THE JEWEL RETURNS

I was woken abruptly to the sound of my alarm. It took me a few seconds to realise where I was, the T.V was still on and it was dark outside still confused I checked the time on my phone. 3.45am still dazed and stiff from only having 3 hours sleep on the settee I slowly stretched while coming to the realisation it wasn’t work I was getting up for, so like a hyperactive kid on red bull I sprung up with a new lease of life. Flicked the switch on the kettle, rolled a fag and skipped up stairs for a swill and stir my teenage son out of his pit.
Anyone reading this with teenage boys will know that Neanderthal teen responds with grunts and after taking a while to understand this language from my forgotten youth I had surmised from the length and tone of said grunt that he had acknowledged me and just needed ten minutes to come round.so coffee made cigarette sparked up and cocker spaniel doing laps of the garden scenting all the cats that seem to torment him, I was at peace with the world anticipating what was to come.
The inky black was now slowly transforming in a kaleidoscope of blue hues over the mountains to the east, the sky was cloudless. As something startled the crows from their roost in the trees behind my house. I finished the dregs of my coffee, discarded my butt onto the lawn and went inside to get all the fresh food from the fridge, by now I knew the boy was up as he was being is usual subtle self-stomping around with the elegance of a baby elephant slamming draws and sliding wardrobes. The food was loaded and as I came back into the house he was putting on his shoes, bag over his shoulder with a nod and a grunt he acknowledged he was ready, so we were off.
The two hour journey was uneventful except for the odd tractor and caravan out for their summer hols and the low burning ball of gas, trying to blind me at every turn, burning out my retinas causing me to squint every so often like a Japanese sniper. We arrived at the lake at 6.05 to early for our traditional brekkie in the cafe down the road. Something we have always done when he has come fishing with me so it was decided to have a look round get the gear to which ever peg we chose and then take it from there. We drove in through the gate and my heart sank, 12 cars in the car park but lucky for us 5 belonged to people who had booked out the back lake for the weekend. So my mood lifted that was until I looked in the margin of the first swim and the water was tinged with a green hue. The dreaded algae was back looking out on the lake it was more prominent. The usual Canadian instead of looking green was jet black and the water had the resemblance of pea soup, but after a quick conversation with one of the bailiffs a couple of pegs down, allayed some of my fears, he informed their specialist had taken samples the previous week and informed that it was harmless, so they were monitoring oxygen levels twice daily and also installed 2 aerators so at least they were being proactive.
Armed with my bait bucket and unhooking mat I set off to find fish and also see where the other six anglers had set up camp. They all seemed to be spread out down the far end which was quite disconcerting as farriers is 30 plus acres in size, but due to its shape and pegging it can sometimes be hard to get on fish, with only 6 or 7 on without having to slip in-between people and that’s not always ideal if the fish are being finnicky. So after a quick scoot round I knew I could rule out most of the main areas so I settled on peg six which is on a point where you can’t really be bothered by other anglers rods and there was already fish cruising shoulders out in the general area of the spot was going to fish .An area that no one really bothers with, but where I had a 32 and 34 not a million miles away from the previous week , a spot I had seen them traveling over regularly the previous two weeks which I had the foresight to plumb up the week prior. So a kilo of “STICKY baits” vortex plus was dispatched to the spot with the catapult to get a bit of a spread, rather than tight spombing allowing me to put two rods out there and get the fish working for it. Camp was set up everything clipped and by this time both our stomachs were doing somersaults, so it was time for the short walk to the cafe for some much needed sustenance. Two large breakfasts later with enough calories to feed a small third world village for a week we were satisfied. A bit of banter on the way back interrupted by the odd bit of wind and flatulence and the sneaky rib tickler my boy likes to throw at me every so often.
Back in the swim the fish had started to turn up in numbers so it was time to get the rods out. “Bugger” the first cast I put out there went too far to the left after compensating for an overhanging branch and slammed straight into a weed bed, throwing up those telltale fizzing, soapy bubbles and with no drop I had butchered its checking there was nothing I could see between me and the spot, I whipped the rig back in. 7 casts later I was finally happy with it, not perfect in anyone’s book but I was finally had two rods angling. The day wore on at about 2 pm I had the first ritualistic phone call of the mrs you know the ones, what had I done with this, where had I put that, how do you do this, did the boy have sun cream on, the usual dotting mother worries. Half way through the conversation I noticed a group over the spot throwing up bubbles, so concentrating on that I didn’t have a clue to what I was or was not agreeing to on the phone. With that a big boil appeared and an eruption on the surface anticipating something had happened without as much of a bleep even yet I explained I had to go and threw my phone on the bivvy floor, just then my rod buckled round and I watched as the fish bolted into the thick weed bed to the left I had cast into that morning, rod in hand I tightened down to the fish, trying to keep a tight line as the fish in here are quite adept to throwing the barbless hooks, but even with the tight line there was nothing I could do the fish thrashed and after about what felt like an age it all went slack as the fish careered off to the left leaving me to reel in my only prize ,some Canadian wrapped around my end tackle.
