lincolnshire

took mentalor to a venu lecal to him - did a 22 hour stint for 1 bream (18:45), 3carp and a handful of bits. Mentalor peaked with a 2lb9oz tench at 20 past eight. 5 or 6 lb carp at 20:45 and another of about 3lbs ten minutes later. Anther came at just after midnght, this one just shy of 8 lbs

New Dam

This weekend we went camping in the peak district with a group of friends, a group which happened to include Mentalor and Wanye.  Since he last featured on the blog Wanye has kitted himself out with some second hand tackle, he simply needed a licence and he would be set to go...of course he had forgotten to do this prior to departure & paid the price as he battled through an eternally slow internet connection using his phone from a field in the depths of rural Derbyshire.

Paperwork sorted, bait was next on the agenda, a quick trip into Matlock revealed that finding maggots might be a problem, and a phone call to the Bakewell Fly Fishing shop confirmed that supermarket bait was the best we could hope for in the immediate vicinity. So armed with bread, sweetcorn and spam, and with a secret stash of a dozen precious redworms, we were all set for an afternoon and evening fishing.

Finding coarse fishing in the peak district isn't exactly easy, top quality trout fishing is everywhere, but I had struggled to find us anywhere local until I stumbled into an old forum post mentioning "New Dam" at Youlgreave. The ordnance survey map revealed a prime candidate a couple of hundred metres southwest of Youlgrave & an email to the keeper of the Peacock fishery on the Wye (thanks Warren) confirmed that this was the place. Accessed via a long drive, the pool had a board posting the tel number of the farmer, and he popped down to see us on his way to get the cows in for milking.  Mostly bream, carp and perch he told us, and despite it being a bank holiday weekend we had the pool to ourselves.

Mentalor started by seeking monster perch with a mepps while I took Wanye through knotting and shotting his terminal tackle, with breadflake as the bait. I was in no hurry to get fishing, taking an hour or two at the start of the session to make sure my apprentices were settled in before setting up in an adjacent peg which I had fed with 4 slices of bread pinched into fingertip sized flakes shortly after we arrived.

Mentalor had the first fish, a small bream, on a redworm, and reusing what remained of the redworm quickly followed it with a perch.

When I finally got around to casting it took a just a few minutes until the first bite, which I missed... A second bite, which I also missed came moments later and was followed by a third , three bites within 15 mins but no fish contacted. I was a little puzzled. This time I baited with two redworms, each hooked once through the tip of the tails so they hunk enticingly downwards with the hookpoint clear and pointily awaiting its opportunity. This bite was more decisive than the others, the float shot under and to the left, as I lifted to the right the rod flexed into an interesting curve for a second to two, before the skimmer broke the surface and surrendered its slime to my landing net. The bream was followed by a perch, then another skimmer, a carbon copy of is brother taken earlier. 

It was half past seven, and a large lump of compressed legered bread was to give me my next fish - a small but feisty carp of about three and a half pounds which got into the reeds at my feet, costing me a lead which was dropped by the clip as the carp was coaxed from its futile attempt at sanctuary. Another small bream fell for the last of my precious redworms and the bait crisis this precipitated was generously solved by the only other angler on the pool. His donation to our cause of a quarter pint of surplus maggots handed on when he packed up, helped us soldier on, attempting to add to our tally. 

  As the light faded, a bit before nine, a shout from Mentalor ejected me from my swim, he was into a better fish, his first proper fight really, and it was giving him a bit of a run around. I picked up the net, with Menatalor brandishing the bucking rod in the manner of a confident amateur. Eventually he got the fishes head out of the water, and netted it for him, forgetting that the net I was using had a habit fof collapsing if

used the "wrong" way round. Of course, predictably, it was the wrong side up, and the arms collapsed before me as the net flopped down over the handle, flaccidly enveloping the carp, but retaining it nevertheless. Happy faces all round, the carp weighed in at 3lb 9oz, a nice new PB for the old apprentice. It was also an opportunity for us to give Wanye a bit of a ribbing, as we had landed 7 fish whilst he was still yet to score.

