Have we created the most cautious generation of pike ever? - Dom Garnett

I’m not going to lie to you, recent fishing has been a grind. My results wouldn’t flatter Sheffield United right now, especially when it comes to trying to catch a better pike or two.

It would be nice to think that after 30-odd (sometimes very odd) years of pike angling, these fish would be a formality. But no, they seem as moody as I’ve ever found them.

Pike seem as moody as I’ve ever found them

Have I got worse as an angler? Probably not. What I lack in free time, I ought to make up for in experience. But the one massive culture shift since I first started casting plugs and spinners in anger is the huge increase in fishing pressure. When I was growing up in the 1980s, it was a genuine novelty to see a pike angler. Devotees of the species were seen not so much as specialists as ‘a bit special’.

The far better tackle and greater respect for pike we have decades later should be welcomed. However, the massive increase in angler numbers has taught us that pike are not as daft as we thought.

Have we created the most cautious generation of pike ever? From fish that have a phobia of lures, to ridiculously gentle takes on bait, this would seem to be the case. If anything, it probably helps protect them against poaching – not that it’s much consolation when you’re sat by a canal contemplating a third blank on the trot!

Maybe you could argue that picky fish force us to be better anglers. Fly fishing has been a revelation on waters peppered with lures, while groundbaiting, popped-up baits and even night fishing have also helped me avoid blanks.

The real magic bullet, however, is to find venues and spots that haven’t been relentlessly fished. Easier said than done when the options are limited by Covid rules, or you live in an area with quite underwhelming pike fishing.

My results speak for themselves in terms of sheer desperation! Perhaps three-quarters of my pike have been caught on a fly rod after increasingly long walks from popular swims. Meanwhile, it’s also telling that I’ve really struggled on standard deadbaits. Or, at least, the only times I still seem to catch much are when the weather is horrendous or I stay on the bank into darkness!

Another cold day on the canal, where I have failed spectacularly so far

One thing you can say about pike is that on any venue with deep margins they will still feed close to the bank if you can only find ‘bite o’clock’. Just don’t expect them to feed at sociable hours or send line spilling of the reel like a runaway train. 

The incredibly feeble bite my last double gave is symptomatic of this new school of pike fishing – to succeed, you need to cast away your assumptions, walk further and fish smarter than ever before. 

"A reality check is overdue on the price of fishing. It’s amazing value" - Dom Garnett

Complaining about the cost of living was a national obsession well before any pandemic, but you do wonder sometimes when it comes to the value of fishing.

Yes, it can cost a bomb if you want to join a carp syndicate or fly fish the chalkstreams. And yes, many of us instantly double the cost by accumulating enough tackle for three people. But is the cost of going fishing really so terrible?

I had to chuckle wryly to myself the other day as regulars at a day-ticket lake moaned about parting with eight quid. The last time I went to a fourth tier football match I paid three times that amount just for a seat, and still had to fork out for a pint and a match day programme.

My last day-ticket fishing session was a case in point. I was fishing a pretty rural lake and all I needed to get bites for pretty much the whole of an enjoyable morning was a pint of maggots and a few worms from the compost heap.

I have no desire to stir up a hornet’s nest here, but perhaps a reality check is overdue on the price of fishing.

Our sport offers incredible value for money. Thirty quid for an annual licence is not even 60p a week, and kids are free. Yearly club tickets can be had for well under £50 in most areas. So why do some of us still talk of daylight robbery? Do these people never take the wife to the pictures or pick up the tab on a family meal out?

Thirty quid for an annual licence is not even 60p a week

Coarse and carp anglers, I have to say, are especially curmudgeonly on this score. As an all-rounder I quite regularly pay £20-£50 for a day’s fly fishing on a beautiful river or lake (I really should work harder on my Z-list celebrity status to get more freebies!).

Is the same fee really so unthinkable just because I happen to be casting a stick float or feeder?

In an era where the country creaks with debt and jobs are uncertain, it’s inevitable that people start to sigh about the price of everything from bacon baps to city centre parking.

Yes, there is real hardship out there and it can be brutal on families. But could it be that a huge part of angling’s massive Covid-era resurgence is the incredible value our sport offers? Perhaps it’s time we asked an honest question or two, therefore. Yes, the price tag of a day’s fishing can vary from “a fiver if I catch you” to three figures; but what’s the true value of a day’s fishing?

What price those few hours of anticipation, relaxation and excitement? 

Far from being a rip off, our sport is an absolute steal.

What’s the true value of a day’s fishing?

Bottle that intense yearning to fish - Dom Garnett

There are infinitely more important concerns than fishing right now but when angling of any sort is off limits, the very thought of casting into your favourite swim seems like a delicious, forbidden pleasure. 

Even just taking a ride along the canal near home (if you’re still allowed to by the time you read this!), you might be forgiven for feeling like a recovering alcoholic walking past Oddbins. Never mind an all-day session in the local hotspot, I’d give my left arm for just a solitary hour in a duff swim right now. 

While a global pandemic will always be more important than filling a keepnet, a degree of frustration is understandable. Alarmingly, the reaction from our more vocal anglers has been rather like the classic five stages of grief, from denial – “Fishing is exercise, they can’t stop me!” to anger – “How dare they tell me what I can and can’t do?” – to bargaining – “If my neighbour can go cycling, why can’t I fish?”      

Acceptance is now the only way forward. But weird as it sounds, rather than just grumbling and turning on Netflix, we should try to bottle that intense yearning to fish. Once things return to some shade of normality I believe we will treasure our freedom to get out on the bank like never before. Far from bringing bitterness, a forced absence from fishing should make us more grateful than ever for the riches we have. Because the plain truth is that we take so much of it for granted. 

We just assume we can go fishing for whatever we like, whenever we like. We have one bad day at a fishery and decide that it’s rubbish. We get so fixated on catching massive fish or winning matches that we miss 101 other joys along the way. We whinge freely about problems A to Z, but spend far less breath celebrating all that is good in our sport, not least all the amazing work done for us by angling clubs, fisheries and volunteers. 

Well, perhaps now, at long last, more of us might gain some perspective on what angling really means to us and our communities. 

Never mind catching every fish in the lake or smashing PBs, just being out in the fresh air and going fishing in a safe, free country is a great privilege. 

Regardless of what we catch, won’t that first session back feel amazing? We should make that first cast not only with happiness and relief, but a sense of deep gratitude and a renewed appreciation of just how good we really have it.