Paradise lost...and other tales

[Anthony Pearson]

In my teens I was enthralled by the stories coming from Redmire and read Jack Hilton's 'Quest for Carp' cover to cover. In fact I could hardly put it down. I dreamt of fishing such waters but in my neck of the woods they didn't exist, so in effect, that was that. Until, that is, I got hold of an ordnance survey map and scoured it to find suitable venues. There were many false dawns until I let slip what I was looking for to a mate. He said he knew an old country estate which had a lake and upon hearing this I eagerly interrogated him about it. To the best of his knowledge the park had been laid out in the 1790's and there was a substantial lake built at that time! Buoyed with enthusiasm a plan was formulated. We would cycle there, hide our bikes in the bushes by the now permanently locked gatehouse and explore what lay behind. This was 'Boys' Own stuff and we were adventuring!

The old hall had been derelict for many years but the old sandstone ruin, with it's Ionic pillars bore the hallmarks of glories past. In front of this lay open fields but beyond, was a wood and in this there lay a lake, or at least the OS map indicated the presence of one.




Having moved covertly across our very own no-mans land we ferreted our way up an old track until we arrived at a point where we had to follow a stream in the direction of our dream lake. To say everything was overgrown is an understatement and we had to use old branches to batter our way through. Eventually we reached the water's edge and in front of us stretched a lake of about five acres, lost in a sea of willow and birch. My heart skipped a beat because this truly was paradise. Monsters of the deep had to be lurking there and I had discovered my very own Redmire. What's more...it appeared to have lain un-fished for fifty or more years. If any place could have a tangible feel to it, this was it and I had access to it...well by hook or by crook.

Noise from a nearby farm vehicle made us hurriedly retrace our steps with hearts pounding to the bikes, which sadly meant not having a chance to look at the smaller lake further upstream. The journey home was just a daze. My mind was working overtime and the famous pitches named in the books I'd been reading were being matched to the spots I'd just seen. I was annoyed that we hadn't been able to stay longer and do a proper reconnoiter but what had been witnessed was enough to keep me awake for hours at night, for weeks to come. We discussed our next move and decided to get tackled up for our return but for reasons that I fail to recall, this happened some time later.

When the day came around we had everything honed to a minimum due to an obvious need for speed. As with our first visit the bikes were stashed and the two of us legged it across the overgrown meadows to our destination. We approached the water along the path we had cleared on our previous visit which by now had become festooned with briers. Unperturbed we finally made it to the edge of the lake and too our horror....realised that it had been drained!

We couldn't believe it. Gone...completely. I'll never forget that sinking feeling of losing something that had fired my imagination to such an extent and the suggestion by my mate to check out the top lake was no consolation. It would however be our only option, as disappointing as it was.

We did venture up there in the shade of the summer sun, to find what turned out to be nothing more than a large pond around which the trees and undergrowth had all been cleared. It was with a heavy heart that I tackled up and cast a float-fished worm into its clear water. My carp and tench were never to materialise that day, indeed it would be a quarter of a century before I would reacquaint myself with such fish, but that's another tale.

It wasn't much of a waiting game as after a matter of minutes my float slid below the surface of this second-choice water. I struck not expecting much as my quarry for the day surely would not be inhabiting such a pokey little hole and came in contact with the first of many of its occupants...small trout. That explained the scorched earth policy around the lakes fringes...fly fishermen were the target for whoever had done the groundwork. It wasn't for me and after a short session we beat a hasty retreat. The journey home was a weary one.

I never did go back as there was nothing to draw me there. I believe the old hall has since been renovated for luxury apartments and very nice I'm sure they are. As for the lake, judging by the Google earth images,all that's left are the silted remains of a once beautiful body of water. All I'll say is that if it had been maintained and stocked back in the seventies, it may well have become one of our premier waters.

The estate....Woodfold Hall Estate, Mellor, Lancashire. The lake...The Whitehouse Pond.


So, has anyone had a fishing-related experience that has stayed with them over the years which they are willing to share?

 

[Gavin Hoe-Richardson]

Cracking account Anthony, enjoyable reading.

