I love this time of year. The passing of such a glorious summer as we cling on to some warmer days just past the equinox, but these last few nights have been cold and are a reminder of what is to come. The season of plenty is just about hanging on as hedgerow fruits and orchard fair are sweet after a few golden months and my thoughts turn to wood stores and is there enough to see out the harsher, colder days to come.
It's always good to go with an instinct....as it usually is with the angler who treads his path all the months of the year. He just knows. As it was for me yesterday afternoon. I just knew I had to be by the water, still water as it may very well be my last chance to say farewell to the fish of summer - the crucian and tench. Also, there was the prospect of a Harvest Moon and these occurrences never fail when an angler gets a calling to go fishing.
I love the old ponds which are hidden in a remote Wiltshire valley. It's a lost landscape in a wealthy corner of the county where the old farming ways and ramshackle out-buildings still harbour the memories of the old days. It won't last forever, nothing ever does, so I enjoy it for the time being knowing full well I am the only one here with just the church bells for company along with the cattle gently grazing the valley slopes. I know the swallows will not be joining me this evening - they are all near the coast feasting, whirling and whorling before they head for warmer days - during the summer you can set the church clock for their arrival to feed and when they arrive and what joy they bring. Not this evening, the pool is eerily silent, covered in a thick paint like blanket weed and algal bloom and no stirring to betray the presence of the creatures beneath.
The breeze drifts along my sheltered path and it brings a chill wind scented with woodsmoke and the spice of trodden ground and herbage...would there be a chance, just one to say farewell to summer?
I travel light, shoulder bag, rod, net, bait and flask of tea but today I am glad I have a warm hat to keep out the chill which is already creeping into the shadier parts of the pond. A few hens egg sized lumps of "special stuff" fizzy ground bait and maggots over the top and I wait.
A few bubbles betray the movings and ploddings of something stirring beneath the weed and it is not long before the first crucian is being admired before being quickly returned. A beautiful smaller bar of gold comes quite soon after the first and just like the swallows they are gone as quickly as they arrive.
I go for a walk, make tea and as the dew gathers have a wonderful evening catching what will surely be the last tench of the season. These lovely fish, as green as weed, are a joy to catch and for once I am glad I have brought my steely Sowerbutts Roach Master rod which steers these glorious creatures away from weed beds and lily pads. I pack up with a rising Harvest Moon for company and a warm glow as the moon becomes a Hunters Moon seeing me home, chasing me home as I drift from the folds of Wiltshire and into Dorset and the warmth of an early home fire.
It's that time of the year.......the turning process which makes each season so mystical. A turning time for us too I guess when we do familiar things. For me it's apples, cider, fires and generally preparing for the colder months. This year however my Summer fishing has been extended. The crucians are still feeding and the pond is looking like it will have a few more weeks before they all hunker down for the dark days ahead.
The weather changed dramatically the other evening.....I was just staring at my float, willing it to twitch when I heard Chris shout "it's coming, here it comes" and the wind charged through the trees and brought an absolute deluge with it. Now, I always tell myself that I take too much gear with me on my trips, but I was mighty pleased to have ye olde faithful (my canvas fishing brolly) and a flask of tea as all raged about me. I kept looking up the path, for this place has its strange moments. I had started my MR James short story viewing early this year, the night before in fact, so I half expected to see a dark shadow move through the trees and be gone before I had actually caught sight of it properly.......this time he was there walking towards me through the herbage. Luckily it was Garry reporting he too was fishless and I was thankful it was not Abbot Thomas.
I am a person and also a fisherman who believes in superstition and the good luck associated with items, happenings and likings. None more so than the major tool of my past time which is the humble float.
The same old floats come out. Each one loved, fondled and admired over the years and hopefully the years to come - there is the one given to me by Mr Crabtree (Bernard Venables) which is a lovely worn porcupine quill. I am now so scared to use this float that it remains in my float tube as I nearly lost it once. I feel its power rubbing off on my other lucky floats - some hand made by friends, some once owned by dear friends and others gifts from friends. Each one has its own story which sticks to it like groundbait or pond slime.
The last few trips to fish my favourite ancient crucian pond have seen me use a different float on each occasion. Each one a lucky float or one I have taken a liking to along my fisherman travels. There was the small balsa float someone brought into the office along with some of the tiniest porcupine quills I have ever seen - "would you like them?", "oh, yes please, they will be loved and looked after and more importantly they will kiss the water again"...........sometimes lucky floats just find you.
Then there are the gifts from friends which are the best of all - these delightful crucian floats are so delicate they detect the gentle nibblings of dainty feeding crucians. As the writer Arthur Sharp put it in his wonderful book - pleasing in appearance and even more pleasing in disappearance. I can say no better than that.
After a break from Blighty (more of this another day) it was a joy to return to my favourite crucian pond and watch the comings and goings of all that live on, in and around this haven. I, of course, spoil the whole scene as I bimble through the undergrowth, brew tea, eat inordinate amounts of pie and pork products whilst watching a float which remains motionless for great parts of the day - the general public if they were to view such a scene would probably think I was mad.......I know otherwise, I am in heaven.
Not much has changed in the few weeks since my last visit. I was pleased to see, if anything, it was more overgrown. Obviously very few other anglers have been to fish and the weed growth was a tad dense and the lily pads were still in fine fettle. I have sensed a slight change in the season these last few days......you can sniff autumn is in the air and as I settled down the wind was blowing in the trees around the pool and the leaves are just on the turn. I love these subtle changes and they make the year of the fisherman all the more memorable.
