Tag Archives: fishing

Ultra floats.

18 Thursday Sep 2014

Posted by in Tackle

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I quite enjoy using and accumulating fishing tackle from the same era as when I was a young lad, but at the age of ten or eleven most of the tackle I owned was hand-me-down rubbish, a pink solid glass rod paired with an Intrepid Black Prince reel was my only kit. With my inadequate tackle and limited funds the only ‘good’ items I could afford in my local tackle shop, Penfolds of Cuckfield were fishing floats.

When entering the narrow shop illuminated only by artificial light, carded displays in glass cabinets from various manufacturers covered one wall, it was always the Ultra range of floats that caught my eye. Neat rows of floats organised into models and then graded  into sizes lined up like church organ pipes standing to attention as if on parade.  To a novice angler the range was beweildering, I mean how many ‘onion’ floats do you really need, and how different are they from a ‘Ducker’? To understand the range was an education in how to fish, although attractive they all had a utilitarian purpose.

Thirty years on I still have a few remaining Ultra floats, a band of brothers that managed to avoid the pitfalls of being cast into overly optomistic situations, less lucky comrades were lost in battle, eventually washed away by the ebb and flow. Today though I was most pleased to find that good friend and dealer in nostalgia John Andrews of Arcadia had located a lost battalion of Ultras, locked away in a box for decades but now released, dressed in black (as I remember them) and the earlier olive-green version.

 

Sweets of Usk

08 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by in General fishing, Tackle

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A person who is born in the town of Usk or has lived there for  forty years or more can qualify as a ‘Usk butterfly’. The butterfly symbol was used by Usk craftsmen who created Japanned finished wares, it distinguished their work from nearby Pontypool who created similar work. Last week I was fortunate enough to meet a Usk butterfly for the first time…

Thursday I found myself driving to South Wales with fellow photographer, angler and friend, Nick Moore to cover the stills for an advertising campaign. We were staying at the famous Gliffaes County Hotel that sits on a rocky outcrop in the Usk valley. The hotel is very much of the arts and crafts Edwardian style, and mainly caters for the brown trout, sewin and salmon fisher. As anglers we were both quite frustrated by the prospect of staying at this hotel in earshot of the river Usk, unable to fish, only to work! Ever an optimist I packed a spinning rod, reel and waders hoping that I could grab an hour before or after dinner and winkle out a salmon. The previous day I was talking to John Andrews of Acadia about our predicament and his reply was ‘do yourself a favour and drop into Sweets of Usk…’ I had heard of this old style tackle shop but had never been there so during our drive up to Wales I mentioned this to Nick and the possibility of a detour to visit the tackle shop, after a short conversation a decision was made and we took the turning to the town of Usk. On arrival we found a tiny wooden-clad shop front with the glass panelled door covered in various notes and signs obscuring what was hidden within, to be honest we thought the shop was closed. On close inspection I could see the smiling face of a well dressed lady who was reaching for the locked door, before long we had entered into another world.