I can't compete with that but remember stumbling across a small pond in the countryside when out bike riding. I saw a few small rudd and vowed to return with a fishing rod. When I did eventually return I caught a few of the rudd then remarkably my first carp, a mirror of around 3lb which I hadn't seen despite the pond being about 40' across and 2' deep.

Google Earth reveals numerous ponds on farmland around me, I'd love to see what they might contain but feel a bit daft asking the farmers for permission to try them.

 

[Clive Shipman]

Great story Anthony.

 

[Dave Powell]

Very enjoyable Anthony.

I too used to enjoy reading about the exploits of Jack Hilton (and Dick Walker).

Dave

 

[Steve Lewis]

Splendid stuff, Anthony.

On that sort of level, there used to be a 2-3 acre lake in the grounds of a large manor house, just off the A46 in Hamswell near Bath, which you could spy a bit of from the main road through the large security gates, looking all tantalisingly weedy and overgrown. Unfortunately it was a private residence - in the days when most people had their number in the phone book, cocky teenage me actually gave the place a ring and asked about the possibility of fishing it. The response I got was effectively an abrupt "f... off", but also confirmation that there were indeed fish in there, and they had been in there for a number of decades. Looking on Google maps and Earth now, it would appear that both the house and lake are gone, as in demolished and filled in, respectively.

On a smaller scale, but no less wonderful, in the mid to late 90s my fishing buddy's dad managed to secure us fishing on a set of six very small farm ponds just outside East Harptree, the biggest of which was probably just under half an acre. The ponds were owned and managed by a chap who leased the land from the farm owners for the purpose of rearing trout - he was one of the primary stockers for the nearby Chew Valley lake. The top pond was incredibly weedy and contained three common carp, the biggest of which was about 20lb. The next three ponds contained a mixture of coarse fish - ornamental carp, chub, barbel, roach etc. The next pond down was the jewel in the crown - the second largest of the ponds, again incredibly weedy, and with a population of about 50 large orfe and goldfish, 10 or so carp (biggest of which was about 15lb), whatever had escaped from the top pond during floods (they were stepped down a decline and were all sluiced) and, most prizeworthy of all, 6 ENORMOUS tench. Despite fishing that pond nearly every weekend for the best part of 3 years, we only managed to catch two of those tench - I caught the smallest of the six at just over 8lb, my buddy caught one of the other smallest at just over 9lb, but the others were doubles, and one that we saw plenty of but never caught easily went 14lb+ and typically hung around with the similarly sized carp rather than its own kind. The bottom pond was the trout rearing pond, but it also contained a large koi of about 10lb and a common of about 25lb. We never caught either of those. But, despite the ponds being very small, the water that ran through them was very rich and could easily support the fish in them. The two streams which feed them eventually make their way down to Chew Valley lake. What made this place EXTRA special was that the carp were, supposedly, Leney carp, stocked at around the same time the man himself stocked Ashmead in Somerset. The link being that the guy who owned these ponds knew and worked with Donald Leney. I've got a photo somewhere of me with the only carp I ever caught there - a lovely 10lb common - which I'll post if I can find it. But it had all the hallmarks of a classic Leney carp - long, muscular, in proportion, and very very dark browns and bronzes.

Unfortunately, whilst the ponds are still there, the fish are not - some years ago the farmer's son apparently left all the ponds' sluice gates wide open after a heavy flood (I think it was when we had the major floods in 2004), not realising he only had to open them about a quarter to let the flood water flush safely through. Obviously avoiding the farm flooding was uppermost in his mind, so you can't be too harsh on him, but it meant that every single fish in those ponds was flushed out of its home and downstream. Those that survived would have ended up in Chew Valley lake. So who knows - maybe at some point in the near future, someone fishing at Chew is gonna land a monster Leney carp, or record breaking tench!

 

[Anthony Pearson]

Which reminds me of a day's fishing I had with my father as a young 'un. He decided to take me back to the fields he used to frequent in his youth and more importantly the ponds he fished in. Unfortunately, the first had been obliterated and was now part of the M6 motorway and the second one we visited had a brewery built on it! is third choice seemed to be devoid of fish. Still, we had a laugh about it all.

