Snakes Alive!

After my first encounter with an estuarine eel, which to a small boy was just the best thing ever, I was eager to catch more of these strange, wriggling snake-like creatures. As we had a blanket course closed season back then all freshwater fishing was off limits, beach fishing was the natural thing to do.   

My Grandad had given me an old Penn 85 Bakelite multiplier which has no brakes or any discernibly helpful features, but in retrospect once I'd mastered casting that, everything since has been childs’ play! It also taught me some new words, how to unpick almighty birds’ nest tangles, how not to burn layers of skin off my thumb and also perhaps more importantly that if you persevere with the seemingly impossible, sometimes you get a nice reward! One of my pals had the same reel but with a green handle...(mine was a proper red one!) but he used to get in such a muddle with it, and it was great fun to smugly outdo him whilst pretending not to know what all the fuss was about! He'd never put the time in as I had, when the tide was out, all the other lads would be playing football or cricket...I'd simply make cast after cast over the ploughed fields on the adjoining farmland. So that was how the Beach Bug took hold. None of my mates could cast quite so far or without the constant birds’ nests, so they got bored and drifted off to other things. I however, and it took me a while to work out why, became pretty good at catching eels! More on that another time, but closed seasons were now a time of opportunity for even more fishing! What was even better was that I was getting paid by some of the other residents on the holiday park for my eels (they weren’t a threatened or protected species in the 1970’s), so it became a bit of a money-spinner enabling me to save up and get better tackle!

Sometime in mid-summer 1978 I made a significant discovery on a sunny afternoon when I wasn't fishing. I was idly riding my bike along a path to the seawall, but instead of going left, which was the way to my usual marks, I went right...there was nothing that way apart from a lot of marshland with treacherous mudflats beyond (there was no Google Earth back then), and no-one except for the odd birdwatcher bothered.   I noticed that the borrow dyke behind the Sea Wall was looking rather tasty, opening right out and lined with reeds, and fed into by the land drains from the fields. Got to be something in there, just had to be. So I thought about this all afternoon, and armed with some lobworms, freshwater tackle and a camping lamp set back off that evening to investigate. Before long, I'd discovered there were some large and exceptionally hungry mosquitos resident that couldn't care less that I was smothered in citronella, but apart from that all was quiet until around just after dusk when something took a shine to a fat ledgered lobworm. The monkey climber (home-made high tech and all the rage) shot up and before I knew it was involved in a good scrap with what felt very much like...a big eel! It slipped over the rim of the net and by lamplight looked magnificent...not the silver colour that I'd been catching on the other side of the Sea Wall, but much darker and fuller bodied. I don't quite remember how many I caught that first night, but since I'd not been prepared for this or had more than a dozen or so worms, it was a good result. I got home in the early hours, creeping in so as not to wake my sleeping parents and brother, having left my bucket of eels outside with the net on top to prevent a great escape! A few of these eels were duly hawked around the usual customers the next day, and the proceeds paid for a new rod holdall and new-fangled telescopic landing net handle as I recall! And so enthralled was I that this was the only fishing I was remotely interested in for some good while, taking some real specimens up to 6lbs. The following year 1979 saw the public sector strike following the "winter of discontent" and because our school caretakers were quite militant, that meant a good few weeks of bonus holiday. Although we were given assignments to do at home, these weren't much of a stretch, and took up very little time, so that meant only one thing! Fishing for eels, writing about fishing for eels (sadly Mum chucked out the manuscript by mistake), dreaming about fishing for eels...They were not the biggest fish I'd caught but they truly captivated me. And a specimen angler was unwittingly born.

It's been a little over 30 years since my last cast in the Borrow Dykes, however I often take a look on Google Earth every now and then, and even visited one afternoon when on business a few miles away.

And so it was I got to talking with one of my newer "Brothers of the Angle" about eels. A professional angler, I honestly don't think there are too many unknown gems particularly as he lives in the county, but it was a new one to him and sworn to secrecy he was keen to give it a go. Now I don't know what lurks in those reed lined Dykes today, but with a trip coming up soon, I can say that the old fever is welling up once more! I look forward to posting about our trip at a later date, but I'm off down the shed to make a monkey climber!

