Croc'o'deeel

Fished into the teeth of the wind, well it was warm enough so why not. Not easy to see the bites but picked up two fish anyway on the Source under a puddle chucker.  A lull.

First was this gorgeous yellow bellied tench. Lean but not mean. A real tail slapper of a fish.

Then a big surprise and one I am still not sure how I got into the net with the 5lb line intact and on a stepped up waggler rod. I usually have the 42 inch net set up in case I get a big mud pig and when I saw the head like a dustbin over the net cord I was rather pleased I'd set it up.

If the pike had had the body to go with the head and at the back end of the season the scales  might have nearly gone round fully twice. As it was 19.04 was registered and taking off the net that came to 17.08. One of the Golden Pond crocs with an eel's body. Couldn't see any traces in the throat. I guess they don't have much depth to swim in and they do take quite large goslings as a common place thing.

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The usual three

Out in the big wind yesterday but found a semi-sheltered spot back on the dam and winkled out  a trio of bream close in on the puddle chucker float.

Getting bored of mat shots so had a quick one on the self timer. Will think a bit more about it next time...... and that's me being neat and tidy.

Loafing

Loafing. Ask Lord Lite of Thorrington about that. AKA the Essex Scribbler. Anyhoo, it goes something like this. Work (well perhaps not  in his case) but make sure you smell many, many roses along the way.  It certainly involves some of this:

Essential fuel: Grey Seal coffee just yards from the roaster

Essential viewing: work by David Cowdry. The perch one is even bigger, and with an even bigger price tag (and a red sold sticker).

Essential grounding: the simple beauty of an intimate chalk stream, in this case the Glaven.

And of course fishing, and where possible at last knockings: because there will be wine on your return.

Back on it.

Not long been back from the Northern end of Majorca with for some of the time 7/9ths of the BureBoi Tribe.  A few trials and tribulations along the way as well as lots of moments of joy.  It was a relief when we touched down into Norwich International and only had a short drive home. I'll collect my thoughts for a fuller blog update shortly.

Touched earth with a quick bream on Sunday evening.

Had a couple of hours yesterday, it turned out in an absolute dinger of a cloudburst, alongside a busy road with constant spray from buses and 38 tonne lorries so I got as wet as I have been when fishing for a long time. Strangely the last two times have been on Golden Pond as well though in colder and more prolonged conditions and far more miserable.

It seemed the injection of fresh water had woken up the Pond and I had three tench and  two bream in short order. This time from the marginally deeper dam right close in and as a result the rod was hooped over magnificently.

One of the ones with  a hint of grey and pink on the underparts. Somewhat hiding its maleness with the merest hint of  enlarged pelvic arangements.

She has been in the wars for sure.

The camera settings were all wrong for the biggest fish, a male far bigger than I'd of expected from the Pond, again with  a damaged rudder and this time testosterone  crazy pelvics.

I quite literally bailed out after this bream, I could have stayed an hour and  a half more and cleaned up but the thought of getting a mini mountain of wet stuff, including me, in the car and home and dried out by wine o'clock was too much to contemplate. You can see my offering to the fishy gods round its mouth. Any bits of spat out boilie or pellet go well back into the fish's mouth in recompense.

I did bring back a very cheap bottle of whiskey, just right to toast those gods once more.

Ticking over

Had  go on the banded pellet on Sunday, just didn't feel right so on with the golden grains for a few mediocre roach and skimmers and this long old thing. I think there were several down there so must give 'em a proper go.

Golden pond is really feeling the heat of late. Looks quite desperate to be honest but the fish seem in to be in tip top shape at the moment. Three being the norm for a scant evening hour including travel

 

Morning rations being delivered to the great burghers of Holt. Let them eat sponge...

Rambling on

Had a brief look at the roachy bit the other day. Not much access and lots of weed as you'd expect for the summer on  a neglected river. I think I'll take some floating casters and some bread to see what might  sneak out to have a nosh. More prospecting than fishing.

