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Dave Gladwell writes...TARE-AWAY TENCHAs a lad, being born a Gemini had only one snag, and that was your birthday fell in the old Closed Season. Consequently any tackle present had to endure a patient wait before use. Even worse, Baptist boys were not allowed to fish on Sundays and here in 1952 the glorious 16th of June fell right on. However shillings could be spent in the much esteemed Jefferey's Gun & Tackle shop in Guildford's old cobbled High Street, almost opposite the Town Clock. Alluring floats and Alcock's model perfect hooks with a thin round bend, laid beneath glass counters for inspection. A fantastic range of guns, alongside split cane rods dwelt in this place of reverence, learning, daydreams and aspirations. Whilst pouring over enviable items of the piscatorial art, a well dressed young man with a hoity-toity voice sidled up. "Ha ha. Fisherman eh? Sister works in Lloyd's Bank over the road what?" he enthused. I confirmed the fact for dear girl, older than I, was not short on natural beauty and ample charms that attracted ardent admirers. "How would you like to come and fish my tench lake on the Estate?" he asked. The very thought of it made my hands shake in anticipation; for such an opportunity I would have sold dear Sister into the Arab white slave trade my Mum waffled on about. June and her West Indian, beautiful best-friend, Saluke, whose welcoming home was a place full of colour, laughter and pulsating music, agreed to be collected in a Land Rover for an afternoon out. Mother issued warnings on the evils of men, but finally endorsed the outing. Weekend eventually came, so Spratty and I at 7 a.m. set out upon our trusty steeds. The Sturmey Archer 3-speed worked its wonders as the Raleigh roadster sped along. Rods strapped on our crossbars, wicker baskets on backs, net bags flapping off the handlebars, optimism was our driver. We entered the spacious grounds. Green, well-kept lawns ran away from the drive, with mighty oaks and elms set upon them. The young Master winced at my slightly-soiled fellow Secondary School soul-mate; Sebastian Sprat, clad, like me, in short trousers of the day, but took us to the water. This fantastic lake took our breath away. Great Alba lily leaves, 18" inches in diameter, turned up erect from the lake's rich water edging in a slight breeze, whilst others laid flat and inviting creating smooth surfaced places. Overhanging trees dappled their leaves into the water, whilst elsewhere others, fallen victims of great age, or fierce storms, with bare bleached trunks laid out into the 5-acre lake. Spratty, always a mine of information and expert in exaggeration, jabbed his finger forward. "Perch mate! Typical venue. Maybe new record tench here today though! Tell you now!" Rudd dimpled the surface and we edged along the trunk of a fallen tree with some fresh white bread to eventually lay on it gazing into 3' of deep crystal clear water. Wonderfully green Canadian pond weed with a miniature leaf covered the bottom, longer strands creeping plentifully towards the top.
Soon into view came a pair of stately slow-swimming tench. Enchanted we watched as they nibbled gently at the stems, seemingly suspended in midwater. "Must both be record fish," Spratty announced fired by an early edition of the Angling Times itemising the greatly admired Captain Parker's title stood at a mighty 8 lbs 8 ozs! They ignored our bread samples and kept on feeding at the black dots on the stalks. We moved to get our tackle and in doing so spooked them, not to return. Rudd obliged regularly but calamity came. A jack pike swirled and took a fish. Spratty's tank arial rod adopted a menacing curve. Enthused he tried to reposition himself on the trunk, and slipped in with a holler. Muddied, bedraggled, but triumphant he emerged like a monster from the deep brandishing his pike. Laugh! I nearly wet myself! We pulled off some weed and decided the black blobs were baby snails but too small to put on our hook. It was years before I realized their relevance and potential. Spratty's wellies squelched as the enticing lake drew us towards one of its shallow bays with spiky grass sticking out and huge fish browsing in the warm water. A departing carp's bow wave signalled excitement, and nodding reeds even more monsters. We retired to adjust our tackle with shaking hands, and soon Dad's allotment lobs were laid a foot on the bottom under a large horizontal porcupine quill, impaled on an "mp" size ten. "Get that up your nose Captain Parker," Spratty acclaimed. It was ages before my float done anything. Sebsy claimed the giant lob was moving it, but eventually it changed angle to wave the red top before it took off at a great rate of knots. My Alcock's Viking 10' Spanish reed rod flashed its red varnish in the sun and bent obediently as the greenheart tip took the impetus. The six-pound wax-dressed line resisted the charges and soon before us on the bank laid my first beautiful tench. The little orange eye stood out startlingly in the summer sun against the rich green, and golden flanks, with the male's trowel-like pelvic fins protruding proudly, instilling a romance to be maintained until this very day.
