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Waveney Tench A first ever Tench weighing in at 5 lbs 6 ozs, was a fine fish to start the year for 14-year old Cherry Tree Junior, John Black from Earsham. Waveney Correspondent Dave Gladwell also had this pair on double caster, with the best 6 lbs 1 oz, from a dyke just a few yards off the mainstream of the River Waveney at Bungay, fishing comparatively light on the pole. Dave Gladwell writes...The Glorious 16th June - a decade or so agoFive a.m. and the day's dawn past but the first moments of the new river fishing season were fresh upon the fields heavy with dew. The strengthening summer sun shone through between leaves of large bushes and small trees to illuminate the scene set before my tread upon the dampened path. Bird song filled the air and new fresh green grass stood out boldly welcoming us to the water's edge, the Dog, and I. Along the Hoxne Mill stream a small dace rose dimpling the surface and a Kingfisher zoomed past in a flash of brilliant colour with a high-pitched squeaking call. My mind filled with the tune, "I see skies of blue" and run on to the strains of "A Wonderful World", for truly so it looked. As we crossed the weir and glanced down into the clear and fast flowing pool a pair of four-pound chub moved away to skulk at the edges of the eddy. "Later my friends. Later," I murmured. Moving upstream to be opposite the deep Broadwater willow plantation, I carefully threaded the four-pound maxima through the eyes of the rod at my appointed place. Next was to put two float rubbers on to attach the two-inch peacock quill as a bait indicator. Its tiny blob of a red head seemed exciting and bearing optimism already as I twisted the line tying on the size 12 spade end hook. Just two no. 4 shot, 12" inches from the end, to get the bait down to hold steady right at the bottom in eight feet of the Wonderful Waveney's gentle flow of early summer. For two day's previous from the opposite bank I'd catapulted pieces of lobworm into the deeper hole as it ran close to the bank on the other side. This morning the baited swim edged along at my feet as I set the float. The 5" lobworm was pierced an inch down and the hook passed completely through, then a number 6 shot placed on the line to hold up the head 4" from the hook. Next the black hook was pulled down to straighten the line and fed into the tail of the lob passing around the bend, concealing the shank, with just the point showing. The worm was perfectly stretched out all of its length. I parted the nettles carefully making a place to stand. Knowing the depth well, peering through Polaroid glasses into the clear water it opened up like a magic box featured in a dream. Small roach hung in the current mid water, some bigger ones deeper down static with hardly a fin moving. My bait too big for their attentions, slowly settled just at the bottom beneath them almost cocking the float.
They come in all sizes, and Aimee Hayward-Rutter of Wenhaston, caught this little one at Bales Nursery Fishery Ellingham on the Families Day run for Suffolk County Council by their Welfare Officer Lindsay Woolton of Ditchingham, and Dave Gladwell as NFA Coach in May. Striving to keep relaxed I twitched the bait again, and this time the float bobbed in response. That tiny red tip dibbled three times and stood still again. Seven seconds seemed an interminable age and then it slid away positively. I raised the tip of the rod and firmly struck into the bait taker. An encouraging bend and a powerful run towards the dense water cabbage was encountered with gentle sidestrain and the maxima line cut through the loose streamer weed sending severed strands up to float on the surface. The fish turned and came nearer to me and I saw the golden flash of its flanks before the dark shape strained again for the lillies with all the power it possessed. As the Tench entered the lilies their yellow heads sticking out of the water shook and jiggled giving indication of the interloper's presence. It bored deeper and a stream of bubbles came to the surface. Placing the top three feet of the rod in the water to keep the angle of pressure low now, there was a slow response. Out he came now, still swimming deep with the spooned fins spread strongly in the water to give maximum resistance in the tussle. Now I could see the head with the lowborn hanging from the tough lips. Two feet below the surface and tiring, but a swirl on the top said the game was not yet over. Three minutes later though, tamed and tired, after runs and deep bores, the previously angered head came. Its body turned on a side, ready to be drawn over the landing net. The loan of life was mine to admire for a while out of his environment.
This tiny tench held in the hand of Club-man Terry Buck is just one of many that came out from the Cherry Tree Club Pit when we were removing some of the excess "Hornwort", also in the hand, during February and was from a late spawning last year. Then so it was done and my heart full of the rich pleasures to come in the next few months of dreamy summer days. A bumblebee gathered the first of the pollen, a peacock butterfly landed nearby and the world was at peace, here, far-flung from wars and the starving poor. I reached for the rod ready to move on towards another swim but the float entwined in the long nettles. Leaning over to free them the Dog nudged me in its nosiness. I suddenly knew it was too late to defy the forces of gravity. Slippery sods beneath me started to slowly convey me into the river. In suspended animation and without much humour the placid surface received my unruly intrusion parting as it baptised me in full immersion. The nettles stung my hands and my neck on the way in and I knew that ten strokes were the best idea to make exit in shallower water. I swear the damned Dog was laughing as it ran along the bank. "Have a nice time," someone observed when we arrived home.
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With an anticipation of excitement I started to dribble in a dozen one-inch pieces of chopped lob. Time stood still with us, the Dog and I, beside the overhanging hawthorne bush and an intrusive pheasant's call disturbed the quiet air. As the minutes passed I tweaked the bait gently hoping to make any slowly cruising or rooting tench notice it. Eventually, although no fish was to be seen in the darkened depths, a few small bubbles started to break the surface as the silt and sediment were disturbed by a feeding fish, or maybe two now, as they increased in volume.
All of its colours implanted themselves on my eye and in my mind. The green of the back and the golden sides of scales so small they were defined as a skin. The tiny orange eye gleamed out clear at us, the Dog and I, as I gently unhooked the fish. Still in the net I placed him back in the river and in a few moments my guest was away fully recovered, gently moving the large tail to propel him home. Wonderful!