Solstice

I awoke at 03.30, the faint light already penetrating the room.

A quick cup of tea, the rod and net packed on the bike, lures in my pockets and I was off.

The smell and atmosphere as you step out the door hits you. Inside you live a comfortable half life, never feeling the extremes of the outdoors.

Living on a hill, I freewheeled half a mile, before pedalling the last few hundred yards.

I could here the oystercatchers and redshanks calling from the mudflats, a cettis warbler in thick patch of brambles and as I lay the bike down, the strange sound of an egret, disturbed by my appearance ( well, you would be, wouldn't you ? ).

The time an hour either side of dawn is magical, all the more so for being fleeting. I tried to take it in, absorbing the birdsong and stillness.

Something weird was happening with the tide, it should have been pushing in, but there was a total lack of movement,  possibly caused by extremely high pressure.

I had a go in the pool, the surface popper's sounds magnified by the lack of wind and background noise. The peace was disturbed as a small bass hit the lure hard,  a short struggle before being slid in on to the mud.

Five or six other fish followed, all around the pound mark, real litluns, but fun on light gear.

By 06.00 the action was over, despite the tide now pushing in hard. I sat next to the bike, looking for fry being attacked or any other activity, but I think the total lack of wind and sunshine,  even at this early hour, had discouraged any feeding.

Back on the bike and within fifteen minutes I was sat in the garden drinking coffee in the soft morning warmth.

Glorious June indeed.

A Pig on the Tidal

I'd found a spot on different tidal venue that was heaving with fish at a certain state of the tide.

Countless mullet, a few bass, a couple of brown trout and a group of carp. The carp were mostly small with one or two much better fish. How big was difficult to say but "big enough to make me want to catch them".

They seemed to move down to this particular spot as the river dropped, remaining there until there was only a foot or so of water.

After spending the previous evening observing and taking a few photos I went back on the bike, travelling very light, armed only with an 8 foot 6 inch, 15 gram spinning rod, small fixed spool and a bucket of mixed seed and maize.

Other bits a pieces in my pockets.

On getting to the ( very overgrown) spot  I went to put my foot down as the bike stopped, only to find that side was a mini ditch, whereupon I crashed, slowly and quite graciously, into the grass, stingers and brambles. Minor cuts only, worse things happen at sea.

A couple of handfuls of seed mix were deposited tight in the near side bank, where there was a tiny bit of slack water.

I watched for maybe twenty minutes, before I saw two carp travelling towards me in the middle of the river. They went straight over to the baited spot and started milling about. A good sign.

I decided to let them settle on the bait. A while  later the smaller fish drifted off, leaving only the bigger one.

I'd got a little 15mm orange poly ball as a float, set a foot deep and two bb on the bottom, four inches from the hook, on to which a single grain of maize was impailed. 

It was probably there ten minutes before it slid away. I struck and the fish immediately tore forty yards downstream, then started to kite into the far bank reeds.

I applied as much pressure as you can on a very light spinning rod and managed to ease it away from danger. For the next twenty minutes it came back and forth, twice I had it almost over the net before it dashed downstream again. I began to think I wasn't going to get it in.

It was much bigger than I'd previously thought but when, finally, I managed to scoop it up in the net and leant down to grab the arms, I realised this really was big, for a little river no more than fifteen yards wide.

I was shaking, sweating and absolute covered in stinging nettles. But most shaking.

25lb 3oz, a massive, bronze brute of a fish that I'm 99.9% certain has never been caught before.

To catch it on the float in twelve inches of water on a light spinning rod only added to the excitement and satisfaction. 

The landing net arms had actually snapped as I lifted it out, but that was a small price to pay. 

I cycled back immediately, jumped in the shower and then sat in the garden, the evening still warm as the dark encroached, enjoying a beer and texting friends to share the success.

It's a long time since a silly old mud pig got me that excited

Day 22,283

Interviewer - " Why do you keep working at your age ?"

Clint Eastwood - " To keep the old man from the door "

Yesterday I had an appointment in a small town ten or eleven miles away. Looked out the window, saw how windy it was and thought "I'll take the van, not the bike "

What a wimp. I changed my mind, jumped on the bike and headed along the tiny lanes, some so neglected they have grass down the middle. 

Big flat fields, full now with wheat and sweet peas, with the occasional rape seed field adding a bright burst of yellow in sea of green.

I arrived early for the appointment and sat on a bench overlooking the tidal river. The familier smell of the mud and marsh of the Colne estuary entered my nostrils, a great way to start the day.

