‘My fascination with the underwater world of ponds was first triggered when I was eight years old, around two years before I would have my first fishing rod. My father would take myself and a few friends to local ponds, armed with our small nylon-mesh nets with their long bamboo handles’
If our lives were books, there would perhaps be chapters such as Childhood, School Days, Adolescence, Family Life, Working Life and then, should we be fortunate enough to survive the rigours of all those chapters, the follow-up could be…Retirement.
I am still finding my way in this new chapter and in doing so I have sought advice both from friends and from numerous books. ‘You must have a purpose’ and ‘having structure is a necessity’ friends said. In reality, however, this chapter can mean different things to different people, with family requirements continuing to take priority and still able to scupper the best laid plans.
Some books struck particular chords when stating ‘Leisure is a treasure to be nurtured and cherished’…‘Be sure to have an open mind when choosing how to spend your time’… ‘Include both short-term, simple activities and more long-term endeavours, re-consider life’s priorities and don’t be afraid to revisit pastimes and passions from years ago, those that life has perhaps prevented you from maintaining over recent times’.
And so, my ‘Get-A-Life’ list began. Angling of course is still a key interest. It is so much more than a hobby or pastime. It has sustained me for many years and continues to do so. It was, understandably, the first on the list. More family time (playing catch up for a time when work was prioritised far too frequently), supporting a charity, photography, nature writing, poetry, drawing/sketching, volunteering, so the list evolved. Re-visiting our local library (I’d not been for many years), football and running a half marathon, or even a marathon, all were added as a heady blend of anticipation, excitement and trepidation swirled around my head. Fly-tying was soon added, thinking back to a much-loved pastime from younger days and, more recently, pond dipping joined the list, prompted first by a chance meeting with an old friend and second by the arrival of grandchildren.
My fascination with the underwater world of ponds was first triggered when I was eight years old, around two years before I would have my first fishing rod. My father would take myself and a few friends to local ponds, armed with our small nylon-mesh nets with their long bamboo handles, empty jam jars for inspection of anything caught and The Observer’s book of Pond Life to aid identification of any captured creatures. At home the I-Spy Book of Pond and Stream waited for its boxes to be ticked depending on what was caught on the day. We had a healthyvariety of ponds in our area. The walk was always worth it and the names of the ponds are still held fondly in my memory today. Stinkers Pond was only ten minutes from where we lived. The Froggy, Nicholas’s Pond and The Sheep Pond were at least an hour’s walk and The Secret Pond took more than two. These were all regular haunts and different ponds surrendered different gifts.
As our adventures developed, each pond built its own reputation. Nicholas’s Pond was the only stillwater to hold stone loach but they were always difficult to catch as they would retreat rapidly into the gaps between the stones that formed a dam along the pond’s main bank. Sticklebacks were more common in the shallows of Stinker’s Pond with males and females of various sizes coming to our nets. The Secret Pond would be the provider of great crested newts.
Our nets would slowly be pushed through Canadian pondweed or the decaying leaf litter on the bed of the pond. Carefully lifting the net out of the water would not always immediately reveal our catch. Only when sifting through the pondweed and leaves would any riches show themselves. And my, did we discover some riches. Amongst the frogspawn, tadpoles, miniature frogs and toads, water boatmen, pond skaters, leeches, caddis fly larvae, small red bloodworms, the tiny (always wriggling) pupae of midges, whirligig beetles, pond snails and smooth newts, the more prized creatures were also occasionally captured. Dragonfly larvae (ferocious predators of the underwater world), great diving beetles (able to fly from pond to pond) and great crested newts (looking for all the world like mini-dinosaurs) – these were always the attention grabbers. Occasionally, our nets would hold a small wriggling fish – the three-spined stickleback – our first encounter with any freshwater fish.
What wonders strike my idle gaze
As near the pond I stand
What life its stagnant depth displays
As varied as the land
(Extract from Wanderings in June by John Clare)
Catches were always returned to the pond in those early days. Until, that is, my dad and I dug our first garden pond, a space of water approximately six feet by three, mostly round eight inches deep but with a small deeper area at one end. A tent groundsheet was used as a makeshift liner and it did the job perfectly, lasting a number of years.
This construction revolutionised our pond dipping adventures. Now, selected creatures (and pondweed) could be carried home in our jars and released into our pond. Slowly, week by week, a varied community of creatures and plants were moved there. That pond became a real magnet for life and I spent hours sitting and watching all that called it home.
As a side note to our pond dipping exploits, we would soon graduate to fishing with rod and line which included visits to our local river. Whilst we never dipped our small nets into its waters, we were to discover that lifting stones from its shallow margins would very often reveal bullheads (miller’s thumbs), freshwater shrimps and many caddis fly larvae which had used tiny stones to build their protective cases, so noticeably different from the vegetation used by those we had caught from local ponds.
