Scottish Magic

Some of my fondest fishing memories are inspired by various sorties into Scotland, and in particular, the Scottish Highlands. I have seen so many wonderful sights there in the past, so many pleasurable little events that seem to occur on a daily basis. The wildlife is more predominant and much more accessible than in Kent, the roads more sparsely filled with cars, rivers and lochs less fished and much wilder, but catching anything large is much more unlikely.

This trip proved to be just as enjoyable, with just as many sightings and breathtaking moments, some wonderful walks and hikes, but certainly the fish proved harder to come by.

My fishing in Scotland is predominated by catching trout in the summer and pike in the winter months, although, in the future, I may wander into the mysteries of salmon fishing and the expense involved with trying to catch the fish that I’ve seen on many occasions in my times by Scotland’s myriad rivers.

Staying in Abernethy, it seemed churlish not to fish the River Nethy, unfortunately, both my trips resulted in two blanks with only one lost fish and a wasp sting to show for my efforts. Incidentally, I have only ever been stung by a wasp once before in my life, and that was on the beach in Deal when I was twelve; this week I was stung three times on three different occasions, reacting quite badly each time with two swollen arms and a lumpy thigh. Including the bee sting last year, I have now been stung four times in 12 months. Perhaps global warming is effecting even the smallest of insects, turning them into grumpy, malcontent beasties with a grudge against us all.

Which reminds me – we took the Mother in Law along this time too.

I managed to winkle out a small trout on the river Beuly for my nine year old nephew Harvey to inspect while we were having an alfresco lunch on the bank in bright, warm sunshine without a breeze or a ripple on the water. That was another wonderful part of this holiday – the weather! The rest of the country was languishing in days and days of unceasing rain, but we had warm, dry and settled weather for the most part, and the few showers we had occurred over night.

I had another smallish trout in a remote stream in the middle of Sutherland, about twenty miles south of Tongue, again whilst having a picnic lunch and a brew from the Kelly Kettle. I just had to show the Mother in Law and Franc the beautiful colours and markings of a true wild trout. A few minutes later we were awed by the spectacle of a Golden Eagle soaring over our heads just a few miles further on. What a wonderfully wild sight that was. The King of British birds just a few hundred feet away from us, wings spread riding the mountain thermals in search of hares, rabbits and other small mammals. Just about the only time the use of the word ‘awesome’ is eminently justified.

One, misty, autumnal morning during the fortnight, I fished the Spey near Broomhill and managed a more respectable fish that provided supper for my wife later on that day, after a boat trip on a local loch provided a couple more for the Mother in Law. It was whilst fishing the Spey and the Beuly that I caught sight of the Salmon heading up river and showing themselves tantalisingly to me on their way. The best glimpse I had was of a fish porpoising out of the water in silhouette just 10 yards from me as I looked upstream into the sun.

My loch trip provided a mixed bag of weather conditions; sunshine and flat calm, a wind change, stormy overcast skies, but, fortunately, no rain. If anything, I could have done with a more consistent breeze and without the change of wind direction. Even so, I caught 8 lovely trout, two of which I took home for supper as I previously mentioned. These fish are mainly 4 or 6 to the pound, but with the occasional half or three quarter pounder showing. There are monsters in here, there are always monsters; that’s one of the reasons we fish – the dream of a leviathan – yet it doesn’t matter if the fish are all small. Fishing is not just about the catching, it’s about the space, the nature, the dream. Fishing, for me is a multi faceted enterprise – I hesitate to use the word ‘hobby’, it seems an inadequate concept – and I love its complexity, its simplicity, its frustration and its joy. But best of all, the most enjoyable, the most fulfilling, the simplest and the most satisfying part of all my fishing is when I’m fishing in Scotland.

Charity Day - The Kelly Twins

Earlier this year, Mark Barrett set up an auction on the Pike and Predators web site in order to raise money for a charity for one of the forum members. I placed a bid and managed to obtain a day with Tim Kelly in his boat on the Thames around Snetterton, just a few minutes from my daughter’s house. Our original plan was to fish for the elusive Zander and Perch and although we tried for them, it was the pike that were predominant through the day.

