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My last piece finished up on the Wiltshire Park lake just before Christmas, it had been a really testing few months and by February I’d done almost 5 months without a bite from a carp, the last action being in the first week of October. The lake had just shut down and aside from the relentless bream there was nothing whatsoever to base my approach on other than past history and a bit of inspired guesswork, the last carp I’d actually seen show was in October, 20 weeks ago! It was a bit of a grueller really but as I had put the time I felt I just had to see it through and hope something special happened. Knowing that the two big girls do get caught in the winter was really the sole reason for me being there and the fact that they would probably both be upper forties undoubtedly helped a bit too, without that thought there was no way I could have sat it out through all those cold winds and freezing temperatures, it really was grim.
I arrived at the lake in the second week of February to find it unsurprisingly quiet, even the usual park goers had declined the pleasures on this particular day and aside from the odd dog walker all wrapped up in their bright stripy scarves, woolly hats and gloves it was desolate; ‘you’re a brave man being out here fishing, do they bite in this weather?’ they’d say… even the coots and geese were holed up on the back of the wind with their heads tucked in their feathers.
I’d already decided to fish a few different areas this session, all the usual productive winter spots had been plugged away at for months with little or no reward so I was planning on fishing the days down the bowl and moving down to the southern end of the lake for the nights, just to keep myself active and interested if nothing else. I finished the first unproductive day in the Dug Out and sticked a bit of bait out in readiness for my return in the morning. Packing my few bits back on the barrow I headed off with the light failing and a fine drizzle falling, the temperatures were up a little bit now and I was thankful for that small mercy if nothing else. After half a dozen casts I got the drops I wanted and my stiff linked single pop-ups were felt down with dull thuds out at range in the Stones. I quickly threw the brolly up and hid away out of the wind to get the kettle on for a brew. A couple of big knarly old slabs had me out in the rain during the night and I was becoming convinced they were following me around the lake. My alarm woke me at six, shortly before dawn. I dragged myself from the fleecy warmth of my bag, fired the stove up for a quick brew and strained to see out into the grey half-light of another winter day. By 7.30am I was back down the northern end of the lake with 2 singles and a stringer out onto the respective spots. The day passed with just a few bream hanging themselves and I repeated the process, moving down to the Stones again just before dark.
By the fourth morning it was all getting a bit much, I fumbled around in the dark for my phone, the 6am alarm getting progressively louder and beeping defiantly at my failed attempts to find it. It had rained for most of the night and everything was covered in grit that had splashed up, I rolled over in my bag, struggling for the motivation to drag myself out to pack up and move again. If the weather hadn’t have been so mild I think I would have just pulled the bag over my head and got another few hours kip but for some reason I had felt close to a fish this week. With my kit thrown on the barrow I traipsed back up the puddle strewn path towards the bowl but instead of stopping at the Dug Out as I had done the previous three mornings I pushed on and decided to do a day in the Bus Stop, it just looked good for some reason. Fresh hook sections and dull yellow ‘northern special’ pop-ups were tied onto my stiff links and flicked out to the marks. I carefully sunk the line down through the maze of bird life sat over one particular spot and a dozen flattened Maple-8 baits were carefully spread with about a foot between each over it. I left my bobbins hanging slack and hopped up the wall, sitting back on the bench behind my still loaded barrow. After a few brews and brief pleasantries to the early ‘pre-work’ dog walkers I had woken up and mentally prepared myself for another day sat on the harsh red plastic coated park bench, charred and bubbled from the attempts at burning it over the years.
At about half ten the bobbin on my right hand rod twitched up to the top, holding briefly before dropping back down again leaving the line hanging limply in the rings, ba****ds I thought…it was a typical coot bite and my eyes immediately looked down to the spot searching for a guilty looking ‘chicken’ popping up over where my hookbait was. 10 seconds later none had so I jumped down the wall, picked the rod up, gave a couple of turns on the clutch and wound down, fully expecting to connect with a bream at best. The resistance was heavy and after a few seconds of stalemate a deep, head shaking lunge told me I was attached to a carp, no doubt about it. My heart skipped a beat and I wound down and walked a few steps backwards knowing all too well the spot is terribly snaggy, the memory of last winters lost fish from the spot flooding back to me in an instant. Another few steps back and I could see the line slowly cutting away left through the water as the fish kited out into the open water away from the danger.
