It was around 6.30pm when I arrived at the car park and was pleasantly surprised to find just two other cars present. Rather than take my gear down to the water I locked the car and walked down to the lake to look for signs of fish and to check out where the other anglers were positioned. The previous week I had hooked (and lost) a catfish when the line had inexplicably parted on one of the few snags that the lake contained and my first thought was to head for this area. Initially I was disappointed as another angler had positioned himself directly opposite this spot. Although I was perfectly entitled to fish this swim, I felt it unfair to the guy already fishing as we would, in effect, be fishing the same area and after all I wouldn’t like someone to dump their gear down opposite me, had I arrived first.
Perhaps this is a good opportunity for me to describe the lake for if you can picture its appearance you will understand my reluctance to fish opposite another angler. It is basically a long narrow strip of water, caused by subsidence many, many years ago and of some 6 to 7 acres in size. It is no more than 60 yards across at its widest point with a couple of bays on one bank and quite thick reedbeds on the other. The water is generally shallow and contains a good head of large carp, a few nice bream and tench and a handful of catfish to an upper weight of just over 30lb. It was the catfish that interested me, the main attraction being that they had been introduced many years ago as kittens in the 2-5lb range so the current stock were, in my opinion ‘natural’ fish, and not just some instant imported specimens. It was close and I felt confident Eventually I settled on a swim positioned just beyond one of the bays, this would allow me to present a bait in the bay itself, one to the far bank reeds and my third, left-hand rod down the inside margin. The wind was gently blowing in from the South-West and in the distance dark clouds loomed heavily. With this in mind the first job was to get my bivvy erected. Normally, when I was fishing on a short overnight session the first task would be to get the rods out and fishing effectively but with the real chance of a heavy downpour I though it prudent to ensure everything stayed dry. It was only after the bivvy was up and everything stored away I began to realise just how ‘close’ the atmosphere was. I was sweating profusely and was finding it difficult to cool down. I felt confident… With the rods out and a beer in hand the angler on the next swim walked around for a chat. He too was after cats and had managed to catch a couple of livebaits on the pole earlier that afternoon and kindly offered me one to try. So the left hand rod was baited with three lobworms fished on the bottom, the middle rod 6 lobworms held six inches off the bottom by using a cork ball threaded on a hair rig, the right hand rod was baited with a small live roach and fished a foot off the surface in eight foot of water. All baits were impaled on size 1 ESP Raptor hooks and attached to three foot lengths of 35lb ‘Quicksilver’.
By now there were fish moving all over the lake, I had never seen it this active before and the signs looked good. Carp, tench and bream were all showing and there was even the odd ‘slap’ of a cat tail breaking surface – something I had never previously witnessed on this venue. Before the other angler walked back to his swim I told him that I knew I was going to get a few fish tonight, and I meant it, it was the type of evening when a barometer was not necessary to feel the drop in air pressure. The constant crashing of fish and feeling of anticipation had made the atmosphere electric. Perhaps only an angler will understand what I mean by this but it was one of those warm, muggy evenings that all anglers dream of, the kind of evening when everything seemed to be on the move, and as dusk approached and the lake fell flat calm, I sat back to await events…….it would happen, definitely, it was just a case of when. At 9.00pm the bobbin fell of the middle rod and line started pouring off the spool, I walked over, picked the rod up and felt the line between my thumb and forefinger. It showed no sign of slowing down so I engaged the bail arm, watched the line tighten then slammed the rod over my left shoulder to set the hook. The sudden surge of power almost caught me off guard and had my clutch not been set correctly would have resulted in the 12lb mono parting in an instant. The angry fish steamed down the centre of the lake passing over my right hand rod and (I think) passing all three of the angler’s rods on the adjacent swim some forty yards away. Attempts at stopping the run only resulted in the rod being flattened and I was forced to give even more line whilst piling on as much pressure as I dared. Eventually the cat paused and I pumped hard, attempting to gain a couple of yards of line for the first time, this only resulted in upsetting the brute which proceeded to strip another 20 yards of line off the spool. For another ten minutes we were at total stalemate, neither of us gaining any ground, my arm and back were starting to ache and I was beginning to think he would never tire. After what seemed like an age he grudgingly turned and started moving back towards me. I was gaining some line but every few minutes the cat would surge away taking yard after yard, seemingly without any sign of slowing down. By now it was close to where I had lost the fish the previous week and for some time I played the fish dreading the sensation of grating line. However, this time luck was on my side and before long he was in the open water in front of me. A half hour into the fight and still powerful enough to send the coots scuttling
