Bayleaf the Gardener

With Mrs S away, I got two more weekend ventures to this active, very well kept and strangely under-fished lake. The weather wasn't set to be great throughout, so on Saturday morning I set up on the west bank for the first time, trees and prevailing wind behind me with only one other angler on the whole lake. A 5lb 2 Mirror obliged first cast after which it became a steady morning rather than the prolific one of last week. I ended up with nine Bream, most skimmers around 8-10oz with one of 3lb 4. There were also a couple of Commons of 8lb 8 and 8lb 10 (estimate - see below) and another Mirror of 8lb 3. It's a true mixed fishery, with a couple of roach to go with my first very welcome Treoes Tench of 2lb 2, 3lb 4 and 1lb 10. An enjoyable morning, the major drama coming when my new landing net handle disengaged during the process of landing one of the carp. Having laid down precariously on my front to reach down and unhook the fish in the water, it took quite a while to dredge the bottom with the remaining piece of handle to finally snag and retrieve the sunken net. Sunday afternoon started bright, and seeing it unoccupied, I plumped for the 'main' swim as the wind was lower than yesterday, and I was hoping to get away without a brolly, there being no means to ground it on the wooden staging. Much, much quieter than yesterday. I swapped techniques and baits but 'only' ended up with a Common of exactly 10lb, a Mirror of 5lb 2 and 10 skimmers. Planning on staying into dark, the rain moved in around 7 and was going nowhere, so I did, and made it home just in time for for the Antiques Roadshow.

YAY! Sod the chub, we want gudge!

My first trip to this large open lake set in a public park. The place is popular with walkers, but local tackle shop advice to choose a swim at the bottom of the several steep banks was good, and they strolled past 20 yards behind me leaving me blissfully alone. It did make having the occasional wee a tricky case of picking good timing. Pretty featureless on the surface, I kept my options open by having one rod near the bankside lilies and pinging the other one out into open water. I maintained this strategy and changed bait and methods regularly. In five hours I had one tap on the rod and one bite - which resulted in a rather lovely 7lb 14oz bream.

I was going to try another lake, but a hangover meant I was late up and thus had time to visit the Ewenny tackle shop, Bridgend. I needed to show them the landing net handle branded as 'bomb proof' that snapped clean in two first fish on Monday. Without a receipt I was not expecting an exchange, I just wanted to ensure no other mug bought one, but they kindly allowed me to upgrade and deduct the cost of this celery-stick handle from it. On the bank by 8:30am, my prolific swim from Monday was taken so I set up in a new position to me, casting to the edge of lily pads growing out from the central island. From moment one the rod tip wouldn't keep still, with knocks, taps and tremors, but nothing stuck. I guessed it was small fish and I hoped that topping up the spot with feed would bring bigger ones in. It did, though it took an hour. I had 18 Bream, but none of the 3-4 pounders of Monday, with just three over the 1lb mark. While a little disappointing, a 1lb Roach appeared from nowhere and towards finishing fishing, the carp started to wake up for their lunch. I landed a 4lb 4 Mirror and an 8lb 14 Common. With my last cast I thought I'd looked another, but it was this splendid 3lb Perch - on a wafter!

Nice chub, Chris. They must be sick of the sight of you. Glad you're making the most of retirement.

Maybe, and with minimal cormorant activity, no mink or gates being left open!...alas not many tench or crucians, but apparently holds eels

Well. Nothing happened in the first hour of the morning apart from a few sharp showers which kept all other anglers away until 11. Again it was too blustery for the pole so I took at two-method feeder approach, one to my left adjacent to lilies, the other to the edge of the central island. As has happened in recent trips to two locations, a switch of bait lit the touch paper. Between 8am and 11:30 it got so manic that at one point I swapped to just one rod as I couldn't keep up with all of the bites. I landed seventeen bream, which apart from four skimmers, were all between 3lb and 4lb 4. There were also commons of 5lb 5, 9lb and 4lb 15 and mirrors of 9lb 13, 3lb 14 and 7lb 15. In among these was a single roach which, at 1lb 2oz, represented a rather embarrassing pb for me. If just one of the two bigger carp that I lost to the far-off lilies and I would have smashed the 100lb total, but then given a blank final half-hour, I couldn't be too disappointed with a 93lb 2 haul.