Formalities over, I cycled to a neighbouring village to see The Olds. Up an unmade stoney track, past the old old farmyard, a proper one with delapidated buildings, cattle and the stench of dung, along the uncultivated fields, until I looked south, got off the bike and leant on the gatepost for ten minutes, taking in the winding view of the Colne as it snaked towards Brightlingsea and Mersea.

What a place, not on the tourist trail and all the better for it. This is Betjemen's Essex,

"Mirrored in ponds and seen through gates

Sweet,uneventful countryside"

Back on the bike, past Duttons, through Cockcaynes wood, or what remains of it. In the 80s much of it was cut down and pits excavated for sand and gravel.

After WW2, as the country was being rebuilt, a number of Interim Planning Orders were granted, so as to re construct quickly.

The ballast company used this order in the 80s to destroy a huge piece of ancient woodland. 

It's still a beautiful place, just different, with lakes and scrubland along with patches of woods.

After checking on The Olds, I headed down to Tenpenny brook. As kids we used to go down here with air guns and shoot each other. We zipped up our snorkel parkers as part of the Health and Safety procedure to prevent being hit in the face. 

There was a big, man made hill there, made from spoils from a lake excavation. We rode our bikes at high speed down the hill and pulled the handle bars up sharply at the bottom, so we made it over the ditch at the bottom.

A boy from another village joined us one day. On his Chopper bike. Not suitable for said game. I think you know what's coming

Being little bstards, we didn't tell him of the ditch at the bottom. He hit the far bank of the ditch at high speed with his front tyre and rocketed over the handlebars, ending in a screaming heap in the field. It was the shock, he wasn't seriously hurt, which was good as we were pissing ourselves laughing.

I try not to moan about "da yoof of today", playing on their phones, when they should be out there shooting their friends with air guns and laughing at mates involved in bike crashes.

Down the rutted path, over the stream and up a steep path overhung with elder, brambles and honeysuckle. Then it's a huge, featureless field until I pass Frating Memorial Hall and I think back forty five years.

1979, a party, I'm fifteen and drink about four pints of snakebite before throwing up over the bonnet of a Ford Capri. My dad picks me up and I say " Someone must of spiked my drinks".

To his credit he says nothing and drives me home.

There's more huge fields now, all lined with hedges and a massive horizon, typical of this part of the Tendring Peninsula.  The lanes are tiny, quiet and car free.

In at least two places on my route there are resident corn buntings, a bird now suffering a massive decline, so especially nice to see. It's the metallic call you hear first, before looking up and seeing the scruffy fat finch of a bird.

One field is uncultivated, full of camomile, tufted vetch, sainfoin, trafolium and poppies, a  rowdy and wild expanse in a sea of agricultural order.

Home, tea on and a bite to eat.

A quick dash to the river to prebait a swim on the tidal and then it's time for a bass session with Stuart. He's a newbie angler and has never fished with lures before.

He immediately gets stuck in the mud and collapes in a heap, covered in the stuff.

It's a really warm, balmy evening.  There are small bass everywhere and we catch loads of them on surface lures,such an exciting way to fish.

The mullet are here, but I can't get a touch and as the light fades we leave, the river full of rising, swirling fish.

Ten minutes later I'm sitting in the garden with a beer.

It's been a good day.

June

Yes, the month when all life bursts forth and it doesn't get dark until gone ten o clock. Magic.

Along with fellow blogger and old mate Waaaak I've been hounded with van trouble recently. "Check Engine" says the computer.

It could be this, it could be that, said the mechanic. All manner of fixes tried and still     "Check Engine". Until yesterday when they found the ( very expensive) fault. FFS.

But, as grumpiness started to intrude as the realisation that very many pounds were heading out of my dwindling bank account, I remembered the phrase that Jake Humphrey has tattooed on his wrist. 

Momento Mori. Remember you die. 

Now, you may think that's a bit morbid, but far from it. It's a reminder to seize the day ( Carpe Diem...the Latin prufundities just keep coming ). So, a few quid spent on a vehicle shouldn't trouble a sixty year old well on the way to the abyss.

This week the only work I've done is a few local jobs where I can use a wheel barrow to get the tools to the job. Necessity is the mother of invention ( Plato...😆 ).

I've been out on lots of very short sessions after the bass and mullet, with little success, but have found where they're holed up up at present. Rod and net secured on the bike, few bits in my pockets and I'm away.

The garden, which previously looked like a pikey yard, has been filled with tubs and plants, along with the raspberries, which have come through via suckers from next door, delivering a free feast with no effort on my part.

Highlight of the week was The Day I Mended The Umbrella. Yes, the lightweight, weedy Angling Direct thing that the Dutch winds destroyed. 

