When is a fishing trip a birdwatching session?

Recently, when pursuing the usual one bite, one fish tactic, it became apparent for the first time that more of the session than ever before was actually spent gazing around me than on the superficial object of the outing, the float

Now, given that the bite when it came would be visually unavoidable this was not to be seen as an issue necessarily but it did confirm that this really was something completely new. Match fishing never felt like this. The thought that one might take an eye off the float for long enough to identify a female reed bunting perched in the phragmites was unthinkable, literally the thought would not enter one’s head

The prospect of sitting for hours without that degree of focus would have been a n-starter. How could one possibly adequately compete if the commitment wasn’t there?

One thing which the more ‘specialist’ approach allows is the ability to drift into other worlds while one awaits the inevitable additional excitement of the initial interest followed by the capture

Those who are sufficiently in need of distraction to have followed this blog recently will realise that there have been occasions when ‘makes’ of dog have been suitably enthralling at times, especially those days when the one bite was looking dubious

The main secondary interest, though often obvious in their presence, are birds

It is unusual to rack-up a list of less than ten species while sat there enjoying the, often, morning canal-side air and there are passers-by putting in regular appearances which buck the RSPB’s perceived trend, most notably the bullfinch, a bird considered in such plight as to be ‘amber-listed’ as an expression of its conservation concern and yet, nearly always, present on the canal-side wherever there are suitably dense and continuous hawthorn/brambles on the banks 


Early morning, long distance, kestrel on wire

One remains ever hopeful of seeing the odd rarity, or even scarcity, under such circumstances but in reality this is very unusual. By definition it would be of course but it is noticeable that the canal despite its generally perceived ecological value is not all it might be. Passing as a very thin ribbon of water hedges and ocsasional trees through pasture and arable land is not an ideal substrate against which to promote a highly biodiverse ecological community 

However, with a reasonable level of appreciation of bird calls and song it can be fruitful to pick-up species passing overhead and it is this that has brought home the expansion of the raven in Warwickshire. Having once had the dubious honour of being the first person to see this bird at Rutland Water some years back it is one which always resonates when that deep gruff ‘cronk, cronk’ call approaches from any direction. Their growth toward the east seems to mirror that of the buzzard a decade or so previous

Long lens shot of ravens on tower

Strange things do happen though and in the same way that the angler might pursue a PB or another specimen of whatever species or size we always enjoy the unusual for reasons which really do not need to be explored. Three examples of this have occurred just outside Rugby in the past two years involving wading birds and, twice, the same species

On a day when only stale bread was available for bait (don’t ask) an attempt to concoct a paste out of it on the bank went slightly wrong. Ultimately despite the biggest topping shoal of fish to go at only one bite was mustered (as per normal!), the highlight of the occasion was the strangest bird call and one never consciously heard before. It emanated from two locations simultaneously indicating not one but two individuals and, thanks to the wonders of modern technology by a process of elimination using an iPhone app it was narrowed down to whimbrel, never heard or seen one before nor since. The closest bird was ‘clearly’ very close indeed on the far bank but concealed by the bankside vegetation between us at all times

The other two unusual sightings both involved woodcock and, again, remain the only encounters within memory although they are not uncommon in the right territory of damp woodland. The first was in a lengthy period of freezing weather when at first glance through a misty windscreen what initially appeared to be a female mallard was probing in the grassy verge by a quite busy road. Something however wasn’t quite right and a quick turnaround and revisit showed the out of place bird to be a woodcock forced to take refuge in such exposure where the only ground soft enough to probe was right next to the road. The next woodcock event was alluded to in a previous post http://floatflightflannel.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/interlude.html when an individual wholly concealed in dense undergrowth on the far bank emitted soft croaking sounds for a few minutes, again unmistakably confirmed by recordings  

The trend however is for a list of around 10 to 20 species to be compiled in a two hour period with a certain bunch of core birds such as thrush species in winter and warblers in summer supplemented by the crow family, the ever present woodpigeon and, a personal favourite, moorhen plus variable finches, buntings, tits, together with mallard, mute swan, skylark, etc.

Redwing seeking haws at dawn

Returning to angling had, on the face of it, taken away opportunities to birdwatch. Previously a trip out to obtain a list of thirty or forty species would have been very enjoyable but the new found benefits of a more open-minded attitude to angling has allowed the two to flourish in conjunction so they both can be enjoyed and a fishing trip genuinely can be a birding session at the same time albeit within the limitations of the habitat

Let’s face it; it’s just about being out there!

References:
Birds of Conservation Concern (RSPB)

List for 16th November when the fishing interest was just one roachXbream hybrid of a tad under the pound in a session from 7 to 9am:
Moorhen, mallard, fieldfare, kingfisher, gull sp., redwing, starling, house sparrow, robin, blackbird, magpie, carrion crow, woodpigeon, jackdaw, chaffinch, blue tit, wren, bullfinch, raven, song thrush

Up and Running Water



How narrow can a swim be? The narrowest I have ever fished by around 5 metres


Well, it happened

Health, almost, restored...mild temperatures...time to commence the new era and head for the canal river!

The horizontally, and vertically, meandering Leam was the destination. A new venue, nay river, for me.

New 11' Avon; half hundred-weight of gear distilled into one rucksack/seaty thing, I was amazed how little kit I could get away with taking; 5.6lb line straight through to an 8 with a link leger and later free-lining (freelining!!) big lumps of flake - what was going-on here?!