Tight lines

Sydders

Competitive Streak...

Angling is for relaxation and sharing an experience, right?
Must have been in 1976 when a school visit to a Countryside Show at Kenilworth in the Midlands was arranged, and ever keen to find excuses to duck out of school, me and a few of my 11 year old mates put our names down for the not exactly Rock 'n' Roll field trip. Armed with a pack up and a couple of bob pocket money the coach was boarded and set off. We arrived after a typical kids coach journey, with all its attendant mischief, to an almost mediaeval scene...marquees, livestock and country folk, all manner of agricultural vehicles and equipment, mud, farmyard smells and so on. Someone had managed to snag a programme and the 70's chart topping band "The Wurzels" were due to give a performance. Anyone remember them? We thought they were pretty good...anyway whilst wandering round after this I found a British Field Sports Society booth and stepped in to see what that was all about. The chap inside gave me a leaflet and a sticker and when I explained I was an angler, said there was a display taking place later that day. It turned out some match fisherman was going to demonstrate his prowess, but as it wasn't proper fishing i.e. fluff chucking, our pal in the tent wasn't that interested. My mate Jeff and I made a beeline to find a familiar looking bloke giving a casting demo, casually flicking a waggler into distant hula hoops on a large pond. We got a bit closer...was it? No, course not...now he started hoiking Bream out, one after the other whilst smoking an endless cigarette, cracking jokes and generally entertaining anyone close by...it was! Only Ivan Marks, one of the most famous Anglers of the day, and an early angling Hero to yours truly! So for the next hour or so, I was spellbound, watching everything the Great Man did, today truly was a schoolday but not in the way I'd ever have imagined! Eventually, time was called, rods put down and a line formed for autographs. My turn came, and as I gave him my bit of paper I must've burbled some secret code because  he said to pop over to his stall...he and Ray Marlow (of Marks & Marlow) had a Tackle stand there too...how did we miss that?!! So later on, I plucked up the courage to visit and was greeted again by Ivan himself, and ended up after a good chat walking away with loads of advice and a gift, a "Pacemaker" float, which I still treasure to this day. Sadly, Ivan is no longer with us, but I think he had a profound influence on my generation of anglers as well as being a great champion.
So for the time being at least, the die had been cast. Much to my old man's - I'm not sure whether amusement or despair, my tackle was reconfigured and replaced with a series of the latest match gear, a stiff, tippy Shakespeare rod, pan shaped micromesh (as used by Ian Heaps) landing net, and the crowning glory an ABU 506 closed face reel. My eyes were pretty good in those days too, and I started to tie my own hooks, my favourite being size 24 barbless to 8oz line. Dad was almost beside himself by this point railing at the new fangled nonsense, but undeterred I remained true to the cause, and the new ideas paid almost instant dividends. With a little practice I even became quite adept at tempting fish from the toughest of swims, where my pals were still struggling! Matches were contested and fought well, several times unseating grown ups who naturally cried foul which made it all the more fun!
By the Summer of 1977 me and my mates had found a lovely little pit a few miles away, with loads of Roach and Rudd, Gudgeon and so on, even some mythical Carp but no-one had had any of them. We'd strap everything to our bikes and set off at sun up, full of excitement and anticipation. Until finally caught by the Bailiff and turfed out with respective fleas tingling our ears! After some investigation I found a tackle shop that put me in touch with the membership secretary, got my pocket money and actually bought a years ticket for the following season. June 16th 1978 arrived, and I spent hours trying out new swims, methods and so on, all the time gaining confidence and ability, so that one morning after I'd identified an area no one hitherto bothered with but that I just knew to be full of promise, set up and flicked a bait tight to the reeds...the float settled, trembled and slid away in a matter of seconds. A better fish and surely  no silver, a tussle ensued and mindful of the ultra light tackle I used in those days, played the fish with caution. My reward was a plump Crucian Carp, who was admired and slipped into the large keep net already deployed. No sooner had I flicked out another bait than the float dipped again, this time a good sized Roach. And so on it went, resulting in my largest haul to that date, 187 Roach and Rudd, 10 Crucian Carp and a solitary Perch of about a pound. Sadly I had no camera or scales in those days, would've been quite a picture! Naturally, a small boy heaving a netful like that out got some attention from the old blokes (who must've been at least 25 years old) on the opposite bank, who had been intently watching fish after fish come out of the usually empty corner swim. For some reason I can't recall, I couldn't get over to fish for a week, I think I may have been helping my Dad and earning some pocket money, but when I did, I was greeted in MY swim by one of the anglers that had been on the other side camped for the first time in the corner swim; He said something like "I saw some kid  catching dozens of fish over there last week", pointing at totally the wrong swim at the other end..."still, shouldn't believe all you hear, apparently he said he had a Perch as well and I know for a fact there's not a single Perch in here!" That had been my first real Red Letter day, and also my first taste of the dodgy tricks, mistrust and chicanery to be found among some in angling. At that age, I could see it for exactly what it was, pure envy and a Competitive Streak.
Fast forward to the present day, and I find myself representing at least on a Regional Level one of if not the largest single-species groups in the country, the Pike Anglers Club GB. It is well known in Pike Angling circles if not all branches of angling, that Hot Spots and locations of big fish captures are very closely guarded secrets. The usual reasons given for this are often dressed up as high minded conservation driven acts of altruism, but I for one am of the firm belief the reason most won't  let on  where their latest lump came from is that they likely see it as a bit of personal property, like a Pirates Treasure Trove, hard fought for and won and damned if it's going to be given away for free! Inevitably word does get out when a good fish falls to someone wanting a picture in the angling press, and there's nothing wrong with that, but the circus will immediately descend upon said location wanting the fish so badly for themselves that the poor thing gets caught over and over until it dies of bad handling or stress and eventually no-one can catch it. So am I right in my view that competition and envy rather than conservation and altruism drive the secrecy? Perhaps ultimately it's a little of both...I'll leave you to decide, just don't expect me to tell you where I'll be baiting up ready for the New Season... :-)
Tight lines for the glorious 16th!!!

