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Bloodline.

05 Tuesday Mar 2019

Posted by The tuesday swim in Carp, The Lea Valley

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

anglers, canal, carp, clapton, common, cut, fishing, hackney, history, lea, lee, london, navigation, postcard, river

I am drawn to the bike’s simple engineering, uncomplicated, it’s silent gears take me from east London along  the Lea Navigation and out into the open space of the old flood plains that still line the Navigation. I know the Lea from Broxbourne to its exit into the Thames at Leamouth, it harbours a familiarity that offers me comfort, a place that I have known for thirty years. Certain stretches have been altered, the Bow Back Waters were mainly filled in for the 2012 Olympics but this artery from Hertfordshire flows true to itself since the natural river was made navigable over two hundred and fifty years ago. It is a complex network of old river, navigation, flood relief channels and tributaries, but this is still very much a river that is alive, the constant cruisers have brought a new vibrancy to the place and  it has become a playground for modern  London, re-vamped pubs, new-builds, joggers, cyclists, canoeists, dog walkers, birdwatchers and young families have contributed to the rivers new found personality. Only twenty years ago I could fish many stretches of the canal for hours and not meet a soul, today things have changed.

When I ride I leave early while the tow path is quiet, as the canal opens up past Ponders End by the King George Reservoirs the wind often intensifies here on Rammey Marsh, the metropolis is on my back as it gets blown to the horizon. At Pike Pool by Enfield Lock I turn right and leave the Cut and take a tributary more akin to a Hampshire chalk stream. It’s late February, the river looks alive, streamer weed still hangs on from last summer in the middle flow, blossom and birdsong is starting to show, despite the cold start spring has come early this year. The river looks very inviting to the angler, today I see two fishermen but they are not the usual aimless lure anglers but float anglers carefully running floats down the inside crease, as I cycle past I hear their conversation, like their fishing it is more focused, their voices clipped, I want to ask how they are getting on, but on this occasion I restrain myself, instead I wish them “good morning” and cycle on. Soon after I leave the river, cross a nature reserve  and head to the hills of Epping forest. Lungs burst as I take on Mott Street until I reach the comforting sight of Holy Innocents Church at High Beech and the thickly wooden lanes of heavy oak and beech that meander on a level that leaves the heart a chance to recover.

The temperature is still cold, the sky is cloudless, vapour pours from my lips, I am reminded how important the changing seasons are to me, just seven months  ago I was on the Lower Lea, then it was hot, the air was thick with the scent of summer. I was fishing with Tony, we had met at the pub for a quick afternoon pint, I was tempted to have another but Tony was eager to go and  fish. I had recently discovered a new swim, it was tricky to get to but once in place we were hidden from any passers by and any annoying questions, the same questions that I refrained from asking the two float anglers. Tucked away in our hide out, the sun battered down all around us but under the tree and next to the flowing water it was cool. I had not fished this swim before I had often seen carp patrolling, moving out from this deep trench into a more familiar swim where I had previously caught carp. I was quietly confident that this was an timeworn route, as familiar to the carp as the trodden paths taken by the old drovers on Hackney Marsh and beyond.

With ours rods out we settled into the swim, as I turned to speak with Tony I saw from the corner of my eye my rod tip bounce down, then again, I struck and felt a heavy weight heading out and into the full flow of the Lea. Ten minutes later I was cradling a carp like a new-born baby,  near to twenty pounds in weight. It’s a hard thing to explain, perhaps it’s an feeling only anglers experience, but catching these old creatures somehow warrants a close affiliation to the place, each time I catch one of these carp, my relationship with the Lea becomes more intimate.

From Epping Forest I re-join the canal, it’s still early but people are starting to embrace the day, cat-ice still covers the canal. Once again I think back to that warm July day, I think of the other anglers who have fished the Lea in the past, anglers leaving the east-end and disembarking at Lea Bridge, Ponders End or Enfield, rural outposts from the stink of the city. I picture them lined up along the tow path perched on their creels, puffs of smoke rise as they gaze out and onto the canal and dream. I try to re-capture their thoughts now decades old, buried deep into the silt of the Lea.

As my ride comes to a conclusion I pull off the canal at the scene from a postcard I found in a local market, in the background there is a house now raised to the ground and replaced with a electric power sub station. The rest of the landscape remains familiar, the Lea runs strong, a bloodline from the heart of the city to the wheat fields of Hertfordshire. Written on the postcard it says ‘don’t you think this is a pretty river, it puts me in mind of the Guilford scenery rather  than that of a London suburb…’

 

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

27 Thursday Feb 2014

Posted by The tuesday swim in Carp

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

1980's, 80's, carp, climber, fishing, history, monkey, old, place, school, shermanbury, sussex

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?