I met Tim in the car park at 5.30 as the mist was beginning to drift in upward spirals and the day brightened. We immediately launched the boat after some frantic trailer manoeuvring on Tim’s part, and made our way to one of the many weirpools in the area. It turned into a lovely morning and I was surprised at how much the sun shone through the water into the weirpool. The river was a lot clearer than I thought it would be and the sun glinted off the spoon as I retrieved it to the boat at a considerable depth. Tim was into some jacks almost immediately, but it was some time before I started on my catch card.

We caught fish in the weirpools, along the banks; we caught them trolling and casting and we had an awful lot of fun trolling small hornets to catch some perch. Unfortunately, these turned out to be smaller than we had hoped for. However, they were still fun to catch among the pier legs, cabbages and jetties along the river.

We had a shore lunch in a local hostelry which went down delightfully and allowed our clothes to dry after a short, sharp shower had caught us some distance from the pub, and I found Tim to be a great person to chat to. He seems content with life and was having a laugh with his wife on the phone which is always a great sign for a keen fisherman. Being self employed allows him to choose his time on the river to a certain extent and he seems to enjoy company, choosing to fish with friends, rather than alone.

I chose to fish with Tim, because he’s a successful lure angler. I put this success down to his focus, his knowledge of the water and his dextrousness with the boat. His ability to cast and retrieve lures while controlling the electric motor, keeping the boat in position was remarkable and enabled me to fish without having to worry about where I was. I found myself casting and taking for granted the fact that I would be where I needed to be. Tim would turn the boat and say ‘Try over there Mike.’ Or ‘Just by the cabbagy goodness…’, and, sure enough, most times we’d get a hit.

Tim easily outclassed me in terms of numbers of fish catching at least double the number that I did, but it didn’t matter, I had a wonderful day, I caught fish and I enjoyed Tim’s company immensely.

I also caught the biggest fish of the day.

Drifting

Having been persuaded to do so by Harry at last night’s Thames Gateway PAC meeting, I turned up at the lake with my Pike gear on a brilliant, bright sunny afternoon to find that he had already caught two jacks on the west bank.

He’d caught one on the bottom and one on a drifter float, so I unloaded the car and moved the pile of tackle (where does it all come from?) into the next swim, to Harry’s right, putting two rods on the ledger and one on the drifter. One of the legered baits was popped up and one was flat on the bottom in an attempt to cover all the bets, but they were only just beyond the margins, about 5 or 6 yards out, whilst the drifter was set at around 8 feet and allowed out to about 50 yards. The water here is deep, about 8 feet in the immediate margins, shelving down to a pretty uniform 16 feet or so about 10 – 15 yards out. There are shallower areas, but I think that the pike follow the shoals of bream around and they seem to patrol from 30 yards and beyond.

I was drifting a half herring, and at about 3.30 or so I was retrieving this bait when I spotted a pike following the half herring all the way into the margin. The water is incredibly clear and I watched as the pike lost the bait as it sank below him for a second. He seemed to have a puzzled look on his face – I swear it looked like that – but as I lifted the bait into his vision again he grabbed at it, almost gently, and held it in his jaws for a second or two. Then he turned it and as he did so I lifted into the strike. It was interesting because I could see the moment he had the hooks where I wanted them and when I landed him the hooks were in the scissors and the roof of the mouth. Good stuff! The fish weighed about 5 or 6 pounds and went back immediately it was unhooked.

About an hour or so later, the drifter float was about 50 yards out when the float slid away to the right and out of sight. I lifted into the fish which initially felt larger, but alas, inexplicably came off after a few seconds. They don’t seem to mind drifted half baits, which given the clarity of the water, had bothered me at first, but maybe we credit the fish with a little more discernment than they perhaps have.

That was it for the day, we both packed up at dusk although next time I may stay on into dark.

First of the Year

I don’t know why I didn’t go Pike fishing today. I suppose I believed it to be warmer than it was, or perhaps I was over optimistic about how far the year has advanced. Or maybe it’s because I’ve not been fishing for so long, I’m out of touch with everything!

Anyway, it was a disaster!

