Contemplating Conundrums - Written by Geoff Rauf

After last weeks session I had been left deflated, in fact if I was a tyre I needed replacing urgently, flat as a pancake, not going anywhere sir, roadside assistance required. Call RAC.

The cold northerly winds had brought a considerable drop in temperature throughout the week so despite the daunting prospect of sitting by motionless rods once again I was packed and ready come Friday afternoon. Shear perseverance or total stupidity on my part, I just couldn’t give up yet.

Although the weed was dying back it was still evident from many of the swims, and so rig wise the bloody chod was still effective, and was being used by the majority of the anglers. I had decided to go with at least one bottom bait but I’d found some old pop ups that had the secret formula used to land a number of fish in the past, so they would also be utilised.

The plan in mind was to attack those deeper margins once more so with the temperatures falling I wasn’t completely dismissing the chance of something happening….

By the time I’d set up and the rods were out it was gone 7pm. The wind direction was easterly and the temperatures were already plummeting. I could hardly believe I was the only one on the lake, but having over seventy acres to ones self isn’t so exciting if the fish are 800 yards away which they probably were.

Calling it a day early I settled down flicking on the receiver of my new Sundridge Radio Optonics. Would this be the night to right off this season’s misery, or would it be just another number to add to the tally of blanks?

I starred out from the bivvy around 8am, the mist lifting from the water, the sky grey and menacing. As I put the kettle on and sat in my sitting in the cold chair, a Pike jumped close in alerting my left hand receiver which bleeped for the first time this session. I hadn’t caught, the pop ups being held up using small pieces of balsa wood were still buoyant but nothing had decided to try one out. It had rained throughout the night.

I had decided to use Balsa wood because at these depths the pop ups seem to take in the pressure of the water and become less than effective. A small slither of balsa wood underneath the bait ensured it sat up perfectly on both my chod rigs. Although I was still blanking the bait presentation was perfect so you can only do so much.

Into Saturday I made some breakfast consisting of poached eggs on toast, listened to keith Arthur on talksport, had a few visits from anglers fishing the small lakes on the complex and generally watched the water for signs of anything.

By Saturday evening once again I donned the thermal gear, and my favourite camo hat as the temperatures dropped. Having recast for the night I was fishing one rod at range on an area called the Road, and the other two rods at close quarters. I was using one bottom bait and one chod close in. A scattering of mixed boilies were also fired out in close proximity to the hookbaits.

People sometimes ask me do I get scared fishing alone in the middle of the woods, and sometimes things to spook you, like mice or vowels moving about crushing leaves fallen by the autumn winds, sometimes a fox will cry out or an owl, but having fished for the best part of 22 years now it really doesn’t bother me. Being alone on over seventy acres of gravel pit was weird because this is the time when the fish would be piling on the weight in lure of the winter months.

By Sunday morning I was packing away from 8am because I’d just had enough. I knew if the fish were going to make an appearance it would have happened by now, and anyway the enthusiasm had completely dissipated. One final look back at the swim and it was goodbye to Lac Du Frustration for another season. It’s been a hard year for me and I see no point whatsoever in carrying on.

Fourteen weekends, twenty eight nights, and six hundred and seventy two hours of fishing for two Pike and one Tench!!!

This now means my Pub Chucker title is etched firmly in place, and I will be known as the guy who fluked a few big fish out then became what anglers affectionately call a ‘noddy’.

My thoughts for next season….a change of scenery. I’m going to pull off fishing a big pit for the first time in twelve years. I know I’ve just bought distance rods but they aren’t going anywhere. I need a new challenge. There is a small lake on this complex covered in lilies, full of weed and must be around four acres in size. It contains forty fish to 38lb, but you can only use two rods on here. It’s still hard as nails and any fish you do hook goes straight into the lilies. My plan next year, unless feelings change, will be to do a season on here.

I would like to thank a few people now who have provided support over the past fourteen sessions, and they are Mick and the team at Norwood for publishing these articles, my family for putting up with a grumpy angler returning home fishless every Sunday, my Son for hooking no Pike this year yet still manages to help me shift all the tackle back to the car while I was in considerable pain. Last but not least my girlfriend Angela who’s constant support, brilliant humour and hundreds of phone calls provided me with a well needed sanctuary from the world of biteless nights, run-less sessions, and fishless frustration.