| MARK WINTLE |
| Mark Wintle, an angler for 36 years, is on a quest to discover and bring to you the magic of fishing. Previously heavily involved with match fishing he now fishes for the sheer fun of it. With an open and enquiring mind, each week Mark will bring to you articles on fishing different rivers, different methods and what makes rivers, and occasionally stillwaters, tick. Add to this a mixed bag of articles on catching big fish; tackle design, angling politics and a few surprises. Are you stuck in a rut fishing the same swim every week? Do you dare to try something different and see a whole new world of angling open up? Yes? Then read Mark Wintle’s regular column. |
Wintle’s World of Angling – Memorable Matches Part 5 – All England GloryTHERE ARE MORE than a few on this site that have fished many more Nationals than I have. The disadvantage of living in Dorset is that with few exceptions National Championships have usually been staged far from home, and the slog of long journeys for little reward often put me off. So my tally of Nationals is just six, and I’ve watched six more. But they’ve certainly been memorable. My dream of All England glory dates right back to 1973 when I was sixteen. By then I was starting to win senior matches, had met some very good anglers holidaying in Dorset and had some idea of the qualities needed to be of All England standard. At that time the Nationals had only recently gone to two divisions (later as many as six), but I reckoned that given steady progress I ought to be of a standard to be fishing Nationals within ten years, and to be there on merit. There was a snag; no Dorset clubs were even in the Nationals. The only local clubs that were in were Christchurch (then in Hampshire) and Ringwood, neither of which were exactly top class clubs in National terms. Add in the fact that I wasn’t even a member of either and the dream looked unrealistic. But ten years is a long time and I knew much could happen. On the bank with Barclays It happened sooner than I thought. Having started work in 1974 for Barclays Bank I found out a couple of years later about the angling association courtesy of Neil Maidment. Success in the association’s annual match that year (1976) on the Trent (Poole won it first attempt) led to an invitation to join the National squad. Barclays Bank AA was one of the first works sports clubs to fish the Nationals. It was sponsored and drew on anglers (all working for Barclays) from all over England though heavily dependent on Yorkshire anglers due to the venue being the Trent for the 1977 Division Three National. The problem Neil and I had was that the distance involved precluded much practice, and all I could do was learn from scratch how to fish the waggler using Kevin Ashurst’s match fishing book. Two weeks before the event I watched the Gladding Masters at North Muskham when I travelled up with my mate Phil. Considering the awesome array of match fishing talent fishing that day it seemed incredibly tough fishing, many top names struggling for ounces. To add to my woes I had two other handicaps; firstly and most serious, I was becoming short sighted, and was as yet too vain to wear glasses; hence spotting bites was getting difficult in poor light. Secondly, I suffered recurrent throat infections which meant that the day before the match I completely lost my voice when walking the banks figuring out the pegging. On the day of the match I drew half way down Shelford Shallows, an end peg before a three field break. To get there was a ninety peg walk. When I got to where my peg should have been there was nothing. I had to whisper to the steward which was comical. Fortunately he found my missing peg then asked me where I’d like to fish which gave me a longish peg above and no-one below. Red-hot favourites Hyde were on the next peg, and despite struggling to see my float, I had a hundred gudgeon close in plus a couple of decent roach and a chub on the waggler to beat the angler above by an ounce, both of us having five pounds odd. That was worth 7th in the section out of 90 – a good start but I had a shock when I found out that we had three blanks. Neither Neil nor I ever figured out what happened but it meant dreams of instant promotion were shattered as we finished half way down the field. Guided by a Likely Lad The next couple of years we had Leicester Likely Lad Howard Humphrey to guide us first on the Witham (nowhere with 1-4) then the Welland (3rd in section with 1-10). But though I personally learnt a great deal he confided that he thought it was like trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. There were simply too many poor anglers in the team. After that I gave it a miss for three years but little had changed, only that the team dropped a division to four due to missing regional meetings. We had Witham legend Ernie Wilde in 1983 but we struggled again. I was finding hard to get motivated to travel hundreds of miles to scratch for a pound. In all of these matches the team continued to finish half way down. Then a miracle happened! Then in the mid eighties a miracle happened. A new team manager took over – Kevin Taylor. At first in 1985 results were only slightly better than before but the following year the team only just missed promotion. Looking to substantially strengthen the team I was invited to rejoin the team with a travelling mate of mine, Wayne Nippard. Other better anglers were persuaded to fish and those anglers that had previously struggled were dropped. The 1987 Division Four match was on the Nene. This time the funding was there for a week’s practice and at last I felt that we were really getting to know the water we were fishing. Practice results were good, though in opens I couldn’t get away from an area of pegs around 473/475 on the natural