Meanwhile I have  been haunting Golden Pond on hour long raids. All the usual suspects with a couple of big commons that  never quiet made it to the net.

A skinny tench that had masses of roach scattering onto the  pads as I got it  back through them.

And a plumper one last night. First cast as the pellets softly rained in on it's head.

And plenty of bream, especially as the light values lower.

Fallow, no mojo, eels feet

Sciatica has got me the bastard. A hateful but thankfully for me usually transient condition. Coincided with a bit of a mojo draining fallow period dangling wise. A few dace on the stick and  a mean, lean pike that snaffled a tinca bound boilie, fought like stink and bit me off, after I'd dipped the formerly dry net in the pond. And a mumbled aside by the optician about cataracts. Which being a man I chose to pretend not to hear, and he being a man chose not to be more forthcoming about. 

I did drag my sorry arse to Yarco though yesterday as the Little 'Uns were in a show on Britannia Pier. They done good but looked so tiny......

Mind you I need to send them to a  Chinese style Uighur People re-education camp after having trod the same soiled boards as these Good Ole Saturday Night "entertainers".

I fortified myself for 3 hours cramped in a tiny bucket of a seat in at times excruciating pain with a pint of Eels Foot, being as the Carvery was  set on the banks of Eels Foot Broad.

Quite a Boujee crowd, unlike on the Pier. Even a Lilly Allen look a likie. Amongst a goodly proportion of the BureBoi tribe and in-laws.

Speaking of Saturday Night "entertainment":

Rasta tench

Red, green and gold. Irie. True rastafari. Love peace and tench.

Not sure you'ld get away with this being Ethiopia though.

Bang tidy

An early evening window on the pinhead fry filled lagoon saw me twisting a bank stick into the hallowed turf and this time I had the right bait boxes to fit the apertures. Bang tidy I thought for me anyway. But I have seen the absolute carnage of  a mid session  Fletcher's swim  (He of HMP).

Fished corn over hemp and  6mm Spicy Sausage pellet and had a cracking session, starting of with skinmers and hybrids and then the roach moved in. All pretty much the stamp of these two so not bad at all, all netters anyway. 

I also had this somewhat battered old girl. 1.05  but a suggestion perhaps of a once much bigger frame.

I also lost a decent tench which dived for the net and missed, leaving an accusing pigs tail curl where the spade end had been. As Newbie confirmed shortly after, finding me in "his" swim, if you see 'em at the net they sort of count. I had the water splashed specs to prove it. He was on his favoured banded pellet and it was fascinating watching the bubblers homing in on the sound of his bigger 8mm pellet splashing in. He had a good go at the roach too. Which he said were mostly shitting out my pellet whilst eating his.

And of course I've been keeping my end in on Golden Pond and catching mostly (only) bream. It seems a trio in an hour is about right.

A shiny young thing.

A crusty old spawny starburst of  a thing, black as coal when it turned over in the shallow, warm water on the strike.

Last night was even warmer. milky warm in fact and again a trio, from three different parts of the swim, two on the puddle chucker float and one on the swingtip, and a lost mud pig that was about as far away from the net as it could have got so no chance of a sort of counting.

Wouldn't you want to eat that shiny little round thing? If the bait does come off the hair I do the decent thing and stuff it in their pharyngeals before slipping them back. Seems only right.

The unphotographed one could have fitted these two in its big old scrawny frame and not as weighed as much as them put together. The rain has put another couple of inches in and the fish have appeared in the back bay again, truffling in new found riches.

Meanwhile The Loafer has been schlepping round France in his Hymer, bothering Ade Kiddel, eating much de pain croute and chasing similarly middle aged cheese eating surrender monkeys up hills on a bike. And catching barbel.

I only managed a walk and a pint on the marshes with the Boi George, a barbie and a go on the Pogle tree with the afore mentioned Boi George, the Little 'Uns and Stick Man.

Broadside of course (if no Abbot available).