| MARK HODSON | |
An angler since he can remember, Mark Hodson almost literally lives, eats and breathes fishing. A match angler in his youth, fishing for the junior Starlets, he turned to the dark side and joined the ‘floppy hat’ brigade in his college years. He worked in the tackle trade for ten years, on a part time or full time basis at Chaplains, one of Birmingham’s busiest tackle shops and managed the specialist department there for two years. He now fishes just for fun, although the ‘floppy specialist hat’ still dominates his angling, his writing concentrates on getting the maximum enjoyment from your angling and trying something different from the norm. |
Tinca TantrumsAS I WRITE this it’s one day before the summer solstice, the suns at its most majestic maximum. After the solstice, the sun starts to retreat towards the shady tones of autumn shadows, with each day shortening to the inevitable conclusion of the return of the Frost maiden and the onset of winter.
This shortening of the days is not the only change that occurs on or around the summer solstice. The tench, that most traditional of the new season opening quarry’s, undergoes an often unseen and all too subtle change in behaviour, as they finish their late spring and early summer orgy of procreation, they realise that the time for feasting with gay abandon is now over and return to their usual contemplative, studious, sage-like nature, and concentrate on raising their worldly awareness once again. The time of spring feeding frenzies, where they had the irrepressible urge to eat as much as possible so to be in the best condition for spawning, have now passed. Now the tench has the time to concentrate only on the most delectable treats, served on only the best quality platters. During high summer they become the fussiest most discerning fish in our waters, they become the thinking anglers quarry of choice, much like autumn roach and winter chub. Sorting out the Schizophrenic Now that the fish with the split personality has switched to its more serious side, in which it remains for the next three annual seasons, they can infuriate those who caught them easily prior to spawning. Anglers line the banks of waters across the nation with their heads in their hands as they struggle to satisfy and fool the tench, tantrums abound forcing anglers to look at easier more dependable targets such as the ever greedy carp or sheep-like bream. For those who are no longer finding those olive green flanks and beady red eyes gracing the mesh of their landing nets this is the tale of my opening day and the tutorial I was given by the Dr Fish with a PhD in fickleness. The Glorious 16th For once, wasn’t it glorious as well? My chosen venue did not open its gates until 5:30 am, a full hour and a half after sunrise and as I pushed my loaded tackle barrow to its chosen destination the sun already seemed alarmingly high in the sky. It was all too eager to burn off the customary mist of the classic tench fisher’s dawn, chasing away the ghosts of the previous night into the deepest of shadows where they wait for dusk to call them forth once again. Trouble was…… I had the unnerving fear that the promised sweltering conditions would do the same to my chosen quarry, the tench, and the odd bream that inhabited the old gravel pit.
My chosen peg was situated on the side of the water I knew would be the quietest; the long walk made sure of this. Also what little breeze that was evident was blowing into this bank, so the two factors combined I hoped would put fish in front of me throughout the day. Once in the swim the marker rod was first into my hand and a nice gravel area was found at 50 yards. It sat under 6ft of water with a smattering of weed and had a large weedbed in front of it at 40 yards. It seemed perfect. Next I put in just over a kilo of quick breakdown Scopex flavoured pellets which I scattered in a 5 yard radius of the marker float. Within an hour and a half these would be just little marble sized patches of attractant with hardly any feed value which would hopefully pull fish into my main area of feed. Next to go in was my chosen main feed for the session, which was 50% Vitalin, 25% brown crumb, 25% fish meal, with a smattering of pellets and Scopex flavoured corn all sweetened with a good dose of liquid molasses and 7ml of Nashy’s Scopex no.1, added via the water used to mix it. This was made up into 25 large tangerine sized balls and spread within 3 yards of the marker. I like to get a good bed of feed down to attract any passing fish and encourage them ‘graze’ in the swim. Now the initial barrage from the Hodson 101st artillery division was over it was time to get the rods out and fish.
On the first rod I fished a Korum flat method feeder with a short 4 inch braid hooklink to which a size 14 Drennan Super Specialist was attached via a knotless knot. The method mix was made up of 50 % Sensas Red Magic, 25 % PV1 binder and 25% fish meal, sweetened with molasses and Scopex. I deliberately add no freebies to my method mix so my hookbait is immediately homed in on by feeding fish, after they are attracted by the different coloured groundbait on the feeder. On the second rod I fished a groundbait (open-end) feeder attached on a mini helicopter rig which was filled with dry 3mm and 6 mm pellets, plugged with a little groundbait. Again a short 4 inch braid hooklink with the size 14 Super Specialist was attached via a knotless knot. Hookbaits were to be Scopex flavoured corn, 10mm strawberry or white shellfish boilies, enterprise tackles artificial maggots and casters or a variety of hooker and drilled pellets.
