Far Bank England v Poland...on lures
Following an intensive England v Poland-style lure fishing session, Dom Garnett counts the miles and compares methods and attitudes...
IF EVER there was a style of fishing to combat the clichés of our sport as a sedentary, old man’s game, it has to be modern lure fishing.
Could there be a better method for those with itchy feet or a low boredom threshold?
It’s not always relaxing, admittedly. This is especially true when you fish with my Polish pal Seb Nowosiad, one of life’s habitual lure chuckers. By the time you tackle up, he’s made six casts. Stop to change lures and he’s a hundred yards down the bank.
Most of the time you’d guess patience was no virtue in lure fishing. But on this occasion I voted drop shot, rather than Seb’s standard jigs. With our chosen canal decidedly murky, I felt a slow and thorough search might be wise. Even if it might mean getting left behind or having to shout extra loud for the net.
Aside from the challenge of keeping pace, one benefit of fishing with the Poles is ‘borrowing’ their lures. Seb always has some new toys with him – a pint of beer or some pestering will
usually secure a handful.
Most are soft plastics that look as tempting as bags of jelly sweets, but in bankside discussions they sound more like illicit substances. Ask what’s catching and you get answers like ‘three-inch, red’ or ‘10-gram, white’.
Seb finds the whole drop shot thing a bit slow, I suspect. But as I am more of a pole angler than a Polish angler, I like feeling my way around the swim. I can work my lure neatly along the near shelf, alert for any little pluck. And as the rod-tip finally whacks over, I fancy today is one of those rare days when I just might beat him at his own game. It’s a lovely canal zander. Even better, I’ve poached it on one of his Matusiak Realistic
Shads (in realistic bright pink!).
We both find the perch next, but I keep the lead. I’d really like to rub it in, but this runs the risk of him not sharing any more lures, so I keep it shut. The only problem is, there’s now no way he’ll pack up until he gets his own back.
The inevitable finally happens, but only once we’ve hopped venues and it’s bordering on pitch black. Another thing you notice about the Poles – they often walk further and fish those times when fair weather anglers wouldn’t dare. There is a sudden burst of bad language and a call for the net.
Moments later the day’s best fish is banked. It’s properly cold now and the pub is beckoning. Can we call it a draw?