I am dead baiting for pike. For a lure builder this feels
like surrender or the start down a slippery slope. I take comfort in the fact
that at least I have made my own float from a couple of corks and some bamboo.
This is the second swim I have tried and despite the sunshine it is bloody
freezing and I am conscious that I may be found frozen to death with a rather
healthy tan.
My float is finally showing some signs that the mackerel a
few feet below has drawn something’s attention. I wait until whatever is down
there has decided to don a napkin and tuck in. The float starts to move as if propelled
by its own outboard motor and then like Nemo’s Nautilus it sinks below the surface. I wait for what feels
like an indescribably long period of time but probably amounts to a couple of seconds
and then strike. My rod is bent and there is a thud of fish while simultaneously
the cold that has been gnawing at my toes disappears. I attempt to wind in but
nothing seems to move and there is crunch inside the reel housing, I try again
while the fish continues to exert some pressure on the rod but the reel is not
moving.
I have one quote that
I keep for moments like this, it comes from that literary masterpiece, The Viz
and was often used by Timmy Timpson (aka spoilt bastard) when things were not going his way; here goes
“bugger, bastard, bugger , bastard,
wank”. I consider hand lining the fish,
but with branches touching the water either side of me it wouldn’t be the best
of approaches. Realising I have only one barbless treble connecting me with the
fight I tip the rod down and wait, the pike takes the float for a tour before
managing to slip the hook . Never mind, I walk back with the rod up in the air
and get the bait out of the water before pissing round with the reel ; my feet
are suddenly cold again.