Indication was to be provided by alarms and light bobbins fished on a long drop to provide the ability to distinguish between developing bites and liners. The rods were cast unbaited tight to the marker and the line marked with stop knots tied from fluorescent yellow pole elastic to ensure accuracy, this gives the option of clipping up for extreme precision or unclipping to cast around the swim, or baited area if needed, but always being able to return to the marker and precision once again. Rods were to be recast every half hour to keep a steady trickle of feed going in and to encourage me to experiment and work at it if things were not going to plan, instead of sitting back and hoping for the best – and boy, did I ever end up working at it. Into the Zone Once the rods were out I quickly did a little bankside housekeeping, tidied the swim, and sat back into my chair and surveyed the scene. By now the mist had all but disappeared and it was getting hot. I saw the odd tench and bream rolling on the opposite side and at the top end of the pit, but none in front of me, this didn’t worry me though as I knew that eventually they would find their way to the area in front of me and my bed of feed. As the sun moved around in the sky and mid morning arrived so the fish arrived in my swim. I had been slowly nodding off as the hypnotic effect of looking continually at water worked its mesmerising magic and put me into a comatose trance-like state to which I affectionately refer to as being ‘in the zone’. This mental state I’m sure can only be achieved whilst fishing, and is meditation for those who subscribe to the church of piscatorial pursuits. I quickly slipped out of ‘in the zone’ as I saw my left hand bobbin twitch followed by a single bleep from the alarm. The bobbin then rose six inches in slow motion and fell suddenly to its initial resting position as the line flicked off a fish’s fin after giving classic line bite. I edged forward in my seat, expectantly…. And I stayed there, for a full half hour, as my bobbins danced like hyperactive bell ringers and my alarms played a tune like a toddler with his first keyboard. For the next two hours this scenario continued with tench and bream continuously rolling in the swim and giving indications but seemingly unwilling to feed. The possible reasons swam about in my mind: was it too early after spawning? Were they still cleaning off having spawned only a week earlier? Was it the rigs? Was it the baits? I concluded it must be the latter two and by early afternoon between the two rods I had tried four different hook sizes, running and fixed rigs, six different hookbaits and three different hooklength materials and lengths.
These combinations were cast to all parts of my baited area, even off the area close to the weedbed just short of my feed, but still the fish could not be tempted. Also, the hot weather had resulted in a massive hatch of water daphnia (the common water flea) which I realised tench it seemed were feeding on in earnest. And as you can see by the amount caught in the mesh of my landing net when I ran it through the water, the pit was alive with this plentiful, natural, safe, food source for the inhabiting fish. Back into the Zone I finally settled on a rig that I thought would satisfy the most fickle of tench and bream. I had kept faith in my original rigs, one method feeder, and one open ended feeder on a helicopter rig, but on both I had a size 18 barbless Super Specialist tied to 10 inches of 6lb Drennan rig line. On each was baited a single Enterprise artificial red maggot nipped through the tail, with a no.8 shot three inches from the hook. This would leave the bait wafting enticingly over the groundbait and freebies from the feeders. They were cast to the near side of my baited area as I was now fairly certain that the fish were sitting in the weedbed 10 meters in front of my baited area and when the mood took them they were swimming out, inspecting the feed and then returning to the sanctuary of the weedbed.
Satisfied that I had tried everything from my repertoire of tricks and conscious that I had to return home at teatime to get to bed for a 4am start for work the next morning I sat back and relaxed once more, this time entering ‘the zone’ through the delights of watching those true acrobats of the sky, the dragonfly. As those masters of aerial agility constantly engaged in their seemingly endless choreographed dogfights the line bites and rolling fish continued unabated, and I drifted through the delights of an English early summer day from my grandstand atop my Fox chair. Then, with new rigs in place for only 15 minutes I had single bleeps from both rods, both bobbins quivered and then both slowly rose almost in symmetrical unison to the rods and stayed there. I just sat there and looked in amazement at first and then made a frantic grab for the nearest rod; not a decent indication all day and then two ‘proper’ takes at once. Fishing is so unbelievable! Sweeping the rod back I met with solid resistance and felt a single kick as a fish tried to power off. The drag clicked half a dozen times as the rod arced over. And then nothing, The hook pulled, which had me frantically grabbing for my second rod whose bobbin was by now on the lake bed as a hooked fish had come towards me. I tightened up and struck into thin water. I then released myself from my usual calm sensible demeanour and let loose with every expletive known to the English speaking world. Frustration duly satisfied I recast the rods and started to ponder the merits of golf and gardening.
Only two minutes later the left hand rod exploded with a fizzing bite as the single rubber maggot was taken once again, and again I met with solid resistance. But it just hung there for a moment and kited slowly left – bream I thought as I easily gained line. Then two kicks of a tail later the clutch on my Shimano reel was being at its most vocal as the fish did an about-turn and went straight across the other rod, luckily over the line. Two minutes later and after a very lucky brush with the snags to the right of my swim the fish which I now thought was a carp of double figures appeared in the clear water two rod lengths out. To my surprise and delight I saw the splayed pectorals and body shape of a large and angry tench. At the fist time of asking she went into the waiting landing net and as I lifted her onto the unhooking mat I admired a recently spawned tench of 9lb 3oz. Even though she still bore the wounds of her recent spawning excursions she was nevertheless a worthy prize to satisfy what had been a most testing opening day. Part of me realised that if I had caught her a week earlier she would have been a good double but it would never have been a possibility on a water that retains a closed season. On reflection, to catch her carrying spawn would have tempered my enjoyment of the moment as I would have felt obliged to apologise, after inconveniencing a lady in such a condition.
In the next 45 minutes three good bream to just over 9lb followed, all to the same tactics. The end result being that as I pushed my tackle barrow back to the car, leaving fish still rolling all over my swim, I was covered in slime, sunburnt, dehydrated but smiling and reflecting on the lessons I had been taught. If I had not experimented at great length throughout the session, reacting to the actions and demands of the fish, and finally finding a combination of rig and bait that would induce a bite, then my opening day would have been the same as all too many anglers experience, enjoyable but a bit of an anticlimax. But as I sit here, weary eyed and thoughts drifting towards getting up for work tomorrow, I hope you’ll all metaphorically join me in raising a glass to the glorious 16th. Long may it continue in one form or another and keep the magic alive! |