From this....

To this....

I was victorious !

Now, you may be thinking "You boring old bstard, blogging about your garden and fixing an umbrella" and you may well be right, but I've also been planning the mid-late summer month long camper tour of somewhere in Europe.

When I say planning, I mean farting about on the Internet looking for fishing spots and places to park up near rivers and lakes. 

This evening I'm back with the lure rod after bass, if this horrible easterly wind eases up.

Fill yer boots, it's the lovely month of June.

Bass

Last week I was standing in the river in just a few inches of water, waiting for the mullet to appear as the tide pushed in.

A shoal of fry scattered as a fish struck and continued to do so with ferocity, two or three times.

I'd previously put the fry jumping down to mullet dashing about as they do, but no, these were no mullet. A few minutes later a decent sized bass materialised in front of me, out of nowhere in the shallow, clear water. Most definitely a bass.

I've plenty of bass here before but mostly small ones. 

The tide was perfect yesterday,  so I bought the lure rod along with some small plugs ( or as they call them these days, "hard plastics" ), roughly the same size as the bait fish.

The wind had started to drop and it was turning out to be a fine evening. The flow increased just a touch and the fry on the shallows began to be attacked.

The surface popper landed right on top of baitfish as they were scattering and was immediately savagely hit. In the ultra shallow water the fish fought long and hard on the light gear, much better than most of the mullet I've been catching on the fly.

Turned out to be a lovely fish.

As the tide pushed in the fish moved, as did I. The surface lure was replaced with a tiny shallow runner, which resulted in three more cracking bass, all of which battled hard in the now fast flowing water. 

It's so satisfying observing something happening, devising a plan and then coming back and it working.

You'll not be surprised to learn that I'm going to give it another go this evening. 

Oh, I almost forgot, they weren't all big'uns.

A lovely evening and literally two minutes drive from the house. Magic.

Slim Pickings

The Dutch Predator season opened yesterday and the previously empty banks of the river were awash with anglers.

Whilst many of the Dutch have top quality boats with all the kit, it seemed that most of the bank anglers were foreigners, fishing for the pot, with multiple rods pointed skywards and coolboxes ready for any unfortunate visitor.

The conditions were about as bad as you can get, clear water, bright sunshine and not a breath of wind. After the wild week we've just had I was complaining though.

We had a half hearted go with the lures.

S hooked and unfortunately lost a zander and I managed to wangle out a cracking perch, which smashed the bait inches out and then beached itself on the rocks.

That's it for a while so it's back to Old Blighty for more mullet fishing and I've no idea what else. And a bit of work I suppose.

After the great winter catching big rudd I'm struggling to get excited about summer Fenland fishing at the moment. 

Things change, so who knows for what and where we'll be fishing.

Anyway, it's 1 June and last night I swallowed my first insect of of the year, so summer is here.

Cock Up

I hadn't realised our time in Holland coincided with a Dutch bank Holiday....on a Thursday.  So, lots of people take the Friday to make it a long weekend. 

We'd stayed at the site on the Waal, or to give it its full title, The Mighty Waal ( apologies to Pete Wylie ), for four days and when I came to pay, the campsite owner asked where we were heading.

"Probably a bit further  north" I said."

 You've nowhere booked ?" She said, in horror.

" Its a big Dutch holiday,  everywhere is booked up ! We're booked up. Everyone booked up ! "

Half hour on the phone to various campsites confirmed she was right. Oh dear.

In the end she said we could stay on an "unofficial" pitch she sorted out for us. 

Good ol' gal.

Bit disappointed as we'd planned to check out a site by a canal that produces grass carp and asp, but the best laid plans, etc.

Actually, poor planning on my part. I always make it up as I go along. And usually get away with it.

Never mind. I'm catching lots of very big ide, bluenose and those smeggy bream.

The ide are absolute suckers for a method feeder loaded up with a tennis ball sized bit of groundbait with seed and corn, fished in the margins. 6" hooklink, no 10 Guru feeder hook, push stop and corn.

That's enough technical stuff. 

Several times the rod was nearly pulled out my hands after casting, without even having  chance to put it in the rest. They definitely home in on the sound and cloud of the feeder going in.

On the downside I can't find those big roach. I've had one well over a pound but thats it.

The fecking wind is doing my head in though, it's been relentless.

Good news is that forecast says its dropping off a bit tomorrow.  We'll see.

The predator season is opening on Saturday,  so we'll gave a day after asp and zander before heading home.

2-0

2-0 to the roach that is.

