The summer of 2007 was officially the wettest in England since records began in 1776, and these unprecedented monsoon conditions caused widespread havoc across the UK and put a severe dent in many a seasonal angling schedule. For me, tradition dictates that the menu from March 14th comprises a mixed diet of stillwater tench, bream, eels and carp followed by a return to the rivers in late June/ early July (depending on spawning times) for barbel, bream, chub and lure-caught predators.
In that fateful summer, however, my river plans were sunk beneath an impenetrable barrier of high water and stinking silt and all campaigns on the Leam, Avon and Severn were cancelled. As a result, I found myself at a bit of loss…
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| Bankside Eldorado |
Timeless
I was discussing the flood chaos with my fishing buddy Steve Lockett when a shared trip down memory lane re-kindled my interest in the possibilities offered by ‘high-summer’ lakes. We were chatting about our angling roots; the pools we used to frequent as kids and those very special days when the sunshine and the fishing seemed to last forever. By the time we got round to the subject of the majestic crucian, the heady atmosphere of nostalgia had already become too much to bear, and naturally a fishing trip was conceived.
One of my local club waters, a small reservoir near Stratford, has a reputation for quality crucians but until this season I had never found time to try for them. Well, time was all I had with the Midlands’ waterways still running like angry elephants so I persuaded Steve to share a morning session, and attempt to recreate the magic of our youth with a treasure hunt for summer gold. The only agreed restrictions on our fishing were that we had to use the baits and techniques that we would have employed as kids. Steve would therefore be wielding a float rod, waggler and white bread, and I would employ the quiver-tip and feeder with an irresistible mix of red and white maggots.
| Steve’s Kit: Past & Present | |
Being brought up in Leicestershire in the 1970’s, Ivan Marks was a huge influence on me and all my mates. I was desperate to own a Persuader rod but simply couldn’t afford one. By saving plenty of pop bottle deposits, I eventually had enough cash to buy a Shakespeare Alpha 13’ rod, the one with the translucent amber blank. It was teamed with a Match International closed face reel (poor man’s Abu 507) and loaded with 3lb Maxima. The line is probably the only constant in my fishing as I still use it for all my stillwater running line work. Hooks were National Champion, tied to either Racine Tango or Bayer in 1.7lb strain. I helped take a trip down memory lane by using my late fishing partner’s Normark Microlite. Vernon Johnson loved fishing for roach, so it’s somehow apt that I left the crucians to Rich and winkled out some lovely redfins with a well-dotted insert waggler and a few handfuls of hemp. |
Rivalry
I should get this straight from the start; our crucian trip was never meant to be a contest but somehow in my memory-addled mind it was already becoming one as we discussed the details over several large glasses of 80s-style orange squash (flashbacks to trippy old cinema ads, hyperactivity and dyed-lips guaranteed!). When I was a nipper every fishing trip with friends was a competition; we took our angling very seriously long before we had saved enough pocket money for rods and reels. In those beautiful, dim and distant halcyon days we went to the bank armed with 7ft garden canes, with Woolworth’s own-brand ‘hooks to nylon’ whipped on the end. A 10oz hump-backed stripy was considered a ‘specimen’ and was always more than enough to ‘win’ the day.
As we sat and chatted, Steve was getting excited about enjoying a relaxing morning out (far removed from the usual pressure of his hectic match-fishing schedule), whilst I was asking extremely cunning and probing questions about his tactics for the day! By the time we said goodbye, I had built up my childhood angling ego to a tartrazine-addled crescendo and our forthcoming friendly and nostalgic crucian session into a re-run of the infamous ‘match’ versus ‘specimen’ (Walker/ Sails) contests of the early 1950s. Now, if I could only snatch a specimen in the final round…
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Maggots, worms, and Ginger Beer |
Reality and Dreams
Fortunately by the time we met up on the bank my temporary descent into pointless, childish rivalry was just about under control, and I made a solemn vow never to drink in so many fishing memories and so many mind-altering E-numbers in one hit ever again…
We pulled up in the car and surveyed the reservoir. The peaceful scene before us couldn’t have presented more of a contrast to the hurricane conditions that had constantly battered the UK for nearly three months. The intimate water looked absolutely perfect and improbably still, except for the odd dimpling roach and surfacing carp. The sun was actually ‘out’ and without the chilling northerly wind that we’d all grown so accustomed to, the air felt luxuriantly warm. It was summer again! We couldn’t believe our luck and immediately shed our cumbersome waterproofs and shoved the brollies back in the boot.
Everything was right with the world; it was balmy, hazy, lazy and very definitely a morning straight out of our shared childhood memories. We grinned like Cheshire cats as we raced to unpack the tackle.
As our gear spilled out on to the kerbside grass in a flurry of youthful exuberance, it became apparent that neither ‘contestant’ was playing the game with a straight bat. Our agreed bait rules for the session were clearly ‘under review’ as Steve confronted me with my super-secret stash of dendrobaenas and I uncovered a sizable quantity of pre-cooked hemp cunningly concealed beneath his trusty Mother’s Pride. With angling integrity called into question it was only a matter of time before we both agreed that such slight irregularities were well within the youthful spirit of the morning, and that ‘neither of us had seen nothing, right!’