 

[Terry Harman]

A very long time ago around 76-77 we had a maths teacher at school mr walker now mr walker was a real easy touch and it's fair to say myself and a couple of other lads gave him hell in every maths lesson....
Because he was such an easy touch we pretty much did what we wanted in maths lessons...well this particular lesson I was sat at the back with my head in the angling times...when mr walker saw this he remarked that his dad was a famous angler and his name was dick walker. ( I couldn't believe it his dad was my angling hero ) And if we could get enough interest he would get his dad to come and do a talk after school one evening......I remember it like it was yesterday dick walker sitting on the steps to the stage....smoking roll ups ( not frowned upon in those days) with around 20 kids on chairs in a semi circle around him while he done a Q&A type of thing ....what made it was the fact that it was quite a laid back affair just like we were all a group of mates talking about fishing and he was there for around two hours...something I'll never forget......and mr walker the maths teacher ? We never gave him any more grief for the remainder of our time at school

 

[Gary Cream]

Thats a co incidence I havent looked at the site for a couple of weeks and just before I read this thread I posted on `fish on fruit`thread about fishing somewhere 45 years ago

 

[Dave Taylor]

Hah,...Anthony,..your post reminded me of when my dad and I used to fish an estate lake near Dorking in the 70's.
It was Broome Hall and we had almost exclusive fishing through my mum's firm at the time.
Unbeknown to us ,..and the company's fishing section,...the hall changed hands and was brought by the late Oliver Reed.
Dad and I only found this out when we were unceremoniously escorted off the estate by the new owner,...armed with a shotgun along with his dogs one morning!
I don't believe me,...or dad,...had ever felt so intimidated

http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2011/11/15/article-2061650-00D25A8600000190-812_468x363.jpg

I did bump into him a few times in the local boozer in later years, and he seemed a pussy cat,...unlike the day he chucked us off that lovely lake!

 

[Steve Walker]

When I was in my mid teens I was fascinated by an estate lake about 5 miles from where I lived.It was about 2 acres in size,reed fringed with extensive lily pads on the surface and surrounded by willows whose elegant branches draped into the water.

There was a small stream that flowed in at one end and a dam wall at the other which was deeper.It looked an absolute picture to an aspiring angler and just screamed fish to me.I spent some hours fish spotting and was excited to see signs of bottom feeding fish as the tiny tell tale bubbles appeared on the surface as the shoal steadily moved across the lake hoovering up the bottom.I didn't know if they were carp,tench or bream but was soon to find out.

The only people that were allowed to fish the lake were pupils at the small school next to it and residents of the nearby tiny hamlet.There was no signs of anyone fishing it whatsoever,the bank side vegetation remained undisturbed and I suspected it was a virgin water.I decided to chance my luck and fish it.

One warm sunny morning in the school holidays I caught the bus to the village,armed with my rudimentary fishing tackle and a small tub of lobworms.On arriving at the lake I was struck on how calm it was,there was no wind at all and the surface was like a mirror reflecting the surrounding trees and vegetation.It was gorgeous and perfect for fishing,especially as there was a few blows from feeding fish at the deeper end near the dam wall.

I hurriedly tackled up my 7'6''solid fibre glass rod and intrepid black prince reel,a porcupine quill float with a red and black tip and a size 12 hook completed the set up.I positioned my small wicker basket on the wall within casting distance of the bubbles.After a few minutes I had found the depth and was fishing in 6 feet of water and laying on with a lobworm.
It didn't take long before the float slid away and I pulled into a weighty fish.It was a heart stopping fight with the fish making some strong runs into the lily pads in it's attempts to escape.

After a great fight and about 5 minutes that seemed a lot longer there was a huge red eyed tench in the landing net,fantastic,I was still trembling with excitement as I removed the hook.I didn't have scales in those days so can only guess the weight.I like to think it was around 7-8lbs but looking back it was probably closer to 5,the weight was immaterial because I had achieved something special that day which will live with me forever.

I returned the tench carefully to the lake and she swam off strongly apparently none the worse for the experience,it would more than likely be the first and only time the fish was caught.

I continued fishing but my fun didn't last much longer because after another 10 minutes the estate gamekeeper arrived and cleared me off,he was quite firm but fair and made it clear that if he caught me again my tackle would be confiscated.

I had only been on the water for less than 30 minutes but I wasn't at all disappointed as it had been a magical half hour.