So, fast forward to more recent times… There I sat, considering each item on my ‘Get A Life’ list, what they meant to me, theirpracticalities, did I have everything I needed to pursue each activity?, how much time would be required?, what costs might arise? etc etc. I began to enjoy the review process and it became clear that revisiting some activities would certainly be less challenging than others.
Family commitments would of course take a significant portion of my time, but the whole point of this list was to provide structure and purpose to a world of leisure, now that the global manufacturing industry would be managing without me (wry smile). To that end, careful thought was given to what eachactivity would entail. Drawing and sketching were soon revisited(it had been many years since I worked with a pencil and ‘rusty’ would be a polite description of these initial efforts). Local clubs would need to be reviewed for any opportunities to play any suitable form of ‘senior’ football. Photography and fly-tying would require specific apparatus and equipment to make them worthwhile. Any long-distance running exploits would certainly need a gradual build-up so were sure to be ‘further down the track’, and so the review continued…
I conceded it would be a number of years before my grandchildren would be old enough to be taken pond dipping. Being an avid angler, patience is a key part of my armoury but waiting for grandchildren to be old enough to go pond-dipping, well, life is just too short at times. Besides which, I would need to practice before I took them and check out proposed venues in order to ensure my proficiency was up to date. Pond dipping therefore became a chosen mission and it was on this basis that I decided to look for a net in local shops and attempt to revisit one of those childhood ponds. This, I concluded, would be an extremely worthwhile use of any newly acquired opportunities for leisure activity.
So began this journey back to childhood.
For a number of weeks a recce of local shops proved fruitless. I refused to resort to looking ‘on-line’ as that did not exist when I last looked for a net. I looked further afield but, eventually, albeit towards the end of summer, a local supermarket came up trumps and offered small green nets, just as I remembered them, complete with long bamboo handle: perfect!
I still live in the area of my childhood and, sadly, I knew a number of the original ponds no longer existed thanks to certain housing developments and other changes deemed to be ‘progress’ by those in local authority. Another of the ponds is still ‘alive’ but only just – it is massively overgrown with brambles and is now barely recognisable as a body of water, with any access completely impossible.
I have written about ‘The Secret Pond’ previously. I knew it remained very close to its original form from all those years ago. It would be a testing walk from where I now lived but I determined it would be worth it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. The ideal outcome would be a few photos of whatever came to my net.
I opted for a clear Tupperware container in the hope that taking photographs of anything captured would be easier from above, rather than a distorted view through a glass jar. I carried my net proudly as I left home, its green mesh resplendent at the head of its long bamboo handle.
As I walk, previous spells of warmer weather have betrayed us with much cooler conditions now prevailing. Daytime temperatures show an approximate fifteen degree deficit to the warmth experienced a few weeks ago, with overnight conditions showing an even more stark difference. Ponds and their inhabitants give no thought to our recognised calendar. Ambient conditions dictate behaviour and, if this trend continues, our recognisable seasons will be long forgotten and it may not be long before toads and frogs contemplate their hibernation and newts may be considering their forthcoming state of dormancy. As I continued on my way, an increasingly stiff breeze blew from the west, helping to move the clouds across their occasionally blue backdrop. Overcast with sunny intervals, that’ll do, I thought.
It took less than five minutes to join the mountain track that would be my reference point for the majority of my journey; pine forest up to my right, open fields to my left, where the view overlooked my home town and offered the splendour of the Brecon Beacons as a backdrop. As I walked, robin, blackbird and chaffinch heralded my arrival into their respective areas. A flock of goldfinches took to the air, their chattering reminiscent of a gurgling mountain stream. A thrush was startled from its feasting of berries in a lone rowan tree as I dared to trespass just a little too close. A pair of ravens gliding over the forest warned others of my presence and then continued their chatting enthusiastically, as if two old friends were catching up in the pub. Their voices faded away as I climbed ever higher up the hillside track.
All around me seemed calm and composed. Nature’s industry was all around, long dry spells had given way to cool showers in recent weeks and the flora and fauna alike seemed to be taking a breath, sharing their contentment at making it this far and collectively facing another challenging, so-called summer. As I turned left down the steep stony track a mix of gorse shrubs, old oak and silver birch marked the way into the valley. I knew this would be the last half mile or so of my walk.
I clambered up the short grassy slope on my final approach to the pond and crept slowly over its brow. As I caught my first glimpse of the water, my steps were measured and deliberate. My heart rate increased as I came ever closer. I hoped my best impression of a heron would serve me well and anything residing in the margins would be undisturbed.
Wood pigeons coo-cooed as a wren explored the brambles further along the water’s edge, fluttering in and out of view. The pond’s dark waters were still largely surrounded by its protective hawthorn, alder and willow trees. A few old oaks enhanced the scene. Some leaves were falling on the unseasonal breeze, adding an almost autumnal feel to the day, but many more remained in place on the branches they had called home since spring.
