I had never caught a big rudd, sounds weird when I compare it to roach but very few of the waters I have fished hold them to any size. Even my club stillwaters have the bait stripping lunatic tiddlers, with an 8oz fish being a rod bender. Unlike big roach rudd are much harder to find in many rivers, especially in numbers and size. Time to change all that, time to go for some rudd.
It's a sobering thought that I had never targeted rudd in my life despite being the wrong side of 50. This would explain why I'd dragged my wife along on a day trip to the middle of nowhere, to a drain deep in the flatlands, to rudd country.
En route we pass Duxford, you always hope to see a vintage aircraft here. However there was just a random red single prop flying above. I proudly mansplained to wife that its a civilian craft. It then did three loop to loops. I was glad to be proved wrong, looked in the mirror at everone looking ahead at the road, oh why! We just laughed at my folly and took in the show as we trundled along.
Much further on driving down country lanes we criss crossed farmland and flood meadows, on bumpy roads called 'Droves' I think we were in Cambridgeshire although not sure as all direction was out of the window, with the constant right angle turns and undulations of the surface. I had never experienced roads like these, up and down they went despite the flat landscape, like an entrance track to a fishery yet going for miles, scrapemarks on these natural humps from cars grounded, passing points on the dead straight bits, open fields either side with no gates and no hedges, just big sky views.
We arrived in one piece just about, to the drain, up where I had heard there was some decent rudd.
Crossing over a bridge I spot fish instantly in the gin clear water and do that whispering voice to the wife like they could hear us. Weed was everywhere but the rudd were cruising above it and many were clearly bigger than my lame pb of 14oz set when I was a teenager. It was a glorious sight - The rudd, not me as a teen!
I couldn't wait to set up but whilst doing so the owners of a nearby boat were stirring. The lady opens her window and feeds the ducks with bread. Here we go I thought, only for her to say hello, tell me the good ones are down there and hope I catch a few. This could be a great day I thought if the fish are as friendly as the locals.
They were so I'll cut to the chase....I thought the ducks would be a problem but they weren't. I thought the larger rudd would be hard to tempt but they weren't. As a battle scarred rudd was landed first cast my pb was beaten, minutes later the second graced the net my pb was even more respectable. Then some scale perfect beauties reflected the sun like only rudd can, it was fantastic.
I was being subtle with the gear, using the best float going in these conditions - The humble matchstick. With a favourable wind I was able to ping the bread to the far side lillies no problem, targetting cruising fish at will, if the bait went out of sight the sinking matchstick did its thing and bites were constant with no disturbance, when I needed a surface bait once more the matchstick excelled. I wasn't fishing light either as these fish sure did pull for the weeds but it was super easy and real fun.
The countryside was yellow once more but here's a few of those bars of gold that lit it up further, in no particular order.
I also picked up a couple of nice roach and some small bream but the rudd were the target and I achieved twenty of them in a couple of hours, nearly all netters. With it understandably slowing down a bit I had to wander down the drain to explore but only found overgrown banks and smaller rudd.
We passed a holidaying angler who I put onto my spot as there were still fish there. I expected to see him as we returned half an hour later but he was gone, as were the fish as my bread was eerily untouched this time round, some lads were on the opposite bank and maybe the noise disturbance was too much now, or perhaps I got lucky. Could be different next time for sure but that's fishing.
We stopped off on the way home to a nice pub on the river cam that must have the best name ever. - The Five Miles From Anywhere No Hurry Inn, for a pint and a meal.
We were many miles from home but there was indeed no hurry heading back, it was a great day with friendly folk and ruddy good fishing.