Those trees really hate you. Were you a lumberjack in your previous life?

No trout? What were you doing wrong?

A morning as the only angler of the lake - perfect for a misanthrope like me. Even the rain kept away for a change, though a swirling breeze stopped me using the pole as I'd planned. So it was down to underarming the method feeder towards a patch of lilies some 15 yards away. After the other nights success on small tuti frutti boilies, I eagerly pushed some on and waited for the action. Nothing for an hour except a splendid fly-past by the resident kingfisher. I swapped to an orange wafter (still nothing) and then a white one. Boy, that did the trick. In the next two hours I had Commons of 5lb 2 and 7lb 7, a Mirror of 3lb 13, nine bream between 12 oz and 2lb 4 and a roach. For the last hour it went quiet and I got my breath back. The last two sessions have really shown me the benefit of switching baits/colours to enliven an apparently dead swim. OK, I've still had none of the larger ones that frequent the lake, but great fun. Bite indication was really tricky with those bream, will use quivertip rod next time.

A morning in wonderful isolation at these usually well attended lakes. Maybe the lack of swims in the 'carp' pond due to an excess of milfoil weed kept all but the die-hards away. I attacked my favoured 'silvers' pond with the pole next to a vast mound of recently raked out weed. This left the shallow water crystal clear, reminiscent of the old aquarium house at London Zoo as I watched shoals of small rudd pass by and experimented with the effect of groundbait and loose feed on them. To keep them away from the hook i fished sweetcorn, the inevitable continued knocks from the small silvers occasionally replaced by a stronger dip of the float. Though I did lose something good in the weed, I did manage five tench between 4oz and nearly a pond, and five 'larger' rudd of 2-3oz after I'd switched to 4mm pellet. Not a lot to show for what was a fun morning

My first evening trip for many weeks now that the move to Wales has settled down as much as the weather. It was truly ghastly, pelting rain and winds last weekend which even put me off fishing. No problems this evening with sunny skies and light breeze. Plenty of lilies and weed beds around and chose a spot with a clear cast to the island to my right, and a nice looking 'hole' surrounded by weed one rod length out to my left. Soon after I arrived I saw the tail of a feeding carp about a yard out, which made me think fishing so close in would be no problem even at 4pm. So it proved, with commons of 5lb 10, 3lb 8, 10b 1, 4lb 4, 6lb 5 and 10lb 8 with mirrors of 8lb 14 and 5lb 5 - the first unusually pink and piggish - the second a really pretty fish as pictured here. Over 55lb of fish represents my best return this year - perhaps I'm back in the game after a torrid time since April. We'll see.

One of the many benefits of my move to Wales was the chance to go sea fishing for the first time. never done it before, and I even get seasick watching the Onedin Line. I know little of tides beyond a childhood knowledge of their affect on my sandcastles but my new neighbour, Glyn, having dug his old tackle out his loft, took me saying two hours before high tide and an hour after was best. I bought the sand eels while Glyn kindly lent me a rod with missing rings, and a left-handed reel with a bail arm sprung like a bear trap. The shallow sandy beach made for very active fishing with us having to move the gear out from the incoming tide every few minutes. But our baits remained untouched for a couple of hours albeit great fun in the sunshine and bracing on-shore breeze. Finally, Glyn got a bite and to both of our surprises, brought in a 'freshwater' eel of around 2lbs. I'd had a couple of knocks before finally a proper rod-tip shaker. With minimum 30lb bs mono on, I wasn't even sure there was anything on, until a lump of silver bucked in the shallow water and I dragged out a sea bass of around a pound and a half. It was beautiful, even if I did get spiked by its dorsal. I couldn't have killed it, even if it had been of proper weight. That was my only proper bite of our three-hour sesh, but I'll certainly be getting some gear of my own, maybe even a right-handed reel and a fully-eyed rod.