The rest of the day left me frustrated not for the loss even though that hurt but more that I couldn’t make another chance for myself, baiting a stalking peg to my right little and often they just turned they nose up at it and while introducing floaters to a group of 20 fish to the peg to my left in the weed whereas the week before it felt you could hand feed them without your lines in the water, this week they were just not interested something wasn’t right. By 8 o’clock the fish had drifted away which they tend to do on the shallows 90% of the time through the night, but the rods stayed on the spot, after a quick freshen up a little more bait added we settled down for the night. Me sitting in the front of the bivvy watching the water drinking coffee and the boy watching films on my phone. The night was still with a big moon in the east, nothing was showing anywhere on the lake except for the odd telltale slap of the ravenous red eye monsters that inhabit the lake. By about one it was time to turn in nothing was really happening and with the conditions staying pretty much the same I was confident they would be back in the morning. Sleep was impossible the mozzies were horrendous biting chunks out of the pair of us one little blighter had even audacity to get me on the ball sack poor soul. So by 3 o clock I was back outside scratching like a crab infested scrotum, coffee and fag in hand listening to my son throw profanities at the little blood sucking beasts screaming that he wouldn’t be happy till every single one was squashed dead against the bivvy roof.
I recast the rods at first light, new hookbaits and a small scattering nothing had really showed at all but the odd back was appearing close in on the swims opposite. Nothing had been out that night so breakfast was cooked and by 10 o clock, I decided to get some much needed sleep the fish had turned up so was going to play the waiting game. I was startled awake at 2 pm a vicious liner on my right hand rod looked at the spot nothing then noticed a family of swans head down arse up 20 yards out, never mind I was awake now but still baffled to why I hadn’t had a take the fish were all over me. With only the one night left and having to leave early in the morning it was time for a change of plan I sat there for a few more hours contemplating my next move a few more people had turned up and squeezed themselves in up this end so that was out of the question, so the other end it would have to be. So by seven the rods were reeled in and I went for a look down the road bank. On getting to the far corner I seen one just poke its nose out then another looking across to the turnaround I saw three subtle shows simultaneously that was my mind made up, back to the swim throw everything on the barrow and we were away round to the other end of the lake.
I settled on the left hand high bank swim, it gave me options in some open water and made it a little harder to spook the fish I had seen, which were still being subtle down to my left knowing full well they would have to come out past me to leave. The both rods were clipped up at 52 yards to a nice clear spot I knew of, one exploratory cast and crack on the money a kilo of bait catapulted into the rings and both rods were cast onto the area both hitting down on concrete. Now I felt I was angling again, soon after the liners started, one rod then the next. The bobbins would dance for a bit then it would go quite for an hour or so, then bang the bobbin on one of the rods would slam up before coming back down and they would dance again This frustrating scenario went on till 2 in the morning startling me as it came out of the blue and then silence. I woke at seven still unsure how I hadn’t had a take, with that a vicious liner on the left hand rod jolted my heart and the rush of adrenaline had me jumping out of my skin. There was the odd bit of fizzing on the spot, so was still confident but what was worrying me, these carp can devour kilos of bait in minutes but with only a single kilo and night of activity on my spot I felt I had been done. So reluctantly I decided to reel one of the rods in to check for problems. But which one after a quick think and the realisation that it didn’t really matter I checked the spot for activity and reached down to the right hand rod and slowly wound it in.it all came back fine so now I was really baffled. so new bait put on a little bag and flicked 30 yards down the margin just not to spook the area, as I was putting the rod on the alarm the other bobbin came up being the usual clutts that I am I thought I had caused it, but no the rod started pulling round but no taking of line. Typical I thought the bloody tench have been on me and one of the stupid little piranhas has gone and hooked himself on a 20mm 16 mm snowman rig. Reluctantly I picked up the rod and the fish came to the top 50 yards out, nothing spectacular, which convinced me it was a tinca.

With a bit of pressure the fish came careering towards me just under the surface causing me to reel franticly, until it hit a small band of weed 20 yards out, as it hit the band it swirled and I was convinced I saw a line of apple scale sovereigns but surely not I was still convinced it was a tench..At this point I would love to say how the fish woke up took 30 yards of line before weeding me 4 times and then causing me to swim for it but nothing could be further from the truth. All that actually happened was it got a good a load of weed over its face and I winched it straight into the net, as it slipped over the cord half covered in weed I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, my eyes hadn’t deceived me there were a big line of apple scales. The first thing to come to mind was the half lin a stunning fish and one I would really love to catch, but after clearing the weed off the fish the scales kept traveling up the chunky flank of this beautiful creature. “Hello old friend”, said with a slight pang of disappointment as the realization of what was lying at the bottom of the net had hit me. But that didn’t last long, I had just landed one of the nicest zip linears in the country all 36 lb. 13oz of carp perfection and for the second time in 14 months and that made the packing up a hell of a lot sweeter a blank saved and in my opinion by one of the nicest creatures in the country “Happy days”

Be lucky

Smiley