When we first stepped inside Sweets we were overwhelmed at the sheer array of things to look at, there were  trays of hand-tied flies, old books, stacked boxes, photographs old and new, wooden carved salmon, tweed jackets, bags, cane and carbon rods, we were struggling to know what was for sale and what items were on display for sentimental reasons. The air smelt of wax and old books, the sun had just come out and shafts of light shone through the gaps in the glass illuminating the shop in dappled light, the atmosphere was thick and there stood behind the wooden counter our host with her infectious laugh and sweet smile. Nick and myself were actually quite dumb struck like a couple of  school boys, but we were soon put at ease with Mrs Williams offer of tea and stories that were attached to every object that we pointed out. We felt that we had entered someones front room for the first time and with that in mind turned down the offer of tea for we felt that we were intruding. Instead we turned our attention back to the shop, its history and the content. I spotted a delicate looking cane trout rod that turned out to be a Harry Powell rod who originally opened the shop in the 1930’s and was told that “Harry’s rod would never be sold, it is far too special.”  Mrs Williams told us about Lionel Sweet who took over the shop from Harry Powell and of his legendary fly casting skills (in 1953 he became the Casting Champion of Europe which he held for twenty years)  while his wife Molly hand-tied the flies in the shop. In the early 1960’s Mrs Williams started work in the shop after her parents were looking to find her some temporary work, then in the 1970’s she took over the shop with her now husband, Mike. Over forty years on Mrs Williams, the Usk Butterfly continues to offer her time and hospitality that is warm and genuine,  in truth we felt after an hour that we should leave but I think she enjoyed our visit as much as we were. The shop is very much orientated to fishing the Usk which is literally a stones throw from the shop. I spotted a cupboard of boxes with labels from bygone Redditch tackle firms, stacked in a higgledy-piggledy manner. From this cupboard Mrs Williams showed me some of the contents including some floats,  “I have a few floats for the boys in the village, you have to get them started somehow,” it was almost as if this was a rite of passage, from float to fly. By five o’clock we had to leave, we could have stayed longer as I know that Mrs Williams  had many more stories to share, time was not an issue in this shop, it looked like it had stopped many decades ago, but we had to move on and step back into 2014. A meeting had been laid on for us to discuss the photo-shoot that was to take place on the following day, the contrast was quite extreme.

In hindsight there is a slight sadness about this shop as you realise it won’t be around forever. When Mrs Williams locks the door for the final time I can’t see this business being passed on or sold as it stands, the vintage tackle dealers and auction houses  may buy up the contents and the shop will be lost. The stock is probably worth very little but some of the historic photographs and wood carving are worth considerably more, but as a collection under one roof it is priceless. On a historical and social level Sweets is a very rare place to discover. For now it still stands as a business supplying the Usk fishermen with flies, spinners and line, it is a very honest place and certainly not a parody or museum.  For anyone who remembers fishing tackle shops that precede the 1980’s when the owners were normally a husband and wife duo, this is a place you have to visit and spend a few pounds. Sweets is a tackle shop that survives where many others were lost to  Angling Centres with departments run by ‘experts’. My experience in Sweets reminded me how far we have come as a country over the last thirty years, we seem to be in a big hurry. Sweets is a real lesson in customer care and understated knowledge, an antidote to modern shopping. This little tackle shop is in no rush, run by a lady who has  time for anyone who steps through the door, I’m just looking to find an excuse to go back soon, this time though I will accept the offer of  “a nice cup of tea with welsh water” as Mrs William would like to say.

Mrs Williams
Hand tied
Mrs Williams
Mrs Williams & Nick
A customers discarded waders!
Sweets Tackle shop Usk

 

A secret Lea fisher & the hidden swims.

18 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by in The Lea Valley

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Each year around this time, the 16th June to be precise I get the urge to buy a machete and cross the Hackney plains and down onto the River Lea to clear a few swims from the giant hogweed and stingers. After much deliberation I fear that this plan could result in my body being riddled with holes from the rozzer, the machete plan is put aside for yet another year.

Thankfully this plan is never put into action as another fisher of the Lea cuts out three or four swims in a very discrete manner along a run I like to fish. From the path no one would know you are there, a passer-by would not notice these clearings or the small space created for someone to stand and cast a line. I am also impressed that I have never seen anyone fishing these swims which makes me think I have either a guardian angel watching over me (Izaak?) or more likely this fisher is a night stalker. One of my first ever posts on The Tuesday Swim was called Night Stalker on the Lea Navigation, about a young carp fisher I came across one night on the Lea Navigation, perhaps it is he? Thinking it could be the later, its good to know that someone out there shares the same desires to fish the harder places.

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Confessions of a canal carp fisher.