  Returning to my swim I had another another bite on the legered bread which failed to connect. Wayne had found some fish, taking a small bream and a perch I think, and with Mentalors and my tally at 5 each darkness had deemed our fishing time to be over. We returned to the tents at Barn farm, toasting our success with some rapidly consumed bevvies, and agreeing that mentalors carp was the "best" fish, even if mine pipped it a bit on weight...

Renewing Old Aquaintances

many years ago I lived in Wilford, and at the end of the road near the Ferry Inn was an old dilapidated pool, you know the kind, the old tesco trolly and dumped fridge in the margins,with lager cans and the remnants of bonfires decorating the banks. I fished it a few times for pike, but it was the kind of place you fish on foot, travelling light for a quick getaway and definately not a place to fish after dark. It was on the Notts AA book at that time, but I never encountered any one else fishing there...
How times change, fast forward to 2011 and community group the Iremonger pond association have taken over the fishing rights, cleaned the place up, laying paths and permanent pegs and offer a years membership for a very reasonable £15. Night fishing is allowed, and the pool produced at least 2 20lb carp last year.  I hope to find time for a night session here at some point this year, but for the time being an afternoon/ evening would suffice to get a reaqainted with the place.
I found a family picnic in full swing as I arrived, and I walked a full circuit of the pool to see if any fish were showing, passing a few dogwalkers and people just out enjoying the sunshine. There were no fish topping in the afternoon sun, and a light breeze was blowing from the NE, so I settled into the peg in the SW corner.
There were rudd in here 10 years ago, before the pool was connected via a short channel to the River Trent. As I had failed to connect with any of the pretty blighters last year It was this distant memory of golden flanks and crimson fins which brough me here for the evening of easter sunday. My primary bait was breadflake, though I switched from time to time to redworm, optimistically kept throwing crust on the surface with a floater rod at the ready and tried tutti boilie and spicy prawn on bolt rigs. I fed pinches of bread regularly, and searched out the corner of the pool, finding it deeper than I expected, getting no interest with bread and picking up the occasional half hearted bite on the worms. There were lots of very small bits in the swim, and I suspected these to be the architects of the bites I was getting, after fishing progressively smaller bits of worm on the hook without success, and switching back to bread, I was again back on a whote redworm fished high in the water when the float dibbled, before sliding under... a proper bite... and familiar flash of gold and red as the rudd was landed.
  A trio of anglers arrived at 7ish, had a chat before they did a slow circuit of the pool, I though they were taking their time, and one came over to ask whait time i would be off. It transpired that they were planning on prebaiting, and the swim they wanted to bait had me perched in it. I told them just go ahead and bait up. "wouldn't want to ruin your sport" came the reply - "whats to ruin, I'm not exactly hauling them out". They said they would come back later. I wasn't far behind them, calling it a day as the distant bell of the council house chimed 8.

Show him how its done (NOT!)

Returned to the canal this evening with Mentalor for his next lesson. I had initially planned to fish at the Trent Bridge end of the canal, but, after parking at the end of iremonger road and walking along the towpath discovered that instead of the grass verge near the lock, the towpath now extends all the way to the river - and with pedestrians and cyclists, and nowhere to stick a bankstick, fishing here appeared to be off the agenda. We returned to the car & headed to the opposite end of the canal, back to Beeston.
After the poor performance a few weeks ago we fished between some willow trees towards the end of the moored boats. I fished four rods, all aimed at a chance carp, but more realistically expecting some chub. baits were a snowman rigged pair of spicy shrimp bilies, tutti frutti boilie, halibut pellet and lobworm. The boilies were bolt rigged and the halibut pellet and lob were fished on light running legers and each was attached to a pva stocking containing 10 crushed baits.
Mentalor was legering redworms on one rod and floatfishing redworms on the other. There were plenty of fish topping, but casting the light waggler he was using far enough "upstream" and across to trot back through on the right line was causing him some problems.  Handing him a 2 swan chubber, a quick retackle solved the problem, and it wasn't long before a chublet obliged and Mentalor added yet another new species to his list - first chub and on a chubber.
This wasnt the only bite Mentalor was to get, there were two sharp raps, an hour or so apart, on the legered worms, and there were a couple of missed bites on the float. We stuck at it until about 9pm, but it ended 1-0 to Mentalor, my rods had not had a touch, I was particularly disappointed with the performance of the lobworm, but regardless, it was a disappointing performance overall.