After so long without a bite I wanted to see this in my net more than any other carp I had hooked from the lake, the knowledge of the spot being a favourite haunt of the lakes biggest resident kept flickering into my thoughts too, I kept forcing it back out and told myself to just focus on landing whatever I was attached to. Please don’t fall off, please don’t fall off I repeated over and over in my head like a mantra. It fought well given the time of year and water temperature and stayed deep, taking line in slow steady lunges. After ten nervous minutes I struggled down the slippy cobbled wall getting the net into position as the fish tired. The tip of my 5ft of leadcore appeared for the first time and then I caught sight of a bright orangey glow twisting beneath the ripples of the southerly breeze that had now gotten up. He rolled a few rod lengths out, breaking the surface and for a moment I actually thought it was one of the big un’s, the glimpse of the thickset heavy shoulders of a mirror playing with my overactive mind. Another few heavy lunges and he was soon wallowing around, inching towards the outstretched net painfully slowly, I could see by now it wasn’t one of the real big ‘uns but a good fish all the same. I lifted the net around it and punched the air, absolutely peaking about having bagged a February carp, regardless of how big it was.
I turned around to see the friendly smiling face of Mike Willmott behind me, he was set up in the Rats and had seen me hook into the fish and walked round to help, arriving just as I’d netted it. On the mat Mike ID’d the fish as Split Barb, having a distinctive forked barbule on one side. We lifted the fish up the treacherous wall wrapped safely inside the retainer on my big Nix mat and carried it over to the only tiny bit of soft ground there is in the ‘swim’…just off the concrete! We weighed it at 33.10, which was a good weight for the fish, and it was in typically immaculate winter conditions with a lovely deep, yellowy orange belly and chestnut shoulders, a classic looking Park carp. Mike rattled off a few shots and we carefully returned it, Mike holding the back of my jacket to take my weight as I edged down the wet, cobbled slope. I was freezing and soaked but the grin on my face must have said it all, it had been a tough old winter but I’d had my result and couldn’t have been more chuffed, that one carp meaning infinitely more than all the others I’d had during the summer and autumn.
The winter just fizzled out after that, I did quite a few more sessions but it was back to blanking and I think there were only two out before the end I think, a double and a low twenty, none of the big girls putting an appearance in after all. I had a few weeks break after it closed on March the 14th and just flitted around having a session here and there with mates and catching up on a bit of socialising, it was just nice not to be bloody freezing for a change!
The Spring Campaign
Within a few weeks my thoughts had already turned to the upcoming spring, I didn’t really fancy travelling but nothing close to home really inspired me and with April and May being such good months to be out angling I wanted to be on somewhere with a real prize or two in it. I’d turned a ticket down for a Berkshire water the year before, still being really into my fishing on the Park, and wondered if I could get hold of a part season ticket for the spring. I’d been working on the drawings for Terry’s new book at the time and had spent quite a while staring at his pictures of the mirror known as the Brute, actually doing a little sketch of him returning it. I remember thinking what a lovely old character it was and in the end decided I just had to have a go for him myself! Despite the sad demise of the Jockey the previous year there were still a number of good looking mirrors in there topped by the big fella, which at possibly 45+ made it a more than worthy target. A few phone calls later and a ticket was procured that ran until June 15th, the day before the Park re-opened, sorted! To cut a long story short, that was in late March but due to some dramas with my car and a last minute surfing trip to Fuerteventura with some of my Cornish mates it was the first week of May before I finally arrived at the gate to the Berkshire venue in a nice new Astra van, my old one e-bay’d for a nominal sum! It was a calm, hazy evening and after locking the gate quietly behind me I stood for a moment looking out over the pit for the first time, just the occasional swirl from a tench or bream breaking the surface.
There were only two cars in the car park so I grabbed a bucket and headed off for a walk, there is something quite special about setting foot on pastures new. The first bay I came to looked ever so carpy with big overhanging trees and snags and a thick scum line gathered around them, any one of the little gaps looked like it could have held a fish or two. I had a shin up a few trees but the fading evening light made it impossible so see anything at all and the clarity wasn’t especially good anyway with only a few feet of visibility. After a circuit and a quick chat with a couple of the lads angling I was back where I started just in time to see one of the regulars slipping the net under a lovely 30lb common. It turned out that my timing was spot on after all, there hadn’t been many caught so far this spring with the winter hanging on till the death and it seemed like it was just about prime. That perked me up and with the light fading I loaded the barrow up and headed off into the dark.
