DOG DAYS AND SUMMER WAYS
Why a different mindset can make August a bountiful month to be on the bank
LATE summer, and the countryside seems to be asleep. Across the sun-baked land every creature has grown lethargic.
Birds no longer chatter, and even the butterflies appear sated by the buddleia blooms in the garden. The only creatures on the wing are flies which, as always, want to bite.
In this dreamy August idyll anglers can find it hard to get motivated, knowing every bite will be hard-won. I, though, have come to accept these
doldrums as a part of my fishing year and I certainly don’t wish the time away. I remind myself that in winter I’d give my right arm for a week when the elements aren’t hostile.
Despite appearances, life below the water’s surface goes on, so today, although I was late leaving for the lake, I was as keen as ever to spend the afternoon fishing.
Even the cows that normally chase me down the hill leading to the fishery couldn’t be bothered to in this heat. They simply stared at the sweating fool passing by. My destination was a small lake in the depths of a valley, shielded from the world by a copse. Carp swam here, and I was in splendid isolation with them.
Relishing the solitude, I took time to unwind – if the fish were in no hurry, why should I be? Hiding my tackle under a holly bush – an unnecessary precaution if truth be told – I
crept along the banks with my bucket of bait.
I may have been feeling laidback, but I was still determined as always to fish to the best of my ability. Today’s challenge would be the silt, and by pushing a stick into the margins I found that it was a good few inches deep.
Fortunately I’d learned what to do when another lake in the area presented a similar challenge. By knowing what happens when you feed various baits over a soft bottom I was able to fool a big leathery carp of 34lb whose big creamy yellow belly was as round as the sun!
Into each spot along the margins I introduced a pile of pellets the size of a dinner plate. If the fish chose to eat them they would do so by filter-feeding which, in deep, soft silt is the hardest terrain over which to score a bite.
My second offerings of boilies were spread around a little further out, because when carp have to move for each mouthful they can no longer filter-feed and become far easier to catch. I tackled up with a heavy fluorocarbon line and a helicopter rig. If the carp decided to filter-feed I’d present a bottom bait to rest in the silt to some degree. Only if the feeding was less intense would I fish a pop-up, probably the rig most anglers would choose to present over a soft bottom.
After I’d baited half-a-dozen swims in an identical manner it was time for an hour’s rest. Hopefully the carp, like me, would awaken from their siesta ready to enjoy a spot of afternoon tea!
When I returned to the swims I had fed, an amazing transformation had taken place. No longer were the fish’s backs breaking the surface as they
soaked up the warmth. Now they were upending, plumes of stirred-up silt were running down the margins and my Sticky Krill boilies were hidden by all the disturbance.
If anything, the feeding reaction was stronger than I
“Every time I thought I had it beaten the fish drew on fresh reserves”
wanted because individual baits weren’t being picked up – rather, the whole area was being hoovered up, precisely what I wanted to avoid.
A pop-up hookbait tends to be ignored when carp are feeding on and into the lakebed. Instead I selected a dense bottom bait that would sink into the mud. My size 5 hook and Tungsten Loaded hooklength were covered in sediment from the moment I gently lowered the rig into the muddied water.
Retreating into the shady copse, I made myself comfortable on the leaf litter of the woodland floor. A window of light allowed me to see carp come and go as they took turns to feed. With the rod lying across a bank of vegetation there was no need for a bite alarm. I’d hardly miss the tip buckling over just feet from my hiding place.
As each plume of bubbles hit the surface I tensed, expecting all hell to break loose, but for 20 minutes there was nothing but the odd tightening and slackening of the line. The carp were patrolling on a circuit, and when two of the better ones arrived I hoped the stalemate would shift in my favour. Seconds later it did, and a vortex from a powerful tail signalled a carp regretting its mistake.
The line scythed through the water and I was forced to yield many yards more to this canny carp. It knew exactly what it was doing, because the moment it had gained enough leeway it kited towards the margins and a row of overhanging trees.
There was nothing I could do but wind frantically and hope I could turn its head before it gained sanctuary.
Spinning the reel handle like a madman I managed to do this, but the carp wasn’t giving up easily, ploughing up and down the margins in search of a snag. I was forced to lean full stretch to avoid the tackle-grabbing branches, and suddenly my summer slumber had become an elemental test of my physical and mental prowess.
Every time I thought I had it beaten the fish drew on fresh reserves but eventually, with both of us sapped of energy, I bundled a beautiful common into the net.
As shards of light filtered through the woodland canopy, illuminating each scale like a golden sovereign, I felt privileged to be enjoying such magical surroundings.
Truly, August had revealed herself as a bountiful month to be out fishing.