Improve Your Coarse Fishing (UK)
Bob Roberts’ diary
My monthly fishingdiary...
T WOULD be so easy to sum up this past month in three words – frustration, frustration, frustration. The weather went from being chilly to scorching hot and then to miserable, wet and cold. But for once, possibly the first time this decade, we had a bit of heat at just the right time and it may have been the spawning year a lot of thinking anglers have been praying for. These things come in cycles, so make a note of my prediction (cormorants, goosanders and otters permitting) and we’ll be enjoying a bumper season maybe seven years down the line. Anyway, enough of Mystic Bob...
IWeek one...
The plan was to visit a few areas of the Trent along with Brian Skoyles and Alfie Naylor to do a recce. We met Alfie on the Daiwa stand at the Northern Angling Show when our conversation turned, not as you might expect to chub and barbel, but to Trent carp. Living a hundred miles away, Brian confessed he’d never caught one but really would like to, so we decided to team up and put that right. It sounded like a plan and I have no idea whether we will succeed or not, but when you get to the end you’ll see, either way. No pressure then. James the editor is kindly extending my deadline right to the eleventh hour praying we triumph! It was interesting to visit a few stretches I haven’t fished in more than three decades. Boy, did it bring back memories. The idea was to find three swims that were close enough together but still give everyone a realistic chance of catching a carp, a gamble that meant predicting where the fish would be, post spawn (or not). Then we had to agree a baiting plan, the element that could make or break us. Too much bait might attract hordes of bream, as would the wrong kind of bait, but too little would simply be a waste of time. Too short a duration and they might not find our offerings, too long and the prospect of bream taking over would increase. It’s tricky and quite a discussion ensued. We optimised it at 10 days, feeding several kilos of particles, hemp, tiger nuts and boilies each time. Quite a commitment when the stretch is day-fishing only, you can’t be sure the plan is working and you could easily be swim-jumped. Mercifully the club allowed us to reserve three swims. If there’s a blank space where normally you’d read Week Four then you’ll know we got it hopelessly wrong! Anyway, while we were in the area it would be rude not to wet a line so Brian and I spent a few hours on a local pit. I hoped to catch bream but instead I had a really nice wild common that fought like stink on lightish gear. I do hope this wasn’t an omen where I always catch the wrong species because that won’t bode well for the river carp campaign.
Week two...
Shivering one week, sweating the next. Welcome to a typical British spring. With early morning mist giving way to blue skies, scattered cumulus clouds and a gentle south-westerly, I didn’t need telling twice that today was a day to catch carp on the surface. Bring it on. Having been humiliated by a duck at Alderfen last month it was time for the rematch. Today I would let it eat all the bait it wanted, even if the stupid thing sank. Yes, I would get past it. I would feed it until it could eat no more and then I’d have my wicked way with the carp. Or at least that was the plan. As I crept towards the lake an ominous sound of splashing greeted me. No, they couldn’t be! Oh yes they could. Carp were everywhere, chasing after each other with purpose before crashing into the reeds and irises, writhing and cavorting, males and females alike swiping their tails into a frenzy as the last eggs and milt were extruded from their vents. Interesting as it was to watch, there was no way I was prepared to disturb them with a rod and line. I left them be and moved on to Tyram Hall Fisheries where it turns out no-one had caught a carp from the syndicate lake in days. I spent a long time looking but it was clear in my mind that it was only a matter of time before these fish also started spawning so I let them be as well. I was about to head home when I spotted a few fish moving in a corner of the Match Lake. After flicking out a few mixers these guys clearly wanted to play so I grabbed a rod and proceeded to have a lot of fun. It made me realise that we’re often a bit snobby about commercial fisheries. They are full of carp often running to mid-doubles or bigger. I would have been a fool to turn my nose up at fish like this. Scale down and there’s some serious pleasure to be had.
Week three...