I didn’t get set up until after midnight and had just stood with the motorway lights illuminating strips of the water, watching and listening, hoping something would give itself away. Nothing did so I opted for a swim that let me cover and see quite a bit of water, knowing I’d probably be on the move in the morning anyway. I just put 3 singles out, feeling them down for a decent drop. Dawn broke to another clear, flat calm day and there were numbers of bream and tench rolling out in front of me, even an odd carp lazily head and shouldered out in the middle of them. I was made up just have seen a few and picked a couple of tench up that morning so knew my rigs had been presentable at least. Once the sun had got up later that morning I wound in and went for a walk, as it was Friday I knew it would be getting busy that evening so I wanted to get sorted well in advance. I had a really slow mooch around, working out which were the best viewing trees for each area, checking for little potential margin spots and just generally trying to get my bearings. After all the time I’d spent at the Park constantly looking over my shoulder, fending dogs and kids off it was so nice just to be able to leave my kit and go for a walk, in fact it was bliss – aside from the unrelenting drone of the motorway that is.
I didn’t find any in the edge that day and other than a few small black, old looking commons tucked away under a few of the bushes it was quite quiet. As I’d seen a couple that morning out in front of me I decided to stay put and see what the forecast westerly brought the following day. The day was a real scorcher and there is no shade whatsoever on the motorway bank, it just bakes you. I flitted between the sauna like shade of the brolly and the open sun and sorted my rods for the evening just before dark, taking the zigs off and replacing them with my normal rigs. I found a few different marks on nice firm areas between the weed and I sat back to take in the atmosphere of my first proper evening on the new pit. An odd couple showed that evening, only one or two in front of me but enough to make me hopeful, not that I was really expecting anything much from my first session.
First Bite
The night passed quickly and the morning was quiet over the whole pit in comparison to the previous day with only odd tench rolling close in. It looked like it was going to be another warm one and due to the heat I’d drunk almost all my liquids already so it was looking like a trip to the garage was needed. I hung on until about 9 then headed off, stopping off for a quick chat and a brew on the way with one of the regulars. Just as I was supping the last of my tea a good fish head and shouldered out in the middle of the pond, leaving a big plume of fizz behind it, ‘your water that fella’ Matt said. I pondered for a second and decided the garage could wait, I ponced a bit of water and jumped straight back in the motor heading back round to the motorway bank car park. A quick look assessed roughly where I thought it had shown and I flicked a single stiff linked pop-up the 50 or so yards out to the area, it landed with a nice donk in what I guessed to be about 8ft of water and I actually felt quite confident it had landed so sweetly. Solid looking banks of clouds were starting to appear on the horizon from the west and it looked like the weather was on the turn thankfully, maybe there was time for a late morning chance yet.
The clouds had pushed over by now and a breeze had picked up, trickling past the point I was on. After a few brews and watching for a while I had a little walk up the bank to have a chat with a lad called Kelvin that had set-up the previous evening, after a brief chat he asked if I fancied a brew, he didn’t carry a guest cup and never being one to turn a tea down I wandered back to my brolly to grab mine. It was a good job I did as the bobbin on my re-cast rod was jammed up against the buzzer and the line out of the clip, the drone of the motorway having drowned out the take completely even though I was no more than 20 yards away! Nightmare…my first bite and I do my best to lose it! The line cut up through the water as I bent into the fish, plinking off the weed as the little backlead lifted. It was clear the fish had kited and there is a buoy about 40 yards off to the left in the swim that the line was now running dangerously close to. I didn’t think it was going to clear it but holding the rod at full stretch above my head the line passed over the top with literally inches to spare. Kelvin ran down and after resuming a normal fight he slid the net under a chunky looking common for me, oddly it had seemed like a long lean fish in the water but once in the net it was quite clearly short and fat! Not that I was in the slightest bit bothered, it was my first from the water and I was buzzing. It was a lovely clean fish that went 28.10 and I was well chuffed that my decision to forfeit the garage had got me a bite, the first from a new water always being a bit special. The weather was ideal that afternoon and a few got caught from opposite me, they’d turned up in numbers over there but unfortunately I couldn’t get close to them. I did another night but nothing more happened that trip and I headed home via the Park lake for a spot of pre-baiting, trickling a bit in here and there onto a few spots I expected them to be in given the weather. Part of my plan for the spring was to pre-bait the Park every week during the ‘close’ as it was handily on the way home from the Berkshire venue.
