30.4.22 - Alders & Willows - The rough, the smooth and the rough
Entry posted by Bayleaf the Gardener in Alders/Willows
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A session of mixed emotions.
Firstly, shock. I had the unanticipated delight of scraping the thick ice from the car windscreen at 5am. I'm sure our neighbours enjoyed this nearly as much as I did. Arrived at a heavily frosted Willows with the temp gauge showing it was exactly 16 degrees below the day's anticipated high of 16 degrees.
Surprise next. Anticipating the cold would have kept the fish firmly under their duvets in the lakebed, I kept it down to single corn, size 14 hook, 5lb line and prepared to wait is out, but on my first cast the float shot under. It was a good fight considering the Common was only 2lb 4, and after 10 minutes I'd probably already exceeded my total weight caught in 9 hours of roach fishing yesterday.
Then came adrenaline. 10 minutes later, the float dipped again and something made off like a rocket, leaving me with little option but hold on and let the clutch scream at me. Whatever it was broke the surface in the lily bed in the middle of the lake some 30 or so yards away and dropped anchor. Thinking there would only be one sore-mouthed winner of a tug of war, I kept steady pressure on and prepared to wait, until after 30 seconds or so it shook its head in disgust and came back into open water. Phew. I gained back some yards and had it easing back my way until it saw me, and decided to give it a go heading left. I grinned, as this was again open water. It stole another 20 yards or so of line, before side strain stopped its little game and I started drawing it in.
The next emotion was horror as suddenly the end third of my rod detached from the rest of it and started sliding down the taut line towards the fish. I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid as to not push the ferrules in properly, and now faced the challenge of landing both fish and rod.
I can only guess that the fish saw the rod end coming towards it and assumed it was a crude attempt to harpoon it, as it handed in it's surrender and I managed, to my surprise, to net it quite dextrously, lifting it out in the next with one hand and picking out the rod end with the other.
The feeling of relief of the safe beaching both fish and rod was only slightly tarnished by the fact the Common only weighed 8lbs. I'm sure they must breed them with rocket fuel in Alders, or else my theory is true that they fight harder in clear water as they can see where they're bolting to without fear of blindly hitting a submerged tree stump or a pike. But with him safely released, the horror returned: examination showed that the rod had not simply discombobulated, but the middle section had actually sheared in two.
I was heartbroken. I only have one decent piece of kit, and that's my 15 ft Cadence rod (or to put it more accurately now, my 8ft and 7ft Cadence rods!) If I'd been playing a Marlin, had foul hooked the Newbury to Reading Express, or used the rod to pole vault across the lake, I could have understood it being unable to take the pressure, but this was an 8lb fish on light line. I look forward to hearing what Cadence have to say.
Next emotion: stupor. With the sun and temperature rising, came my gradual removal of gloves, fur hat, coat and then woolly jumper, while the lake went quiet. I didn't see a fish move for over an hour. As Alders can go 'Alders-y', I crossed the 10 yard causeway to Willows lake. Here, unusually, I didn't see a fish move all day either. I fished high/low/out/in/scaled down/scaled up but nothing more to show other than a mid-afternoon roach, all of 2 ounces.
As I packed up, a large family of mixed generations were standing at the gate, pleading for me to unlock the gate and let them in. Initially suspicious that they had either thrown their frisbee over the otter fencing, or planned a picnic on the bank, my final emotion of the session turned to humility: they had come with a relatives ashes, his being a member of NAA in his day, for whom fishing had obviously been so important that they wanted him to spend eternity here. That's what fishing means to us anglers. I don't know about you, but I can't justify our art in any way: it takes up so much time, is often frustrating and uses up so much of my mental bandwidth. I don't suppose the fish enjoy it that much either (apart from the bit when we kiss 'em then return them to the water, maybe). I'm not even very good at fishing, but that doesn't really matter. The law of averages says I'll fluke a big'un every now and then, but like our dearly departed friend, and, if you're reading this, dare I say you, we all love it.
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