My carp scene in the 1980′s Part II…the monkey climber years & the hair.

23 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by The tuesday swim in Carp

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

1980's, carp, climbers, eighties, fishing, history, monkey, old, school, sussex

I have just finished reading Chris Yates new book The Lost Diaries, towards the end there is quite an entertaining chapter about fishing with a friend where he talks of ‘foul hooking a carp on a new fangled rig’ this being the hair rig. Chris Yates goes on to describe this rig as unethical to the extent of giving up fishing rather than using such a contraption. I on the other hand have to disagree about Chris Yates and the hair rig. Since I started using it in the 1980’s it has become an essential part to my angling success which leads me on to part II of my 1980’s carp fishing and my early years as a fisher of carp. The counter argument for the hair is that Mr Yates did hold the British Carp record unaided by any hair rig and I with my ‘new fangled hair rigs’ have not, but that’s for another debate on another day. Here is my second personal account on 1980’s carp fishing.

Part I which I wrote back in August, 2012 can be read here.

In the mid eighties carp fishing was becoming quite popular, carp anglers were still quite a secretive bunch, mainly due to the lack of good productive carp waters. Before I got into carp fishing I dabbled in most disciplines but dabbled was the operative word and most of my information came from general ‘how to’ books until the day I ventured into Burgess Hill Angling Centre in around 1987 and found Carp Fever by Kevin Maddocks. Burgess Hill Angling Centre had a different smell and look from my usual and more traditional tackle shops like Penfolds of Cuckfield. Here the smell was sweet and the walls were adorned with stainless steel bank sticks, bite alarms and monkey climbers, things were certainly moving away from displays of floats and the smell of gentles.
Carp Fever was not the most exciting of angling books to read but it was my first specialist book that delved into great detail about bait, rigs and hooks in such a way that it made catching a large carp a real possibility. This book introduced me to the hair rig which I thought was quite an audacious rig, mount the bait away from the hook but still have the confidence to hook a carp, crazy? It was cunning and clever, now your bait was behaving naturally with out the weight of the hook and the hook was completely exposed when a carp sucked in any bait that was attached to a hair. I started using new hook patterns and making up the hair loop, within weeks I was hooking and landing carp with confidence on my club water Haywards Heath & District Angling Society.
Nash Hooks old school
Now dressed in a camouflage jacket just like Jim Gibbinson I felt like a specimen hunter but in truth I was still only catching carp around the 3 lbs to 7 lbs mark but I was convinced bigger carp were soon to reside in my landing net.
My own carp career continued with a Marco glass carp rod, a Bob Church float rod, one Optonic, two Mitchell 300a reels, oh and of course two monkey climbers all set up on some rather smart stainless Gardener front and rear bank sticks. The matching pair of rods was still an age away but in a Heath Robinson kind of set up I was a carp angler and targeting the Sussex carp, day and night.
Ironically my first ‘double’ came soon after months of lugging all this gear around, I took a rod out one evening and followed a carp with a piece of floating crust just by a fallen tree. After a short battle a lump of a fish of 11 3/4 lbs came to my net, (this was 1 3/4lbs short of the club record set in the 1950’s) it was a milestone carp for me and I continued on to fish relatively small ponds in Sussex spending many nights under canvas in my fathers old World War II pup tent. My dream was to own two North Western carp rods with Cardinal 55’s and land a twenty, the image that I loved was from the Carp Catchers Book from 1984, it seemed a world away.
carp catchers
Then one day I was invited by a friend who knew about a ‘proper’ carp lake called Shermanberry.

Now & then on the Lea.

16 Friday Aug 2013

Posted by The tuesday swim in The Lea Valley

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

anchor, canal, edwardian, hacnkey, history, hope, lea, navigation, pub, river

Modern life moves more quickly each day, the development of technology over the last ten years has proved this fact quite clearly, the process of change has gone into over-drive. For many, the antidote to this constant change is to look back at the past, to find something familiar and reliable that one can trust. This phenomenon of holding onto the past is reflected in this country by the current  abundance of preservation societies and conversation groups that spend their time securing the past for the future. Even the youth are  in on the act wearing Edwardian style jackets with dressed moustaches and cropped tidy hair, somehow the past seems to be a comfortable place to be for many of us.

Recently I came across a postcard from 1910 of my local pub, the Hope and Anchor  that sits on the Lea Navigation between Upper Clapton and Springfield Park, I was pleasantly surprised to see that little had changed in over 100 years apart from the housing estate at the back, the frontage still remains pretty much the same.

