“I’VE ALWAYS GOT TIME FOR PIKE”
The coming of spring doesn’t mean I’m quite done with predators yet...
FOR THE all-round angler the onward march of the fishing season goes hand-in-hand with fresh species to target.
It seems only weeks ago that the first copper leaves of autumn were tumbling to the ground and my thoughts were turning to pike.
Now the snowdrops had been and gone, replaced by alluring whiffs of wild garlic as I wandered the bank. My pike tackle was close to going into storage until later in the
year, but before the dust finally settled on it I was tempted to flex the rods one final time.
On many venues pike are already spawning, but we can’t judge what’s happening on the basis of the south of England alone. Head north and spawning can easily be a month or even two later, and here the chance of catching a good fish rolls on well into spring.
The size and depth of the venue also determines when spawning takes place, because a big windswept pit takes some warming compared to a small sheltered pond. So even now in the south it’s worth a cast, because if you find the right venue the jacks will be gathering around the big hen fish, waiting for the moment when they can spread their genes. Find them grouped up like this and there’s an opportunity for action.
On any stillwater the shallows are appealing as the daylight hours increase and warm the
water, so on my final piking trip I ignored the deeps and focused instead on the marginal slope. Here was where I hoped the predators would be patrolling.
The day began in typical fashion for this time of the year, cold and breezy with a mixture of sunshine and showers – tricky fishing conditions, and equally difficult to know what to wear when one minute you’re back to winter and the next you’re sweltering in thermals.
Layering clothes is the key, and I was careful not to wear too many as I carried the tackle to the swim. I’d chosen a sheltered spot amid bushes still bare of leaves. If you looked carefully, though, buds were popping and that, accompanied by a soundtrack of honking geese, signalled that warmer times were coming. Soon it would be worth fishing for tench, but for now I wanted the drop arm indicator to wobble and then part from the braid one last time as a pike took the bait.
My tackle had remained unchanged all season to the point of being boring, but I’ve yet to learn that anything other than a basic approach is best. Watercraft, not fads and fancies, is the way to catch.
My stout Drennan Esox Piker rods were teamed as usual with 60lb braid and a 1.5m length of E-S-P leadcore. A weight ran free on this, and attached to the snap link was a trace made up of 28lb green wire and size 6 Esox trebles. I like to make my own traces using a twiddling stick, but for anyone who struggles or is too busy to do this, Esox bait traces can be a godsend.
My bait was all I had left in the freezer – smelts and mackerel. I took care to nick the treble only lightly into the tough skin of the mackerel for fear of an impeded strike and a run being missed.
Both baits were rigged in the same fashion, one treble through the root of the tail and the other in the middle of the flank. Then all three were sent down the marginal slope with a gentle underarm lob.
I feathered each cast so I knew the deadbaits were sitting in approximately 8ft of water with a clear lakebed. Then I placed the rods on their rests, switched on the alarms and attached the drop arm indicators.
It was time to let the scent do the work while I put the kettle on, and with the wind and tow pushing from right to left I was certain any pike within 100 yards of me would soon know I was offering it an easy meal!
“Watercraft, not fads and fancies, is the way to catch predators”
With precious sunshine reflected on the surface and fresh air in my lungs, life felt good after months of feeling cold. I was in no rush and, for once, there were no emails or social media questions to answer. I was also determined not to use my phone, avoiding the habit of trying to multitask and film as well as photographing everything!
Today, only still pictures would tell the story, giving me a chance to relax and enjoy the last day of my pike season. Of course, I was still trying my utmost to get a run. Me being me, I can never fish without a high degree of effort and concentration.
Twenty minutes after casting out, I watched the indicator tug gently forward, out of sync with the waves. As subtle as this movement was, I knew a pike had engulfed the smelt so I walked down to the rod and felt the braid between my thumb and finger. Another tug and it was time to strike and reel in an angry jack with bite marks on its flanks, belly and back.
It’s easy to believe every such wound is down to otters, but today I felt certain a big female pike had snapped after receiving some unwanted attention. That meant there was a pike I wanted to catch close by, but first I might have to wade through several of her suitors.
Five more jacks came to the net, each one displaying at least one puncture wound and none weighing more than 10lb.
Early afternoon, and once again the drop arm clunked against the backrest and the alarm sang. Enough braid had been taken by now and my immediate strike pulled the trebles into a toothy jaw.
There was no violent headshake, only a dead weight as the pike leaned back against the pressure from the rod. Then came the fireworks, and I was in no doubt that I’d finally hooked a good female.
The fight of a pike is a swashbuckling affair, never protracted but always frantic, and twice the drag went into overdrive before my prize was safely in the landing net.
She was a pike in her prime, with plump flanks and a big angry-looking head – a fitting fish to say farewell for another six months to a species that’s one of winter’s finest offerings.