Article - Coarse
Ramblings - Part Three
By Graeme, added on 09/02/2007
The following season I was as keen to get started as I had been at the start of my first full season. I had planned on making a dawn start on the common pond, but my impatience got the better of me and I set out just after midnight. One rod (the salmon spinner) was cast out with a large piece of bread, freelined, and the rod placed on my newly acquired Sundridge bite alarm - a compact unit based on the Heron antenna principle. I proposed to set up the Hardy Avon at dawn with float tackle for tench. The night was surprisingly chilly considering how warm it had been during the preceding day, so I retreated under my umbrella and pulled my ex-army coat around me. There was a bright moon three-quarters full in the south east which made the trees opposite stand out clearly, casting shadows across the water.
Around three am I dropped off to sleep, waking suddenly shortly afterwards. All was silent. I looked at the rod and noticed it was shaking in the rests, though no sound had come from the alarm. I got out from under the brolly to check all was well, only to find the spool almost empty and the line stretched tight across the water surface. Closing the pick-up I wound down and struck, feeling considerable resistance but no sensation of life on the end of the line. I began to reel in a heavy weight which, as it drew nearer, revealed itself to be a large clump of weed. Just as it neared the bank there came a tug and I saw a swirl break the surface reflections. Realising there was a fish on the end after all I poked the net under where I thought the fish was and lifted; fortunately I picked the right spot as among the weed in the net was a carp.
I carried the laden net up the bank and laid it down on the grass. I had no torch, but the moonlight revealed a linear mirror carp of about five pounds - at the time only my third biggest (I'd taken a six and a half pounder about six years earlier, plus another five pounder a little before that). I unhooked it and placed it in the keepnet so I could take a photograph once the sun was up. By that time there was a faint glimmer of light in the north-east, so I re-cast and then set about assembling the tench rod.
Once it was light enough to see I began to float-fish with maggots a couple of rod lengths out. However it wasn't until after 5am that I had the first bite - a small 'skimmer' bream of a quarter of a pound or so, followed by a nice roach of nearly a pound half an hour later. The next bite produced a small roach, but the fourth proved to be a tench of a pound and a half. After that all went quiet. I took the spinning rod and walked slowly around the pond, looking for signs of carp. I had travelled as far round as I could (a full circuit being prevented by the presence of a high brick wall along one side of the pond) when, in the far corner by the wall, I spotted a carp swim out of the margin weeds and come to a stop about ten yards away. I cast a piece of bread as near as I dared, but the fish ignored it. I sat down and lit a cigarette, content to sit in the early sun and wait.
It was futile; either the carp was avoiding the bait, or it had left the area. I reeled in after an hour and returned to my main pitch. Shortly afterwards the Teflon Kid arrived, stopping off on his way to work to see how I was getting on. The sun was high enough now to take some photos, so I drew the keepnet from the water and we admired the morning's catch, before taking a few shots. TK left for work, and I returned the fish, packed up the rods and headed home for a sleep before returning in the afternoon. On the way I pondered on the irony that, fishing for the first time with a bite alarm, I'd caught a carp through a combination of visual indication and, perhaps, instinct. Incidentally, the reason the alarm hadn't sounded - despite the carp taking some forty of fifty yards of line - was because the line had not been taken around the back of the antenna properly.
Having discovered the extra enjoyment that using a cane rod gave to my angling, I was naturally on the lookout for one more suitable for general float fishing and light legering. The salmon spinner had proved it was possible to land good fish on light tackle without the benefit of sufficient shock absorbing properties, but it was a little on the heavy side for chub - even more so for roach and perch. Also, at nine feet in length it lacked a little when it came to float control.