A PB English cat and a lake record Ten yards from the net and the cat broke surface for the first time, a large mottled brown head the width of a football was suddenly peering up at me. My hook, clearly visible in the scissors, looked tiny in the huge crescent shaped mouth but it held firm as I drew its head over the waiting net. Like all catfish I have caught, once on the bank it was very well behaved and the fish’s massive bulk lay motionless on the unhooking mat as I wetted the weigh sling. Into the sling and a quick check of the scales showed it comfortably broke the 30lb mark so I hung the 40lb ‘Avons’ off the spreader block to get an accurate reading. Slowly lifting the landing net handle the dial moved slowly to 32lb 9oz – a new lake record and a personal best English cat! To say that I was now on a high would be a massive understatement; just a couple of hours into an overnight session and I had already had a major result. Although I was confident of more action I really wasn’t that bothered. Job done, it was time to sit back, enjoy a cool beer and soak in the wonderful atmosphere of a warm summer’s evening. He thinks it’s all over…… Darkness fell and still the activity continued. I had sat over my rods until around midnight when I began to tire. I had been up early for work for the last couple of days, plus the following day I was due to take the wife out for a meal (birthday) so I fancied a few hours sleep rather than risk her wrath by falling asleep in the restaurant. I climbed into the bivvy, draped the open sleeping bag over me and closed my eyes. Beep….beep…beeeeeeeeep…the middle rod was away again and was still going when I got to it. I slightly mistimed the strike; like a total novice I had not wound down enough before attempting to set the hook (the cat must have been moving towards me) I wound like hell, then, upon feeling the line tighten struck again. This time I felt the hook find its hold and once more I was playing a good catfish. Although it fought valiantly my earlier experience had left me in no doubt that my gear was up to the task and it took just ten minutes or so to have my second cat of the evening wallowing just off the landing net. ……..then he gets a 20-pounder! On the scales and my second 20lb-plus fish of the night was about to say cheese. The angler on the next swim had heard the commotion and kindly came across to do the honours. A couple of quick photo’s and it was back swimming strongly into the inky blackness. On with another seven or eight lobworms and the rod was cast back into the bay before I retired once more to my bivvy. Understandably I didn’t feel sleepy anymore, I mean, a brace of cats at 32.09 and 21.04, from the frozen tundra of the North-West. Was I happy or what……? I sat out for another hour or so revelling in the afterglow before fatigue overcame me once more and I crawled back under the canvas. I would not be bothered again, not until the following morning at least !
A 2oz roach on steroids I wound all three rods in, I put fresh lobworms on the margin rod and swapped the remaining two over putting the live bait (which had remained surprisingly active) in the middle, fished close to the surface and the large bunch of lobworms (about 8) fished a foot or so off the bottom back in the bay to my right). Nothing happened until around 8.00am when the middle rod screamed off. Either the 2oz roach had been on steroids or another cat has taken the bait. Another firm strike and the rod hoped over again, the first run was stopped within ten seconds or so and as I started to pump the fish back the line fell slack as the hook lost its hold. I was absolutely gutted, I thought at the time I had lost what would be my one and only chance to land three big cats in a single session – how wrong could I be. Although looking a little mashed the livebait was the only one I had so the unfortunate fellow was quickly cast back into position and the line clipped back into the bobbin. When one feeds they all feed Despite losing the fish it gave me the confidence to stay on for a few more hours as I still felt there was an outside chance of another fish. Despite the clear skies and flat calm surface the cats were still active. It was Graham Marsden who, when talking to me about a trip to Chalet Lake in France had told me that in his experience all the catfish in a certain lake seem to switch into and out of feeding mode together. Why this was he wasn’t sure but my own experiences, both at home and abroad seemed to back up this theory and if the cats had switched on, I wanted to be around for as long as possible. Why cats behave in this way I don’t know, but when my bobbin banged against the rear rest at 9.10am and the worms went trundling off I was determined not to miss the chance of a hat-trick. Jammy *******! I won’t bore you with the fight details but take it from me by the time this one hit the net I was totally shot. Again it went over the 20lb mark, another lovely clean fish weighing 20lb 14oz. I had done it, a hat-trick of 20lb plus fish including a whopping personal best English cat of 32.09. After releasing him I sat back on my chair and started churning out the text messages on my mobile. Suddenly I was inundated with calls of congratulations (and one slightly abusive one questioning both my luck and parentage, eh Graham! [I still think you’re a jammy *******! – Graham]) as friends and fellow anglers called to check I wasn’t winding them up.
When, at 11.30am, the livebait rod woke up I hardly dared believe what was about to happen. I picked up the rod and felt the line. No movement at all but something had pulled the line out of the clip. I paid out some line to see if the polyball would break surface……..it didn’t ! This could only mean one thing; something had taken the roach and was now lying doggo on the bottom. Here goes nothing……wind down hard…….. whack…shit, it’s on…… as my arm is nearly wrenched from its socket. Another great fight another 20lb-plus cat. This time the smallest of the bunch but at 20lb and 10 ounces I’m not going to start complaining. I fished on for a couple of hours but had nothing further. No surprise really, I had no livebaits left (I only had the scrounged one to start with!) and I had used practically all of my 100 lobworms due to continually changing them to keep my ‘medusa’ baits active. I had fished from around 7pm until lunchtime the following day, had landed four catfish over 20lb which included what was confirmed later as the largest fish in the lake. And to cap it all this wasn’t some top southern syndicate, or a secret little pool with a dodgy stocking of catfish from dubious origin. It was a relatively hard, open-to-all club water in North-West England. Although I am sure that my rigs, baits and swim selection were all correct, I have no doubt that it was just one of those days, when I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time…roll on the next one. FOOTNOTE FROM GRAHAM Best catch of English catfish I know about that’s for sure, and definitely the best from a northern water. All authenticated with photographs and witnesses. Forget about English, forget about lake record, that’s a bloody great catch of catfish from anywhere. So well done you jammy *******! (If I said anything nice to him he’d be upset). |
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