‘It seemed as though the world had suddenly woken up as a group of joggers then came huffing and puffing along the path behind me. Not exactly club-class joggers, these were men who should have really known better, clad in lycra, with parts bulging that really should be well covered up’
Well, what can I say to begin this tale? ‘The best and worst of it’ should really be the title, but the following happened the other way around so you will have to forgive the mix up. I have a club card for a fairly local small angling club. It has a few smallish stillwaters and a couple of lengths of river… I will not be naming any places as the following stillwater is well thought of by some, and seemingly well stocked and looked after by the club if the yearbook is anything to go by. What happens in this tale is nothing at all to do with the club but should possibly be regarded as a catalogue of misadventures, not mine, although ‘I was the prime witness, m’Lud’.
A few days ago Ruth and I decided to visit this particular stillwater.
In the club’s yearbook it is spoken of glowingly. It is situated near to a park where there are quite a few different countryside walks available for the casual hiker. Ruth was keen to sample the walks whilst I was keen to sample the fishing. Reading of carp to 20lbs, tench to 6lbs, silver fish and perch, I was full of anticipation. This pond must be a ‘must see’!
The day dawned bright, sunny and had the look of being set that way for the following eight hours. We decided to set off early, arrive about 9.00 am and then we would have the whole day to enjoy our separate pleasures. En route we had the most difficult of detours to make due to road works, putting a good 3 miles on to the twelve mile journey, which did not bode well but we finally arrived at the destination. The car was parked and I quickly located the waterbut I was a tad put off by the fact that there was a wide and apparently well used public footpath all the way around the ‘pond’.
First impressions were made more worrying when I saw that the footpath had a fence with a gap between it and the water. A few areas in this gap indicated where anglers, or maybe passers-by, had accessed the water’s edge.
The fence had a hotchpotch of gates installed at various intervals, perhaps to allow anglers in and keep other passers-by out? It certainly was not an otter fence as here and there the fence was not needed, as there was thick undergrowth. Elsewhere the bank of the pond was paved and accessible where the signs were that it was a place where visitors could view and feed the birdlife.
There were prominent signs saying:
“Do not allow dogs to enter the water“ other signs said
“No swimming, cold water can kill“
Certainly the club seemed responsible enough to have such signs erected. There were no other anglers present, which I suppose was nice for me as I had the choice of swims. Looking around I was beginning to wonder if I was at the right place. Really I knew I was because this pond was the only one in the area and the club map put it right where I was standing. Plus…walking along the footpath and looking toward the pond I could see what looked like several well used swims, accessed through the fence via the gates. I chose a swim which looked inviting, not so well used, with an island a good cast away to the rightand to the left there was a floating fish refuge. The pond had a good variety of ducks, geese, swans and other feathered creatures which had made it their home. However they seemed to ignore me.
Ruth set off for her walk, leaving me choosing the closest gate entrance, I wandered in for an explore,tripping over tree roots, thinking to myself ‘nothingventured nothing gained.’ I made myself at home in what looked like a comfortable swim.
There was a one-rod rule, which I have no problem with. Setting up a split cane swingtip rod and a trusty ifaged Mitchell 300 loaded with 6lbs main line, I selected two spots to bait up separately, one toward the island, the second off to the left toward the fish sanctuary. Full of ‘new venue’ hope and expectation, I baited up with sweetcorn, filled the feeder with brown crumb, sweetcorn and hempseed, and cast toward the island.
It was very peaceful, only the squabbling geese and ducks to break the silence. I sat back and thought ‘this is not too bad’; sunshine, a slight breeze right to left, birdssinging and the odd squirrel jumping about in the trees, good reports in the club book re the venue.
Things were not so bad as my first impression gave me. I do like to appreciate the finer things of a fishing trip; I liked to see the nice polished cane, sitting in a traditional cane and wood rod rest, the battered but otherwise reliable Mitchell reel, the vintage-stylelanding net waiting to be brought to hand to assist in landing the expected fish. Everything in the world seemed fine, at least here it did. I poured myself a cup from my flask, sipping the coffee and munching on a digestive biscuit. I did feel very much part of the flora and fauna, as though I fitted in well.
Rebaiting every ten minutes and keeping the swimfeeder topped up, I expected to see some indications of fish but the swingtip remained stubbornly static; no line bites, no twitches, nothing, the baits were coming back untouched.
I changed tactics and cast to the left toward the fish sanctuary, as I did so the peace was disturbed by somebody revving a car up away across the pond in the car-park, then the cars horn was sounded. What was happening?
