The last day of 2022 – David Craine takes a trip to the pond

‘I quickly removed the hook, and the fish lay in the net waiting for a quick snap, as they do, it held still until the moment my finger touched the phone screen to take the picture, then it wriggled.‘

I am sat here thinking about what an eventful year 2022 has been for us all. For myself, things have not been far from normal at all, in fact, the waters I fish are never busy, and the last day of the year, and the last day that my licence was valid was no exception. I spent yesterday, the evening of the 30th December wondering where to head to on the morrow. Ruth had plans and we were also expecting a delivery from a South American River, so I had a pass.

It was going to be a solo trip, a friend who usually joins me had other things to attend to. I must have looked at the weather forecast for various places a hundred times, and as usual ended up undecided. Do I go to the coast and try for a cod? That was out as I wanted to be home for early afternoon and the tides for a coastal trip were all wrong, plus it would be a 200 mile round trip. So that was off my list.

Do I go to the River? I usually fish the River Wharfe, but after checking the river levels my usual haunts seem to be telling me to stay away. It’s one thing saying that a warm river in flood can be good for barbel in the winter, as I know it can, but the particular stretch I am fond of funnels the river against almost a vertical cliff and has an almost 180 degree bend after a very fast run below a weir, the accessible bank is very steep, meaning that I would be fishing down a sheer bank with poor footing and slippery as well.

The river gauges were showing it to be flooding at about 4 ft over average into very fast water and with little in the way of features, and with a forecast promising more rain overnight further up in the dales. I decided it would not be a good prospect. I then considered the canal? The canal is much closer, in fact it is only about 7 miles straight up the road from the front door. The only problem with that is that I don’t really like fishing canals, the eternal dog walkers, cyclists and suchlike only serve to make me wish I was elsewhere.

So it was now down to one of the club ponds. There is a place that I occasionally fish, one with trees, and pleasant surroundings, the downside is that the club in its wisdom have erected fishing platforms which whilst preserving the banks, also do tend to intrude upon an otherwise nice location.It is only a half hour drive from the door. So the pond it is.

After tea I vanished into the workshop to prepare the gear for the next day. It did not take long, my Hardy Mitre Wondrex float rod, and a Dawsons Medina which is a nice length and about right for ledgering after the ponds larger residents. A Mitchell 300 for the Medina and my Adcock Stanton for the Hardy Mitre. The forecast was for the weather to be unseasonably warmer than recently, which may just push the ponds residents into feeding. So bait was maggots, always a good standby, pork luncheon meat and bread, with a bit of home made paste as an alternative if all else failed.

I would loose feed the maggots on one spot, and also occasionally throw in some liquidised bread there as well. I would spray some small cubed luncheon meat into another area using my catapult, and be fishing two rods with two alternative baits. That should cover most bases. I would no doubt end up mixing and matching baits but one has to start somewhere. A couple of rests I had made specially for the platforms, my seat, a ‘bitsa’ box and a brolly in case of showers would complete my preparations All would be carried in either an old Efgeeco holdall, oops, almost forgot my landing net, pole and unhooking mat. I then had a last look at the forecast, yes, it was going to be unseasonably warm – the pond had to be the place.

7.00 am arrived, I quietly get up, silence the old alarm clock with its two silver bells and striking hammer that without fail would wake Ruth. A quick wash, and then a slice of toast whilst the kettle boils, and in less than a half an hour I have the car packed and on my way to the pond. 

The View To My Right From The Moortop

It is dull, and a persistent drizzle colours the sky a leaden gray, the forecast is for the rain to stop by 9.00 am along with a welcome increase in air temperature, but by then I will be under my brolly anyway – not an inspiring start, but fortune favours the brave is the saying. I drive toward the moortop, just up the hill from our house the road twists away and vanishes under a thick cloud, anybody actually on the moor in this stuff would be in trouble.

Some years ago I had been on several moorland rescues around here, usually due to inclement weather and always the persons involved had not been familiar with the area, and without maps or compasses or indeed wearing the correct clothing. I digress, those episodes are from years past, and today I am going fishing. I crest the moortop and drop down a long and winding road to nestling village at the foot of the next valley. The fog has cleared a little and down here it is damp, but the rain has stopped and a breeze is pushing and pulling the trees.

Mist Can Still Be Seen To My Left

I make my way for the next few miles, it may be 31st December, but the roads are busy with people on their way to work I suppose. I turn left, leave the main road and take side road which again rises, twists and turns until I once again reach a second moortop, although this time everything is clear and visible, at least to my right.

Not far now, I drop down again, passing through a familiar farmyard, on my right there is a peculiar tree, or is it a telegraph post? Some thirty plus years ago when I worked this area I drove through the farm yard regularly, and then saw on the roadside a wooden telegraph post that had been sawn off about 8 feet from ground level, the wood had rotted on the top and a small lonely seedling had taken root, as the years passed I always looked at this seedling wondering if it would survive another winter.

Year on year it grew, the farm was a ramshackle place and I always expected the post stump to be one day removed, but the farmer must have had a soft spot for the sapling , as he actually attempted to keep the post stump in place as the tree grew. One year it would have a bailing twine wrapped around itself, the next a sturdy woven ratchet strap etc etc. As the years passed, the tree grew stronger, the post stump weathered.