After a traumatic 185 miles of untold traffic and almost 6 hours of driving I arrived in the car park all stocked up and ready for another session, my head mashed by too much loud Aphex Twin and James Lavelle. It was again in the baking hot temperatures of that hot spell we had during May and I flitted around for the first day, climbing all the trees and baiting and checking a few spots but like the last trip I was only finding the small, apparently resident commons in the edge. I spent the afternoon trying to get some of the mirrors going off the top in the open water and feeding mixers over zigs but they were having none of it, refusing to even look at my little floating Trouties, let alone a chum mixer. From what I could gather from the regulars it was fishing very differently to last year, the winter had seen off all the weed and instead of the fish regularly being found in the same areas and weedbeds they were being far more nomadic and staying on the move because of the lack of cover. It made sense and also accounted for why they were being so cagey around the zigs and floating baits. I decided my best bet might be to give an area a bit of bait and sit it out for a few days, I would rather have stayed mobile but it didn’t really seem to be the answer, as soon as a few lines were going in they were doing the off.
Cricket Bats and a mirror
The area to the right of the small sailing club looked to be an ideal interception point covering a few shallow areas and what small areas of new weed growth there was. A perfect ambush point I thought. I rigged up a light marker set up with a little lead and an esp mini marker and found a few likely areas, one was a gulley just my side of a substantial bar, it was really clean and firm at the base and surrounded by fresh new Canadian. I baited the gulley heavily with about 3 kilos of 18mm Fusions and marked and clipped my rods up for later, the plan being to bait up during the day to let them know it was there as they mooched to and fro over the shallow bars but leave the rods out until last thing to keep the lines out of the water. I had another scoot around that afternoon and with nothing much doing elsewhere I felt quite happy with my decision. Little 2 bait stringers were nicked on and the rods carefully got into position for the evening. Almost straight away the liners started up but just after dark the first one went with a tench, and then a little later with a bream. The next 2 days and nights followed exactly the same pattern; I’d bait heavily during the day and get the rods out in the evening. I took 3 fish and a number of tench and bream off the heavily baited area that session, two ‘cricket bat’ wildie commons that I didn’t weigh but I expect were upper doubles and my first mirror; a stunning heavily scaled fish weighing 20.02. Not the biggest in the lake but certainly one of the prettiest, a really dark, almost black character and a rare visitor to the bank I was told.
It certainly was a good weekend to be out angling that one. One of my mates from the Park lake, a lad called Chris, had sent me a text on the Friday saying how it was a good moon phase and how the big ‘uns would be on the feed…Nige bagged the big Burghfield common, Chemo had Charlie’s mate, a friend of a friend had a 47 and 48 brace from another southern pit within a couple of days and the big fella came out of the pit I was on at 45+! I almost felt like I’d been short-changed with my 2 wildie commons and 20 mirror! I couldn’t complain though, I’d had 4 carp in two trips so far and it was far from fishing well so I was chuffed and the place was really starting to get a grip of me by now.
My trips generally followed the same pattern, I’d arrive early and spend all day looking around, checking the spots in the edges and having a play with the floaters. The fish were definitely not hanging around in any one area for long though which made it difficult to move onto them, chances were that they’d do the off almost as soon as you’d got a hookbait on! They knew exactly when they were being angled for and I was even down to using little 1oz leads, slack lines and tiny backleads but even so the same scenario repeated itself a number of times; you would see a few show, move round there, wait for another to show, flick a bait out to it and that would be the last one you saw. An hour or so later they would be showing somewhere else! Making an inspired guess as to where they would turn up seemed to be the best chance of a fish but they were proving to be frustratingly fickle and unpredictable as to where they would turn up, following no apparent pattern or particular relation to the weather. Sometimes they’d be on the back of the wind, other times they’d be half way down or off to the side, occasionally they’d be right on the end of it but almost never in the same place twice or for more than two mornings on the trot. Over the next few weeks I managed a few other nice fish, a pretty 27 linear and a nice dark 22lb common but still couldn’t latch into any of the bigger fish.