08 Sunday Jun 2014

Posted by in Carp

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Saturday morning started with torrential rain that lasted for a few hours, when it subsided I walked out into the garden to find that it was very warm, almost humid, it felt very carpy. Using my transcendental water crafting skills I surmised that the Lea Navigation was finally going to offer up a carp for me. It was midday when I decided to embark on a reconnaissance trip on the bicycle with Polaroids, a catapult and some bait. Within fifteen minutes I was cycling back home with some haste, I had spotted for the second time this week a group of carp feeding, all congregating next to a natural looking stretch of the canal with reeds, lilies and over-grown bank-side vegetation. Once home I gathered my rucksack, Mark IV and net, downed some lunch, spooled up some new 12lb line and then returned to the canal, making sure I kept calm, too much excitement can cause mistakes.

I prefer to fish the canal early morning or late in the evening to avoid the flotsam and jetsam on the towpath so being early afternoon I was visited by the usual mix of cyclists, joggers, walkers, continuous cruisers and loners escaping the city. To be honest this part of the canal is relatively quiet so I quickly got settled with my fishing and started to trickle in the bait and try to get the carp to feed with confidence.

Within and hour I had a carp take a floating bait in the clear water which resulted in a terrific powerful run straight down the middle of the canal, I could see its flanks quite clearly, a linear mirror of around 15 to 20 lbs, my clutch was set right, the rod was well sprung but after the first initial run the hook pulled! Inspecting the damage I discovered that the knot has failed, it was a classic school boy error! Even now I am unsure why I was so slack on tying this knot, it was a blood knot of four turns (I usually use a palomar) and now looking back I’m  thinking I didn’t even tuck the knot, mistakes like this were done in the 1980’s, my mind was not focused and I had lost a great fish.

A re-tied hook using a palomar knot was cast out but there were still two knots in my rig that had not been looked over, despite being annoyed with myself I carried on fishing, carp fever had taken over and once again I had another run. This time the carp ran in the other direction, the fish was on for a good minute until again it came off under a lot of pressure. During the fight a man rocked up in his tracksuit and witnessed the battle and the parting carp. With a Polish accent he said “you downt haver the right equipment, my friend?” Right now I didn’t need this interloper but I looked at him and said “I had 12lb line and the gear was fine” I had nothing else to add.  As I reeled in the line to inspect the catastrophic failure for the second time I found that another knot has failed on the rig, another blood knot! The man came close and looked at the curly end of my line, “you down’t know how to tie ze knots!” “F**k off ” was my only thought but in truth he was right, I had ballsed up big time and now this cock-sure tosser was swaggering off down the towpath pointing at the water and calling out “hey, my friend, I can zee your big fishy swimming away”.

I had to re-group, start again with new knots, take off the last fifteen feet of line just to be extra safe and as it states on the side of my mug that sits on my desk ‘Keep Calm and Go Fishing’. While I re-tackled I put out more bait and after a good wait the carp came in to feed. With only a few minutes before I had to get home I had my third run. Again the carp ran down the middle of the canal, the clear water showing its flanks, everything seem to be holding tight. The carp came in close and ran along side the towpath, as this happened another carp of a similar weight chased after it thinking it was in a amorous mood, but it wasn’t it was angry and fighting with real power. These canal carp really do fight so hard, at first they don’t know they are hooked but once they sense a problem they go berserk. After a few more minutes of playing the carp I very carefully netted it and bought it up and onto the towpath.

Although I have not put too many hours into catching a canal carp, it has taken a good five years doing the short stints to finally get one on the bank. In the past all my carp have come from the River Lea, so this was a special fish.

As an experiment this season I don’t take scales with me, I would rather spend time  getting fish back in the water than fiddling around with weigh slings and sticking a number on it. For me it has added a new element to my fishing, to appreciate rather than record it. But for those who insist on a number it was probably around 17-19lbs, the carp was long and wide, the photos below don’t really do any justice to the shear size and length but it does show the wonderful dark colouration on the top and the scale pattern. After her return she sat on the canal bottom and sulked for about two minutes, something that I was quite akin to doing after my costly mistakes, thankfully this carp put me in a considerably better mood.

