“On some level, the winter angler has to relish adversity”
WHAT a difficult recent spell it has been on the bank, with either sub-zero temperatures or heavy rain, and not a lot in between. It can be a test of character to keep venturing out in tough conditions, it must be said.
There are few givens when it’s brutally cold – and besides having the urge to fish, on some level the regular winter angler has to relish adversity.
Last week it was a case of putting in the miles and slogging it out on a pike trip with my mate David West Beale. Each year we have an expedition on the Somerset Levels to go for predators, and without fail we seem to pick grim conditions.
After several years of this, a part of me wonders if he thinks I’m trying to torture him!
After consecutive prior days of temperatures well into minus territory, the rivers were our only option. To be fair, it looked absolutely beautiful out there on icy fields. You get real Hollywood pictures on these days, too. The trouble is, I’ve seen this movie a few times before. The set looks great, but there can be a distinct lack of car chases and explosions.
We went through the card with lures and presentations, but it took a lot of casts to find anything other than snags. At least with two of you, there’s the option to try various tactics. You can go bigger, for instance, and try to provoke unwilling pike, but more often than not it’s a case of scaling down a bit and going low and slow.
We walked for miles, and fished swims where pike trouble had been reported in matches. Everywhere it was the same dead story – and apart from a jack hooked for all of three seconds, we were stumped.
Winter feeding spells can be short, though, and it’s also that time of year when the hot spell of the day switches from first light to late afternoon.
And so, at around three o’clock, just as I was losing the will to live, the line finally pulled tight. Perhaps I was too surprised to strike properly, because that one got away.
Luckily for me, there was one final chance to come. Predictably, it came in the deepest water once again, on a smallish shad-style lure tripped just off the bottom. This time it felt like a better one, too, and after a bit of drama with the landing net on a steep bank, we had a lovely fish of 8lb-10lb. Talk about relief.
If only this had been the start of better things, because the following morning we were none the wiser, as the pike did another disappearing act and only a late jack spared Dave the blank. Even so, the winter scenery was its own reward, and we both felt a bit more human after digging the stove out for some coffee and bacon. We’d survived the conditions and beaten the blank, just about.