For a man brought up to fish in February with a single squatt on the finest of wire 26's to 0.55mm hook length in the hope of avoiding a blank on the hardest of hard venues this was the angling equivalent of changing from a Mini to a Land Rover 130 and expecting to get the hang of it immediately, or at least within the two hours I had set-aside before the Cup Final started - penalties, I ask you - in the words of Edwin Starr, 'There has to be a better way '

So there I was, the first peg that appeared deep enough and I couldn't resist stopping just there armed only with a John Dwyer White Tin Loaf and mental notes of Tony Miles' chapter on chub fishing with bread crust (this paragraph to be read in the style and accent of Neil Oliver, of 'Coast' fame, for full effect)

The emotion, the smell (cattle drink), the noise of unruly kids out for walk with parents all burning-off the roast beef, the birdsong, the unexpected warmth, the clear water and a feeling of prominence, the confusion - boy was I confused. The simplest of issues had me taxed; no towpath (no path, even), no level area, no seat legs to set me all comfy-like, the mud, the crackling seed-head remnants of last years tall ruderals to tangle in, no keepnet to set, no depth to plumb, no whistle to await or to race to get ready before. 'Okay, let's just calm down and get the seating position right', I told myself. Once that had been achieved, calm did descend and the thought of fishing started to come to the fore



The first peg and scene of much confusion


The simple set-up was copied from the mental note...a two swanshot link looped-over the mainline stopped with an AAA and a 6" tail to the aforementioned 8 hook, a hook which in a previous life I would have considered a possible contender as a gaff. This wasn't just new ground, this was igneous rock to my previous soft silt but there was one over-riding factor telling me this really would be okay and that was the manner in which Tony Miles had written his book. I felt the same in 1977, and many times since, when dipping into Kevin Ashurst's 'World Class Match Fishing', which, although ghosted by Colin Dyson, comes across as the advice of man totally at ease with his outstanding ability, displaying a confidence that could easily have been received as a sign of conceit if mishandled but was carefully balanced to come across as supreme belief in the methods rather than falling into the trap that some other fishing writers have been ensnared by over the years. Miles' matter of fact 'this will work' attitude had me convinced from the moment I read it. I just knew it could work, the rest remained to be seen

The water really was clear and the reflection of a passing azure bullet exaggerated the fact, kingfisher number two followed 20 seconds later on the same flight path (now a species of European conservation concern according to RSPB). I thought initially it may have been possible to see the bottom of the whole swim and when I had at first introduced a handful of mashed bread (prior to the confusion episode) into the restricted flow between bulrush beds it seemed to glow as it burst out into widening pool below. After I had started to fish however it became apparent that the crease between slack water and main flow, or what flow there was, ran into deeper water such that the mommy crust actually disappeared as it sank ('mommy' - chewy, not crunchy...The Old Trout's glossary of the essential terms of life)

I fairly soon realised that 2SSG was far too heavy but then conversely and immediately learned that it takes quite some weight to sink a 2" round tear of flake but after some jiggerypokery managed to balance the rig so that it gently moved round into the slack from the flow

Fifteen minutes of getting to know the swim accompanied by a fairly regular twitching of the tip - this bit I thought I would struggle with but, again, Miles' words helped me resist a change to a light rig in the need to catch anything that would bite - must have been followed by the kind of savage bite he had warned me about. I say 'must have' because I don't actually remember it, what I recall is striking and a fish kiting towards the far rush bed. This was where the Avon was to come into play, no line given, no option of back-winding here!, just hang-on and lean into it. Although the fish felt at least 30 times larger than my usual stamp it was tamed fairly easily with this kit, apart from a short-lived wrap around some weed on the inside

Safely in the net, the words 'it worked' emerged from the corner of my mouth, out loud and with a visible exclamation mark. Followed by the whispered 'how big is that?!' Composure was (relatively) soon regained and logic applied to the situation 'Okay it's not five or even four pound' and it wasn't even three but it was the biggest chub I've had for many a year. It went 2.5.0 on my trusty 'Little Samson's, dug-out of retirement and calibrated with the official and traditional bag of sugar earlier in the day. As I said, 30 times my usual stamp. Then came the flap about wanting to photograph the fish but being concerned about it being put back, so hasty pictures were taken, just to prove the capture, and we can work on that aspect some other time



Not a real chub by most bloggers' standards, admittedly, but certainly one by mine

The disturbance lead to the conclusion that in reality I was unlikely to catch anything else here. I gave it a while longer, without the previous constant tapping of the tip, and decided to move on to another peg for the next 45 minutes or so before I had to leave. The same tip-twitching activity occurred in peg 2, accompanied by the metallic squeak of a treecreeper investigating the gnarled bark of far bank trees on its vertical spiral, and here I also tried freelining, starting to understand what it really took to sink such a bouyant bait but there were no proper bites to experience at this point, the peg having been fished earlier in the day, and time soon drifted away



Peg 2, and the glint of a low sun

 Packing away took seconds, not half an hour, so that was also good and the walk back and trip home were undertaken with that long-lost feeling of accomplishment. However small this event may have been in the scale of things generally it was a big step for me and the first of many I am now certain. Already the target of a four pound river chub has been set as the next goal, although I am not into the realms of airing, sharing or even considering PB's or the like yet. That is some way off and I am not currently sure that is the route this little escapade is due to take, so much remains to be discovered about...er...so much and yet I have fished for 25 years or so in the past. How blinkered we can become


References:
The Complete Specimen Hunter, Tony Miles
Birds of Conservation Concern 3, http://www.rspb.org.uk/
Distant memory