The pool looked sock-on as well, a nice colour, and seemingly a nice depth – it looked perfect.
So why was no one fishing it? I had walked past it a few times and driven past it more times than I care to remember, yet still I hadn’t seen anyone fish it, until yesterday.
I drove past, gave it a nonchalant glance and nearly caused a pile up when I saw someone giving it a go there.
I slammed on the brakes, and with as much handling as you can get out of a Toyota Hilux, I managed to swerve into the narrow entrance, only colliding with three people!
I did the ‘angler walk-up’ to the unsuspecting man. You know, THE angler walk, a slow one, but purposeful and always with both of your hands behind your back.
“Done any good, youth?” (I’m in with the Notts lingo now).
The old fella replied: “Yes mate, I’ve had a great day, three bream on the ’tip.”
That was enough for me. It had fish in, and although the old fella didn’t look… let’s say, the most professional, he had caught, and with telescopic rod, curly 20 lb mono and all!
As I pulled up the next day, there was a small obstruction behind the pegs. Well, I say small, let’s say a great big flippin’ circus, complete with death wall and other circussy stuff!
Ah well, it wouldn’t affect the fishing that much, would it? The pool should still produce.
Apart from the circus, the other small detail was that it wasn’t a pool, it was actually a mill pool, or river offshoot.
All was going well so far, as I rushed to the platform to get my gear set up.
As I was just about to get settled in, the ‘youth’ popped over with his dog, telling me about his conquest yesterday.
“Did you get any more, youth?” (See, I’m good at local lingo). “No more, me duck,” he replied. “Three was enough. It’s the only three bites I’ve had all year on here.”
So the pool wasn’t a pool, it was a river, a circus had come to town, and besides fishing rock hard, it was absolutely crystal clear… I mean crystal! I could see every leaf 10-15 metres out.
When Chappy arrived and saw it, he gave me a look that cannot be replicated nor described. It was one of those looks that could scare a deadbait back to life!
I won’t repeat what he said, but let’s say he wasn’t confident, and to be honest neither was I.
Undeterred, I threw out a small cage feeder to a likely spot, filled with my most bestest, winningest groundbait mix that’ll attract ’owt.
It’s not a great secret: I mix up half a bag of Dynamite
Silver X with half a bag of Dynamite Black, and for some reason it mixes and works perfectly. And, no, I’m not sponsored. I have a till receipt.
Continued over 19
Definitely wind in my willows.