Don't get me wrong the Pewsey guys past and present are superb human beings but I suppose its like any good thing, you can get too much. The year ahead then - well I tried to disconnect from Pewsey the closer of my friends had decided to follow other previous good anglers and leave for the sponsorship scene. Nevertheless the club still has many an angler to fill those boots and will go forward. It was just a case of whether I, in my mind, I could offer anything more.
Voted in again under duress to be Secretary, I will fulfill another year. One thing my exile has done has reminded me its not necessary to devote every spare waking minute to the club and spend a little time enjoying angling for angling's sake. The joy of catching my favourite Roach, sharing the delight of others successes even if the bastards are beating me.
I am just gutted that my dream of Pewsey rising again to be the main challenger in all competitions including the National, has floundered. As talent has drifted to Devizes, Thatchers, Swindon Matrix, SENSAS and so on. Oh well better to have tried and failed, than not to have bothered.
So the day starts with a little bit of excitement to be easing back into the scene, with a little Lake match. Lets give a round of applause to Mark Russ for taking on the Lake matches and I look forward to supporting him when I can.
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| All round good bloke Mark Russ (grey top on right) accepting a trophy |
When I can because this year in an attempt to freshen up the angling I wont be attending every match, there will be days when I think, bugger it I am going go there today, or I feel like a few hours Barbelling or god forbid a bit of Beachcasting.
The day broke early for me needing to get the dogs out before leaving. Squeezing them into the van I was away to the woods. Maybe a rabbit or pheasant for the new boy Jake, Kip the old Terrier being too old to really compete anymore. It was bloody surprisingly cold considering there was a little cloud cover and I smiled as an awesome sunrise was greeted by the sound of hoar-frosted turf that crackled underfoot.
Brock the Badger (ever on the increase) had been busy during darkness, scratching to the surface the grey squirrels winter hoard of acorns, there was little holes everywhere with tell tale acorn shells.
Rabbits were thin on the ground, in my old haunts as the third wet winter in a row has left the population short of dry warrens and the dry roughage diet they need to proliferate their population.
However the hardy rat population was running riot on the farmers winter feed supply. Both dogs strained to have a go but the youthful inexperience of Jake led to barking. A strange linguistic brew of puppy yap and a growing dogs deeper more guttural sound.
A quick exit before a salt block or worse from the Farmers 12 bore skimmed my ear.
Still down by the river its always worth a stop to gaze into the Babycham clarity of a chalk stream. To watch the now out of season Grayling dance like their nic name Ladies of the stream, a joyous moment between me and God , nature.
A keen sun pushed the sun higher in the sky and I knew I had to leave it, and get away to the Lake. Still it would have been nice to bounce a nymph amongst the Ladies or even a dry fly upstream the way its supposed to be.
Back in the van and homeward bound to drop of the dogs. In an attempt to build a little muscle on Jakes puppy body I had fed him a little raw tripe and cooked mackerel yesterday - pay back time now has an almighty fart mingled with a kilo of past their sell by date worm and the foul dry Bream slime from the last fishing trip. Which was still hanging on the keep nets.
Now its very hard to drive whilst your body convulses in involuntary dry retching, but drive I did as down came the van windows and I hung my head out to gulp glorious fresh air as the circulating wind dissipated the foul smell. Jake looked well pleased with himself at producing such an evil classic. He didn't look so pleased though when I left him behind and got on my way.
I was drowning myself in nostalgia this morning, and backing that up with early Genesis albums on the cd player in the van. I enjoy nothing more than bowling along in a vehicle on lowly populated roads music blasting , me banging the steering wheel like a joint smoking Phil Collins banging his drums in the late seventies. Its times like this when you wish the journey was little longer. So as I near the Lake "The Lamb lied down on Broadway " and we slipped into "Selling England by the pound" and aptly Phil told me he "Knows what he likes in my Wardrobe" considering the layers I had on today . Fashion was not a first thought.
The meet and greet for the new round of matches is always nice, waiting for those who have forgot to own up its new rod licence time and theirs is in the post etc etc. A poor turn out of 8 with the big boys attending Ditchers Spring League the attendance was low. Additionally some, ahead of a trip to Ireland, were down at Shearwater practicing the long range Bream feeder fishing.