Sydders

Brothers of the Angle.

Once I'd got a few trips to the river in the bag, started to collect some more tackle and reach the point where I felt well and truly hooked, it turned out that a couple of of my friends at school were also taking their first steps on their own Angling Journies. So as the evenings got longer, a series of after school fishing trips to the local river ensued...often accompanied by one or other of our Dads.
Before long, we were in the Summer Holidays and as we had recently taken on a weekend home (static caravan) by the coast, Mum and I spent pretty much the whole 6 weeks there, while Dad left on Monday and returned from work on Friday evenings.
It was here that my path developed a fork, for I soon discovered Sea Fishing from the wide strech of coast nearby. Fortunately it wasn't full blown East Anglian long distance beachcasting, so my little rod (luckily was one of those combos that could be built in about 5 different ways) was good enough to land my biggest catch, an eel! It was only a reasonably small one and my Dad and his pals certainly made fun of me and my bootlace, but I was over the moon! Over the holiday, I'd discovered not only how to catch eels and flatties, but also dig my own Lugworm, which effecively made me self sufficient and also got me some boat trips, but more on that another time!
Returning to school in the Autumn was a wrench, but no time was lost in telling my mates how I'd been wrangling monsters of the deep, while they too had their own fishy tales to tell. And there it was, from the age of about eight or nine, we became Brothers of the Angle,our very own Cosa Nostra complete with hallowed copies of Angling Times that got passed round each week, and so it was all the way through our Junior and Senior Schooling with its long Summers. Brothers we remained picking up a few, losing a few along the way. New prophets came along in the guise of Dick Walker, Ivan Marks, Barrie Rickards and some were even met...although more on that another time too! Education finally came to an abrupt end, careers loomed for some, the rest of us got whatever jobs we could if we were lucky, and after a couple more years my family upped sticks and moved to another town in a different county so in a world without internet, mobile phones or email the Brotherhood inevitably drifted apart. 
Life marched on in its own funny way; I now find myself with a grown up family of my own but can look back and say I remained true to the spirit of the Angle in one way or another, with perhaps just a brief interlude here or there. Today I still find myself meeting new Brothers on the Bankside, in the Club I run and others I belong to, the ones I Teach and Coach, Famous ones, even dare I say dodgy ones! With the advent of social media, I have connections to Brother Anglers the world over...and yes, that probably includes you! And here's a thing... that special bond from so long ago, a bunch of small boys with scabby knees, wide eyes and big dreams never died...I recently managed to make contact with Phil, my oldest of these old friends, purely by chance. We met up in London one evening after work, had a couple of beers and a curry, talked about the old days and  generally brought one another up to speed. We agreed we'd have to meet up again soon, and...well you may have guessed what we did! Here he is with a Tench he poached on my rod!