Show Him How It's Done

Took Mentalor over to Beeston to try and get him picking up some of the bits I'd found here last time...

after 20 mins had passed without a bite, and with no fish topping it wasnt looking good. My master plan had been to spend the first half float fishing for small stuff, then switch to target the pike that had been so active here on my last visit. Of course with the shoals missing the thought crossed my mind that the pike had probably also followed them.

my single pinkie hanging from the size 24 went untouched for the whole session, I tried from overdepth to just under the surface and every combination of colour and size. The fish just didn't seem to be there. Finally Mentalor got a  bite and swung in a bleak. Taking the fish from him I hooked it onto the single size 2 attached via a steel trace to a paternoster rig. This was designed to keep the fish near the surface and prevent it from seeking refuge in the weed and debris at the bottom of the canal. This rod was placed on the alarms and we turned out attention back to watching the biteless floats. Mentalors float occasionally dipped and dithered in a half hearted way from time to time but mine, 12ft or so away remained stubbornly stolid.

Then, bingo! mentalor was in again, and it would prove to be a first of species on rod and line. OK, only a minnow, but as I was getting out my micro-species scales to check its weight (It would be a new PB after all) my alarm bleeped into life and I lifted into a much bigger fish... which soon began to peel the line off the clutch as the rod hooped over. As I played the fish I also talked Mentalor through the finer points of fitting a net into its spreader block, and he had the net assembled and into the canal in plenty of time to net out a mean looking pike of five or six pounds.

Of course now were were out of livebait - and with no further action on the maggots I decided a switch was needed, so we packed up the rods and moved a few hundred yards over to the River Trent. The river was probably a metre or so above summer level, coloured and rising.

Mentalor put a rod out legering with a found worm, while a second rod floatfished maggots in the slack water at our feet. I went all out for barbel, with halibut pellet on one rod and a spicy shrimp pop up on the other. At about 6pm the spicy shrimp did the business, and as the alarm sounded I lifted into a strong fish that headed well out into the flow. It took three good runs before Mentalor did  the honours & netted it for me. A Pike/Barbel double bill, No monsters but I was pleased, Mentalor has had a glimpse of what this fishing lark is really all about

Trudging the Erewash

I just had to have another look at the river so decided to visit the next section upstream from Toton at Long Eaton. There had been 10mm of rain overnight the first for ages, and the skies were still leaden. but I was still optimistic, it takes more than a bit of overnight rain to upset the Trent....But not the Erewash!
Chocolate brown and pushing through,all features of the river were well hidden, and this being my first visit to this stretch I was struggling to tell if the pegs I was trotting through were normally deep glides or shallow riffles. I ended up switching between trotting and laying on in the bits of slacker water I found. but generally only gave each swin a few minutes before splashing and slithering along the muddy track to the next spot.
I had reached the arear of the footbridge when a snag parted my hooklength and I fumbled around all my pockets in search of my hook wallet. With dismay I recalled leaving the wallet on the ground in the first peg I had fished, meaning to pick it up...
I had no choice but to troop the half mile back to the first peg, and fortunately the wallet was still where I had left it. I then dropped tot the last peg on theis section, below the bridge. The river is wider here, and the reduced pace made for more confortable trotting. I still got no bites though... Anglers fishing the Erewash Canal had fared no better, so on the lookouf for somewhere productive to take Mentalor next weekend I hopped back into the car to try the canal at Beeston. There was only an hour or so of good light left by the time i made my first cast. Feeding a dozen pinkies every couple of minutes there were plenty of topping fish in the swim but I was getting no bites with size 18 with double pinkie. I fined down to a size24 to 12oz line and a single pinkie and immediatey started getting some action. Over the next 40 mins I caught bleak, including a very nice 58 gram specimen ( I'm suprised how light bleak weigh, relative to their length!), a couple of roach, a hybrid, a single silver bream and a cute baby bronze bream. I also took a minnow and a pair of perch. I fished until I could no longer see the float, but the bites had dried up 10 mins earlier, after the last perch.
Throughout the session pike had been constantly harrying the bleak, breaking the surface on several occasions - I wasnt equpped to take a pop at them, But next weekend I'll be back with my apprentice. There should be plenty to keep us going...

