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| The Colonel with one of Walter's associates. |
"My good friend and fishery owner, Paul Drinkall, had given me an open invitation to visit his own private pool, The Willows, at his Lonsdale Park fishery near Carlisle, whenever I wished. We’d become very good mates after he’d bought a centrepin from me on a well known auction site, and discovering we have mutual passions in traditional angling and motorsport. Receiving an email suggesting I might like to come up to ‘feed his fish’, I leapt at the chance, as weather predictions were ideal for a spot of roach fishing. Although his pool has a resident 40lb mirror, “Walter’, my love of the redfin jagging on fine tackle and a cane wand far more difficult to resist. I elected to go the very next day. An absolute minimum of tackle is needed on these visits, as Paul allows me to keep a made up rod on his rod rack, along with his own cane collection. Landing net, bank sticks etc are all ‘in situ’; no tackle barrow required here!! Just a good supply of ‘liquidised’ bread for the mash, fresh for the hook and a small tin of corn. These are non-pressured fish, catchable on good, basic methods and bait. Delightful.
0930 hours found me inputting the keypad code of the security gate which, grabbed by the hand of modern technology, shuddered gently before gliding serenely to my left. The car crunched forward over the gravel, to be met by one of Paul’s dogs shouting his greeting. Well, I hoped it was a greeting, as I eased my right leg from the vehicle. A wildly shaking tail allayed any fears in that respect. I roughly rubbed the mutt’s neck as Paul emerged from his workshop, beaming widely through his bristling beard.
A warmly pressed handshake, ‘Good to see you, matey’.
‘And you too, my friend, you too’, I responded.
‘Your rod’s laid out already, with the net; care for a coffee before you start?’.
‘Actually, if you don’t mind, I’m itching to get going, it’s been some time since I last visited and those roach are calling me’.
‘Of course, of course; I’ll give you a hand down with your rod’. With that, Paul scooped up my James Aspindale ‘Suredale’ with vintage ABU 507 attached, scurrying across the garden, lakewards, a bouncing dog at his side. I followed eagerly, carrying the net, my seat and a bag with odds and sods plus the all important bait. Paul mentioned he’d not ‘fed the fish’ their usual bread mash breakfast yet; so, before anything else, I decanted some lake water into an empty bait tub, followed by three or four handfuls of the liquidised bread and a good dribble of sweet corn juice from the tin. I’d leave this to soak while getting myself comfortable before the first cast of the day.
Quickly settling in the swim, fresh and fluffy flake pinched on the 12 barbless hook and a handful of mash hit the surface with the hollow splat that told me the constancy was just right.. A gentle underarm swing followed, sending the red tipped porcupine quill on it’s way, just two rod lengths out. Drats !!!!! The float refused to cock even though I knew the depth was correct; must’ve dropped a shot from the line since last time. Lifting the Suredale to rectify the situation I was surprised to discover ‘life’ in the rod tip. Of course, the bite had not registered on the uncocked float but, to quote extreme angler, Jeremy Wade, it was ‘fish on, fish on, fish on !!!!’ A pristine, ¾ pound roach made a darting, jagging bid for freedom before splashing and flipping into the net. Admiring the iridescent blue back and salmon pink fins I thought to myself, ‘a good omen, for sure’. Fish unhooked in the net and gently returned, I fixed the shot problem in a jiffy before swinging out another baited hook.
This time the float stood to attention, as it should in the presence of ‘The Colonel’, but almost instantly was lost in it’s own quiet world beneath the surface, leaving behind an ever widening ring of gentle ripples. A bite methinks!!!!! Having learned lessons from the last visit, my trembling hand hovered over the corks for a few seconds more before lifting the wand to set the hook. I was immediately rewarded with the unmistakable jagging pulls of my first love, a solid pounder of a redfin, or ‘a goer’ as we used to refer to them on the Thames of my youth, when the old Conservancy size limits ruled the earth. An instant unhook in the net, an admiring look before the gentle return and the float was back out in position again.
Drying my hands on a towel following the ‘mash splash’, I heard the crunch of gravel behind.
‘Coffee, matey??’ A backward glance revealed a steaming mug coming my way, followed by my grinning host. ‘Why is the man always smiling? I quizzed myself. ‘ It’ll be ‘cos he lives within spitting distance of a pool containing 2lb + roach, builds racing spec Porsches for a hobby and eats eggs from his own chickens, that’s why’, my mind replied. Having answered my own question, I took a slurp of the hot, sweet Columbian brew and a goodly bite from the accompanying Mars bar, before recounting my tally of redfins to my good friend. He went back to his beloved Porsche, content in the knowledge his guest was enjoying some fine sport. And I went back to catching roach.
Fish followed fish and they were all of the same stamp; none under the pound, all fin perfect, hard charging beauties. Over a dozen of ‘em, with the biggest 1lb 12ozs. But who counts the numbers on a day like this? I find it somewhat disrespectful to reduce it to a set of digits, when the creature has given a worthy tussle on the right tackle. It is also disrespectful of me not to mention the three chub that honourably graced the net when my roach became slightly wary of the close attention I was giving them. The Chevin tested a light roach setup to the limit, one of them leaping clear of the water in true trout style. Their cavernous mouths had developed a taste for the sweetcorn I tried as a change from breadflake. I hope they enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed my day on the Willow Pool and the company of my friend with the big grin."
We reckon he should write a book!
Thanks Ray
To return home click: www.lonsdalepark.co.uk
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