We're in Holland in the camper. We were greeted with the river Waal being eight or nine feet down on the level at the same time last year. Incredible. 

The first evening I saw a roach roll as I was setting up and ten minutes later I hooked a fish. This was jagging and nodding, without the weight of a bream or big ide. Roach for sure.

Just as this thought entered my head it came off. Disappointing, but I thought this was a sign they'd be a few about.

I was wrong. Plenty of ide, bream and a solitary silver bream, but no more roach.

As usual, the bream followed me about, the bstards. No photos of them.

I tried several different areas, one extremely shallow, maybe three feet and surrounded by weed. After several hours without action, the tip dropped back and again, the nodding of an obviously big roach. It got stuck in a weed bed, but I eased it out. Then it went solid in more weed and this time it came off. I was not amused.

The big ide I was catching worked their way through the weed and the hooks stayed in, but not the roach. Sometimes the luck just isn't with you.

We're moving on tomorrow, so one short early morning session left to see if I can nab one of those roach.

It's been extremely windy and when you're on a massive river and it's blowing in your face it makes things very difficult. Although there was little flow, I needed a 60 gram feeder just to keep it in place, such was the power of the wind.

And it destroyed my Angling Direct umbrella. Not surprising, as its made of pipe cleaners and plasticine. It's OK, just don't use it outside.

I almost forgot. One evening I'd been breamed out on one side of the crib, so I chucked some sweetcorn in on the other side, a very shallow, sandy bit of ground where I caught plenty of ide last year.

I was only fishing a couple of yards out and after ten minutes or so the tip whacked round and somehow I failed to make contact.  The corn was flicked out to the same place and again, a thumping take which this time I hit.

The fish fled to deeper water at great speed. Definitely not an ide, but what was it ? It circled a few rod lengths out....an asp. Quite what it was doing eating sweetcorn I don't know, but a welcome surprise anyway.

I've got a canal to check out tomorrow,  so a bit of variety, which is always welcome. 

The Dutch predator season opens on Saturday, so we'll have a go at more asp and maybe zander then.

The Pursuit Continues

More local stuff, but both vans back on the road at last.

Walking and watching the river for mullet most days, lots being learnt about their habits and movements,  but they're infuriating fish and sometimes disappear for days,  for no apparant reason. I doubt they're absolutely "knowable".

I did have one the other day in very fast water, drifting the flies only a couple of rod lengths out, watching dozens of fish twisting and flashing and willing one of them to take.

In the fast water it was almost impossible to get  in, so I walked it down to a big pool full of slack water, where it eventually succumbed. Best fight this year without  doubt.

I finished off catching two sand smelt, a first for me on this river. On the fly too.

A couple of days later, I had several bass, one not a bad fish which gave a good account of itself, after slamming into the fly with ferocity. 

Another mullet bit the dust too, this one took revenge of me by thrashing about in the mud whilst being unhooked, covering me from head to toe in it. A small price to pay.

To finish off, I saw a great black backed gull seize a gosling the size of a grapefruit                   ( well,they're both yellow and round) and wolf it down in one go, which resulted in it having a bulging neck, much like a python eating a pig.

Absolutely savage.

Oh Lucky Man

Or, as Uncle Rod used to say " Don't forget to small the flowers along the way ".

Last week I was a miserable old git. The old Hymer was still in bits at the garage and the feedback I was getting was not reassuring. My work van had developed a problem that had already cost me several hundred quid and was still not resolved and a couple of other things had all conspired to put me on a downer.

However, on Monday morning I hopped on the push bike and cycled the ten or eleven miles to the garage, ready to have it out with them. What the hell was going on?

To my surprise,  they'd almost finished it and my mood lifted. Cycling back along those tiny lanes, skylarks and corn buntings singing, hawthorn blossom out, I was reminded that it doesn't get better than a sunny day in May.

Coffee and toast in the garden and then did a bit of work, no van required.

Pushing the mower, with the strimmer and blower balanced precariously on top, I managed to do three gardens before it was time to jump back on the bike, this time with fishing gear and head to the river.

My favourite spot is only a five minute ride away and I take the absolute minimal amount of gear.

I wouldn't say I've sussed the mullet out by any means, but most sessions, which last no more than ninety minutes, result in a fish hooked, often landed, sometimes not.

The evening was mulletless, but no matter, lots of mini bass kept me occupied, hitting the flies with reckless abandon, sometimes two at a time.

Cycling back the few hundred yards to the house, along the gravel path by the river, the estuary full of waders calling and the sun setting below the horizon, I reflected, not for the first time, on what a lucky bloke I am.