The pre baiting trips down at the other lake were encouraging though and the fish had been shovelling the bait down, on one particular occasion I had one of the big mirrors, a fish know as ‘Rudder’ which was probably 43-45lb at the time, spinning round with its pecs and taking bits of broken baits on the drop, a truly mental sight and one that I can still see as vividly now as when it happened. Aside from carpy activity there is always something happening down at the Park, one Sunday evening I arrived with an hour or so before dark tooled up with my stick and a few buckets of 18’s to be greeted with half a dozen police cars and 2 riot vans in the car park…halfway around the lake I bumped into a 12 man strong search team complete with dogs, it turned out they were looking for an escapee from the local asylum. ‘He may be dangerous so don’t approach him, tuck yourself out of sight and dial 999 immediately’ I was told! It was getting late and the park was deserted aside from the police so I sticked my bait in as quick as humanly possible and scarpered, police helicopters whirring overhead! Next thing I heard they had found a body down there but wouldn’t release any details about the death, always nice to be angling in safe secure surroundings eh…
The big fella
I had never intended to do more than the spring down on the Berkshire Pit but the more time I spent there the more I was beginning to feel like I couldn’t leave so soon, I was contemplating trying to get a ticket for the coming season and leaving the Park alone until later in the year when they would be at big weights. Either way, I had seen the big fella a couple of times now and the thought of catching him had really got to me. The first time was from way up high from one of the big viewing trees, I was a long way up but you couldn’t miss the distinctive shoulders and bulk of him in the water, his big creamy belly visible even from that height. The second time I actually found him feeding tight in behind a coots nest up against the motorway bank snags along with a few of his mates. The Brute, the Orange fish, one of the thirty pound linears and another chunky thirty plus mirror along with a few smaller commons were really working a little spot, flanking through it and coming up with streaks of clay all over their heads and shoulders. The water was well clouded up and I’d literally run round the lake back to my kit to grab a rod and net. It was impossible to get a rig onto the actual spot but I managed to get a single hookbait in as tight as I dared to the front of the coot’s nest. I sat behind it for about 4 hours and finally conceded defeat as they had gradually melted away one by one, the spell and chance of a bite gone. When I went back for a look the following day the area was gin clear again with not a fish in sight, the bottom of the spot dotted with little polished stones.
Last Knockings
All too quickly May had passed and my ticket had almost run out, by now it was the second week of June, there was always next season I told myself. I’d really enjoyed the month and was so tempted to stay on but didn’t want to get too sidetracked from my unfinished business up on the Park, with the travelling distances involved it had to be one or the other really. Speaking to one of the bailiffs it appeared that the pits, including some of the others on the other side of the road, were assigned to be backfilled in the not too distant future too, starting in 2010 actually. Prudential own all the land that side of the motorway and want to develop an industrial and housing estate complex on it…a very sad end to some awesome pieces of water if it does happen and I felt a bit gutted about it all really.
The weather was dire that week, there had only been one bite in the last 10 days or so and to be honest it didn’t look good, flat calm and baking hot. It was obvious the fish had spawning on their minds and were looking a bit ‘chasy’ but it wasn’t quite right yet. Once again I plumped for the ‘Container’ as it covered the shallow bars, fresh weed and passing points for any fish travelling up and down the lake. As usual I baited the spots heavily during the day and left the lines out until late on, the fish were definitely acutely aware of the lines being in the water so the less time they were in there the better. I had a stalk and a dabble with the floaters to keep myself occupied during the day and got sorted for the night and early morning spell which seemed to be the only real chance of a bite at that time.
The first and second nights passed uneventfully aside from the obliging tench and occasional bream but on the Saturday morning I saw half a dozen fish show close in just in front of a rarely fished little gap to my right. I had flicked a single hookbait out to them that morning but nothing occurred, setting a rod up on a single stick and a handy bit of brick for a back rest. Later that afternoon I put a mini-marker with a little 2oz lead out to the area they’d shown on. It was a really smooth clean, silty spot surrounded by thick fresh Canadian and I was convinced they had been feeding down there, it just felt right, my only worry was that they wouldn’t turn up again there the following morning. I wanted something they’d take notice of so pulted a good couple of kilos of 18mm Fusions out onto the area, spreading them over an area the size of a bivvy and clipped and marked my rod ready for the evening, once again keeping the lines out for the majority of the day.
