A Short Hard One.

Short sessions are just the way it is for me and my fishing at the moment, work and family commitments prevail over the desire to spend leisurely days at the waterside. Every window of opportunity is, therefore, to be exploited fully.

Unsociable as it may be an overnight camping expedition with my partner, her sister and husband and our collective offspring presented such a window last weekend. From the moment the trip was suggested plans started to form in my head although I was second guessed to some degree and was told there was unlikely to be room in the car for fishing tackle.

However, I think you'll find that there is always room for fishing tackle and so a hastily assembled camping kit of bare angling essentials was organised and squeezed into an already bursting car boot.

I struck the neccesary compromise with the Missus, eventually agreeing that I would only go fishing if I happened to wake up very early on Sunday morning and that I would be back for breakfast at eight.

Saturday was a good day we played football with the kids, walked around the lakes and drank lashings of cider and red wine in the sun.

When the alarm on my phone happened to go off at three thirty on Sunday morning I first realised that I had a thumping headache then I heard the rain pounding of the canvas above, not the best of starts !

I very nearly took the soft option and went back to sleep but finally dragged myself out of bed and out of the tent. The rain was beginning to ease and I headed for my chosen spot.

Weekend carp anglers occupied my first and second choice swims and chatting to them the previous evening revealed that there were few tench and carp coming out but odd bream were being caught. I was set to fish my third choice swim nearby.

It looks like one of those starter kits that parents are advised never to buy for their children. Please note the cantilever box circa 1973.


It was extremely cold for the time of year and a strong wind was blowing straight at me as I began to set up, not very pleasant. My next disaster was to discover that I had failed to include any groundbait feeders amongst my gear, not to worry though the local anglers reckon the margins are the best place to fish, I would put on a small bomb and ball groundbait in at the start.

So shivering in the morning gloom I balled in eight balls of Sensas Carp and brown crumb laced with red maggots into what seemed a likely spot just of the end of an overhanging tree.

After just a couple of casts I realised my terrible mistake, it seemed that I had put all of my feed into probably the weediest area in the swim. Shortly after the wind blew up even more and it grew even colder, the rising sun was behind my position in the woods and offered no warmth so I was now freezing cold and fishing in an area ten yards from my baited spot. It began to rain. I packed up. I was in good time for breakfast.