportunity to travel back and fish my favourite stomping grounds, yet none of this ever seems to diminish my enthusiasm for its rivers, drains and the surrounding countryside. In fact the longer I’m away the more I find myself reading up on East Anglia. I can’t put my finger on the formula the Fens provides which makes me feel this way, not at all. It would take an age for me to list all of the good points. To sum up I’d say this, whenever anything ever gets a bit hectic or things aren’t going my way, as soon as I can, I always try to make myself a minute where I can close my eyes and I treat myself to a few thoughts of what I consider to be Gods Country!!!
Kind regards all, Disco! |
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