So if you're lucky enough make a friend through fishing don't be surprised if you're still mates a lifetime later!


Tight lines

Sydders

Little Tinca...

It must have been very soon after my introduction to angling, I'd certainly only just turned eight, that I think the old man reached a little too far too soon...we set off one morning, quite early and when we arrived at a lake (turns out this was North Met Pit) we only had his rod?!!
"I'll show you how to catch a fish called Tench" he said boldly, setting up in his usual minimalist style, just a couple of shot and a 4" section of unpainted reed as a float. He explained the idea that when this Tench took his bait, the float would lift up in the water, not dart under as I'd become used to. Now this was confusing...but, I went along with it as a small boy would trusting Dad to know what was what. He cast his line, hand fed some bait and waited...and waited...We seemed to be doing quite a lot of this waiting lark, not like catching the tiddlers on the Lea, so after a couple of hours I suppose I must've been getting restless and a little bored due to the lack of anything going on.He suggested I go for a wander round and see what I could find, as there were no other anglers to annoy or disturb, so off I went. After some ferreting around, nettle stings and so on, I'd made a circuit of the pit. And there below me was the old man, sitting intently watching the little white float. On my way round, somehere I'd found a nice big flint, so there was only one thing to do...and the resulting fountain of water from his swim brought forth some choice new words I'd not heard before! I don't think he was impressed with my attempt to liven things up so suitably chastised, I sat down and was quiet and sullen for a bit. Sooner or later he said to look at the float - as if by magic it was lifting out of the water! How this could work I had no idea at that stage, but it just was as he had said. The ensuing scrap was not like anything I'd seen at that point, whatever this Tench thing was it had bent his rod right over! Skillfully, he subdued the fish, and hand landed it...he didn't hold with any of this net nonsense...and displayed the most gorgeous looking olive green fish with distinct red eyes and powerful fins, glistening in the sunlight. A sight I'll never forget. Looking back, it wasn't big, perhaps a pound or  two, but the biggest fish I'd yet seen caught in person!
And that is a memory that will stay with me forever - even now we still often laugh about that day.

Today, as an Angling Trust coach, there was a very good lesson for me in that experience, namely always have your young angler doing something, doesn't really matter what...if they're not involved and busy, they'll almost always become distracted, disinterested or worse still, go off the idea completely. I digress...

Back in the day, a three or four pounder was a very respectable fish, todays monsters going into double figures were unheard of, I suppose there were no carpets of leftover boilies for them to fatten up on, indeed the Godfather of modern specimen angling Dick Walker never in his long angling career caught a 6lb Tench!

And so as ever and in all things, our past shapes our future! In late Spring there's not much that I find more exciting and at the same time tranquil as an early morning, mist rises from the water as a fizz of tiny bubbles moves ever nearer your float, it trembles, rises and...well the rest is between you and the fishing gods!

Here's one from this mornings bag...

For an angler, there is just such a rich variety of styles of fishing, experiences to enjoy, places to see and rare and precious things we encounter that the piscatorially-challenged just miss out on. If there's one thing I hope to get across in my rambling, it's not to be be blinkered and locked into chasing just one species, be a specialist by all means, but get out there and taste the whole menu before you settle for your favourite. Develop yourself as a rounded angler (and I don't mean shape wise like me) and you will find so much more enjoyment over the course of your angling and be able to make the most of any  situation, not be limited because your usual target species isn't up for it on the day!

