So Now What?

The Challenge now behind us, the future unfurling like mist gently drifting across a meadow. No specific direction, nor apparent purpose.

For me The Challenge has become such an engaging event that I am consumed by it for the whole 12 months of its existence.

Consumed by its capacity to include all possibilities; its ability to make one target species ordinarily overlooked or put back without a glance beyond perhaps initial i.d.; it's pitting of skills and wits between anglers who are capable of anything at anytime; its handed-down drive to need to break p.b's; it's breadth of interest and perhaps, most importantly, the inate need be comfortable enough to fish all venue types with a least a modicum of competence.

On that latter point I ain't no Dick Walker or Kevin Ashurst but the pleasure to be gained in learning new methods and techniques, then applying them to ever different situations, is huge and certainly it has been a source of amazement to me that those delicate, finely tuned approaches of my match angling past can actually be less effective than a heavy duty set-up to regularly tempt those big fish.

So currently, as I write infact, with the swim baited (as it has been this past month) the alarms set, landing net poised and camera at the ready, we wait again. And again...

...and again.

After numerous baiting sessions, too many to be precise about the number, out of the blue a proper bite and just a small hybrid comes to the net but it's a start and pretty much the 'species' I was looking then [for this was before the challenge ended and a specimen of such a fish would score maximum points (110: 100 for % of 'record' size plus 10 for biggest caught overall)].

Then as the challenge fizzled-out via a simply horrendous last weekends' weather one or two big bream started to be caught and in one early session I managed a four pounder (claimed to be the smallest in the lake!) at 06.30hrs.

An hour passed and at 07.30, the alarm blipped to confirm another fish and a second bream which proved all waters p.b. blitzer of 11lbs 14ozs, beating the 7lb plus from the Warks Avon last year by a 4lbs margin that didn't even touch the sides. Now that is how to raise a p.b! It does however make most, if not all, future bream less significant.

I guess I can now see that is the curse of the true specimen hunter I've just fallen foul of - hit the target...and then what?

So the baiting continued, having sourced a supply of consistently large maggots.

One thing I always have done in prebaited swims, and this includes bonus fish areas when match fishing, is not to feed it before having an exploratory cast. Many's the time when baiting over the heads of feeding fish has caused them to scurry away.

Sunday morning was no different in this respect, although the heavy, rape pollen inundated mist hanging over The (millpond-like) Stillwater was a bonus; shrouding the sky from the fish and the angler in expectant mystery.

First cast made over three rods, 2 set-up for tench, 1 for bream, and an instant indication saw a bobbin banging it's head against the alarm, but the strike met with only fleeting resistance.

Often this can be the only bite of the day as demonstrated by a torrent of cussing and blinding immediately thereafter.

The recast met with a similar event however, this time no mistake, but equally a surprising lack of resistance from the foe. Winding-in, in clear water, a perch of just over a pound came into view.

A recast and further action. This time to strike met brief solid resistance before going slack.

Thus far, not so good, the redeeming thought being that they were clearly 'having it' and it was only a question of time.

Soon a hard fighting, clearly male, tench was on and as I played it well away from the other lines on what had been the middle rod the left alarm burst into techno song, the bobbin dropping-back to the ground as the feeder slipped. This fish went 4.9.

Soon enough though two further tench were banked. 5.6 and 5lbs dead (when I say "dead"...).

I started to wonder where this would end? Four tench and maybe another perch or two? I wasn't being greedy but wanted to make the most of what was undoubtedly goung to be a brief and rare opportunity.

The three rods sat, poised.

Left and middle 1.25tc but the right hand rod, a classic old 2.25tc and rigged for a rather different species, was next to feel the tension. A really solid fish, nodding slowly as they do, and kiting right, towards submerged rushes, but with suitable angles and pressure it was eased to the top, held there and slowly drawn to inescapability.

At first glimpse underwater it had looked around seven pounds but with the challenge of having to carefully lift the net over the other two, still expectant, lines it became clear this was a touch more special.

Having had that demolition job of an 11.14 p.b. a few days ago however I knew it wasn't quite in that bracket but on the mat it looked a 'double figure' fish, to these somewhat inexperienced eyes at least.

Sure enough it weighed in at a "get rough, get tough, 10.10" (as Heaven 17 would have had it, apologies to Messrs Ware and Gregory).

10.10 'Fight in Progress'

On return, this fish shot off in a very unbreamlike fashion as though it enjoyed the whole experience so much it had an urgent need to find some more bait...it didn't.

A further tench ensued of 4.14 together with a decent lost fish when a second alarm distracted me and the clutch wasn't adjusted quickly enough as a consequence.

Something then catches the corner of my eye.

Something tern-like but simultaneously something 'un-tern-like', both in size and in not being white.

But no, wait a second, it was a tern.

An individual black tern.

The first of the year and always an outstanding experience, such wonderful creatures that they are.

No sooner had the migrant gone out of sight than another monster bream was on the hook. Straight for the emergent rushes it headed but again it was eased up and slid across them without only the slightest twitch of anxiety.

On the scales, this second of the day's brace, registered 9lbs 15ozs (if only it had succumbed an ounce later in it's growth!).

That signalled the end of the string of bites and, totting time and total, the eight fish rolled up at forty seven and a half pounds; the bites spanning only three hours' or so of fishing and not a carp in sight.

By far the best fishing since match fishing ended and way beyond my current, and most likely future, wildest dreams.

Roll on next weekend. Ye Gods!