The Rod Makers

Not long after the video went live I headed out to a river I used to visit but have been neglecting over the last few years. It was not fishing weather and the river is not famed for sport.  The water runs too slow and through too much farmland; when summer arrives it thickens to a soup of algae. I took the camera and a tripod began running through the routine of finding unfamiliar angles in a familiar landscape. More filming and maybe another story.

A Mouth Full Of Crankbait

Image Above: A Pike Breakfasting On My Homemade Crankbait

I arrived at the lake a little after 5:30am and found the carp crew who had been camped out for a couple of days were in the process of landing a lump of a fish. It turned out to be a rather large tench but not a carp and the crew were not happy. I stopped to inquire where their web of lines stretched to so as to avoid setting off another bite alarm and creating some more disappointment for them.

Two days earlier I had been out for an evening’s float fishing session when the crew had turned up carrying all their equipment in a supermarket trolley. Knowing I would be required home they set up around my swim with banks of rods laid out like cannons on the deck of a destroyer. With guns to the left of me and guns to the right, I hung on for an hour and then left them to it.

This morning I had two small patches of water to myself to hunt for pike and fling some new lures and prototypes about. I clipped on a fat head wiggler knowing that this really wasn’t the best location for hurling big bits of wood about. The plug flew but landed with the poise and grace of a scud missile scaring the moorhens and their chicks. I let it swim for a bit and then put it away saving it for a trip to a bigger water and then clipped on a Balsa Crankbait.

Despite the smaller size and lightness the lure flew to almost three quarters of the distance covered by its bigger cousin but also landed with less of a thud. It wasn't long before something was kicking up swirls in pursuit but after a couple of lunges whatever was out there gave up. I moved to my other free stretch of water just as a pike broke the surface in the shallows. Three casts later it had taken my crankbait and when it surfaced the lure was firmly wedged in its jaws. I switched on the mini video camera and then not thinking stupidly landed it in the net instead of picking it out the water from under its chin, instantly the belly hook snagged up and I had two hooks to untangle.

With some minor surgery the hook came out of the fish ok and I slipped him back while I dealt with the bigger problem of the net. When I finally got back off my knees I realized that my little lure had caught its first fish and had the rash to prove it. Unfortunately the video was unusable but I managed to salvage a still from the junk.

After deciding previously to limit myself to one pike per visit to my local water I set about testing some other little creations.  Despite some design successes the lake is the place to come and find flaws and test ideas some of which should of never have left the drawing board but it is often only when I have added water that my failings become apparent. One particular prototype swam off in a direction that almost made me believe it was autonomous. I still have a lot to learn about lures and filming especially in the great outdoors

New Homes for Old Lures

Image: A little fellow caught on a Jig Head.

God it is cold.  I am bandaged into my clothes with various bits of fishing tackle slipped in between the layers of cloth and still the bits that remain exposed ache in the cutting wind.  I have taken one small pike at the other end of the lake with a resin jig head but the centre section of water has been covered by the lines of a small group of carp anglers.  A couple of weeks ago I woke one of their brethren who had been camped out overnight by snagging one of his lines and setting off his bait alarm. His face said it all, woken from dreams of sumo sized carp only to find a sumo sized pike angler looking a little more than embarrassed.  

I have learnt my lesson and I am fishing out of harm’s way in amongst the snags at the shallow end of the lake. So far it has been one fish and two lost resin jig heads.  I clip on the long cast balsa minnow and watch it sail through the cross wind; it runs a little shallow for cold winter days and I still nervous of losing it having neglected making a few spares.

There is a call from across the lake and I briefly wonder whether I have hitched up another line. One of the carp lads is asking if I have a spare fishing lure. I tell him to come over and start routing through my bag and its collection of old prototypes and reject lures. I pull out an early version of the pine wobbler that has a slightly shorter lip. Its centre hook is missing; probably taken to use on another lure. I replace the hook and tell him I’ll just test it as I can’t remember if it’s any good despite the fact it still has some pike teeth ebbed in it. It swims with a wide wobble but it I am still not sure about it, so I give him a later version which has also seen a few battles and he thanks me and wanders back. He has fished here long enough to know I make the lures myself.

I keep the pine lure on the line and give it a few casts but it is difficult to handle after the precision of the weight shifting balsa lure.  A badly aimed shot lands it amongst the reed stems at the water’s edge but it swims free and a pike grabs it within an arm’s length. It is only small thing but the fight draws the carp angler back over. I unhook the pike in my hands and with a bit of fumble it leaps back into the water.  

I unclip the lure and hand it over to the carp angler before packing up. It might not be the prettiest thing I have ever made but then there are lots of shiny new lures hanging in shops and none of them have ever caught a fish. The tally stands after two hours at two pike, two jig heads lost and two minnows with a new home which all leaves me a little more space in the tackle bag.  

The Wrong Side of the Tracks

Image Above: Sefton park lake drained for repairs

I knew he was a fisherman; his eyes like mine were focused on the water, I had the pram and kids and he had a dog. I walked scanning the lake as far out as the reflections would allow and back in toward the shore and the path. As he passed three large carp of least ten pounds zoomed over a patch of low weed. I pointed them out and he stopped and told me the local anglers had been doing a bit of restocking on the quiet. I asked him about pike and he winked and said a few may have made it back in. The lake the largest of Liverpool’s park lakes was drained a little over four years ago for bit of a restoration project. Officially the fish were temporarily re-homed in other local park lakes by the council. I don’t know a fisherman who shares this view of what became of out fishy friends, what is certain is that what came out never went back in. So a lake that for most of childhood and teenage years was a mecca for anglers and kept more than a couple of local tackle shops in business is free of fishermen until the brave venture back, maybe I might be a bit braver.

Finding a bit of time in the afternoon I headed up to the north end of the city to a leg of the Leeds Liverpool canal. This had also been somewhat restored, but it was still the wrong part of town and I was conscious that I was spending an equal amount of time sizing up the locals as fishing. Having little success with the lures I took the bait caster off and replaced it with a small fixed spool spinning real loaded with three pound line,  tied on a homemade jig weighing a little over a gram and dressed with whip tail cut from washing up gloves.

Passing under a bridge to a more neglected stretch I spotted some movement at the surface and began working the opposite bank. Popping the jig just short of stone edge to the canal brought a bite and I was in, I landed a small bream as the water further up the stretch erupted. A group of lads playing football on the opposite bank had decide to launch a bottle attack on guy who had just walked past be on the tow path. Bottles gave way to bits of brick and rocks which lucky all missed him before they ran for it. I packed up and headed back south wondering if I will fish this water again. The fish was hastily returned without the customary photograph.

I spent the evening with the airbrush and some lures.

Image Below: Airbrushed lures