You will be able to tell what sort of fisherman I am, as I rather enjoy all the uncertainty it involves. Every visit is different. Nature is always so changeable. The only guarantee is that it will be different tomorrow. I am not someone who needs to catch a fish every time to enjoy the experience. Being there is often enough, and more often than not, I don’t catch anything anyway.
As I write this piece, the sandpipers have just arrived at the lake, and I can guarantee no one else has seen them yet. Even if they had, they wouldn’t know what they were. I popped by the lake, like I do most days on the way in from work, to flick a bit of bait in the margin, and there they were. Always a good indication that warmer weather is finally on the way. This lake is only a small syndicate, with limited public access. Watching the sandpipers glide over the water so elegantly and effortlessly is mesmerizing, only interrupted by a streak of the brightest blue zipping past.
When I finished school and got sole use of a car, the idea of new ventures, moving onto lakes with bigger fish, and achieving “personal bests” was my motivation. I think it is for most at a young age. However, as life progressed, my interests went full circle back to where I started—with general coarse fishing. The hours spent watching a float dotted down next to a set of lily pads for an unsuspecting crucian, waiting in the setting sun for the quiver tip to double over for another large stripey, or observing the encircling bubbles of a tench around your baited area—these are the moments I cherish.
I am always on the lookout for new waters and adventures, and I shall not cease from exploration. At the end of all my exploring, I will arrive where I started and know the place for the first time. If fishing were certain and predictable, it would be rather dull. It is the failure to catch as many as I should that keeps me trying. The only unsuccessful fisherman is the one who isn’t enjoying what they are doing.
I enjoy fishing for a variety of species and have a strong focus on nature, with a mindset to preserve and conserve. This often allows me to witness the great pageantry of life in the wild. I have frequented the big pits in France for several decades, which contain an abundance of waterfowl and, unfortunately, a growing population of the “flying black death” that has swamped and destroyed so many rivers and lakes in the UK. That, coupled with the march of the otter, has left many fisheries on the brink of destruction and closure. Fortunately, we have started our own fight back, with great intervention from grants and education on the subject.
In contrast to the vast public waters of France, I also enjoy the intimacy of smaller lakes. There’s something truly relaxing about being beside a tranquil pond, armed with a float rod, a pinch of bread flake or cheese, lilies aplenty, and just the sound of songbirds in the background. The occasional topping of a crucian and the ripple in the water as the float gets tugged down—it’s an experience that never loses its charm.
Small nests woven by warblers are tucked away in the reed beds that line many a lake, and if one is lucky enough, perhaps even the shy, timid, and elusive water rail will poke its head out. I regret to say that if you have never had these experiences of intimate, quiet ponds growing up, then you really have missed out on something very special indeed. I am fortunate that both my grandad and father were interested in fishing. Unfortunately, Grandad never made old bones, so over the years, I ended up showing Dad what to do.
My interests are vast, and photography became yet another feather in my cap. It all started when I went on holiday to the south coast with my partner’s family around 2013/14. My now-wife had a niece who was very small at the time, perhaps one or two years of age. My memory, at times, is awful—I forget more than I know! So, I bought a camera as a way to look back on memories of old and recollect these small events in our short, busy lives. I hasten to say I thoroughly enjoyed having a camera on holiday and taking lots of pictures. Like fishing, I got the bug, and years later, I found myself with far too much photographic equipment and many hours in the field honing my craft. What began as a simple interest turned into a hobby, then into a part-time job, and in 2020, I decided to set up a company. Nature photography, is my real passion. I’m at my happiest outdoors, away from crowds and traffic, spending endless hours roaming the countryside, being at one with nature. The British countryside has so much to offer.
The ability to combine photography with my passion for angling has allowed me to fluke some fantastic encounters—the old adage of being in the right place at the right time. My most memorable experience was in Norway some years ago when I witnessed a white-tailed sea eagle swoop down and snatch a fish from the surface. A shoal of fish had moved into the bay of the fjord, and witnessing the eagle’s precision while capturing photos of this magnificent bird was an unforgettable moment.
More often than not, we fishermen are never too far from that magnificent bird that truly knows how to fish—the kingfisher. I am lucky that most of my fishing occurs on lakes devoid of heavy human activity, so these birds are not rare to me. Thanks to fantastic conservation efforts, they are thriving. I fondly remember one misty morning in May, standing with a friend having a brew, when one flew past us across the unusually glassy lake. The mist just parted around this little blue ball as it headed off to its destination. Such moments are rare, and only the two of us got to witness it.
Fortunately, some of my roots are in Ham, nestled between Richmond and Kingston, where some very famous anglers of past and present originated. While I cannot match their angling prowess, I share their love for these waters. My childhood holidays spent with Nan saw me exploring the lakes of Richmond Park, Bushy Park, and the Thames from Kew to Shepperton. The Isabella Plantation was always a beautiful place to visit in the spring when the rhododendrons and azaleas burst into bloom. Some of the small ponds there, surrounded by these stunning old shrubs, reflect their vibrant colours beautifully in the water. If lucky, one might spot a male mandarin duck, its vibrant plumage adding to the scene.
Richmond Park and Bushy Park still play a big role in my life today. Despite living over an hour away and worsening traffic, I still find myself there at 4 AM, photographing the abundance of wildlife beyond just the vast swathes of deer. Birds like Dartford warblers, stonechats, little owls, kestrels, buzzards, kites, and even barn and tawny owls are a joy to observe. Sadly, lesser spotted woodpeckers, once common, have become increasingly rare due to the invasion of parakeets—an unfortunate parallel to the spread of invasive species like crayfish in our rivers and grey squirrels in our gardens. Adapt and overcome or else your gone, evolution takes no prisoners.
Aside from fishing, it is crucial to get out and do something with your time here. It is all too easy to fall into the trap of working 24/7. Time doesn’t wait for anyone, and today is already gone. Fishing has helped me massively over the years—getting out, speaking to friends, and focusing on the water rather than life’s daily struggles. I hope that, if nothing else, you take away from this the importance of setting aside even an hour a week to switch off and unwind.
I end my little cameo with the hope that this piece encourages at least one of you to talk to someone about any issues or worries you may have. I have lost too many friends over the years because they felt they couldn’t speak to anyone. Perhaps now is the time to change that.
The last image I leave you with is of a red-eyed tree frog—something completely different from all the others. A little element of surprise and something interesting to look at.
Long live the boy.
Ed Payne April 2025