freeline-21 - Page 148



Horton, Fosters and Midnight Mixers
(Above) Fingers on a mixer – 35lb.
(Below) The Dip.
appeared, and my mixer disappeared.
The float twitched and I struck into a
momentarily solid weight. In a second the fish changed direction
(thankfully) and shot off to the left
away from the snags, ripping line off
me on a blistering first run. Holding
on and letting it go was the only
option, and I could feel it hitting the
submerged weedbeds as it went. I
was mightily relieved when it
stopped in front of the Slope (as was
Bod, as it meant he wouldn’t be getting wiped out), and I started to inch
it back. When it was back in front it
started heading for the snags, and
with luck being on my side, it succumbed to the little pressure I could
give it. It turned and came back
towards me again and settled in for
an awesome scrap amongst the
sparse ribbon weed under the rod tip,
which was hooped over from the butt.
Eventually, perhaps 25 minutes after
hooking it, Bod scooped it into the net
for me and I tried to calm down a bit.
I didn’t recognise it at first, and I
thought it to be a new capture, but it
turned out to be Fingers for the third
time, though looking very different,
spawned-out and fighting fit at 35lb-
148 FREE LINE
plus. On checking my mainline (15lb
Double Strength) I found it very badly
frayed and very easy to snap, such
was the abuse it had taken.
The next morning I received a take
on my replaced right hand rod, which
was positioned under an overhanging
willow to the right on a nice yellow
spot, and as I played it out in the clear
water I could see it was Spite, also for
the third time. One thing that did surprise me was that considering some
of the stockies had dropped up to 10lb
they barely had a scratch on them to
show for it.
The next day, the 10th August, I
went back to the Car Park Lake for
another 48 hours and I might possibly
have caught a tench! I have to confess that after the recent deaths
(Heather and Pearly) and the restocking, I didn’t have the enthusiasm that
was required for the place, and after a
week of Heathrow Airport’s soundtrack I was more than ready for the 48
hours’ peace the place offered. When
I returned to Horton I was pleasantly
surprised to find only one angler on,
Spunky, in Springate’s and the fish
were there in numbers. After bribing
him with the promise of cider I
dropped in the Heart Tail next door,

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