Beginnings...

It would have been at the age of eight that I first felt the thrill of a fish wriggling for all it was worth on the end of a line, although from an even younger age I'd been enthralled by my Grandfathers tales from boat fishing trips and a huge (well it was to me at the time) Monkfish, ugly as sin but the most exciting thing I'd ever seen!
Still got the old wooden centre pin he caught it on, but I digress...

Like many kids in the early seventies, I had to pretty much find my own fun; money was short, technology non-existant at least in the sense we understand and rely on it today...so tree climbing and falling out again, kicking, throwing or whacking things, secret hideouts in the woods, collecting various nick-nacks found on these adventures and so on, were the order of the day. Nevertheless a lot of fun, skinned knees, thick ears, chipped teeth and nettle rash ensued...activities surely if practised today would've got the parents a visit from social services at best!
One sunny afternoon during the spring of 1973, my Dad said something like "Fancy a go at fishing?"
Unknown to me, a pair of rods and reels (again, still got the reel, Intrepid New De Luxe) had secretly been bought from Mums mail order catalogue and paid for week by week (that's how we rolled in those days) and the following morning a trip to the tackle shop up the road providing all the other mysterious bits and pieces along with a tub full of maggots...which were great fun to a small boy!
Thus equipped, we set off to find the silver fish living in a particular stretch of the River Lea near what was the Royal Ordnance Factory, this closed at the end of the 80s and is now a housing estate...and the rest, as they say, is history.

Don't worry, I'll not be giving a blow by blow account of my every adventure, I simply don't have time or expect you to find them sufficiently interesting, rather here and there I'll recount some of my experiences and thoughts from the last forty odd years and onwards...I could draw on a vast back catalogue of interesting captures and fishy tales, but as
a) I never had a camera handy for much of my angling career (cheapskate) and
b) I'm not sure I'll find the will
...I'll most likely keep things current!

As an angler, man and boy, am I obsessive? Well if that's defined by the amount of time spent thinking about, plotting, planning, reading and reflecting upon the subject, instead of purely measured by hours on the bank, then yes, I guess I am. But I also have a day job, a family and all the other stuff men of a certain age can luckily sometimes find themselves with, so the time actually spent fishing is less than I'd like, but doubly enjoyable...and even forty years in, you never stop learning!

And am I single species angler? Nope, I love Old Esox with a passion, sure, but also appreciate most species for their qualities and individual beauty (ok, I've got to do something in the closed Pike season), I enjoy Coarse and Sea Angling equally and have even been known to chuck fluff when the mood takes me, although probably do less Saltwater Angling these days due to geographic limitations (or just being a lazy old so and so!)

Amongst the waffle there will be tales of all kinds of people and places, but I won't be naming most of them due to a desire to ensure you find your own hotspots and do your own homework (not to mention the potential for libel) and don't think you'll get me to tell you by email either, although bribes are a distinct possibility :).


I have no hard and fast plans on how frequently I'll be posting, so be sure to follow and you'll get an alert when something new comes along.


Before this turns into an autobiography, I just wanted to point out some of the differences between then and now, we didn't have the distractions and on-tap 120mph amusement found today - neither did we have the crazy Health and Safety driven risk averse culture, rod licenses, club controlled or day ticketed waters everywhere so in a sense it was relatively easy to fall into fishing. All your mates did it. Your Mum liked it because you were (hopefully) out of mischief for the day. More over, it was damned good fun!
Here's the thing...I started my Angling journey on a shoestring catching tiddlers...Roach, Rudd, Gudgeon and Perch and so on, of course now and then you'd fluke a better fish and be the hero for the day...it's how I learned, did the apprenticeship and earned the right to move on to bigger challenges. But all this time and so many big fish later I still take myself off for a days float fishing for the little silvers, I don't know but it's just such a no pressure carefree and genuinely relaxing thing to do!
Get out and give it a go, just keep it simple and take some old school tackle if you're lucky enough to have some,and if you have a youngster why not wrench them away from the Xbox and give them the opportunity... you and they may be surprised!

Tight lines and thanks for reading!
Sydders