The FM Trent Massive Fish-In, July 2006

The FM Trent Massive Fish-in July 2006

ONCE AGAIN IT was a real scorcher. My feet are sore and cracked from festering in hot, sweat-soaked socks, my lips are raw and my nose feels like it’s been sandpapered.

On the positive side, however, I caught my first double of the season which came in at a fighting fit 10lb 2oz, actually the scales were bouncing between 10lb 4oz and 10 lb 2oz. I wasn’t sweating over 2oz so I took the lower reading. I also took around 20 other barbel and the same number of bream with a half dozen Mick Jaggers (Chud, Duh!) thrown in for good luck. That’s about 200lb and then a bit, in two nights (and days) fishing.

10lb 2oz of pure, fighting fit barbel

FishingMagic fish-ins are great occasions. They are the perfect opportunity to meet your internet virtual reality fishing friends and turn them into skin and bone real friends. For me personally, that is what they are all about.

A few years ago I was quite depressed that because of the unsocial nature of my job the vast majority of friends that I had were work related with just a few others that I rarely got to meet, again because of my working hours. Then I found the internet which allowed me to chat with other anglers 24 hours a day. What a boon! Two years or so down the line I have many, many friends and that is almost solely down to FishingMagic. So, what I would say to any one lurking out there who has never fished at one of our get-togethers is join in!

The worst thing that could happen on one of these get-togethers is that you blank; well, actually, the worst would be Ron telling you about SA for two days whilst you blanked. No, hang on a minute the worst would be listening to Ron whilst Andy ‘The Dog’ Nellist sat beside you wearing his famous waterproof thing, that is reputedly now so encrusted with assorted fish DNA it is a sentient being that is moulded to his skin like Spiderman’s suit and makes him impervious to blanks and attractive to fish, tench in particular!

No, no, no! Forget all that, it would definitely be Barney farting on you as you blanked; but seeing as nobody blanked, ‘The Dog’ was away and Barney kept his foul vapours north of the Trent on an eel fishing massive of his own, everything was going to be great just so long as the anglers that arrived avoided Ron’s SA stories. :O)

Lee Mochan with a clonking barbel

There was a such great turn out with tents and bivvies all along the section that we fished that I asked the bailiff if I was going to get a freebie because of all the extra day tickets sold and he just looked at me gone out and replied “Oi don’t like boys, Oi don’t! But you can have a ticket for a fiver son“

As I arrived I was greeted by Andy Renton, a fellow DVSG member who had got himself a good peg and saved adjacent pegs for Ron and myself, 56 to 58. Andy and I were to be acting as bodyguards for Ron as he was half expecting a bit of a ruckus if the HPS massive decided to turn up and serve him his papers or just ‘pop a cap in his ass’. These Trent turf wars are great for action and adventure but Ron need not have worried about his safety as the HPS massive were ensconced on their own patch looking at each other bewildered as the North Bristol ‘Cathy Barry’ Massive posse arrived and talked funny at them.

“What are they saying Chris?” asked Tony Rocca in a whisper to his ashen faced friend Chris Pearson, Beads of sweat rolling down his brow.

“I don’t know, Tone, but just smile! Smile and nod mate, don’t provoke ’em, that little sis bloke looks a right meanie. Let ’em fish the good pegs!“

“Ok, Ok! Hello my name is Tony, fish where you like please, don’t hurt us!“

“Oi think this blowks a bit mental Steve, Oi arsked him if he wanted a drink o me black Rat and he started crying and threw up. Strange fowk these Northerners!“

But less of that, what I do know is that The Bristol posse had a fantastic time and the hospitality offered to them was greatly appreciated and they couldn’t praise the HPS massive enough. That has to be the future of our sport, cooperation and friendly relations!

I started by spodding in a lot of pellet and sour hemp; not as sour as the stuff in my shed which had maggots in it, but pretty bubbly all the same. The fishing started off steadily but when on the morning of the second day I scaled down to size 12 DBSS and fished 2x6mm pellets superglued onto the hair the fishing went mental. So mental that when a local big boy saw me catching he decided that he would have some of that and pitched up bang at the side of me an cast onto my baited area. I did my usual wind up trick of reeling in and casting over him. Oh well, so much for ‘cooperation and friendly relations!’

Well if a boil needs lancing better done as soon as possible.

“You’ve cast over me son!” He shouted

“No I haven’t.”

“Yeah you’ve cast over me, look!” He then reeled in both our rigs ands began trying to rip mine away from his “You can’t go casting there.“

“Look mate this is my up stream swim. I was here first!”

“I fish a lot of matches and the NFA rule state that…”

“”This isn’t a match and I am not in the NFA. That’s my swim, I have 10 pints of bait in it and a lot of fish to be caught from it, all right!”

“You can’t go casting upstream!“

“Says who?!”

“I fish a lot of matches, never heard anything like it!“

“I don’t fish matches and that’s my swim all right. I don’t want to argue with you but that is the end of the story!“

Casting guidelines were agreed and fisticuffs avoided

Now this bloke may have fished a lot of matches but his greed and determination to destroy my sport to the benefit of himself had to have clouded his judgment as he was about to commit angling suicide. I retreated back to my peg smug in the knowledge of what he was about to do seeing him get out the ‘cannon’ and the bucket of ‘ammo’.

The Ribble Massive

I wandered upstream to have a chat with Dog biscuit , little sis and the Bristol posse, the dialect for me ain’t a problem so the conversation flowed smoothly only to be interrupted by “spladoosh…spladoosh…spladoosh…spladoosh!”

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS HE DOING?” Said the Bristol posse in unison
“He is filling it in!”
“He’s gone mental!“

“He is trying to pull all the fish into his swim.”

I was laughing hysterically inside because I knew that the fish were on the feed and that they would move up the scent trail but the first baits they would reach would be mine, my Elips pellets and Chicken Indulgence boilies were super glugged and no self respecting finned gastronaught would be able to pass over them and so it came to pass that he had to sit and witness me stick around 30 fish in the net to a season’s best of 10lb 2oz before he jacked in at midnight, probably still unaware that he was the architect of his own destruction. He would be so sick that he would have to visit his GP the next day; although his GP would need to be a gynecologist. Thanks pal I couldn’t have baited my swim any better!

Anyways, back on topic it was great to meet you all, it was a fantastic session and I am made up that you all enjoyed the Trent!

Till the next one.

Take care.

Lee

P.S

I would like to finish by wishing Dave Marrs a safe return from Afghanistan. Keep your noggin down mate and I will see if you can put me on a zander when you get back. Best wishes and good luck!