Today the Hope and Anchor is an ‘honest’ pub resisting any change, where young and old drinkers frequent the pub along with a healthy canal boat community. The boat people are more live-in rather than the old working community of a hundred years ago, either way they are quite a colourful bunch where drinking seems to go on pretty much all day, everyday at a good steady rate. Beer is served in glasses with handles, there are real ales and larger’s  available and water bowls are provided outside for the dogs. My hope is that this pub stays as it is for another 100 years with its open views across Leyton Marshes and along the Lea Navigation. I heard a story that someone caught 20 2-3lb barbel on this stretch just a month or two back, perhaps the fishing is returning back to its former quality, one can hope.

Hope anchor 1910 Hope Anchor 2013

Ghosts of Farlows.

17 Wednesday Apr 2013

Posted by The tuesday swim in Tackle

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

andrews, arcadia, club, Farlows, fishing, fly, history, john, knott, london, Mall, pall, wilton

Farlows of Pall Mall took on a slightly different mood yesterday as John Andrews of Arcadia and John Knott, author of the recently published ‘The History of Wilton Fishing Club’, both greeted visitors to No 9 Pall Mall, London.

John Andrews Farlows sepia

Fishing tackle shops for me have become a lost world that only conjures up memories of childhood, sadly all the ones with character have nearly all but gone. I have mixed emotions about Farlows now, when I first moved to London in the early nineties Farlows was still an exciting place to visit, situated on the corner of Burlington Arcade and Piccadilly, a small packed shop full of tackle, a place of questions and discovery. From what I can recall the staff were generally elderly and extremely polite, even to a young rascal like myself who insisted on handling the large aray of Hardy rods and reels. I of course had no intention in buying but they knew that so with a little guilt I would purchase the odd nymph or dry-fly.

At that time there were still a few good local tackle shops surviving around London but the only other ‘premier’ tackle shop based in central London was Hardys (coincidentally in Pall Mall), this place seemed very upmarket to me and quite intimidating with its dark suited staff in comparison to the more friendlier and informal Farlows.

Farlows holds on in 2013 with speculation of buy-outs from afar but throughout the day a little soul was given back to Farlows as tea was poured and a hand of Happy Families was played across the counter.



Hackney marshes, a brief Victorian history & its fishing stations.

15 Monday Oct 2012

Posted by The tuesday swim in The Lea Valley

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

fishing, groom, hackney, hart, history, horse, house, inn, marshes, pub, victotian, White

I’m now lucky enough to live close to the Hackney Marshes, a ten minute stroll takes me through Millfields Park, across the Lea Navigation, through the Middlesex Filter Beds and then onto a large expanse of football pitches, known as the Hackney Marshes. At first site this could look like any municipal area created for Britain’s second most popular participants sport, football but around the outskirts of these pitches lie many interesting natural features along with tales of past goings on, many of a dark and sinister nature. The marsh had been left untouched subject to Lammas rights (land split up into strips and used for producing hay and used only for grazing) hence why no building development had gone ahead in this area.

But in 1893 Sir John Hutton, the chairman of the London County Council dedicated the marshes to be an open space for the people of London after mounting pressure from various public groups including the Rev E K Douglass who ran the Eton Mission at Hackney Wick. Rev Douglass pointed out that the lads football club connected with the Mission has been ordered off the marshes by Drivers who had proceeded to carry off their goal posts! With growing pressure a final sum of £75,000 pounds was paid to the Lord and the commoners who had rights to the land by Hackney Council, giving the land back to the people of the borough for recreational use.

At that time the following extract from a pamphlet set out by the London Parks Committee describes the marsh as “a large area of flat meadow land, lying on the eastern boundary of London and intersected and skirted by the river Lea and its tributaries. It is 387 acres in extent, and three and a half miles from the Royal Exchange.” With this new aquisition, the council was about to change the marshes for ever but for many this was not for the better as the marshes represented a real rural idyl with the central marshes still having a sense of the wilderness about it especially when approached via surrounding villages like Clapton, Hommerton, Leyton and Hackney Wick. One such fondly remembered inhabitant lived on the outskirts of the marsh, there lay a ramshackle building where its occupants would greet passers by, by selling ginger beer and sorry looking cakes together with fish caught from the Navigation Cut laid out in dishes. Unsucessfull anglers could fill their creels with fish on return from the Lea enabling them to feed their families and keep their sense of personal pride. This wild almost anarchic  area was starting to loose its dark reputation as the Lea’s tributaries were drained and access became less of a challenge as one could now wander off the designated paths. The Lea itself was now controlled by new higher banks and flood relief channels, the marsh was now in name and not in nature.

Romany gypsies camped out on the marshes in the late nineteenth century.