Confession over, expletives made, and now the canal carp curse of ‘BB’ has been lifted. If you want to read any of my previous close encounters with London canal carp please click here.

Canal carp 2 Canal carp 3

canal carp 1Canal carp 4

Keeping it simple.

19 Monday May 2014

Posted by in General fishing

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With limited time to go fishing there is always pressure to get it right and make the trip successful, you never know when the next trip will be? In an ideal world I would have a few different rods set up for different situations and a river or lake at the end of my garden to fish from. I could be in constant contact with the water observing the fauna and pre-baiting some chosen areas, then spend short sessions of a hour or two. Unfortunately that isn’t going to happen.

My main place to fish is in Sussex, if I leave London at 6.00am I can get from my front door to the lake in one hour. My problem is I have no idea how the lake is fishing and I don’t have the luxury of pre-baiting so this un-known element brings on a sense of uncertainty and indecision can set in (making decisions is not one of my strong points). I like to travel light but with unknown conditions I tends to take too many baits and probably a rod or two too many.

This weekend I was going to head down to Sussex and try for the tench and some of the larger rudd but on the Thursday I was struck down with some weird 24 hour bug which scuppered all my plans to fish. On the Saturday morning I woke up at 5.30 am bright as new penny and thought, what the heck, its a beautiful day, sunny with some mist, perfect. With only sweetcorn in the house I grabbed my rucksack (always ready to go), four tins of Green Giant, a small bag of food and tea making equipement and two rods. This last minute decision stopped me from taking too much tackle and bait. Freedom!

7.00 am I arrived, peace….

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At lunchtime my chance of a tench was fading but the carp were showing on the top…

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By mid-afternoon it was hot but walking around with the simplest of kit, a rucksack and one rod, crouching down on the long wet grass under the shade, this is how I remember fishing to be as a teenager.

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The village pond.

02 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by in General fishing

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Looking back it seems we all experienced the local pond in some form or other, whether it was a village pond or a lake in a park. In hindsight to those of a certain age I think the illustrations in Ladybird books had a lot to do with such halcyon memories, launching wooden toy yachts or fishing for fry with a net, but for me I remember quite vividly trying to catch the goldfish from Lindfield Pond in Sussex until a prim old lady from the local parish and resident of the private road that ran along side the pond, would come over and tick me off then send me packing.

Lindfield Pond Postcard

These ponds seem to have certain features, an island and a willow tree, a few mallards, possibly a pair of swans and occasionally an unwanted pet terrapin would break the surface for air. In the winter the pond would seem quiet, almost lifeless but as spring warmed, frog spawn would appear in the shallows, while water boatmen would skit about on the surface film. The spring would also bring fry darting about in the margins, while roach, rudd, orfe and goldfish (often discarded pets) would swim in shoals in the deeper water. As a boy these signs of life were potential targets, armed with the most basic of equipment and a worm or a blob of bread, this is where many boys dreams began, hunting for fish and larger monsters of the deep. Chris Yates In ‘Casting at the Sun’  writes of his first encounter with the local village pond in Burgh Heath, Surrey and his attempt to capture a golden carp with his ‘boys’ fishing kit. These experiences seem to be the spark for so many life-long anglers.

Two years ago we moved to a new area (although not completely alien to me) Lower Clapton in North East London where just up from our house is a small pond. Lower Clapton Pond was dug in the 1600’s during the reign of James I, originally a watering hole for livestock and then later a reservoir for the supply of water to the local area. In 1898 the ponds were saved from being filled in and re-landscaped by the local Hackney Vestry with gravel paths,  a footbridge, miniature islands, trees and a small fence. In the 1970’s the ponds were re-modelled again but then fell into the hands of drug addicts, alcoholics and other unsavoury characters, Lower Clapton Pond was a bit of a no go area. Then in 2002 the Clapton Pond Neighbourhood Action Group was set up and once again the ponds became a safe haven for  locals to enjoy after another re-design.