A morning trip to this pretty lake, figure-of-eight shaped around two islands. Chose a good looking patch of lilies to put a pole out to, while a method feeder would sit to my left out by the island edge. After 30 minutes I couldn't believe I was fishless. The feeder rod was pulled out of its rests (note to self: use the bait runner here) with such force that the hook link immediately snapped. Then I watched sometime rise and take the corn on the pole float the moment it hit the water. The elastic stretched nicely and off it went before heading deep into some sunken weeds where it dropped anchor. I couldn't bully it out, nor could I lull it into ease by slackening the line so a stalemate ensued until, inevitably, the hook pulled. Then a 2oz roach fell off shipping in. Finally something stuck, and i had an 8oz bream then a feisty 6lb 2 Common. I lost a further carp on the pole and another on the feeder, and a fun morning was completed with 3 more bream around 8oz, 8 roach to 6oz and a couple of small rudd. The wind then got up, making the pole an unwieldy impossibility and, in only 2ft of water, the feeder went untouched in the last hour Should have been more.

These small back-to-back semi-circular lakes are ex-industrial and have been brought to superb condition by a small band of volunteers of Brynmill & District AC. One has the advantage of being beside a tall escarpment meaning it is somewhat protected from the proper Welsh rain which battered me on both trips. It was truly wet. But the water in front of this shelter since I first came a few weeks ago is full of milfoil. This pond weed is rather pretty to look at, and i imagine loved by the fish, but makes fishing impossible. The bailiff told me the club is having it reaped in a few weeks, and in the meantime members are allowed, even encouraged to chuck out a rake head and drag it out. I didn't have a rake in my tackle box, but was relieved to find a single small clearing, stretching about 10m out and maybe 2m wide. I dropped a pole float in on both trips, and while it was lovely to be kept out of the winds and at least the worst of the rain, I think the fish were happy to remain in the cover where doubtless a billion succulent invertebrates live. I did manage a few. Across the piece I had a single rudd and 6 tench from 6oz to a pound. Boy they fight hard for little 'uns. I would have struggled to get anything much bigger out on light tackle - each landing being chiefly collected weed as well as the diminutive fish. I look forward to returning with a rake-on-a-rope in, hopefully, more clement conditions.

Oh, Chris. What happened? Can't believe you didn't catch a chub - you seem to get them from everywhere else.

Beautiful! What a fun afternoon.

Doubtless swishing the air like d'Artagnan on speed, fly-fishing his biscuits. Blanking's more my thing

A start to the season in two parts. Firstly, I thought I'd spend several hours on the lakeside eager to catch a few tench before the sun rose and ruined everything. Needless to say the olive green beauts thought otherwise and bites were limited to 3 small roach and a pound-and-a-bit bream. Made it late morning to the hot and sunny syndicate at Marsh Benham where I was happy to bump into CP of this parish who'd caught his quota and was now headed home to watch the test match. Rumour elsewhere was that there weren't so many trout escapees into the carrier this year. Perhaps there wasn't as I 'only' had 3 of around 3lbs each, but a 2lb 7 chub squeezed in which more or less saved the day.

ooh, that suits a tight-wad like me too

How can you do this to me on my birthday Chris, especially after my 3 consecutive blanks (on float, though with bread/corn rather than your magic prawns)

What a start! Great stuff. Even the chub were shocked by the look on their faces

Nice one, Chris. Surely you had minnows? I get most of my best hauls there

For those who don't have a Newbury AA ticket, Willows is a small, shallow lake without enough vegetation but with a central island that the carp, typically 6-12lbs like to swim around. It has also recently stocked been stocked up with bream and also tench of around 6lbs. Totting up, I've had around 260 commons and 150 mirrors since joining the club in 2021 with the odd decent crucian between them. You can see that it's what they call I a 'runs water' (I'd not heard of this phrase until recently) which means that you cant really go wrong. But I can. Yesterday I completed a hat trick of blanks. OK, I lost a couple on the way, but this is an epic failures as even one blank is unlikely. Can I blame the hot weather or the fish feeding on the large number of fry? Why not. More this while I've tried method feeder, PVA bags, pole and float, the carp at least, have been on the surface, and call it one of my blind spots, but I'm not really in to surface fishing. For one I hate the thought of hooking a bird, but to me the joyous mystery of fishing is catching what you cannot see, and plucking them off the top - and it's my loss - just isn't me. I'll get there in my own way.

