FIRST FROSTS AND IT’S PIKE TIME!
As soon as the mercury drops, it’s a signal to break out my predator kit
UNTIL the first frosts have bitten at the trees, spreading a carpet of leaves over the woodland floor, pike are of very little interest to me.
But the moment there’s a chill in the air this apex predator grabs my attention and doesn’t let go until March. So when the night temperature was predicted to drop to -1ºC it wasn’t at all surprising that I was all ready to try for a big croc the following day.
Leaving my bed while my old Wiltshire home is still cloaked in darkness is no chore in the warmer months but, come winter, staying under the duvet has huge appeal.
To swing my feet on to the floor I had to remind myself what a pike bite felt like… the click of the indicator losing its grip on the braid and the clunk as it hits the backrest, then the anticipation as coils of braid tumble off the spool, straightening as they’re drawn through the bite alarm. I didn’t need to go beyond this point as I’d already kicked off the covers – time to head to the lake!
I’m a mobile angler by nature, and this is especially true when I fish for pike. So I certainly wasn’t overburdened with tackle as I emptied the van after an impatient drive that saw me hit every traffic light on red!
A Nash Trax power barrow was my travelling platform –
although it’s expensive I can only sing its praises, as it helps me get to every swim I want to with the minimum of effort. It’s a godsend when the mind is willing but the body isn’t!
I did momentarily consider fishing the car park swim but now, with the barrow loaded, I felt that I should first head to the point furthest away from the van and work my way back from there.
With daybreak imminent I wasted no further time and allowed the power barrow to pull me up the lake. Ten minutes later I stopped with a sea of acorns and oak leaves around my feet and an estate lake coming into view. Here was a perfect place to begin, so I put together three rods. Reels were loaded with 60lb Esox braid ending in 1.5m leadcore leaders. I then relieved a full rig bin of three of its traces. These were made up of size 4 Esox trebles and 28lb Drennan green wire. I felt certain there was no weak link in these set-ups, which was just as well because anything else would spell disaster.
To begin with I intended to leger, but should I find a weedy bottom I had the tackle with me to rig up float paternoster gear.
I baited up with a smelt on one rod and a mackerel on the other two, using appropriately heavy leads. Cut the head off a mackerel and it’ll cast a long way, but not if the weight used is heavier than the fish because the two work against each other, creating a propeller effect. Conversely, a smelt needs a heavier weight to punch it out.
Well practised over the years, I was fishing five minutes later and could enjoy what might turn out to be the best part of the day. With all the travel and preparation over I finally knew it had been worth leaving my bed early. The instant warmth of the sun on my face soothed and relaxed me.
A couple of pheasants bolted into the bushes as a deer on the far bank scouted out the margins, a truly wonderful
“All I needed was a bite to force me to get up”
scene. All I needed now was a bite to force me to get up but, alas, all remained quiet as I drank in the delights of the countryside.
Thirty minutes later I needed to move and end the impasse, so I headed 75 yards to my left. I kept with the same bait and terminal tackle because I knew full well it was only my choice of swim that had failed me.
Alas, three hours and six more moves later I was still fishless and back in the car park, very grateful for the power barrow.
I had covered a lot of water and was now considering heading up the opposite side of the lake. But no, I felt I now deserved to fish next to the van, so I put the kettle on and once again cast out my three rods.
The last deadbait landed under a tree along the margin I had just walked down. Here the water was deep and clear of debris, indicating a steep shelf and a perfect lair for a pike.
My suspicions were confirmed as beneath the surface soulless black eyes saw the mackerel touch bottom. The pike made straight for its free meal, manoeuvring its long polkadotted flanks into position before a head the size of a dog’s engulfed the deadbait and the trace pulled tight into the corner of its mouth.
Typically, all this happened the moment I turned my back to make a drink. The bite alarm, though, told me I needed to forget my own refreshment and deal with something that was already eating lunch!
Wonderful loose coils of braid fell from the spool and then tightened as I struck, sinking the trebles into the pike’s jaw. My quarry wasn’t happy with this turn of events and charged away so fast my drag went into overdrive.
Once a safe distance away it sulked, and as I cranked its weight off the bottom I knew it was a big fish. A battle with a pike is a swashbuckling but never a protracted business, but this one still managed to thrash twice across the surface in a bid to free itself. Both times I winced, because I could see my prize was held by a single treble – this was why I took a chance when landing it.
A flying treble in the mesh is a nightmare, so I laid the net next to me in the margins and drew the pike alongside it. Forceps in my mouth, leadcore in my right hand, my left hand went under the fish’s chin and I held on as I dropped the leadcore and worked quickly to take the hooks out. Only when I went to lift it into the net did I realise I was taking a risk with a 20-pounder but no matter, the job was done.
An early alarm call, a cold day and lots of walking wasn’t much of a price to pay for such a fish!
Thankfully, the weather had told me to go pike fishing and I had listened.