And now, in 2014 I peer down and see goldfish, orfe, a lone terrapin and more surprisingly under the weeping willow a single large carp of around eights pounds! How these one off loners get into such ponds is a mystery to me but a good one to ponder over, no pun intended!

Observing the close season?

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by in General fishing

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Back in 1990’s (I think) the close season was lifted on still-waters and at first I was defiant as the magic of the sixteenth was to be savoured. I stayed pretty much to my guns on this until about four or five years ago when I asked myself, why? I’m led to believe the close season was put in place to keep the ‘oiks’ off the decent trout rivers rather than some romantic idea that it was an ecological move to protect spawning fish and worn out flora on the waterside.

British species of fish spawn at different times, pike can start in late January and carp seem to go on into late July, the current close season is only a half hearted opportunity to protect many of these species. Most rivers these days are deserted all year round and more popular places like weirs  have built platforms, worn banks are not generally that common these days. Rivers really are not pressured waters unlike many commercials and stillwaters. Perhaps we have the closed season the wrong way around, close the still-waters and open the rivers?

Redmire is a good example of how I think a well managed still-water should be run, as the water is closed for the traditional three months. Redmire is a pressured water with four angler on its three acres all year bar the close season, this makes sense to rest the carp although I would consider extending the rest period from the end of March to the end of June which would cover more of the spawning activity and still give the flora the same period of rest. On my own syndicate water in Sussex there are three lakes and I very rarely see more than four anglers on any given day and there must be over ten acres of water. Because of the low pressure, the syndicate allows fishing all year but ask any anglers fishing for carp to keep away if spawning begins. Commercials are probably the waters that really would benefit from a rest but money speaks louder than fish welfare in modern angling, thankfully I’m not one to fish these high-pressured waters.

So where does this leave me personally? I now find the spring the most exciting time to be fishing for carp and tench and when the fish spawn I simply pack away the rods for a few days and enjoy the spectacle for what it is. Most of my fishing is not that easy, lakes with low stocking, just quality fish and rivers with a natural and balanced eco- system. Pre-baiting the canals as the water starts to warm in search of carp is now part of my annual angling calendar, I started doing this two years ago resulting in two lost monsters, I now have unfinished business and spring time is my prime opportunity to locate the feeding carp.

I understand those who follow the traditional route and pack away their rods for three months, lets face it, this can be a good rest bite for the mental state of any obsessional angler and those jobs on the house don’t do themselves. Personally I find my precious fishing time throughout the year requires those extra three months, it takes some pressure off the months when one can fish especially after the last winter with two lost months due to flooding.

As for the romantics, the sixteenth will always be a special day and more so if one observes the close season. I shall be fishing throughout the spring but I am a bit of a romantic myself so I shall be on the river at dawn on the first day of the season.

My carp scene in the 1980’s part III – Shermanbury Place & Arcadia.