Another long hazy day passed and once again my attempts to catch one off the top were failed, I did actually manage to get them taking on that particular occasion but nowhere near strongly enough to get caught. The evening was quiet and the rods went in nice, all going down with the donk or thud I expected from each spot. The weather was taking it out of me and with no sign of it breaking I had decided it would be my last night on the pit, the Park opened in 4 days and I wanted to sort my kit out and needed to catch up on some work before the 16th. It was exactly a month on from the last full moon and my mate Chris sent me another text, ‘The big fellas will b on the much 2nite m8, b lucky’ I said my prayers and hoped he was right again! I slept fitfully with the heat and woke early to another clear, still starry sky, sitting with the first brew I watched the occasional tench rolling over as the motorway lights went off one by one and dawn began to break.
I dragged myself up, feeling exhausted from the heat and a little dejected at the lack of action. After watching from the main swim for a little while I went and sat behind my single rod, the line still hanging limply between the rings and the line in the clip just as I had left it the evening before. As I sat there supping my tea I took my eyes off the area and tuned back just in time to see a big set of rings pushing out from directly over the spot. A couple of minutes later I saw one quietly poke it’s head out and then another soon after. A few sheets of fizz appeared and within half an hour I’d seen a dozen bream show and another carp, it was obvious they’d found the bait and I looked down at my rod, willing it to go. Aside from the activity over that spot it was deathly quiet everywhere else and I knew I’d made the right decision to move the rod around, for once they’d turned up in the same place for a second morning.
A single bleep broke the silence; I looked down and watched as the line tightened between the rings and ever so slowly lifted the bobbin off the floor. I glanced out to where the line was entering the water to see it cutting up through the water as the little backlead lifted. Another half a dozen bleeps and the bobbin was in the roller; I was transfixed, unsure at first if it was a bream, liner of proper take but when it held tight on the clip I had a gut feeling it was a carp. I dinked the line from the clip by hand, gave the clutch a turn and wound down. The resistance was heavy and straight away I knew it was a carp, I glanced over and my net was still between the two swims and with a tree and a few bushes between us there was no way I was reaching it without putting the rod down, I cursed my ‘schoolboy error’ for not grabbing it first… The fish stayed deep and kited hard down to the right, being a tight little gap banked by two big sets of snags I had to really give it some pressure to turn it, fortunately it did and after plodding around for a few minutes it suddenly surfaced about 3 rod lengths out. Thankfully I had an extra set of hands by now as I will never forget the sight of those great big shoulders and that overslung mouth turning over on the surface with my little yellow pop-up hanging from it. I knew instantly which fish it was and the blood drained from me ‘Oh god, is that what I think it is’ I said, knowing full well it was! He wallowed around on the surface, shaking his head from side to side as I ever so slowly edged backwards leading him towards the net. I didn’t quite see him go in but saw the net lift and knew The Brute was mine. I gave a muffled shout and knew that a proper fairy tale ending to my spring campaign had just played itself out.
The next few minutes were a bit hazy and my head just couldn’t process the fact that I’d actually bagged him on my last morning, talk about cutting it fine! Looking down into the net it was obvious he was looking big and I quickly sorted the kit, wanting to get him back as soon as possible because of the conditions and time of year. We set the Ruebens up through my net pole and recorded a weight of 46.10, his biggest weight ever and he looked immaculate in the softly filtered early morning sun.
I actually stayed on for another night, and knowing full well I would probably never fish the lake again I thought it seemed such a shame to pack up there and then. I nipped up the shops in the afternoon and got a little disposable barbeque, some steak and a few beers and toasted his capture all by myself on a deserted Sunday evening. Locking the gate behind me on the Monday morning I paused to look out over the pit for a moment, it was flat calm with little rafts of May fluff floating around and an just an odd tench breaking the glassy surface, exactly as it had been a month previous when I’d first arrived. Needless to say I left with a smile and a thank you…
Be lucky, and thanks for reading.
Gaz Fareham