In the clearing above the pond, high above the tree-line, swallows swooped and circled, as if already limbering up for their longreturn journey ahead. I counted eight in all. As I watched their graceful manoeuvres, one by one they drifted away. In the space of a few minutes, eight became seven, seven became six and eventually two became one solitary bird, slowly circling, as if consigning this place to memory. Then the sky was empty. Safe travels to you all and may the winds be with you always. We’ll keep a welcome in the hillside. Hope to see you again next year.
As I took my first look into the margins, an alarmed moorhen skittered away, frantically running across the water’s surface to seek refuge in the reeds at the far end. I had visited the pond a couple of years ago but, goodness me, I had not dipped a net into it for more than fifty years. The scene was set. A number of leaves continued to drift downwards and acorns occasionally plopped into the water from above as the sunshine did its best to counter the breeze and remind me of warmer days that had blessed us in recent times.
It was strangely comforting to once again be exploring below the surface. Unlike my initial ad hoc attempts as a child, a methodical approach was considered. The shallow, clear margins quickly sloped away to deeper water where no version of Polaroid sunglasses would be capable of finding life in the murky depths. A band of two to three feet from the water’s edge gave me a workable area to explore, varying in depth from three inches to over twelve. The wren to my right was displaying an admirable, meticulous approach in its search for food amongst the brambles. I resolved to undertake a similarly detailed sweep of each area as I worked my way slowly along the bank.
At each ‘station’, figure-of-eight sweeps of the net would be used to check the surface and various depths of water before the net would be viewed and turned carefully into the container. The first reveal showed…the humble pond skater; not difficult to catch but still interesting to see how his legs and feet refuse to break the surface of the water, fascinating to this day.
The Humble Pond Skater
Following several further sweeps and reviews from the clear water, I pushed the net through bottom silt and vegetation, the disturbance heavily clouding the water but, with it, hopefully gathering at least some creatures of the deep. A number of fruitless sweeps were followed by a ‘yes’ of sheer joy as I was immediately taken back to being ten years old. A small, female stickleback shone brightly in the net; its oversized eye suggesting its predatory habits. I marvelled at this tiny little fish.
A sight to immediately transport a grown man back to childhood -a young, female, three-spined stickleback
A move of two metres or so would be made along the bank before the process was repeated. Further rummaging continued through the pond’s silted bottom. Some areas provided no riches whatsoever but a search at the base of now wilting rushes was particularly productive and special attention was given to placeswhere dense Canadian pondweed lived with sunken tree roots. A quick swipe across the surface managed to surprise a whirligig beetle which, as expected, whizzed energetically around the Tupperware container for a few minutes before taking stock momentarily.
Something not seen very often – a stationery whirligig beetle
Both ramshorn and pond snail came to the net – a ramshorn was particularly prized in younger days.
The most memorable encounter of the day, however, did not come via my net. One of the pond’s inhabitants seemed particularlyintent on spending time with me. For a large portion of my time at the water I was accompanied by a dragonfly. The humming of itswings initially gave its position away, hovering close to the water’s surface no more than a metre from me. It would surely not fly for much longer if these lower temperatures continued. Thinking of the recent stormy weather forecasts, this may well be one of its last sorties for a while. On a number of occasions, it would hold station directly above my sweeping net, as if inspecting my approach and perhaps even hoping for a tasty morsel to be revealed by my endeavours. It returned time after time, inquisitive, seemingly wondering what on earth it was seeing. Indeed, after completing a short audit of my methodology, it settled amongst the grassy bank right at my feet. The creature appeared completely at ease with my presence and did not flinch as I took some photographs. I spent fifteen or so minutes viewing it closely before it once again took flight and continued to hover around me.
Not all creatures were encountered via the net
While no spectacular mini beasts or predators graced my net on the day, a thoroughly enjoyable time was had. The weather was kind and the pond gave much to be admired. I sat quietly, grateful for everything the day had provided and concluded it was the journey, not the catch, which mattered most; not the journey to the pond, you understand, but the far more personal, special journey back to childhood with all the sparkling, bejewelled memories that it brings.
Pond-dipping has surely represented the first waterside experience for so many anglers through the generations and, as such, should be remembered with the reverence it deserves. I for one will do my utmost to ensure the next generation are shown how a small net can provide access to a world of underwater wonder and, who knows, perhaps a seed will be sown for them to enjoy a lifetime of waterside adventure and contentment. I cannot wait to eventually take my grandchildren with me but, in the few years needed for them to reach a suitable age, I will, of course, need to practice a lot more! I’m already looking forward to my next endeavour.
As I left the water to begin the walk home, the dragonfly came to check me out one last time. Farewell, my summer friend; thank you for your company. It is my sincere wish that the coming months be kind to you and may you find the ponds of paradise when you finally take your rest.
Writing & Images – Carl Hier, South Wales, June 2026
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