I had been unable to get access to my favourite tench lake last season. It’s looked after by a small syndicate of carp anglers but, as the fish grow bigger, more people come sniffing round and the rules tighten up. Everything’s a bit more precious since it’s produced several 40. I respect that. Anyway, I had a Willy Wonka golden ticket at my disposal. Bring on the tincas. This lake is full of tench. There are hundreds of them, yet in 24 hours I never saw a fizz of bubbles, a swimmer’s roll or a slap of the tail. It was completely dead. The carp were AWOL, too. Overnight my host fished with his customary four carp rods. I chucked out two yet neither of us had so much as a single bleep. Weird. In 24 hours I didn’t manage a single bite on maggots. In past trips I’ve had feeders chased by jack pike so I’d taken along some of Daiwa’s new rubber frogs to try. They float on the surface and ‘pop’ as you retrieve them. At least something provoked a bite! First cast I was in. Only a spindly lean thing but I was over the moon. You really should have a go with them. The takes are all on the surface, often at your feet and they are explosive. To watch a pike hit your surface lure in a flurry of spray is about as exciting as it gets. Though my Cinderella bivvy was due to turn back to a pumpkin around teatime, by noon I was defeated. Packing up seemed the logical thing to do until I saw a back slowly ride up in the water as a big carp decided it was time to crack open the sun lotion. Here was a game changer. Previous attempts at feeding floaters had resulted in hordes of seagulls descending on me. So, I mounted a large, meaty, moist dog biscuit. This would be the only meal available in town. I cast about 10 metres beyond its path and edged the rig back five. Nothing happened for what seemed ages and then suddenly she just turned round, swam straight up to my bait a wolfed it down. Two things happened. First the rod yanked forward and the drag began to stutter. Second the fish was now pointing away from me and I saw for the first time the width of its back. It was a monster. For a while it just plodded up and down in front of me, completely under my control. I could see its depth, each fin and every scale in the clear water. This was potentially the biggest carp I have ever caught in the UK and it was only a matter of waiting for it to tire itself out as she plodded along just beneath the surface. And then it all went wrong. She’d gone to the right and I laid on a little side pressure to lead her back again when she had a bit of a hissy fit. I’m presuming she either rolled on the line or it caught around a fin. From leading this beast anywhere I wanted, things were now out of control and she surged away to the right stripping line off me like there was no tomorrow. Ten yards, 20, 30, 40 and with no sign of stopping. Honestly, I’ve never witnessed a run like it from a carp. She must have gone 70 yards before I got her to kite left. And then disaster struck. My line was cut-off below the controller. I don’t have the words to describe how I felt. I hardly even swore. I didn’t re-tackle. I just crept home, tail fifirmly between my legs.
Week four...
As previously explained Brian Skoyles and I hooked up with the incredibly enthusiastic Alfie Naylor from Newark. We visited the Newark Dyke during the closed season, decided on an area to target and devised a cunning plan to rectify the lack of a Trent carp in Brian’s CV. For me, it was a trip down memory lane. I first fished here in the early 1960s with my old man when he introduced me to river fishing. We sought permission from the Newark Piscatorial Society to reserve three pegs for opening day and prebait them with a mix of particles comprising hemp, maize and tiger nuts and prepared for us by the Hull Particle Company. Living locally, Alfie was tasked with prebaiting our swims at silly-o-clock each morning for 10 days. It’s a day-only fishery so baiting had to reflect our fishing times. Did it work? To be honest, no. The fear was our approach would attract vast shoals of bream instead of carp. It did neither. The nearside baited areas did not produce. Instead we caught casting boilies to the far side over a light scattering of freebies. Alfie, downstream, had the first carp within an hour. Then Brian, just above him had a splendid 16 or 17-pounder, I forget the exact weight. On the upstream peg, I remained carp-less although not without barbel. My first fish of the season was a pristine lump 12lb on the nose, but I settled for 11-15 because round numbers don’t half rattle the Internet trolls! Shortly afterwards I netted a twin of the first fish which I inexplicably released by complete accident as Brian readied the camera. Brian and I agreed that the fish was contained within the folds of my net after unhooking in the water but somehow ended up underneath the net as I went to lift it out on to the mat. The fish vanished in an explosion of spray which is at least testament to the fact that I’d allowed the fish to fully recover! Oh well, in the scale of things over a whole season it won’t matter one jot but, right now, I can’t stop thinking about it. I said this month had been pretty frustrating but rivers are open and I can at last enjoy some ‘proper’ fishing.