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| Dead calm! |
We settled on adjacent swims in a quiet corner of the pool, primarily because this was a social occasion, but also because these pegs shared equal access to two very ‘cruciany-looking’ areas. A large bush protruded out over the water between us and in front lay the fringe of an expansive and luxuriant weed-bed. Both lines looked perfect for prospecting. ‘There’s gold in them there features my lad!’
The Baiting Game
The bankside foliage looked like a crucian El Dorado to me and seemed the obvious place to start the quest. On many of the waters I have fished, crucians can be found very close in warm weather and the most successful line is often as tight to a feature as you dare. I cast out a few times, feeling the empty feeder to the bottom until I established where the slope ended and the ledge began. Steve had obviously had a similar idea and his waggler appeared momentarily around the point of the bush before it disappeared again as he dragged it back to nestle in the leafy shade.
With a gentle pendulum cast I was able to swing my hookbait into a small ‘bay’ in the vegetation (18 inches across) and with a Drennan feederbomb stuffed with mixed maggots, a good bed of bait was down in a very short time. I like to feed quite heavily with maggots in late July/ August as fish can become quite frenzied on natural baits even in clear sunny conditions. For the first half hour or so I recast every five minutes and before long the bites were coming thick and fast, but it was silver rather than gold that was first to the feast.
| Dicky’s Kit: Past & Present | |
My first real rod, after years of stealing my Dad’s garden canes, was a 12-foot, 3-piece Sundridge float/ leger rod coupled with a rickety old Delmatic Mk 2 reel by J. W. Young & Sons of Redditch. I used to use 4lb Maxima mainline straight through with Drennan maggot feeders or Dinsmore bombs held on with a leger stop and clumsy-looking but functional Drennan screw-in quiver-tips for bite indication. John Wilson was my childhood hero so for our crucian session it seemed appropriate to use his Signature 1.25lb tc Avon/ quiver with the lightest tip. My Delmatic has long ceased to function (although I can’t bring myself to throw it out) so it was replaced with a Shimano Stradic 4000 GTM-RA. Although I’m still a big fan of Maxima, my mainline on the day was 5lb Drennan Super Specialist and rather than fishing straight through, I used G-Point 0.16mm wide-gape maggot hook-lengths from Gamakatsu. |
Once the roach had moved in to my swim, the rod top didn’t stop quivering and in many cases a fish was on before I’d had time to tighten down to the feeder. The first few redfins were all small individuals up to 6oz but then an almighty whack on the tip signalled a better quality bite and I was surprised to hear the clutch give a little as the fish powered away from the margins towards the weed bed. It’s amazing the difference a few ounces can make to the fighting qualities of roach, and after a short but tense struggle I finally drew the 14oz ‘specimen’ to the net. After all the excitement and commotion I decided to top up with bait (chopped worm and maggots) and rest the swim for a while. I took the opportunity to wander next door and see how Steve was getting on.
Black Magic
I was surprised to find that Steve had already abandoned the marginal cover, until I saw the amount of roach that were topping in front of him along the edge of the weed bed. He had started the morning very successfully with bread punch close in, but had been understandably distracted by the frantic fishy activity on his alternate line. By the time I arrived, Steve had the fish totally entranced by his accurate barrage of hemp, swirling eagerly just below the surface in hungry pursuit of the tiny black seeds.
He was clearly really enjoying himself and each time he fired out his waggler it returned with a greedy little roach in tow. I left Steve under the spell of the shallow-feeding redfins and returned to my swim determined to find gold. I recast carefully swinging my double maggot hook-bait in precipitously close to the overhanging branches. Steadily I built the bait bed up and concentrated on accuracy; a ‘good’ cast meant that the feeder brushed a few leaves on the way in.
Hidden Treasure
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| Steve with his hemp-caught redfins |
I was soon back amongst the quality roach and landed half a dozen before everything went abruptly quiet. For five minutes or more the quiver-tip refused to budge and I held my breath (not literally; I would have passed out!). The tension was finally broken by an almost imperceptible dink and I swept the rod round. There was no mistaking the scrappy little powerhouse that I was finally attached to and I shouted excitedly ‘Gold!’
Steve arrived just in time as the plucky little fish’s dogged resistance finally waned and he rose from the depths, glistening brightly in the welcome summer sunshine. After a few quick photos I got my hook quickly back down to the action. In the last half hour of the session four more pea-in-a-pod beauties graced the net before once again the tumbleweed blew into my swim and everything fell still. The shoal had clearly moved on.
With midday fast approaching it seemed like a good time to pack up and find a suitable hostelry for a celebratory slap-up lunch. Our trip down memory lane had been everything we wished it could have been and I don’t think either of us had had so much fun with our angling in a long while. We left the fishery in high spirits, chatting and laughing like excited school kids,
‘Will there be lashings of ginger beer at the pub, Steve?’ I asked.
‘Of course there will’ he chuckled, ‘of course there will…’
Dicky Fisk