Grey Squirrels scooted up trees and a Buzzard floated heavily from a high branch his heavy outspread wings taking him clear of the noisy gathering anglers. Even a distant Roe deer pressed itself as low as it could into the short sprouting rape seed crop. So as not to be seen.
The draw was imminent and in a final tip of hat toward Genesis. It was time to "Turn it on Again". So what would the gods of the draw bag offer me this time.
Well after last years disastrous draw bag, a pleasant surprise to draw at the Carp end, and an end peg 15, and to top that the golden peg.
I ran to my peg and set about kitting out the peg a cold bitter south easterly cur across from the right, and following the snow and hail from yesterday I didn't hold much hope of Carp feeding in the icy water.
I was glad to have layered up movement was difficult but plenty of clothing would keep me warm. To my left Mark Russ then Brian on the peg that's won the last three matches. Then the rest of the fellas through to Nic Worters on the other end peg.
I started on the splodger and was rewarded with two pup 6 oz Carp and another around 2 lb. We all chopped and changed trying to find the magic formula but to be honest the very cold water and ever increasing icy wind were making it difficult to hold a pole or indeed present a bait well. Raspberry Tea and chicken and ham pie made a nice distraction as I watched a dormant quiver tip.
Time to catch some silvers. So a change to maggot and I was away catching the normal stamp of small roach. Back wards and forwards between two different swims I eecked out the fish by swapping depths and combinations of maggot, caster and pinkie.
Two hours without a fish I was desperate to get a few more Carp. Simon had, had a big Chubb, Mark a skimmer and Brian several little pups. If I was to win the match and take the Golden peg i needed a big Carp. I swapped to a pop up pellet and coated it in pineapple smoke bomb goo from the carp bag of tricks in my trolley. Poured the tea and cast. It had been in the water about 10 seconds when the rod was wrapped around. The Carp ploughed through the bull rushes and snagged. I eased it out into open water then it headed for the steels on the right and tried to wrap around them.
Then it tried to get around the peg platform to my right. Finally after a great fight I got it to the net, one final dash away and some frantic back winding and I still had her, So to the net again and I could see her, a known fish I had caught before. Always around 11.5 to 12.5 in weight I knew I had the golden peg and match in the bag. I stretched with the net at which point the landing net pan began to unscrew. Frantically trying to scoop , I clipped the method feeder and the loosening knock sprung the feeder and it flew past my ear leaving me to panically stab at the fish as it slipped into the depths.
Deep laughter from Mark and Brian and I would imagine a few others as everyone realised I had not put the match beyond them.
I squeezed the rod butt in silent rage and started again. Thank fully I had a few more small Carp before the all out and with minutes to go, rumour on the bank was I was looking good. A slight fly in the ointment Nic Worters on the other end peg had had, a large carp on the whistle and got it in.
So to weigh in with me on the scales 2 lb 3 oz of Roach
AND 12 lb 8 of Carp
Gave me 14 lb 11 oz. Mark pipped me by an ounce, on the silvers with 2 lb 4 oz his big skimmer meaning he led with the silvers, but had no Carp.
Brian outdid Mark with 2 lb 15 oz of Silvers and with his pup Carp a total of 6 lb + We made our way along , Jim Broomham had 1 15, Will had blanked , Simon's Chubb gave him 4 lb + and the lead in the silvers , and Neil Pegrum had struggled to a low silvers weight.
Nic pulled out his Carp and it was a fat 8 lb 9 oz, bugger what silvers did he have . Blast it he had a bream and a biggish skimmer and a load of bits for 7 lb+.
So Nic had beaten me with his end of match Carp and denied me the Golden peg, by a pound. Never mind he ho, I had second in the match and second in the super pools. Gotta smile at that.
The framers, Nic left. Bri keeping the wind of our backs; and so it was home to get the layers of clothing off and down some Mulligatawny soup.
Lucky Bri picked up third. See you next time , not sure when that will be , but I will be there.
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