Car doors slammed and a dog started barking fit to bust. The dog was reprimanded by a woman shouting (well, squealing really) at the top of her voice at the dog. Soon across the pond the woman appeared on the footpath, a middle aged vision in lurid pink, with bleached blond hair, in snow-white trainers and legs covered in silver leggings (she reminded me of Dick Emery dressed in drag as Mandy Dunnit).
This particular ‘Mandy’ had a big black Labrador on a lead that she was having difficulty controlling. She set off at a pace, walking around the pond, following the footpath to my left. The dog was pulling at the lead which eventually became too much for Mandy so it was let loose and was running around after her. I had closed the gate so luckily the dog could not get in. I have previous experience of Labradors stealing my bait, they are just four-legged food recyclers really. Anyway, Mandy passed behind where I was sitting and out of sight to my right, the dog was snuffling around and getting into every bush along the footpath. I lost sight of them, then suddenly there was a splash, the dog barked and Mandy squawked: “Go get it. Go get it.”
There was then a much bigger splash and the dog could just be seen off to my right, swimming across the pond. This continued for several minutes, nay ten even. So much for keeping your dog out of the water…
Oh dear, what had I done to deserve this? The disturbance continued and then suddenly on the opposite side of the pond a couple of horses and riders came clip-clopping along the footpath, both riders chatting away. The peace had well and truly been disturbed, although to be fair the horses and their riders did not bother me at all.
It seemed as though the world had suddenly woken up as a group of joggers then came huffing and puffing along the path behind me. Not exactly club-class joggers, these were men who should have really known better, clad in lycra, with parts bulging that really should be well covered up, portly of build and looking distinctly out of place, wheezing and chatting. In fact it was not so much jogging as walking; they were discussing whatever in very loud voices.
I had a sense of foreboding and the peace had been squashed flat by people going about their daily routine. I had probably no more right to be here than anybody else but I do like solitude, peace and quiet when I am at the waterside, this was not what I had planned at all.
Then, to help out a little, I was visited by a noisy group of goslings and their mum, who swam straight across my line and immediately decided to quack, splash, squawk and generally thrash the water to a fine foam.
I was loath to wind the line in as I may have hooked a nuisance goose. Luckily they all decided that I was not going to throw them any tidbits and swam away; slowly peace descended.
The ‘joggers’ had vanished, Mandy the vision in pink had called her dog out of the water and walked off, the horses and riders had clip-clopped away. The pond was once more my own…
But not for long, soon there was the noise of more cars arriving, doors slamming and the noise of children’shigh pitched voices, chitter-chattering away, then an adult joined in, attempting to gather what sounded like an army of children together in some semblance of order. Looking across the pond, I could see a ‘crocodile’ of children, there must have been twenty of them, and a couple or three adults setting off to walk around the pond. I know that children cannot be quiet at the best of times, these were obviously out on a nature walk and there were squeaks, shouts screams and other various noises coming from the happy little group, all dressed in blue and white, and carrying their little rucksacks. Theymade their way around the pond, slowly approaching where I was stationed.
Soon the expected questions were being shouted to me from the opposite side of the fence: ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Have you seen any squirrels?’ ‘We are going to have a picnic’ and so on; about thirty different voices with as many questions and two/three beaming teachers obviously very happy that their little band of hope had found something of interest. Then one of the teachers noticed that one child was missing and a rather hurried search was carried out only to find that the child had sneaked through one of the gates further back along the footpath and was busy throwing pebbles at the ducks, after paddling in the pond and getting his feet wet.
‘Abandon hope’ I thought. Do I have any chance of any peace today? The crocodile of children slowly made their way past me, all the while chattering and laughing,happy to be out. They scampered on toward the end of the pond and the footpath away to my right, the child with the wet feet bawling loudly at the back of the procession with a teacher holding his hand, making sure he didn’t ‘vanish’ again.
As if by magic another group of joggers came along the path, this time they meant business, fit young men and women, again all clad in lycra but this time it suited them, well the young women anyway! They were not showing any signs of breathlessness and I wondered how many minutes it would take them to catch up, overtake and leave behind the previous set of unsuitably clad men.
As I was musing, the children’s voices became less vocal. As they walked on I became aware of a strange muted sound from behind me, it was a sort of repeated thththuddd, thththuddd, thththuddd. It was quiet, not agricultural, not mechanical, not anything I could put a name to. The noises stopped, then a few minutes later resumed again, the joggers had quickly passed the children, the path was once again quiet.
Peace at last…
I returned my attention to the rod, changing baits and recasting, hoping against hope that some silvery scaled creature with fins may put in an appearance. I had seen no evidence of them yet but as with most anglers, hopeof at least a bite shines eternal.
