Still struggling

My near total inability to catch tench this year is rankling me. Whenever I contemplate a bit of fishing the need to catch a tench is right at the very top of my list. The longer my tinca drought goes on the more it vexes me, like I am trapped in some sort of red-eyed slimy green vortex. With more information about Ardrea Lough supplied by readers (many thanks guys), I decided to go back to county Sligo for another crack at the big tench in that wee lake.

On my last visit I saw a good sized tench but failed to hook any, a tantalising glimpse of what could be if I could crack the code. Among the recommendations I received was that evening fishing is much better (which makes sense), so on Monday I packed the car and hit the road in the afternoon. Out of bait, I made for Carrick-on-Shannon first to stock up on maggots and worms, then drove across to Ballymote via Boyle. I’ll admit there was a sense that I was driving past some potentially better waters on that route, but I stuck rigidly to my plan and rolled up at Ardrea about 5pm. Gowned up, I tramped along the road, clambered inelegantly over the sturdy five bar gate into the field and made my way over the the same middle stand I used on my last session. The sun had come out, the first time for many days, and it was pleasantly warm without being too hot. All in all, this was a lovely evening to be tench fishing.

First things first, I had brought my rake with me and spent the first twenty minutes raking out a swim. My anticipation was this would be hard work, but the swim had clearly been raked not long ago, so all that came out was a little fine green weed, an odd lily pad and some clumps of freshwater mussels (which were carefully returned). The water in front of me turned brown, surely inviting some fat old tench to come and nose around. Leaving the rake to dry off in the sun, I set about tackling up. Ground bait was the first task. Based on Sensas 300 black lake, I added some crushed hemp, casters and a few 2mm halibut pellets, mixed it all up and fed my raked swim three rod lengths out.

Part of my plan was to change things up on the feeder rod. Years ago I favoured a helicopter rig, but over time I’ve moved away from that to a more conventional twizzled boom type of rig. Feeling the need for a different approach, I went back to my old heli rig, just a four inch hook length of six pound to a size 12 hook, held in place by a pair of float stops above the feeder. That way, I can slide the hook closer or further from the feeder as required. A twenty gram cage feeder was filled with ground bait and maggots while hook bait was chopped worm, held in place with half an artificial red maggot with would pop it up off the bottom. This has worked for me before, so I figured it was worth a go, and I fired the feeder 40 yards out and slightly to my left. My old 13 foot ABU float rod was plumbed up to over 12 feet so it was slightly over depth, and a 2.5 gram float was above a size 12 hook baited with maggots. After tidying up, I settled down to await what this fine summer’s evening would produce.

It took a few minutes before the float gave a wriggle and I managed to miss that bite by a country mile. I hit the next one alright, a smallish hybrid. Seven more of it’s compatriots joined it before a shoal of even smaller roach showed up. More hybrids were landed amid an awful lot of missed bites or fish that dropped off. I fiddled with the float so I was fishing just on the bottom but I can’t say it made a hell of a lot of difference to my hook up ratio. It was early yet, so keeping busy with silvers was a pleasant pastime for now. The feeder remained stubbornly quiet despite me frequently freshening the bait and dropping more ground bait into the far out swim.

The hybrids must have moved off because for next couple of hours it was just roach after roach, the only other fish taking the maggots were three tiny rudd and a solitary skimmer. The slight breeze of the early evening died off completely, leaving a flat calm surface to the lake. Scanning the mirror like water for any signs of tench bubbles was fruitless, even when the light began to fade. My prayers for some action were not to be answered and if anything the fishing slowed significantly as darkness encroached. Sticking it out until I could no longer see the float, I had to admit defeat and packed up while there was just enough light to stow away the gear in my box. Another angler was fishing the westerly stand so I stopped to compare notes with him. Surprisingly, after an hour’s fishing he had yet to register a bite, making me feel a little bit less of a failure. The walk back to the car was fraught as the local boy racers were out in force, nearly bowling me over as I tried to dodge them on the blind bend. Anyway, I made it back to the Ford in one piece.

The final tally was 12 hybrids, none of then any size, 33 roach, again no biggies in them, the three tiny rudd and one lonely skimmer. Just shy of fifty silvers was OK I guess but it was not what I was fishing for. So I am back to square one again when it comes to tench. Looking back, over the years I have always done best for them on the royal canal, indeed my only tench so far this year has come come from that venue. I’ll hit the canal again soon, timing my trip for an evening session.