The Lea of old held large fish, pike of 25 lbs, trout 11 1/2 lbs, barbel 13 1/2 lbs,  chub 7 1/2 lbs, carp 11lbs, bream 5 3/4 lbs and ells of  6 3/4 lbs. One of the principle spots to catch these monsters was around the White House fishery boasting 150 subscribers each year. The White House pub stood alone in the middle of the marshes run  in the late 19th century by widower Mrs Beresford and her sons. Mrs Beresford reputation as a courteous hostess became well known to the Walton desciples that descended onto the Lea who took sanctuary in the pub with its walls adorned with stuffed birds aquired by Mrs Beresfords late husband George a keen hunter and fisherman. In earlier days the inn was frequently visited by Dick Turpin and other like minded types who felt save in the refuge of the marshes, knowing that only the bravest of law enforcers would venture into this wild area. The inn finally fell silent in 1917 when no interest was taken in the license and so it was demolished.

The White House Inn, Hackney Marshes.

Another notable fishing Inn was the Horse and Groom on the Lea Bridge Road and at the opposite end of Hackney marshes the White Hart Inn by Temple Mills the last point where the river Lea is tidal.

The White Hart Inn, Temple Mills.The marshes are now fully tamed, dotted by endless rugby and goal posts. In the background (above) behind the row of trees lies the river Lea still frequented by a few anglers and indeed the Tuesday Swim. Behind me lies the Lea Navigation where large carp reside, yes the canal carp are still on the Tuesday Swims radar but that will be next year. The marshes have survived the Olympics tidying up policy and still retain a  real sense of the  past with the old Victorian engineering in the Middlesex Filter Beds and the meanders of the old Lea, stubborn in its path. There is still a lot more to explore in this area and I shall come back to it here at the Tuesday Swim.

The Bow Back Waters…remembered.

28 Wednesday Sep 2011

Posted by The tuesday swim in The Lea Valley

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

alfred, back, bow, east, ford, great, history, lea, lock, mill, old, olympic, pudding, river, stream, waters

On the 6th July 2005 a hopeful crowd gathered in Trafalgar Square to hear the winning bid for the 2012 Olympic venue. At 12.49 BST, Jacques Rogge, president of the International Olympic committee announced that London would be the host.

Meanwhile back in the area known as Fish Island and beyond, in the East End, a sleepy forgotten patch of post industrial land lay quiet and untouched, a lone dog walker, jogger, cyclist or on some occasions an angler would pass through this quiet oasis, known as The Bow Back waters.

To explain the Bow Back Waters, where it’s borders start and finish is not easily defined and even after spending a few years wandering the network of flood relief channels, navigable canals and natural brooks, the footprint is ambiguous but I would say looking at a map, north of Three Mills to Old Ford Lock marks this area.

The history.

The Bow Back Waters originally called Stratford Marsh goes back to pre-history but in Roman times there was evidence of occupation here especially at the Ford Bridge which crossed the river Lea at low tide and allowed a passage to Colchester.

Throughout the next 2000 years the River Lea’s path has been diverted, blocked and widened. Alfred the Great drained the river at Leamouth to halt the advance of the Danes and prevent an invasion from the River Thames. By the eighteenth century industrialisation was taking place and many wharfs were created to accommodate the import of timber, chalk, stone, coal, and wheat. By 1821, the earliest proper dock named Stratford Dock, later called Meggs Dock was created just up from Bow Bridge but after 1920, the whole site had been filled in and was occupied by factories and workshops that didn’t depend on water access. Now the majority of these factories have been demolished for the new Olympic site.

Somewhere on the Bow Back Waters around 1900 (above).

The images below were taken around 2007…

Pudding Mill stream (above).

To the left of this image is the new olympics stadium (above).

Some local conservation work to preserve the banks of the Bow Back Waters and create nesting areas for waterfowl (above).

Remainders of a more industrial time (above and below).

Carp and bream were often found cruising along this stretch which still exists, up ahead is Old Ford Lock (above).

Shortly after the olympic announcement the Bow Back Waters were electro-netted and the carp, bream along with pike and plenty of silver fish were removed and put into the Lea Navigation, I believe Pudding Mill stream was completely dug out and filled in.

Three months ago I was invited onto the Olympic site and saw the work done on the original River Lea, which had been widened to take industrial barges containing the new steel for the Olympic build. The work was sympathetic but also heavily landscaped, now banks of wild flowers and regimented forests of silver birch will greet the excited sports fans. The Lea of old has lost its real wild and neglected appeal.

From my window the Olympic stadium stands just a quarter of a mile away, now a permanent feature. I am in favour of the Olympics and the Olympic park but I do sometimes miss that quiet hidden corner of East London, spending an hour casting a floating crust for the Channel Relief carp. On occasion I did hook the odd carp but never actually managed to get one on the bank, frustrating and now, never to be repeated.

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