The Tree & What Remains Of The Post

I smile at the tree, say my good mornings and drive on. The tree is I suppose an old friend now. It is only a couple of miles to the pond and anticipation is growing. I park, gather my bits from the car and make my way down the slope to the pond. It’s rather bleak at this time of year, looking far less friendly than it does in warm sunshine, but nevertheless it could be worse.

Nobody is here but me, hardly surprising I suppose. I decide where to fish given the conditions, but a tad yet unsure as I know the problems that this place can give. I make my way around the pond to the platform. I set up a little further back and onto the bank proper, this will enable me to put up the brolly of needed. It is still overcast but the rain is keeping off. The wind here is unpredictable, being in a steep sided valley to one side, the wind swirls and gusts, today is was as usual, coming from all directions, and impossible to avoid.

After setting up the platform rests I put together the rods and reels, and already I am deciding where to fish, the float rod will be to my right and just off the front of the weathered and browning margin weeds of 2022. The bottom rod will be across and slightly to my left fished toward a floating fish sanctuary in about 8 feet of water.

In summer the sanctuaries are home to a pair of coots, but they are missing, the only waterbirds present are mallards that venture out occasionally. With all areas baited up, I cast one offering and sit back, a lone cormorant is circling the pond but undecided as to if it should land or maybe go further afield, it makes off, and I silently say thank you to the fishy gods for sparing the ponds residents this day.

The Pond From My Pitch

The Medina had a bobbin as bite indication and the bait was ledgered on a simple free running rig, over a few free offerings of meat, I dislike the fishing platforms, but they serve a purpose I suppose, as I had avoided entering the water to position the banksticks that I made specially for this place. The Medina was just to my left and the platform banksticks were positioned so the line was directly under the water to avoid being twitched and moved by the wind and the movement of surface water. The bobbin was moving a little but it was not a problem.

The trap was set for the Medina, and I set about plumbing the depth for the float rod, about four feet. I needed a fairly heavy float to combat the wind and get out in front of the weed which had died back but was still swirling around in the breeze. I had just set the float rod to my satisfaction when the bobbin on the Medina twitched a couple of times and rose toward the rod. I picked up the rod, unclipped the bobbin and at the same time lifted into the fish, a spirited little carp that barely put a bend in the rod, he had gulped down a small chunk of luncheon meat, it swam into the landing net, quickly unhooked, the barbless hook actually falling out by itself, a quick snap and the fish was returned.

A Most Welcome & Spirited Little Mirror Carp

I baited and recast the Medina, and turned my attention to the float rod. I had scattered a couple of pouch fulls of maggots in when I first arrived and was hoping that something may be sniffing around. I decided to let the float rod sit whilst I had a coffee and a glance around, watching to see what wildlife may appear. The pond did look forlorn, the wind was cold, a lot different from the forecast, indeed it seemed to be getting cooler, and contrary to the forecast, a slight drizzle was developing.

The Pond Did Look Forlorn

Looking across to my right I almost wished i’d decided to fish nearer to the bird watchers hut as I could have wound the gear in and sat inside there until the drizzle stopped. It was not heavy enough for the brolly to be put up, but still not pleasant. I could never understand the need for the hut as the birdlife all were used to seeing anglers and walkers around the pond, however it did occasionally serve an alternative purpose.

Shrugging off the weather I cast the float rod to the pre baited area. As I suspected it was difficult to keep the float in position and it continually was blown from right to left, then left to right. There was no sign that anything was around, the maggots coming back untouched. I varied depth and presentation, but nothing was working.

There had been no other interest in the ledgered spam either. I laid aside the float rod, wound in the Medina and changed the rig to a maggot feeder, cast in again to the same area as before. The bobbin had barely settled when it flew up toward the rod butt, there was no doubt that a fish was on. Lifting the rod I unclipped the bobbin and could feel a fish tugging on the end, again no size, but welcome nonetheless.

As it came toward the waiting net I had a glimpse of it before it charged away and thought I had hooked one of the ponds few chub. When I netted it I realised that it was in fact an ide. I had caught a few before from the pond, and as it was the only place I had ever caught them I was pleased to see it.

An Ide From The Pond

I quickly removed the hook, and the fish lay in the net waiting for a quick snap, as they do, it held still until the moment my finger touched the phone screen to take the picture, then it wriggled. I tried a couple of times and eventually managed a quarter decent snap of the fish, and quickly returned it to see it swim away strongly.

I smiled to myself, at least I had managed not to blank twice on my last fishing trip of 2022. I cast the Medina back out again, and set about trying to master the float rod, the wind was becoming more persistent and unpredictable with the float being moved all ways, and I was still not having any interest shown. I noticed as well that the warm weather that had been forecast by the Met office had decided to give this area a miss.

I persisted for the next couple of hours, trying different baits and combinations, but bites were not forthcoming, eventually after 4 hours and with no further interest shown I decided that enough was enough. I am not one for extended fishing forays, and usually only fish for 5 or 6 hours. I had already done 4 hours and was actually getting colder by the minute I decided to call it a day. I had managed not to blank on the last day of 2022, so that was a small victory in itself for me.I was now looking forward to 2023, and all it has to offer.

Writing & Images David Craine – December 2022