river above Peterborough. At last we were well prepared with a good team, and only had one weak link. The morning of the match I awoke from a nightmare of being on peg 472 and being unable to catch. When captain Kevin drew peg one I knew 472 was in the envelope as G1 and that’s what I had. Going to the section on the coach the Yorkshire angler next to me asked me what the section was like; I simply told him that my peg was a concrete plinth with 9′ 6″ of depth with a Norfolk reed bed opposite. Gobsmacked, he replied that his team’s preparation was not quite that thorough, as they’d yet to see the river! Once I’d steadied my nerves with a couple of bleak I settled down to fish the waggler to the best of my ability despite the force 8 downstreamer. Fate was on my side, and when Kevin (he wasn’t fishing) turned up in the last hour to see how I was getting on I was on the sort of form that all match anglers dream of. Stroking a light waggler rig into foot wide gaps in the far bank reed bed to extract chublets with total confidence despite the gale, it was one of those days when fortune favours the brave for I didn’t hook the reeds once. I weighed in 3-10, a very good weight on a tough section won by Dave Harrell with about a pound more. The coach back to HQ was a long time coming due to the two trips per section, and I only just got back as the results were announced. 17 teams were promoted and they were announced from 17th upwards. Kevin had calculated that we’d got 550 points, possibly good enough. But when they got to 6th and the team next to us on peg 2 with over 600 points, and still no mention we started to get worried. We ended up 4th. I ended up 3rd in the section. At last, Division 1 The following year the team were 3rd on the Leeds Liverpool canal, and then 2nd in Division 2 on the Huntspill. Pressures of work through that period meant that I could not afford the time for those two matches though I did turn up to offer moral support for the Huntspill match. That meant Division 1 at last. The venue was the Witham, the year 1990. It was the era of eels on the pole, some bream, and roach on bloodworm on the hard sections. By then we had more sponsorship, and a week’s practice paid for. From the fishless desert of a decade before, the Witham almost teemed with fish. Eels a plenty, as expected, and also roach, skimmers, even dace one day, it was truly challenging and interesting fishing. But the gods had a surprise in store for England’s finest. 1990 was a hot summer. The potato growers needed more water for irrigation and the river was low. So they started pumping water from the Trent via the Fossdyke into the Witham. Just ten days before the National the Witham had both colour and flow. The Daiwa Masters match was the week before the National; 600 pegs, dreams of a trip to Denmark, and a test of what the river might yield in the big one. Before then most teams were working on the idea of a kilo from the good sections and half that on the tough ones as being easily enough for good points. The Daiwa Masters quashed that idea. 63lbs won, another nine weights over 30lbs, 450 pegs in a row with no section winning weights below 10lbs (25 peg sections). It was bonanza time. I had 4lbs on the Pound Length to come nowhere in the section. A week later we were back. Our plan was eels on the long pole with bream as back-up. At dawn on the big day we cruised slowly up the river-side road from Tattersall to Kirkstead on our way to the draw. The river was absolutely alive with fish topping; roach swirled, bream porpoised. England’s top 1000 match anglers had a feast to look forward to. I can’t remember exactly where I drew – somewhere below Kirkstead, a tough but fair section. I started fishing for eels on the long pole, having put some groundbait in right across. Two pegs away an angler started on bloodworm on a 3 metre whip; first cast he had a 3lb bream. There were already signs it could be some match – yet we were in one of the moderate sections. Before too long bream were being caught on the tip. I’d had some eels in the first hour so went over on the tip. I got one bream of about three pounds but couldn’t get another. Around me no one else was feeding the eel line so I came back in on it and started to put a net together of eels. With plenty of action it was finally my dream of fishing the top division with a gallery. From behind me they could see bream being caught and in between watch my progress on the pole. For the angler on the next peg it was turning into a nightmare. With four hours gone he had just one tiny perch, and resorted to filling in the far bank with groundbait. Then in the last half hour he got three bream for nearly nine pounds, a mightily relieved angler. My solitary bream and net of eels was fractionally short of ten pounds and worth ninth in the section. And then it all came to an end For the team the following year saw their best ever result (27th) on the Trent and Mersey Canal, though I dropped out from the squad after failing to get to grips with the venue (and sharing a room with the world’s worst snorer in the team’s digs during the practice week). After that the only way was down, and as the team weakened the decline was rapid with the team ending up in Division Three again before quitting. Was it all worth it? Of course; for me a youthful ambition fulfilled, for the team the dream came true even if it took thirteen years, and I’m sure none of us would have missed it for the world. The National scene today is far removed from those heady days; perhaps the 1990 National was the last of the truly great All Englands? Next time – Winter League Woes  When you purchase through links on our site, we may earn an affiliate commission, which supports our community.
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