Literally!

Last night Britain had its biggest ever earthquake; 5.3 on the Richter scale and about three chimney pots fell down and one cat was awfully anxious!

It was on the news all day…

It took me forever to get all the gear ready – it hasn’t been used for a while – but eventually it was all in the car and I was on my way. I fancied a spot of feeder fishing and I thought Harry did too, but he turned up at the lakes with his pike gear! We started on the small lake and tried there all morning, but I didn’t have a touch on maggot or worm, not even a nibble on float fished maggot either.


So after lunch Harry and I moved to the front lake to pike fish with the drifter floats as there was a nice westerly breeze. But although we managed some nice drifts we caught nothing. The water was exceptionally clear even though we had rain earlier in the week and Harry spotted a low double in the margins which he managed to scare off before he had a chance to tempt it with the tiny smelt he had brought along.

And so the day ended with neither of us coming close to catching anything but it was good to spend time on the bank and to chat with Harry again.

They're out to get me!

It was so nice to be back in Holland to see our friends, have a few drinks, some nice food and then get up early to go fishing! The journey across the channel was tiring, too for some reason, and I had a nasty, niggling headache as I carried the gear along the bank before first light. However, last night was pleasant, staying with Renita and having a nice meal just opposite her apartment. Unfortunately Patrick has to work all weekend, so we’ll only be seeing him in the early morning or late night.

This morning was damp, from heavy dew, although the mist was soon wafted around by the slight breeze as I set up in the same swim as last year. There was a significant difference this year, though, in that the reeds that edge the side of the river as it opens into a larger pool of probably 4 or 5 acres haven’t been cut down yet, so I placed the rod rests in the water to the right of the wooden platform.

I don’t like platforms much; I feel as if they’re just waiting to crumble beneath your feet, trip you up or send sufficient vibration into the water to scare the fish for a reasonable distance into skulking on the bottom in a non-feeding torpor. I’m probably wrong, but I do think that platforms are out to get you.

The first of the two rods was cast, without float, along the reed beds ahead of me as the river opened up. The bait was half a herring. The other rod was fitted with a float and cast as close as possible to the reeds, to the right of the other rod, into the river proper, this with smelt on. There seemed to be some flow on the river this morning, culminating in me lifting this latter rod high to lift as much line off the water as possible. At seven thirty, though, just half an hour after setting up, the herring rod was away, but after a brief sensation of head shaking weight, it was off. I cast out again, replacing the herring half with another, and on setting the rod down, the float from the second rod began its dance.

With the mist still swirling around me, I managed to quickly chin lift the 4 pound (or so) jack, quickly unhooking it and returning it, barely lifting it from the water, when the alarm from the first rod sounded again. I lifted into the fish which instantly went into overdrive, tearing line off the clutch and taking the rod into a serious curve. It was a good fish, but how good? It certainly fought well, barely giving up as it was swept into the net. I was fairly non-plussed to see that it was about 8 or 9 pounds, although on weighing it became a fat 10 and a half pounder, it was such a good fight, I was convinced it was an upper double, but the scales or the tape measure don’t lie, and neither did my eyes. Weird!

I stayed busy though. I had cast out the second rod and started on a brew, nursing my worsening headache, when the mackerel on the ledger rod was taken, the alarm emitting a series of bleeps, rather than a continuous, full throttle run. Again I lifted into the fish, and again it felt heavy, but not as hard fighting as the last. It weighed almost sixteen pounds! Just goes to show that some instincts in fishing can’t be trusted.

I then had a hiatus for an hour or so, which gave me time to arrange the photographing of the larger fish, the chance to have a complete cup of tea and the opportunity to clear up the swim, before landing the final two jacks, the largest eight pounds or so.

Soon, the sun had risen high enough in the sky to cast its full warmth upon me, making my brain boil even more, so it was time to clear up and clear off for a well deserved catch up on sleep and a quiet afternoon reading a couple of good books.

A Touch of Autumn

It was a chilly morning...

