Sky Lining for Beginners!

Like I said last time, pointing out that I was in the middle of a good run was bound to put the kybosh on it, and I must admit I came pretty close, but the weekend finished with something of a reality check for me, making me realise that there is actually more to life than fishing 24-7.

My dad was due to go in for a small operation on his hand on the Wednesday, so I took him up and brought him back afterwards, meaning the Barlborough midweek open was off limits. Ian and me both decided to book on the Thursday open at KJS Aston, where I’d sneaked a section win the previous week. The improved weather saw an increased turnout, with well over 20 anglers in the draw queue, and as a consequence additional pegs had to be put in along the dam wall. The previous Thursday this end of the lake hadn’t fished as well as the lower numbers, and a couple of lads reeled away in disgust as the new pegs stuck in their hands. Having only visited the once I was a little more optimistic, or maybe that should read a little less apprehensive, at the prospect of drawing down there, but I needn’t have worried, as peg 1 graced my tiny mitt as I opened my hand.

Not Another Flyer! 

“Bag of sh*te kid,” was Kev Parkes’s assessment of my chances from the peg, not exactly what I wanted to hear! “Trouble with that peg is you’ll have everybody and their dog stood behind you on the wall asking if you’ve caught owt, and the only really consistent catching area is next to the reeds in the side – right below where the bank walkers stand watching.” He said. “We don’t normally put it in if we can help it, but with there being a lot here we had to.” He continued. Totally pissed off by now, I trudged to my peg. It actually looked great, with a big reed bed to my right, and what little breeze there was blowing into my face, I got my cocky head on, and decided today was the day that the peg 1 curse would be broken!

Hmm. An hour in I was slightly less confident, as only two skimmers graced the net for a total of maybe a pound and a half. The worrying thing was that they had come from my paste line, the only two bites I’d hit from a succession of little dips and taps. All the signs were that there weren’t many carp up this end of the lake, so I had a look on my caster line at 5 metres, where I hoped to catch roach and ide shallow. A quick few fish gave me some hope, but they departed almost as quickly as they arrived, probably due to a combination of the baking hot sunshine and the by now relentless procession of people along the concrete walkway asking how my day was going! When you are sitting on your box your head is just below the level of the bank walkers feet, meaning you are getting ‘super skylined!’ it’s not so bad if it’s just your everyday joe public out for a stroll with the wife on a glorious day, but when it’s anglers doing it you have to question their intelligence at times.

As the match entered its last hour or so I was wound up to the top by it all, not least by the other lads in the match taking the mick every time another ‘bankside bobby’ pitched up above me! One bloke decided to stand above where my float was next to the reeds, so he could get a better view of my total lack of bites, and proceeded to regale me with the tale of how he always read my articles in the Angling Star, but didn’t agree with this, that and the other, didn’t rate the Tourney Pro pole, and wondered whether I got a big discount for giving it such a rave review! With him being seemingly oblivious to the steam coming out of my ears, and the other lads on the match shouting “f**k off kn*bhead” to him, I tried in my most polite way to explain that my lack of success was probably down to the activity on the bank all day whereby he decided to carry on with his walk around the lakes, no doubt to put some other lucky lad right, and tell them that “that Wraggy talks a good match, but he’s made a right mess of his peg today!”

Just as a final insult, Garbolino Osset ace Tony Bell blitzed the section with 44lb, which in fact put him 2nd overall, and my 16lb 8oz saw me miss a defaulted section by just a pound! Some days I think you’re just fated to not do well, and this was one of them for me, so for those of you out there who think I only draw flyers, or only write about the good days, there you go, a total stinker!

Back To Barlborough 

The whole day put me off going on the Saturday open there, so we booked onto the match at Barlborough, where I was hoping to get back into the swing of things after e couple of below par performances recently. I fancied my peg 12 draw, but then again there were a few of the regulars on good pegs as well, so it would be a hard fought match in the baking hot conditions. I started with my usual chopped worm and caster approach tight to the island, while feeding pellets shallow two thirds of the way across, with a view to snaring the odd F1 shallow later in the day.

Ian had drawn peg 36 for probably the sixth or seventh time this year, but while it was a dream draw a while ago, it no longer seemed to dominate the matches any more, and as the first hour came to a close he popped his head over the bushes to enquire as to my progress. “One carp, a barbel and a few silvers,” I told him, estimating them to weigh perhaps 5lb. “That’s as good as anyone mate, I’ve just had my first bite!” came his reply! This galvanised me a little, and I decided to try to catch some of the carp that were now cruising, hoping they would take the odd pellet. My worm lines were all slowing down, so I fed two spot, one in the shade of the far bank bushes, the other in full glare of the sun, alternating between the two to see where the fish felt more at ease. I picked odd fish off at intervals through the day, and noticed that surprisingly all of my bites (except for a couple of stray skimmers) came from the area where the sun was beating down on the water.

The carp in my pond only seem to want to feed in the shade during the heat of the day, which led me to think the shadowy area of the peg would be best, but it just goes to show you that you never stop learning at this game doesn’t it? While action was never more than slow, I did pick fish off in ones and two’s through the remainder of the match, and when the scales arrived at my peg 17lb was top. My 25lb 8oz led until they reached Chris Garlic, who was admitting to eight carp, one of which was a ‘proper one’. With his scattering of silver fish he totalled 26lb 7oz, a mere 15oz in front of me.

Usually this would be a proper gutter, but I seriously don’t think I could have caught another fish from my peg, and Chris is one of my mentors from way back in the Trent days, plus he’s a really nice bloke, so I took it on the chin. The only other real danger according to Ian was a couple of lads on the island pegs who had got a few, but he didn’t know how big they were. Fortunately one of them had a lot of silvers that totalled 18lb-odd for third, while my mate Wednesday Roy, who I had the tussle with a few weeks ago on the island, had put some carp together late on with his favourite bread method, but run out of time and finished fourth with 17lb, leaving me in 2nd place, and keeping my little run going. By the skin of my teeth, I might add!

A Different Perspective 

The reality check I spoke about earlier came at bank end on Sunday, as I was setting up on peg 23 opposite the house. Ten minutes before the start my phone went, and it was Mandy calling to tell me to come home quickly, as my mam had been taken poorly. Off I shot, luckily the local bobbies that were so keen to catch me the other week weren’t up yet as I don’t mind admitting I had my foot down quite severely! It turned out she’d had a kind of stroke, or more accurately a warning of one, possibly due to an adjustment of her tablets and medicines that she takes every day, but fortunately the doctor at the hospital allowed us to take her home after examining her. All this after my dad had an operation on his hand in the week, it just made me realise that there is more to life than fishing, the two hours spent sulking in the garage after the Aston match were pretty pointless really, and it really made me sit back and think about things, and life in general.

You only get one set of parents, and while they have always backed me 100% in my fishing in the same way as any parent would do with their kids’ chosen sport, I think at times I take the game not too seriously, more a little too much to heart, and maybe beat myself up a bit too much on the bad days. As regular readers will know, my sort of motto is ‘better to be lucky than good’, but another good one to remember was said to me many years ago by one of the old Sheffield bream anglers, and went something like ‘even on a really bad day, there’s plenty of fishermen in the cemetery who would swap places with you!’ if you think about it, never a truer word will be spoken, and my weekend really brought it into focus for me, so next time you’re drawn next to me and I get started with the moaning, just remind me about this week!

Tight lines till next time.