When Barry Murrer offered to take me fly fishing for the first time, I could hardly say no. I wrote about my experience from my position as editor of the Newbury AA Quarterly Newsletter and copy the two resultant articles below. Cheers, Barry. Evening #1 When I have occasion to flick through the Newbury Angling Association’s Rules and Regs Book I see ‘3.1 Trout fishing, with artificial dry fly only, shall commence on 1st April and close on 30 September.’ I’ve always wondered if this is just a legacy from some far off days of J. R. Hartley (Google him, kids) and Plus Fours (better Google them too). Surely no one wets a fly in these days of boilies and bait boats, but it turns out I’m wrong, as Barry Murrer contacted me out of the blue as Editor of the NAAN, and one mid-May evening I was kindly invited to my first ever fly fishing session. I’d only met Barry once before – he was catching big pike at Bulls Lock in the dead of winter - so I was thrilled and surprised to get the invite. Barry said he’d provide the gear, all I needed to bring was my wellies. We trekked down to Parliament Draft on Speen Moors, with only a whippy rod with light centrepin each to carry. Everything else we needed was stored in Barry’s impressive utility gilet, with folding landing net clipped on the back, pockets zipped to hold small boxes of flies, leaders and other paraphernalia, and two small bottles held in easy access bands. I queried what they were. ‘One’s floaty-stuff to rub on the flies, the other’s sinky-stuff,’ Barry told me, my blank look betraying my complete ignorance. Now on the bank, Barry took his left handed rod, explained his elbow action, the speed of his backward rod movement and gentler flick forward as his line made a swirl in the air and sent his weightless fly plopping gently on the opposite side of the stream. Then it was my turn with a right-handed reel and all I had to do was copy this graceful swish and watch my thick yellow line extend across the water to where the fat trout would surely be lying. They were safe for now, as I had not been provided with a fly on the end of my line for my first attempts. It was a wise move. Barry was exceptionally patient as he explained for the fifth, sixth and seventh time that I was forward swishing both too fast and too far away from my body. The extra effort I was applying was counter-intuitively shortening the distance of my cast, albeit I was glad to at least be reaching water. What wasn’t so good was that the speed of my swing was causing the leader to audibly crack. I felt like a circus ringmaster as time after time each cast was met with the same whip lash. Barry calmly told me to slow it down but that if I’d been allowed a fly on the end, each cast would probably have cracked off and lost to the undergrowth behind me. He had a point, as when I checked later on, Wikipedia told me that, ‘The crack is produced when a section of the whip moves faster than the speed of sound creating a small sonic boom’. Blimey, I had been overcooking it. I slowed my technique sufficiently to avoid further sonic booms until I got to the point where I was trusted with a fly. ‘It’s a Hawthorn Fly,’ Barry told me, ‘a couple of weeks ago the air was full of them and the trout were going crazy. We’re probably a bit late now.’ He tied the small hook, sporting some dangly black bristles and a tiny piece of foam onto my line. It looked like a spider and quite unappetising. ‘I tie them myself,’ said Barry. ‘Please don’t crack off,’ I urged myself, ‘and don’t cast into a tree…nor hook mine or especially Barry’s ear.’ I was pleased that with the added incentive of having a fly and a spot to aim for that was quite close to shore I managed to avoid both crack and both ears. I’d slowed down my action, kept my arm nearer my body, stiffened the wrist and could now flick the diminutive artificial bug a half-respectable distance across the water on a good cast. The trees were more of a problem. The first time I managed to get it back without the line snapping, but ten or so decent casts later I lost a precious fly to the high branches. I felt dreadful, picturing Barry taking ages to painstakingly tie these tiny decoys with the help of a large magnifying glass and a study. Thankfully, he remained very calm – as least I hadn’t cracked it off like a lasso spinner at a rodeo. We walked the length of the Draft, fighting our way through long undergrowth, the evil-smelling mud trying to suck our boots off. Only two swims were fishable, far too overhung with branches for me, so I watched Barry effortlessly place his fly where he needed it, albeit no trout rose. ‘The water being so cloudy,’ Barry told me as we headed back to the main drag, ‘means you can’t see the fish to aim at, so it becomes a bit of a lottery.’ We stood at the bridge at the NW corner and watched the water for rising fish. Barry had his eye attuned to spotting the occasional mayfly that had just hatched on the surface of the water to be carried downstream. I missed most of them. ‘They will have hatched today,’ he told me, ‘and are called duns at this point, tomorrow they shed their skins to become adult spinners and then mate and die the same day.’ I stared at the water and eventually started to see the occasional yellow fly. ‘The trout aren’t interested now,’ Barry surmised as a robin fluttered out and caught one in mid-air, ‘but come the 29th May the air will be thick with them,’ and we pledged to return for another go then. Turns out Barry knows his flies as he regularly volunteers for Action for the River Kennet (ARK) so is a dab hand at these duns. He told me about his work monitoring fly larvae each month to provide information of biodiversity and as an early warning of pollution. At the moment the river fly life is in excellent health. He also monitors spawning trout in the River Lambourn where it runs through Newbury. Last winter was a very good year with plenty of enormous female trout making their way up river to dig redds and spawn. These trout probably live in the Kennet and the canal for most of the year so look out when you’re chub fishing! Neither of us made any more casts. Apparently there’s little point – if the trout aren’t rising to take the real thing, they ain’t likely to be fooled by a piece of metal bound with a few twists of cotton. We walked back to the car in the beautiful Spring sunshine as he told me about recent catches, such as the one pictured here. It had been lovely to be out, in good company too, even if the trout had been elusive. I thoroughly enjoyed our short stint, even if it was between hatches. I was already excited about the planned return in a fortnight’s time. Evening 2 The two weeks passed since my first attempt at fly fishing, and Barry was kind enough to again meet me and lend me a rod at Speen Moors. This time as he predicted, the female mayfly were laying eggs in the water, whiles others were hatching and taking off. Delicious! I found that the two-week gap had made me a better caster, and I didn’t crack a single fly off all evening. We both tried our luck in Parliament Draft, but with clouds building and a gusty breeze, nothing fishy was showing. Barry speculated that the fish had probably been gorging on the gangly delights all day and were probably having a break before resuming the feast, usually at around 6:30. So, we walked the river looking for action and sure enough, at the allotted hour, we started to see fish rise. Typically, most were in zones that could not be reached by us, but as the topping got more frequent, what appeared to be a shoal started gulping flies with abandon right in the middle of the flow. Gentleman Barry allowed me first go. I found my casting as smooth as it had been at any point, and my tiny mayfly-themed lure landed time and time again amid the increasing number of actual mayflies floating down the river and past the furor of fish gorging on them. Apart from the casts that the breeze blew into the annoying overhanging branch, I felt that I just HAD to catch. Then one cast Barry shouted ‘YOU’VE GOT A TAKE!’ I must admit, I had mistaken one of the actual flies for my artificial one and didn’t see it. ‘WHAT DO I DO?’ I yelled back. ‘STRIKE!’ he exclaimed. I did, but of course I’d long missed it, but now had an idea what to expect. I allowed Barry his turn at the spot and after many casts reassuringly similar to mine, a fish took his fly. Excitement! It wasn’t big, but when it came near, its red fins were unmistakable and to his embarrassment and horror, particularly in front of a committee member, he brought in an out of season roach of maybe 5oz. We carried on, and on my turn I saw a take – and struck – but it didn’t connect. Feeling my first catch was not far away, the fish gods decided I’d fluffed my chance, and as if an unseen switch had been turned off, the rising stopped and the river returned to rolling on by with its payload of mayfly totally untroubled by trout or roach. We only fished for an hour, Barry having moths to catch and then give a lecture on, but it was enough to make me fall in love with the artistry and guile of a whole new aspect of our wonderful sport. If you can, I urge you to give it a go. We could all do with a Barry Murrer in our fishing.