Met The Whinger, his old man who’s about 70 now and the legendary BP at Lakeside.It was decided that The Whinger and his dad would share a boat while me and BP would pair-up in another boat – BIG mistake.
Just a bit about The Whinger’s dad before the tale of the day unfolds…Fred, who I’ve known for about twenty years now, is one of life’s gentlemen, very well spoken, always wears a collar and tie when fishing, very much a Crabtree-type. He doesn’t fish much, less and less in fact as he gets older, but enjoys the odd day out now and then.
A perfect day greeted us at the reservoir, flat calm, the b*****ks for trolling, Gagging to get started, the boat was loaded, twenty trout in the bucket and Bill and I were away. We spent twenty minutes or so by the valve tower and a bit more time in one or two other areas that were ok last year, with only one small fish to BP to show. ‘Right, Bill’, I said, ‘let’s go to what was last year’s hot-spot’ Entering the area off a heavily-wooded bank in about 35 feet of water we passed The Doctor who was fast into a fish – well webbed-up, he was – a nineteen pounder it turned out. He informed us it was his fourth double of the morning so far! Straight away I had a screaming take on the bottom bouncer, the baitrunner zizzing like mad. Winding down, I connected with what felt like a decent fish only for it to come adrift after about thirty seconds – bastard!
Next, Bill’s away. He, too, pulled out of his fish, then another two runs in quick succession to me, this time on the float rods set to fish well over depth and drag bottom. Would you Adam and Eve it? I pulled out of both fish! Seething by now, I shook the hooks out of a fish of about 12lbs that Bill had brought to the side of the boat, catching a flying treble in my hand in the process. Soon after, The Doctor’s mate took a twenty two and a half pounder. While all this was going on, The Whinger and his dad were having sport in their boat, taking several doubles to 17lbs. Then Fred hooks a fish that takes him over twenty minutes to boat. These fish – as I’ve told you – fight like demons but this was exceptional even for here. After they boat the fish, The Whinger’s waving his arms at us before heading for the bank. “Blimey, Bill, I wonder how big it is” I said. “Better go round for a butchers hadn’t we” replied Bill.
Joining them on the bank we saw a very big fish laid-out on the grass – just under 44” long tip to fork and with a 24” girth. I hoisted her onto the Avons – 33lbs dead on! Old Fred was elated, he almost looked excited at one point but is far too much of an Englishman to show excitement, his reserve just won’t allow it. Congratulations and handshakes all-round, photos and video done, the fish is returned. Unfortunately she’s gassed-up so we prop her up between some sticks. Eventually she swims off – hope she’s ok. I well remember losing a big fish at Ardleigh in 1990 of 29lbs due to gassing up.
Resuming fishing, I go on to pull out of three further fish! Then Bill gets snagged. We wind all the other rods in and Bill reverses the electric outboard, backing toward the snagged float. Now Bill really is a clumsy bastard and succeeds in getting the line on the snagged rod wrapped around the prop which, of course, it promptly cut through. Grabbing the loose end, Bill then starts hand-lining us toward the float to pull for a break. The ‘snag’ comes to life!! Picture the scene for a moment…there’s Bill with about ten yards of line wrapped round his hand and attached to a very lively fish about thirty foot down! “…’kin ‘ell!! What am I going to do?” he cries. “**** knows” I said, “hand-lining is illegal innit, and I don’t recall any mention of handlining in your book in the methods section” I says, forgetting my gloom and now roaring with laughter. Any how, I re-threadle Bill’s rod and somehow we knot the two ends of line together, real shit knots they were in haste. Bill’s now got the rod back in his hands. “Bill” I warned “you’d better get that knot well onto the spool before you annoy that fish ‘cos it’s only a couple of grannies”
“Ok” he says, and gingerly takes up line until the knot’s well down on the spool before giving the fish some welly. Now the fish doesn’t like this one bit and begins to return the welly, ripping line off in a long run; the knot comes off the spool and disappears into the depths. I’ll cut the story short here, suffice to say I christen my new landing net by slipping it under a superb fish. “ How big is it?” says Bill. “Twentyfive-plus” I reply. “Nah…it won’t even go twenty” says Bill, the blind ol’ ****. Anyway, we’re in a right old mess so we take the fish to the bank to sort ourselves out. Even with the fish laid-out on the grass Bill still reckons it won’t go twenty. The Avons think differently – 28lbs and 12oz! He really is the jammiest bastard who ever drew breath! “Well, I DID see three magpiesthis morning” he said “y’know…three for a girl” (our terminology for a big pike)
How did the rest of the day go? Well, a bit quiet after all that, although I did get two more runs and, yes, I DID pull out of them both! Oh, yes…and The Whinger got a 21lber and The Doctor finished with 8 doubles, the 19 being his best. I never got a fish to the boat!
Well that was that. Nowhere near as many runs as last year but average sizes definitely up. We’re back there tomorrow morning – wonder how many I’ll pull out of? It’s ten to ten now and I’ve got to be up at 5 and I’ve got to go to work tomorrow night so I’ll shortly be climbing into the pit and would dearly like a lay-in tomorrow but the sight of those two big fish won’t allow it. I’ll write and let you know what tomorrow brings in due course.
Best wishes,
*****