"Can't be far off the record," Spratty optimistically announced; but the scales didn't lie that day and the small brass spring balance eventually ground its way down to 3 lbs. A rowing boat appeared and a cultured voice, tremoured in dulcet tones. The standing occupant looked bold and brave expertly paddling like a red Indian towering over his squaws. "Caught one then old chap? Coming in to see!" My Sister looked happy in her blue chequered summer dress, square cut neck with the short puffed sleeves, and her best Friend's new bra created a distinctly provocative effect under the light, tight turquoise cardigan. Like a magnet the stunningly attractive Saluke drew rapidly maturing Spratty towards them. Soon he was wading out thigh deep to the boat. In great glory I held before me my pristine tench for the wonderment and acclaim of my piscatorial prowess for all to admire. As he reached the boat Spratty trod on a mussel or something sharp. In one terrible instant he overbalanced, and grasped the edge of the boat. It rocked and stayed, one miniscule moment, frozen in time, at a precarious angle! Then, it ungraciously capsized its occupants into the lake amidst raucous laughter from the girls. Our host, was not so amused, offering up words Baptists left out of a Christian vocabulary, whilst openly doubting Spratty's parentage! We disappeared in great haste, Spratty truly fearful of his Mum's pending wrath. My Sister arrived home wearing a borrowed old-fashioned dress with a headscarf on, looking cross bred between a char lady and an irate Rajah. Mother went berserk at the state of her muddy dress. She rushed outside and berated the young Toff with venom we knew well, holding a major inquest as to where the girls had changed and whose clothes they were. Half the terraced street heard it and tittered together. My popularity bottomed out at zero, but now I was officially a "tench trapper", and obviously to crack that record would now be a mere formality! ( I am still trying fifty years later! ) It was years before I realised lessons to be learned that day. Many times I have seen tench feeding up the stalks of weed, sometimes clad by big tadpoles. The species in contravention of most anglers' views is far from exclusively a bottom-feeding fish. Not just popped up baits are effective, but mid water and above for cruisers, then, quite often turning up on a slowly presented off-the-bottom stick float, as shown in previous contributions. I found they favour many black baits, and will take tares in the early season, mirroring part of their natural diet. Soak them for 48 hours first, then simmer in water with a teaspoonful of bicarbonate of soda to soften. For blacking, at one time I melted a little Cherry Blossom Black Boot polish and added it while they cooled, but these days use a black food colouring die (either paste or liquid), to just give a final one minute boost in the microwave. Cautionary tip is that if microwaved it takes a few times to get used to how long to leave them after cooking, absorbing the cooking water, for size and softness. Sometimes on still water, for close in, I prefer so soft, the skin is almost splitting and need a fairly fine hook to keep them together. Other times just three on a hair rig to a black size sixteen strong eyed hook is enough for pleasing fish up to 5 lbs. As a single sample, almost as hard as a hemp seed, it is a great bait for quality roach, rudd and dace.
Try to get something in the picture to compare size with. The dandelions really enhance this 5 lb broad tailed male - caught on black sweetcorn in late May this year. ! Dave Gladwell Can you let us know by email if there are any questions you would like to ask Dave regarding fishing technique, equipment or any fishing tips. www.bungay-suffolk.co.uk
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