As I was casting, the noise of the barking dog started again, this time approaching from my right, the vision in pink had obviously had her doggy walk and was returning to her car. As I expected, there followed the sound of splashing, doggy in the water, more splashing, more doggy in the water etc etc. She called the dog, and started along the footpath behind me; the dog was on a lead! As she approached my ‘gate’ suddenly another chap with two Jack Russells on leads approached from the opposite direction. Much barking, yapping, snarling and gnashing of teeth followed. All dog-owners know that Jack Russells have no fear, anything is fair game and today it was a large black Labrador.
Mayhem.
The Jack Russells were hell bent on sinking their considerable if small teeth into the Labrador’s tender bits; the Labrador was hell bent on grabbing at least one of the little blighters. The man was frantically trying to pull the dogs apart and shouting, the dogs were barking and snarling at each other and the vision in pink, Mandy,was screaming loudly and trying and failing to control her black Lab.
Suddenly the icing on the cake appeared. You could not make it up! A group of cyclists on mountain bikes coming haring along the footpath, paying no attention to what was ahead and at a speed totally unsuited for what they were approaching.
The whole lot of them, a half dozen or so cyclists, three dogs, a vision in pink and a man with two dog leads all ended up in a mix of arms, legs, wheels, handlebars, bikes, barking dogs, not a little blood and surely the odd grazed knee, if not much worse.
I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and did not get involved. Watching from the questionable safety of my side of the gate it was like being on the sidelines of the Keystone Cops versus the Tour de France, with a dash of Ealing comedy thrown in, not to mention Crufts.
Trying not to laugh I just stood watching as the group managed to sort themselves out. The two Jack Russells had obviously achieved their goal, and were now being dragged away, whilst straining at the leads, barking and growling. Mandy the Vision in Pink was shouting threats of all sorts of dire consequences to the man with the Jack Russells, who was manfully ignoring her. Mandy’s dog was now trying its best to sink its teeth into one of the cyclists who had somehow ended up in a bush on the opposite side of the footpath, it was only his bike that was preventing the dog doing what dogs do best. The rest of the cyclists were busy retreating, loudly complaining and pushing bikes with bent wonky wheels a safe distance away.
As a group, they totally ignored their companion in the bush and started sorting out their bikes, their bruises and their busted egos. Indignation was rife, whilst at the same time threatening the dog owners with ‘Legal Action’. It never seemed to occur to them that had they been actually looking where they were going and cycling at a pace that they could stop, the train wreck would never have happened.
The black Labrador was eventually dragged off along the path, past the cyclists to her car by the dishevelled Vision in Pink. The cyclists were joined by man in bush, who was loudly complaining that his mates had left him to face the angry black Labrador single handed. Together they pushed their bikes some way along the path and stopped at a bench to have a council of war, the manwith the Jack Russells had vanished into thin air.
Peace descended upon the pond. Whilst I had not had so much as a bite, the day had turned out to be at least entertaining, at others’ expense I admit. However, Idecided that enough was enough. My phone rang, it was Ruth, she was returning after having a very disappointing walk of a couple of miles and would be with me in ten minutes or so. We ended the call and I started to pack up my tackles. In truth I would be glad to see the back of this place; it was not the peaceful spot that I had imagined, in fact, not a place that I would ever return to.
As if to have a final word, from behind me, once again the ththud, ththudd, thththudd could be heard.What is that noise? Ignoring it, I packed my things away, and Ruth appeared at the gate and I, laughing, told her of what had happened between her leaving and now.
Ruth said she had seen the portly men in lycra, a-huffing and a puffing but everything else was new, apart from the strange noises coming from behind us.
I mentioned the noises to Ruth who casually said, “It’s a group of men and women firing bows and arrows at targets in the next field. So for the last hour or so I had been sitting in danger of being skewered by arrows firedby a group of latter day Robin Hoods, whilst not coming even near to catching, or even seeing a fish.
My day was complete. Shaking my head, I finished packing away my bits and pieces, shouldered my seat, bag, landing net and rod, and together Ruth and I madeour way back to the car. The cyclists had vanished, bruised and battered, and despite having seen quite a few people, dogs, horses, geese etc in the last hour or so, it was once again peaceful.
I did not trust this interlude to last though; somewhere there was a party of schoolchildren that had to return to their transport, somewhere there were joggers, somewhere there was a man with two manic Jack Russells, plus the erstwhile Robin Hoods in the field behind and obviously on the water, a family of geese and goslings that could turn up at any time, so the car was loaded up and we set off home.
So, what was the best of it, you may ask? For me it was the drive home, using an alternative route avoiding the road works.
Writing & Images, David Craine – 2023
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