Another overnighter, with a few different approaches in an attempt to tune some of the rigs that I’ve been using. I’m afraid that the fishing this year has taken a back seat, with work being so busy – both mine and Franc’s. And if we’re not working, then we’re decorating the flats or trying to keep on top of the garden with all the rain we’ve been having. Later on in the year we have a trip to Holland and the States, so it’s not going to get better for a while.

I always get the rods out first, especially here, as three can be fished, but I usually only cast two, leaving the third to do some plumbing around. Then when the rods are out I’ll set up the Shelter and everything else, then when all is shipshape, I’ll make a brew. The weather was definitely heading towards autumn, with this being a Friday and the only day for about the last 10 that hasn’t seen rain, there was a distinct chill to the air.

My daughter, Laura-Anne turned up around mid-morning, bringing some ginger cake, shortbread, sausage rolls and scones – all home made of course. Harry turned up too, no doubt homing in on the smell of cake. We all had a nice long chat though, Harry staying longer than LA, and he seemed to be yearning to get beside some water himself – he’s been busy too.

And so the day passed, with nothing happening on the fishy front. I cast the rods out ready for the night: pineapple boilies, fake corn and special luncheon meat being the baits for the purpose of attracting the bream or tench. I am, of course after the female bream, but have so far only caught the males, identifiable by the tubercles that cover them and make them look so tatty. Tonight was to be no different, and, unfortunately, the tench failed to show again.

Kelly Kettle

At around 2.30 am, with the mist swirling and my breath a huge plume of vapour in the suffused moonlight, the first bream of six and a half pounds was brought into the net. I was shocked at how low the temperature had dropped. I was sleeping in a tee shirt and shorts and gasped as the cold wrapped around my naked legs as I weighed the fish.

At 5.30 am another bream of 6.10 was on the bank, this one having taken the meat, the first fish the boilies. It was still very misty, but gradually, the sun pushed it’s way through and the morning began to warm up as I packed away the gear, stowing it in the car, and leaving the rods until last.

Going back...

It’s been over six years since I fished this lovely looking pit in the heart of the Kent countryside. I had a short Bream campaign at that time, which culminated in some nice fish up to just short of the nine pounds mark. It’s a hard water, but it’s one of those lakes that always looks just the part. Lilies, lush overhanging trees, clear water and an abundance of wildlife make up the pretty, micro environment hidden away in a motorway junction. Of course, there is no escaping the traffic noise, even at night the motorway, just some 300 yards away over a small rise, can be heard droning away like a nest of angry wasps.

That aside though, there are some nice bream and tench in here but they are very hard to come by, so I’m not after expecting much. It will be nice to spend the odd night here despite the noise from the traffic. The carp in here grow very big too – into the thirties by all account, and there’s always the possibility of a chance encounter with them.

I arrived nice and early, hoping to get three feeding spells in and set up two rods while I did some plumbing around with the third. From the past campaign I knew that the prime feeding area for the bream was about 60 yards out in the middle of the lake where the bottom seemed a little harder and the water is about 16 feet deep. As for the tench – well I picked out some spots around the lilies and one spot under the tree away to the left.

I made up a dozen or so goody bags of pellets in PVA and fired a few out with the catapult. Two rods were semi fixed leads with hair rigged fake corn on a neutral buoyancy rig and pineapple boilie, the third rod was set up with an in line maggot feeder filled with red maggots and with two pop up hair rigged casters on the sharp end.

At seven fifteen, just after I arrived, this last rod was away with a very typical bream bite making the bobbin jump around like an epileptic flea. After a short and unconvincing fight a tatty looking male bream of 6 pounds ten ounces was in the landing net. It was still covered in spawning tubercles and was, unfortunately, well below the average size that the bream are reported to be. But these are, of course, male Fish and it’s the females we’re looking for.

I’m sorry to say that that was all that came along. Through the night I had a few jerky sort of bites that may have been line bites or maybe the feeder wasn’t heavy enough. There are a lot of eels in this water and, apparently, mitten crabs, but whether that latter rumour can be substantiated or not, remains to be seen. There are rig refinements I will need to look at next time, as well as researching some alternative baits. The other two rods with boilies and fake corn, remained completely untouched, so a rethink may be called for.