I love the smell of hemp in the morning

Its 04:00 in the morning and the dog is snoring, better get up and get ready. Look out of the window and its raining, oh bugger, back to bed for another hour then.

05:00 and enough is enough, better give the tench fishing another go, but its still raining. I get up and get dressed, feed the prowling cats and let them out.

The gear is ready, MUST remember to get all the baits out of the fridge and the FREEZER.

I'm away from the house by 05:45, but its raining hard, and I forgotten the bait in the freezer, so I turn back for home. Do I unload the car or just collect the bait. After much thought, I get the bait and head back out.

Driving along the roads, there are vast puddle and its obviously been raining hard for most of the night. There is a freshness in the area and the wildlife seems to how something about the inclement weather. As I drive along the lanes, a Sparrow Hawk flies in front of the car at strafing height scattering the Sparrow from the hedgerow. It grabs one in mid air and climbs into the gloomy morning sky.

The track to the lake is wet and muddy, I wish I'd brought the wellies.

Fortunately, most of the lake is within easy reach of the car, so setting up was a doddle and soon the brolly was up, with the gear safely stowed underneath it.

After previous session of Rudd City, I had decided to put in loads of bait using the spod this time to create a banquet of bait for the Tench to home in on. It would also help suppress the weed and hopefully feed the ruddy piranha's!

Four pints of hemp, one pint of dead reds and a half of caster went into the mix on this cold, wet morning. The hemp was home cooked the day before and the smell as I opened the lid to the bucket was intoxicating. "Do you smell that? Hemp Son, I love the smell of hemp in the morning"

The hemp was cooked well and I'd left some of the juice in the bottom to help with the spod mix.

I spodded the bait into to areas, one in the middle of the lilies and the second next to a shallow mix of lilies and cabbage. The second area was infact in catapult range, but with a underhand swing, it was just as easy to fill the spod.

With the banquet laid out, it was time to put out the rods carp style whilst the drizzle continued. That way I could enjoy the breakfast under the brolly.

Three rods were soon in position and the kettle was on. All was good.

The kettle whistled and the sound brought be out of a heady day dream and the rain had stopped.

First brew with the porridge and I gaze out over the lake, there is another brave sole on the water, a carper in a bivvy is stirring, I wonder if he' had a restful night.

The maggot feeder has been out for a while unmolested, so time for a top up. The weed is thin here and I pretty sure the bait is sitting on the bottom nicely, but something does not look right.

The fake maggots are balancing very well and look unnatural, so the right is tweaked so the hook is just resting on the silt. Happy with that and back out it goes. The mind wanders, are the other baits sitting pretty? Probably not so, they get retrieved, checked, tweaked (if necessary) and recast with fresh bags and bags of free offerings.

Time for another brew and the oh so happy bailiff does his rounds with is pooch. Good chat with him and he confirm that the tench haven't been blowing much yet, but a decent one has been caught in recent weeks. They are still there.

The dog does it think along with the bailiff and soon he's on his way with the pooch in tow.

The middle rod bobbin starts to jingle as the pesky Rudd start to wake up But none are registering proper bites.

Another tweak, the bobbins need to be lighter, so the add weight is removed and its just the bobbin on the chain, perfect.

More tea and the margin rod give a jangle and then hits the rod before stopping dead. Left or retrieve. I choose the latter and inspect the rig. Its been dragged into the weed and the casters are gone.

Rebait, recast. Tea is made and its warm feel help with the cold, damp weather. Feel like a perch day, not a tench weather at all.

Sitting in the chair, the eye's pick up a scurrying critter along the path. A shrew is making a dash for cover, before he get trampled by a clumsy squirrel falling from the tree. The squirrel shakes and hops along the path.

No sign of the fisher king, I would have expect to see him in the morning, but no sign of him.

An alarm is sounding, it not mine so it must be the carper, it is but as he nears he rod, the Delkim on the marginal rod is away. In unison we lift into the running fish, and in unison we connect with thin air. How odd. I wonder if he swore too?

Its now midday, and confidence is growing, but its all been to much for the carper and his packing away. I stretch my legs and spy a white object in the reeds, a swan has made a nest and is sitting, her mate comes to inspect by presence, but he's use to seeing humans and isn't alarmed.

Time to freshen things up, I could even get the float gear out, but instead chose to carry on carping for tench.

There is a fizzing in the margins and I ply the area with some more hemp and casters before underhand swinging the baits into position. The fake bait has been replaced with really bait and scaled the hook link and hook size down, confidence is high and there is electric in the air.

The real bait hasn't been to long, and the alarm is sounding, bobbin rising and spool is turning. I grab the rod, fail to disengage the runner and the spool spins as I endeavour to strike. Regaining my composure, I do things correctly and connect with a running fish, the rod bends and fish is on.....

......for thirty seconds before the underrated hook link goes Bing! Darn and blast as the air is turned blue and the writer has a hissy fit due to his complete incompetence!

I've calmed down and reel in the remains of the rig, the hooklink has indeed failed and I cure the mistake for underestimating the fish size in the lake,

Rerigged, rebait and back out for another go. This bait is joined by another as the fish are clearly feeding here and in other area's in the marginal beds of lilies.

More tea is required, or perhaps something stronger, a Green Woodpecker can be heard laughing in the back ground at this clumsy anglers ability to catch a green'un from this historical, magical place.

Reflecting on the lost moment I laugh, or do I cry, perhaps I do both. But with with the despair comes delight and reflection. It was a bite and I one step closer than last time.

The afternoon soon passes and nothing else happens, bar a Wren stealing a couple of dead reds, but I can spare a few.

After the obligatory extra half hour, I pack, leaving the rods and net until last before disappearing out of the gates.