So I’m sitting here with the lake to myself. Not only that, there’s no-one on the other lake either so I’ve the whole Fishery to myself! After all the attention it’s received lately that’s a pretty damn good result!
The landing net and ‘chesties’ stand poised at the ready but I’m not expecting a take until dark. Previous action from this swim has been around midnight and daytime fishing has been merely preparation for the night’s events.
I’ve brought much more bait with me this time and I spend the day spodding this over my spot, away over on the far side. This is a side of my angling that has improved enormously in recent years, mostly due to having the right gear and the right casting technique. Mark Hutchinson is my guru and his casting videos have helped me enormously.
There is ‘gardening’ to be done in the front of the swim. Spring growth of reed and bullrush are getting in the way of my lines going out from the swim and I have to get out in the water to cut down offending stems. By nightfall I am ready. As the sun dips down below the horizon the temperature plummets and it feels like a winter evening. My breath spirals in clouds in the still air and the cold bites on exposed skin. The only place to be is under the covers and I am grateful I’ve brought my 5 season sleeping bag which I pull right up to my face. I fall asleep to the sound of cuckoos and Spring birdsong…
At some time in the wee small hours I am awoken by one of the bite alarms. I’ve got a take!.. The customary panic ensues as I grope my way out of bed; glasses on, feet in slippers. Now which rod is it?
The dim blue light on the bite alarm head flashes in the light of the full moon and I lift into the fish which makes off up the lake to my right. I’m staggering around because I’m still half asleep and it takes me several moments to come to the realisation the netting procedure must be conducted out in the water to avoid the fish getting caught in the marginal reed and bullrushes. I stagger about trying to find the ‘chesties’ which I have conveniently positioned at the front of the swim but as ever, there is the problem of how to get them on and deal with a big fish at the same time! Should I put the rod down and get the chest waders on first before playing the fish or should I hold on to the rod to ensure I stay in contact? The fish is pulling hard and I’m having to give line! As the fish stops I decide to hold the rod with one hand and try to get my feet in them and as I do so I off-balance and fall into the bivvy with a heavy crunch! The bait bucket is crunched and several items of tackle are strewn across the floor of the bivvy! I’m on the ground trying to get my bearings, one foot inside the leg of the waders, but at least I have hold of the rod! I attempt to get to my feet, one hand on the ground trying to balance myself, but as I come to a vertical position and try and get the other leg in, I over balance and fall on top of the rods! There is a sickening crack as I thwack something and not only am I not vertical, rods and reels, bite alarms and rod rests are all over the place! Not only that, my top half is wet! I’ve gone in the water!
Still trying to fully wake up I am shocked into consciousness and abandon the rod to get the waders up around my chest; fortunately, the fish waits patiently for me to complete this task and I manage to avoid further carnage whilst wading out in the moonlight with the rod in one hand and the landing-net in the other.
The fish is down to the right but I can feel it has gone through weed which I hope is only light stuff. I manage to gain line and feel satisfying thumps up the line; the fish is still on! Game still on!
I begin to think about how big it is - it feels a big fish. To the experienced carp angler there is a different feel about the big ones - a solid thump, thump and steady unhurried plodding their smaller cousins don’t have. I feel the fish suddenly stop and everything goes solid. Don’t panic. There is weed out there but not solid beds of the stuff and if I keep a steady pressure on the fish, he’ll be out soon.
Suddenly the pressure eases and I gain line. Is the fish swimming towards me? No. It has slipped the hook. It’s gone…
Only fellow carp-anglers will know what the awful sense of loss there is when a fish is lost. This loss is made worse by the fact I know it was a Big One. I wade back to the bank and throw the rod down, strip off the waders and sulk in the bivvy.
It is freezing cold. I notice frost forming on the bivvy the underside of which is soaking with dew. Should have put the overwrap on.
The kettle is on and I make a warming cup of tea. It is a quarter past two and the light from a full moon lights up the bankside. Clouds of steam drift in off the lake; it is like a scene from ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ and I fully expect a blood-curdling wail from a dreadful monster! By contrast, a Fieldmouse has found its way into my house and is rummaging amongst my rubbish. He’s a bold little chap, even when I shine the bivvy light on him he sits there looking up at me as if to say “well where is the food to eat then?”
I awake to the sound of cuckoos in the golden dawn. Despite loss, Life is grand.
Comments
Post a Comment