The crucians had obviously had their breakfast as my float did not stir for some considerable time. This does not matter in the slightest as there is much to observe and take in - the dragonflies were active as were the birds around the pond - long tailed tits were on the wing and having family arguments about the insects they were consuming on a sallow. It always surprises me when the float stirs. When it does it is like a little electrical charge which makes me almost jump from my idle thoughts.
The first crucian of the day is a perfect little bar of gold, a delicate delightful fellow who is handled with such great care as in my eyes he is worth far more than gold. He is admired with wet hands and gently returned to the pond.
My tackle at these two Saxon ponds is delicate - for there are two, one upper and one lower and both completely different in appearance and atmosphere. A small quill float which is gently shotted coupled with my 1950's Hardy General rod and Overend's Speedia reel. That's it - I keep it simple and it will not change for the summer and early autumn here.
I have not caught a single tench all summer although today I lose one in the pads as my mind and eyes wandered - there was the most amazing spectacle of a Brown Hawker dragonfly chasing his lunch through the trees, the most amazing acrobatics I have seen of late. Just as the afternoon moved towards evening I continued to catch a few more of these little chaps and was joined by another angler (Stephen) who fished a little further along the path.
The time the float moves and you are coupled to a larger specimen always surprises me, it is one of the joys I guess, and at a tad over 1lb 8oz I was really pleased. Another chubby one graced my landing net and it was soon time to leave.
Stephen and I discussed the atmosphere here, it can be strange and is not surprising for such place of antiquity.......you just know when it is time to pack up and the silence and darkening skies told me now was the time.
Stephen was at the gate and had come with the most welcome of gifts....a jar of his home made jam which, like the crucians, was worth more to me than the price of gold.
As you have probably guessed, the crucian bug has got a hold of me. Who can blame me when fishing such a delightful ancient pool as this. Time just seems to disappear there. Always so much to take in from the abundant wildlife to cloud formations, church chimes and oh no! The float has gone under once more and another bite has been missed.
It was such an evening recently. I was joined by Merv who started to fish and had no idea I was actually there. I had not heard him arrive. A quiet raspberry made him look round in astonishment. We were then joined by Chris who came down for natterings only and no fishing. He departed just as the light was thinning - his parting words were "remember it will all happen at 9 o'clock, I guarantee it".
I brewed some tea, we ate some biscuits and I heard the splashings of Merv landing a crucian - then my float dipped and I lost one...........just as the church clock chimed nine. We haven't told him he was right. We wouldn't hear the end of it. As Merv left, my float dipped and I too landed a small lump of gold - just enough to keep me going until the next time I am here again.
The wonder of modern technology amazes me - I was just settling down to my first brew of the day, the air was still and there was a quiet murmur of bird song above the increasing wind. I could be anywhere, any time. Nestled in a quiet fold of Wiltshire, just over the border from my home county of Dorset are two ancient ponds that I am coming to love very much. I had completely removed myself from the outside world.....for the time being this very place was my world.
I heard the gentle buzz of an incoming text message. It was from The Captain "where on earth are you?" - it was before seven and I had been here, staring at my quill float, before five. An unearthly hour I know, but somehow in my excitement I had forgotten to tell The Captain. All was well.
There is not a great deal that will get me out of my bed at three thirty in the morning, but a last minute day off work and a last minute thought of fishing for crucians got me so excited to a level I had not experienced in a long while.
The journey is memorable, the day just beginning and the odd sign of creatures returning home to bed after a night on the prowl are the perfect prelim to actually arriving and casting out. I open the gate quietly and, lights off, free-wheel down the hill.
The weather has been lovely this summer, a true mix of everything and after some really hot days it was pleasant to feel the wind in my face and only the odd spot of rain.......not enough to make it unpleasant.
The top pond was the order of the day after spotting, in the half light, fizzing, churnings and movement of the lily pads which made the water the colour of a Caramac bar.....this is where I would fish. The weather had made the fish active and hungry.
A small handfull of "secret" bread mash, some "special" bread paste on my barbless hook and cast out, just a very short distance on the edge of the lily pads and wait.
There was no dawn chorus today, it does get significantly quieter at this time of year, but just the odd gentle warble here and there. This magical place is noted for its dragonflies, but again there was no sign. The resident moorhen family kept me amused with their busy breakfast gathering and family goings on.....one of my favourite birds on a fishing trip, they exude a quiet waterside happiness.
Crucians can be notoriously difficult to catch. Clever, delicate feeders they can fiddle about with your bait driving you crazy as you miss bite after bite. This was the order of the morning coupled with quiet cursings from me, but still ever so happy to be here.
I managed to catch six lovely little bars of gold - I adore them and, as I may have posted previously, I now understand what all the fuss is about. My friends have been bewitched by crucians for some time and I kept my distance until last year when, I too, came under the spell of the golden vision.
Over the past few seasons I have tagged along with friends on the occasional trip where they have been excited, obsessed, bewitched and in an all round flummox about one particular species of fish. That fish is the most friendly of fishes and one so chubby and good looking I think of him like a teddy bear.......the crucian.
I will be honest in that this obsession had not rubbed off on me.........until now. My pals said, "you wait, it will happen, you will be just as smitten as we are, it just happens" and so it did.
My few trips last season were wonderful - lazy evenings watching a quill float for the most gentle of trembles and crucians galore were caught and admired. I thought no more of it. Then a delightful opportunity came to join my friends on two ponds which are hidden in a fold of the Wiltshire / Dorset landscape..........bang! I am hooked! I haven't caught a crucian yet this season, but the few trips so far have been a veritable feast of wildlife, perchlings (see below) enjoyment and quiet contemplation which is perfect for me.
A bar of gold awaits.............
