Pilgrim’s Progress

He is also a very keen angler, having come back to the sport in 1995 following a break of several years. In this regular column he will tell us about his progress as an angler – his thoughts about the sport, what he learns, the fishing trips he makes, the anguish, the humour, in fact everything he experiences as his angling career develops.

Pilgrim’s Progress – read it everyThursday!

A First Visit To The Meres – Breathless, Bulls, But Breamless

In spite of my recent bream expeditions into Suffolk, somehow Icouldn’t shake off the desire to fish for the species. Having theopportunity to do just a three night session at the end of August, Ididn’t fancy the long haul into East Anglia again, so looked for avenue closer to home. One of the club cards I currently have has anumber of the Cheshire / Shropshire meres on its list of waters, soit was for one of those I decided to head for.

Having chosen a venue, I contacted my good friend Gary Knowles forsome ‘inside information’. We are both members of the club concernedand I was sure Gary would come up trumps with some confidenceinspiring facts. He didn’t disappoint and said he would tell meeverything he knew. So, armed with an A10 piece of paper (ie verysmall) I set off North on the A41 on a Wednesday lunchtime.

I must say, at this point, if ever I appear secretive whenwriting, particularly in relation to naming venues, it’s not bychoice necessarily. Sometimes I fish waters, like most of us do fromtime to time, where we have been given specific information, andasked to keep it to ourselves. I believe integrity andtrustworthiness are important character traits, so I respect theinformation given to me. Other times, as is the case of the venuefeatured in this weeks Pilgrim’s Progress, the controlling club has avery strict publicity ban.

There is a nice nostalgic twist to this weeks article as well. Inrecent weeks I’ve been having a regular midweek rendezvous on theRiver Dove with Dave Colclough and Graham Marsden. When Grahamrealised I wasn’t going to our usual venue, but more to the point,when he realised where I was going, it certainly opened up somememories for him. For the place I had chosen to fish, unknown to me,was the very mere where it all began for Graham in the 1960’s, wherealong with a number of other anglers, he pioneered big bream fishing.

Graham told me how in the pre-bivvy and LED headlamp days, theywrapped plastic sheeting around brollies and used candles in jamjars. Setting eyes on the mere for the first time, my vividimagination took me back twenty years or more, as I pictured thoseyoung Voortrekker spirited fishermen. Some things never changethough, and I still had to walk the same route as they did all thoseyears ago. After two journeys between the car and the swim, I was outof breath and needed a good long rest.

On the day of my arrival, the weather was hot and the surface ofthe mere was like a sheet of glass. Hardly good bream conditions, butI was there for three nights, I thought to myself, so hopefully wouldconnect with some feed inducing weather at some point. Dropping intoa swim recommended by Gary Knowles, the first thing I did, aftergetting my breath back, was telephone him to let him know I was onthe banks of the mere, having the water all to myself on thisbeautiful day, and to wish him well as he worked away in his office.Gary swore at me…..

What struck me, as I pitched up on the banks of the mere, was howsandy the ground was. In fact, the area I bivvied up on was like abeach, and with a vast expanse of water in front of me, it was almostlike being at the seaside. Good job I haven’t mentioned the location,otherwise due to its close proximity to Liverpool, it may become acheap holiday destination for Scousers. I can just imagine itnow…..

‘Hey Jimmy, son, are you enjoying your hols, are kid?’. ‘Aye Dad,but we’ve been here a week, like, and the tide hasn’t gone out’.’Never mind that now. Me and yer mam are off to get a bevvie in thelocal boozer’. ‘But Dad, it’s miles away, like, and we don’t have acar’. ‘Dear me son, didn’t our Terry teach you anything before he gotcaught by the bizzies and sent down?. We’re gonna nick one ain’t we’.A future episode of the Royal Family perhaps?

Anyway, back to reality !! The meres are generally shallow,featureless expanses of water. Ask a local where the bars are, andhe’s more than likely to give you directions to the Rose and crown orthe Red Lion. Some time spent casting around with the marker floatand lead checking the bottom and depth, saw me pitch my stall on aweed free area about sixty metres or so out from the bank. I was allset up, cast out and had groundbait deposited by 4.00 pm Wednesdayafternoon, thus beginning a game of patience – the waiting game. Toquote Gary Knowles (in his recent AT article) who then goes on toquote Graham Marsden :

“Some 12 years ago, when I was taking my first faltering steps as aspecialist angler, I chanced upon an article by Graham Marsdendescribing the unique challenges offered by the large Cheshire meres.He wrote ‘If you want to fish a difficult venue, then choose aCheshire mere. If you want to choose a difficult fish to catch, thenchoose a big bream. If you decide to put the two together then beprepared to work very, very hard.'”

The first night was very quiet, just the occasional one syllablebleep on the bite alarm to disturb my slumber, but nothing more thanthat. I did however have the surprise of my life as I woke up onThursday morning. There was a bull in my bivvy. Yes, you’ve read thatright. A bull. In my bivvy. I don’t know if you’ve ever been thatclose to one before, but they make snorting noises, and it was thatheavy breathing that woke me up. Shooing the creature away, who bynow was well and truly head and shoulders in the bivvy, I steppedoutside to find myself surrounded by at least thirty cattle. Most ofthem were bulls, but thankfully had had their sign of masculinity (ietheir horns) well and truly removed. Speaking to them in the mostpleading of voices, I told them I was a fully paid up member of PETA,was a committed vegan and detested butchers.

They gradually began to disperse, except for my new found friend,who actually came and nuzzled me (glad he’d been de-horned). In fact,during the course of the session, although I would be visited by theherd, none of them ventured within four metres of the bivvy, exceptfor Bully that is.

The second night again was peaceful. Waking on the Friday however,my confidence was boosted by a change in the weather. Since myarrival, the temperatures had been in the high 20’s and there hadbeen no wind to speak of. Therefore the water had continued toresemble one very large sheet of glass. But now a mild South-Westerlyhad put ripples across the surface. It was also raining, but this wasthe start of the Bank Holiday weekend, so was only to be expected.Just had a thought, while writing. If one catches a catfish on themeres, does it become a meerkat? Just a thought !!!

My rise in confidence, however, was not matched by any fish on thebank. In actual fact, the third night produced less bleeps on thebuzzers than either of the first two. I’m wondering whether GaryKnowles has been reading my ‘Tongue in cheek guide to specimenhunting’ and either put me in the wrong swim, or indeed, put me onthe wrong mere. But, as the Big Man himself (that’s not referring toGary, and definitely not to Graham) says, ‘I’ll be back’. And so Iwill. I like a challenge.