WIN! Copies of Tommy Pickering’s new book
The title of Tommy Pickering’s autobiography Born To Win says it all, and in this exclusive extract he remembers his first-ever match victory as a teenager...
TOMMY Pickering has won everything there is in fishing over the past five decades, from World Champs golds to huge UK events, taking record-breaking catches along the way. He’s also managed two different England teams to golden victories.
This week, as he launches his no-holds-barred autobiography, we reveal an exclusive extract where he takes us back to where it all started...
Three ways to win
In 1969, I was 14 and had started fishing a few matches. I did not do a lot on these contests, apart from on one match when I finished third, catching two perch.
What I was doing, though, was learning my trade, and there were three methods required to catch the fish.
Plan A was to feed slop – crushed white breadcrumb groundbait mixed to a runny, porridge-like consistency with the odd maggot in it – to try to catch bleak for the first hour at about two feet deep. Usually you might catch 10 to 15 of them before they did a disappearing act on you.
This is when Plan B came into action. I would plumb the depth, switch to fishing on the bottom and feed a few more maggots to catch the odd gudgeon.
If I was lucky, I might also catch a perch. These predators were regarded as a real bonus, but you always needed one if you were going to win.
After a while the perch vanished from the swim, too, so it was on to Plan C which was to fish a drilled bullet on an eight-foot spinning rod with a little piece of worm on the hook to try to catch a tommy ruffe. So even at such a young age, encouraged by the wise words of the great Mr Benny Ashurst, I was developing a tactical match fishing brain.
Then we came to the last match of the angling calendar. Organised by the Royal British Legion Angling Club and fished at Aldwark on the Yorks Ouse, it was their biggest match of the year and was known as ‘The Annual’.
It was a complete sell-out with a full coach, and initially I wasn’t able to get a space on it.
But the day before the competition, there was some good news. Someone had dropped out, so I was drafted in. I was told I could go in the pools but could not fish for the trophy or prizes. I said: “Okay, that’s fine by me.”
So, on the day of the big match I was up at 5.30am to do my paper round and I had to run round my route, puffing and panting, to deliver my sackful of papers that morning. Once home it was a case of pick up my gear and leg it to make the bus just in time, as it was leaving at 7am prompt. I arrived feeling slightly knackered but just so chuffed to be on the match, with my seatbox, tackle and sandwiches ready for action.
Off we went and I can remember for a very simple reason that the pools were the princely sum of 10p. The rules of engagement were simple – ‘winner takes all’.
I drew my peg and cannot remember the exact number, but I do know I was in the middle of the match length.
I started as usual by fishing for bleak and there were no bites to be had. There were none there. I switched to fishing on the bottom for gudgeon and again, no bites were forthcoming.
Just when I was thinking I was on for a grueller the float flew under and I caught an eight-ounce perch. Yes!
“I was given the £5 pools pot… all in 10p pieces”
But again, the bites dried up. I had just the one fish in the net, so I picked up my tommy ruffe rod and I got one straight away, then another, and by the end I had winkled out 25.
Believe it or not, it was absolutely vital to know when to strike for the ruffe, because there were no fine quivertips then. You were just legering using the normal rod tip on your spinning rod which, as you can imagine, was thick and didn’t bend much from bites off fish weighing less than an ounce!
At the all-out I had the one perch and 25 ruffe. The scales arrived and I weighed 1lb 13oz. The official in charge of weighing in remarked: “Well done young ’un, you are winning the match at the moment.”
“Really?” I said, finding it hard to believe my meagre haul was the best so far. I feverishly followed the scales all the way down the match length, and I was still winning all the way down to peg one. There the angler weighed 1lb 4oz. Yes!!! I had a nine-ounce winning margin. I had won!
It felt incredible, and when we got back to the coach to load on our tackle and take our seats for the journey home, all the anglers were patting me on the back and saying, “Well done, young ‘un!” Talk about chuffed!
On the bus the match secretary stood up and read out the results, saying: “In first place, young Tom Pickering” – and I was given the £5 pools pot… all in 10p pieces.
Now that was a lot of money in those days. Two years later I started at the pit and my first wage was £6, so that tells you how much it was back then.
I will never forget running home to tell my mum I had won and tipped all these 10p pieces into her hands. The look on her face was just priceless.
When I look back to the boy of 14 and 15, it is obvious I had a good tactical angling brain and could work things out quite quickly. I learnt that fish feed at certain times in matches and it was critical to get your timings right to catch them.
Those formative club fishing days were crucial to my development. You know, when you think about it, angling truly is the only sport where a guy from a small angling club can end up fishing on the next peg to a world champion in a big contest. That doesn’t happen in any other sport, does it?
And that’s what is so magical about match fishing because the guy from the small club who nobody has heard of can have his day in the sun, beating the England international, and end up with a story to dine out on for the rest of his life.