27 Thursday Feb 2014

Posted by in Carp

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Considering my friend Dax and I were teenage boys, getting up early to fish was never a chore. Dax’s mother was more than happy to get up and drive us to Shermanbury Place (a distance of about twenty-five miles from home) looking back I think she wanted to encourage more wholesome activities like fishing rather than the more troubling pursuits that sixteen year old boys were attracted to, best to say no more on this issue but fags, girls and booze was high on the agenda.
Setting off at dawn to fish is an experience that I will never tire of and I can remember this particular trip so well. This was my first real experience of fishing a specimen carp lake, the excitement and anticipation while been driven through the beautiful Sussex countryside has stayed with me to this day. Although I was now obsessed with carp fishing this had not fogged my appreciation for nature and its landscape and that particular morning was a classic misty summers dawn with a chill in the air, the sun was very low in the sky and shrouded in heavy mist, the tones were mid-greys and yellows as we sat in the car, smoking roll ups.
When we arrived I found the lake and surroundings to be a vision of perfection, the mist was still heavy and we soon found a spot where reedmace surrounded the whole end of the lake apart from two small breaks, perfect for us to set up and fish.
Before I tackled up I threw in a few handfuls of my new bait, strawberry flavoured boillies, even the sound of the boillies dropping into the water gave a new and satisfying scatter-gun sequence of plops, punctuating the stillness of the morning. I set two rods up, one with a boillie close in to the far side by the reeds and a second float rod just to my left baited with sweetcorn.
Looking beyond the reeds I could see the outline of a trimmed hedge with a gap and beyond that a manicured lawn that dissolved into the mist, it was ghostly but for now my attention was focused on the emerald-green water and the occasional knocking reed signifying life below. This was a different type of angling experience, enhanced by the knowledge that some very large carp were present and because the lake was relatively small they were not far away from my bait, it made the whole experience electric.

As the morning progressed the sun started to burn off the mist and in front of me past the reed bed and through a break in the hedge I could see the silhouette of Shermanbury Place, I was experiencing Arcadia emerging from the greys,whites and oranges of a summers morning.

Shermanbury Place arcadia

Shermanbury Place

Back in my swim there were more signals from the monster below but nothing was taking the corn or the strawberry temptations so by mid-morning we decided to explore the rest of the lake. Walking around I was surprised to see there were other anglers already set up, these carp anglers were not like the wheelbarrow pushing types we get today more focused on comfort than watercraft, these men of the 1980’s were quiet, discrete, loners and armed with a bare minimum of gear, the only indication of their presence was the occasion ‘bleep’ . I set up with just one rod now partnered with my only Optonic and kept low and quiet like the others, foolishly I felt holding a float rod did not seem the correct thing to do amongst these men of specimen carp.

By late-afternoon I was really not convinced anything was going to happen and our lift home was due at around five. While sitting on the dusty bank in my ripped faded old jeans I smoked and thought about this magical place, catching was not on the agenda today but something more important had happened, I had become entranced by large carp. As I moved small piles of dust around on the bank with my fingers creating patterns on the bank my Optonic burst into action, a run! Line spilled off the Mitchell 300 spool and ran through the rings making the monkey hit the rod as hell let loose. Looking up I could see line shooting through the water towards the opposite bank, then it stopped. My chance had gone.

Since that day I have never returned to Shermanbury Place and I don’t want to as it was my Arcadia. Since 1986 a lot has happened in carp fishing and this lake could have become ‘commercialised’. On a positive note I can’t find anything on the Internet about this place, perhaps it has gone back into private ownership to one lucky individual?

Scatterbrain!

19 Wednesday Feb 2014

Posted by in Reading

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When I was a wee laddie, I had a small book on fishing that I read time and time again. I have searched for it online for the last year to no avail until now. I guess not remembering the title or publishers didn’t help, all I could recall was it size, pocket-book size.

Last week I was thinking about this little book and a word came to me from nowhere, ‘scatterbox.’ Where this word came from I have no idea but somehow it was unlocked from my subconscious. Immediately I searched the word ‘scatterbox fishing book’ before I forgot it, and there it was in an instant my childhood circa 1979.

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Within two clicks I had ordered a copy of ‘Fishing’ from the Scatterbox range of pocket guides and two days later it arrived. Although I had long forgotten what was printed inside as each page was turned a wave of nostalgia accompanied me.

Traveling light.

05 Wednesday Feb 2014

Posted by in General fishing

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I came across this the other day and it made me laugh. The young man featured is now one of Britain’s most famous anglers, Jeremy Wade,  a real  adventurer. Although not everyone’s taste I’m a fan, his TV series can be a little over dramatic but he is compelling on camera and he’s bright, good for engaging a younger audience. Fishing from a Jag, perfect.
Jeremy Wade angler