|A net. A fish. A fish called Annette?|
Not the monster alluded to in the
When you're set up, the farmer who owns the land (or sometimes a young lad with a shot gun and a 'I hate bunnies' T-shirt - I always pay him quite quickly!) will troll along and collect five of your best pounds sterling. He's a nice bloke but does moan a lot about the kids, the council, the sheep, the gypsies, the weather the . . . Just occasionally he won't turn up and that's a Brucie Bonus financially, especially if you don't catch owt.
There are one or two attractive Islands in the PWNN ('Pond with no name' - clever eh? See how I did that!) Attractive in the fish sense, not in the Caribbean millionaire sense. I've found that casting into the shallows near to these can yield some fruitful results. I had an 8lb mirror and a 6lb common from the foot of an overhanging tree on the far side of the biggest Island. I also lost a rather large (10lb perhaps) ghostie just inches from the net the last time I was there.
|Riviera Kid. Hat blown off in a carp|
As you approach the pond from the 'designated parking area' there is a rather strange geometric structure made from rusting scaffolding poles that stretches several feet out from the bank over a shallow section of the pool. For months I pondered over the purpose of this metalwork feature until finally I plucked up the courage, swallowed my embarrassment and asked the good farmer. Was it a frame for a jetty? A foundation for a poolside hotel? An Alien landing platform? No, it was an enclosure to prevent the cows from drowning themselves when they wandered down to the watering hole for a drink!
Thankfully, there are no cows wandering around anymore, just two or three other fishermen, the odd teenager and the occasional kid. Some days you can come away cold and empty-handed (you can fish for small silver fish as a successful sideline if you like) but if you hit it just right, there are some nice juicy carp to be had. And there are no restrictions on bait and tackle like some places. Sweet!