Going to a new water is always one of the joys of angling, perhaps one of the finest and certainly the most appetite whetting. A new adventure where anticipation exceeds any travel time, which was just as well as I rolled slowly round the UK's biggest orbital car park en route to Reading and District's waters, arriving mid morning.
The breeze was fair and the clouds patchy with blue skies in large gaps between, what I call a Simpsons sky as it looks like the opening credits to the cartoon, hopefully I won't go full on 'Homer' in my fishing today although I usually do in someway, be boring not to make merriment at the mishaps wouldn't it?
I chose a small pond surrounded by much larger pits, these waters are home to huge two tone bream and mysterious tench and carp but I chose one that reminded me of ponds I fished as a kid in Stanmore many many years ago, it was small, triangular and full of character. How my Dad would have loved it here I thought.
I soldiered through groups of feisty canada geese hissing insults at me for daring to encroach on their family parade, on my way to the little pond, where just one angler was tucked into a corner on arrival. So I just set up in a sunny spot near some lilies as a cuckoo chimed out a two tone monologue, perhaps in tribute to the bream.
On went my usual pole float once again direct to 6lb as it looked mighty snaggy and I knew the odd decent carp and tench were resident, the latter would do me nicely, or a few bream or even a heap of silvers, for which I had maggots just in case.
Plumbed at around 4-5 ft, the bread was then fed and was smashed by rudd in a scene identical last time out and no doubt many a healthy pond throughout the land. Bubbles seemed to appear everywhere and not just on the feed zone, but bread is so instant, the skill being to keep it on the hook to get down, resisting those obvious rudd takes, sure enough the first time I knew I'd got it on the deck the float buries properly, not knowing what it was added to the fun although after a few powerful circular runs and a never say attitude, it was clear it was a nice tench long before I slid it over the waiting net. A great start and it's a beautiful fish.
I had to switch floats to something heavier due to the rudd, so I whacked on a wire stemmed stick, yeah I know but it works just as well, although changing the blog name to Trottingdownthepond really wouldn't do.
It wasn't long before I was in again with something a bit bigger that surged into the lily bed and went solid, now tench have a habit of getting placated when in thick weed but this felt terminal, like a shed hook to beefy snag. I tried the old ten seconds of slack line trick to no avail before pulling for a break, steady slow pressure elicited some movement from the clump of greenery before a large clump broke free, getting my float back would of course not negate losing a good fish but isn't as bad as losing a hook to add insult. Then the best thing happens, we've all had it, that moment when the snag shakes it's head and the 'lost fish' is still on, better still the feeling of the snag parting company completely and it's game on again.
Another beautiful tench was finally slid over the net and a chunky one too, I'm rubbish at guessing tench weights for some reason compared to other species so dug out the scales, it looked bigger but I would take 4lb 10oz all day long with such good fortune, the fish was again pristine, none the worse for the weeding up.
I couldn't moan bumping the next fish off as my luck was about to go into overdrive, switching to punch I plopped the bait in at my feet whilst I dug out another slice of bread, kept in the shade of the bag to keep from going stale, into my bait bib it went and the old scrag ends of bread were wetted, mashed and fed, whilst doing this my float had buried and line is rapidly going out before I notice. I wanted old fashioned fishing like a kid and got it, skillfully(yeah right) managing to strike(just) just before the rod got pulled round, even, I had to laugh as another good tench was landed. I did feed that line earlier I told myself, with some truth but deep down acknowledging another heap of good fortune.
It was only then that I noticed I'd missed the first ring on the rod when setting up....doh!, I've done it before but it's been a while, I had to have a chuckle, sit down and have lunch after that, lucky to have landed anything, going full on 'Homer', grateful there was no one to see me there sitting on a stool with my Drennan Cup hat on, poorly threaded rod, wire stemmed stick, covered in bread juice.
A few 'Bar of Soap' tench followed lunch before the pond started to fill up with other anglers, from my spot I could view all the different characters. First up was a fella with a bite alarm who plopped a fair few large offerings into the corner, I was jealous of his relaxed approach and that he had full sun whereas now I was shaded and regretting wearing shorts. Then a guy started stalking carp off the top in the other corner, his patience and stealth were a stark contrast to my erm... all action approach, both guys had nothing whilst I was there but it had gone slow for me now too. A few swims down a chap had two rods out, one spearing into the lake motionless, the other a waggler which was very busy, with rudd after rudd, making me glad I started on bread.
With itchy feet now I had to try the swim round the corner, not just because it had bubbles all day, but because it looked so Crabtree, so perfect, a throwback to my childhood days with Dad, I was sitting on my net bag on a gently sloping bank surrounded by a canopy of trees, my float tip black against the light opposite, with bread fed, I was confident of converting these bubbles once more.
Could I get some more good tench among all this froth? Well no, bought back down to earth with the bump I deserved, I worked hard with punch for a few rudd and two more small tench,, convincing myself that these were the bubbly culprits, as I know even small tench can create a lot of bubbles.
I then switched to maggot as I couldn't resist the punishment although threading 8 or so on a size ten should negate a few of the rudd. It sort of worked with just a smattering or rudd, plus a few more hand sized tench, those small, froth making, bars of soap, plus one little perch. The last tench of the day summed everything up, the smallest fish of the day, this beast of the future managed to wolf down the copious amount of maggots I put on a wide gape size 10, the funny thing was it wasn't even hooked but had the lot and wasn't going to let it go.
It closed the day really well, that's what it's all about, I swapped an M25 car park for an M4 one on the way home which made a change but did I care one bit. Once again the fishing gods were kind and the tench were the lords, even if it was a new manor for me to explore, as for that daily bread, well it just keeps on giving.