Glanwye Grayling

I scooted back to my home county this weekend to visit my dad before he starts his chemotherapy, and squeeze in a session of grayling fishing on the upper Wye near Builth Wells.

  Phill was to be my partner in crime, and the heist we had planned centred upon stealing some ladies from the river. The beat we fished was a mile or so downstream of Builth wells, Glanwye used to be one of the best (and most exclusive) salmon streteches on the Wye... but the Wye is now a shadow of its former self as fare as salmon are concerned. Outside of salmon season the Wye and Usk foundation manage the fishing, offering prime grayling fishing bookable via their box office for the price of a £15 dayticket.

After overnight B&B with my brother, Phill & I left Hereford at a bit after 10:30, winding our way through the scenic Wye valley we arrived at Builth Wells at around midday, having missed the entrance to the fishery courtesy of Phill's map reading capabilities.  After a quick u turn we pulled up on the drive outside the fishing lodge. A quick snoop around persuaded us that this would be a pretty nice place to hole up if the weather turned, books and games were framed by fine mounted salmon, tube flies, and blank and white prints of gigantic silver leviathans.

  We were not about to tarry though, the day would be short, and the sun was shining, radiating a warmth that defied the frigid february air. we made the 15 or 20 minute trek to the head of the fishery, I started out trotting a likely looking spot at the confluence with the tiny stream, I trotted the edge of the flow from the stream, fishing along the crease formed as its energy dissipated into the main river.  Despite everything looking perfect, I could not win a bite, and Phill, who was about 40yds downstream of me, let me know, via the walkie talkies that he was dropping further downstream. I soldiered on for a quarter of an hour more before admitting defeat and following him. Leapfrogging our way down the river, neither of us had seen any sign of a fish. It was as phill was cooking up a brew that I spotted the ghillie walking the bank towards us. "Am i glad to see you" I shouted, "where are all the fish!" .He laughed, and as if to rub things in exclaimed "what... you've not caught any, what are you doing wrong?"

In the chat the followed it turned out that, as it happened, we were doing nothing wrong. "keep on at it... these pegs here... a pod will tun up sooner of later.

it wasn't too long before Phill saw the first signs... "I think I got a bite there" he exclaimed... still no sign of a bite for me though, i moved a few yards further upstream as the tail end of my trot was running into Phills swim, loosing line of signt to my fishing buddy. The radio crackled "fish on!" and I dropped the rod to take a look at the result.

as the afternooon drew my float had not so much as dabbled, Phill had had another few bites without connecting. "come on then, your turn to catch one" he said. The Generosity wasn't without cause, the cold was beginning to take its toll on Phill...( though I have no doubt he would have shared the hotspot even if it was a scorching summers day!) He wandered back towards the lodge to warm up with a bit of exercise and another hot drink.

Within about a dozen trots, and shortly after Phill had crossed the brow of the ridge, the chubber dipped away and my target was hooked, jabbing the rodtip as it tried to shake the hook. Mission accomplished i didnt even bother recasting, with Phills help I'd dodged a blank and I trailed back to the lodge as well.