Owing to my limited income it was quite a while before I found something that combined fitness of purpose with economy. Poking around a tackle shop situated near to my favourite river I discovered a selection of cane rods on the rack. There was a couple of early match rods; Spanish reed butt and middle sections with spliced spilt-cane tips, but these felt cumbersome - too top heavy and the action was limited. The handles were on the thick side too, and the finish was crude. The next rod I picked up was a split-cane twelve footer. I don't recall the make or model, but it was a fine looking example. However it was quite heavy, and very powerful. I have often wondered about that rod, as from memory I fancy it would have been excellent for barbel. In any case the asking price was into three figures - much more than I could afford.
The last one in the rack was shorter than the others, and thinner. A ten-foot two-piece split cane, with a long cork handle and attractive speckled green and black whippings on the rings and ferrule, and intermediate whips every inch or so. I picked it up, surprised at how light and balanced it felt. Best of all, it had a lovely progressive action and just the right amount of whip to flick out light float tackle - perfect on the small streams where I intended to use it. I looked at the butt and read 'Young's of Harrow - Otter Brand' in a gold circular transfer. I looked at the price - £65. This seemed quite reasonable, so I checked it for faults. Apart from a loose fitting female ferrule (something I could easily rectify) and a slight droop in the tip section there were none.
Of course, I had to buy it. That afternoon we fished the lower reaches of a small chalkstream and I blooded the rod on small perch and roach caught by sight fishing with lightly legered maggots. Even though the fish were all under a quarter of a pound the rod bent into them with a satisfying curve after the stiffness of the salmon rod, yet with enough in reserve to give me confidence that it would prove useful with larger specimens too.
Not long afterwards I returned to the pond on the common, hoping for a late summer carp. There were a couple of fish moving amongst thick weed about ten yards out and, from past experience, I knew they just might be tempted with a well-placed crust if I could only get it near them without causing alarm. That was the perennial problem; so many times a carp could have been taken but for the difficulty of getting the bait to them. They tended to stay put in these little gaps in the weed, so a bait cast nearby could lie there unnoticed all day. I decided to try a trick that had worked once or twice in the past, which was to tie the hook to the end of the mainline and tie about six feet of line a foot above the hook with a four-turn water knot. To the end of this piece of line I attached three swan shot. The hook was baited with a piece of crust and the whole lot cast out directly in line with the carp, but a few yards beyond it. As soon as the shots hit the water the pick-up was closed and the line reeled back so the shots rested on the edge of the weedbed (a bubble float would have been better, but I didn't have one) with the baited hook held clear of the water. A quick check to see the carp was still present before the line was drawn back carefully so the bait could be lowered gently into the hole where the carp lay.
It didn't take long for the fish to pick up the scent of the bait. It turned slowly, retreating back under the weed before re-emerging and, drifting slowly forwards, tilted its nose up and sucked the crust down confidently. It all seemed so easy. I waited for it to turn back down before striking. There was a large swirl amid the weeds and the rod curved over as the fish bored down into the weeds. I stood up and walked backwards, the rod bending down to the corks. I could feel the carp tugging, but remotely - the mass of weed preventing any direct contact. I pulled this way and that without any effect, so I put the rod down and got hold of the line beyond the rod tip. I couldn’t believe I was going to lose this fish after all, and determined to get it out one way or another, even if it meant going in for it. Pulling directly on the line I felt something give, and then a mass of weed began to move. Picking up the rod, I wound down and heaved the fish towards me, keeping everything steadily moving along and praying the hookhold wouldn't fail. I was using a centrepin, which enabled me to keep a more positive pressure on the fish. It swirled just a few feet out and part of the weed fell away, giving the fish more freedom to move - which actually helped me as I was able to get its head up and keep it from diving. I pushed the net out and drew it over the rim, whereupon it dived into the mesh.
The sense of satisfaction and relief was overwhelming. It wasn't a big carp, or even an average one; indeed, there are many waters today where two-dozen such carp in an afternoon is not thought of as anything special. I didn't weigh it but I guess it was about four pounds - a pretty, deep-bodied mirror carp. A very memorable fish.
To be continued…