So Now What?

The Challenge now behind us, the future unfurling like mist gently drifting across a meadow. No specific direction, nor apparent purpose.

For me The Challenge has become such an engaging event that I am consumed by it for the whole 12 months of its existence.

Consumed by its capacity to include all possibilities; its ability to make one target species ordinarily overlooked or put back without a glance beyond perhaps initial i.d.; it's pitting of skills and wits between anglers who are capable of anything at anytime; its handed-down drive to need to break p.b's; it's breadth of interest and perhaps, most importantly, the inate need be comfortable enough to fish all venue types with a least a modicum of competence.

On that latter point I ain't no Dick Walker or Kevin Ashurst but the pleasure to be gained in learning new methods and techniques, then applying them to ever different situations, is huge and certainly it has been a source of amazement to me that those delicate, finely tuned approaches of my match angling past can actually be less effective than a heavy duty set-up to regularly tempt those big fish.

So currently, as I write infact, with the swim baited (as it has been this past month) the alarms set, landing net poised and camera at the ready, we wait again. And again...

...and again.

After numerous baiting sessions, too many to be precise about the number, out of the blue a proper bite and just a small hybrid comes to the net but it's a start and pretty much the 'species' I was looking then [for this was before the challenge ended and a specimen of such a fish would score maximum points (110: 100 for % of 'record' size plus 10 for biggest caught overall)].

Then as the challenge fizzled-out via a simply horrendous last weekends' weather one or two big bream started to be caught and in one early session I managed a four pounder (claimed to be the smallest in the lake!) at 06.30hrs.

An hour passed and at 07.30, the alarm blipped to confirm another fish and a second bream which proved all waters p.b. blitzer of 11lbs 14ozs, beating the 7lb plus from the Warks Avon last year by a 4lbs margin that didn't even touch the sides. Now that is how to raise a p.b! It does however make most, if not all, future bream less significant.

I guess I can now see that is the curse of the true specimen hunter I've just fallen foul of - hit the target...and then what?

So the baiting continued, having sourced a supply of consistently large maggots.

One thing I always have done in prebaited swims, and this includes bonus fish areas when match fishing, is not to feed it before having an exploratory cast. Many's the time when baiting over the heads of feeding fish has caused them to scurry away.

Sunday morning was no different in this respect, although the heavy, rape pollen inundated mist hanging over The (millpond-like) Stillwater was a bonus; shrouding the sky from the fish and the angler in expectant mystery.

First cast made over three rods, 2 set-up for tench, 1 for bream, and an instant indication saw a bobbin banging it's head against the alarm, but the strike met with only fleeting resistance.

Often this can be the only bite of the day as demonstrated by a torrent of cussing and blinding immediately thereafter.

The recast met with a similar event however, this time no mistake, but equally a surprising lack of resistance from the foe. Winding-in, in clear water, a perch of just over a pound came into view.

A recast and further action. This time to strike met brief solid resistance before going slack.

Thus far, not so good, the redeeming thought being that they were clearly 'having it' and it was only a question of time.

Soon a hard fighting, clearly male, tench was on and as I played it well away from the other lines on what had been the middle rod the left alarm burst into techno song, the bobbin dropping-back to the ground as the feeder slipped. This fish went 4.9.

Soon enough though two further tench were banked. 5.6 and 5lbs dead (when I say "dead"...).

I started to wonder where this would end? Four tench and maybe another perch or two? I wasn't being greedy but wanted to make the most of what was undoubtedly goung to be a brief and rare opportunity.

The three rods sat, poised.

Left and middle 1.25tc but the right hand rod, a classic old 2.25tc and rigged for a rather different species, was next to feel the tension. A really solid fish, nodding slowly as they do, and kiting right, towards submerged rushes, but with suitable angles and pressure it was eased to the top, held there and slowly drawn to inescapability.

At first glimpse underwater it had looked around seven pounds but with the challenge of having to carefully lift the net over the other two, still expectant, lines it became clear this was a touch more special.

Having had that demolition job of an 11.14 p.b. a few days ago however I knew it wasn't quite in that bracket but on the mat it looked a 'double figure' fish, to these somewhat inexperienced eyes at least.

Sure enough it weighed in at a "get rough, get tough, 10.10" (as Heaven 17 would have had it, apologies to Messrs Ware and Gregory).

10.10 'Fight in Progress'

On return, this fish shot off in a very unbreamlike fashion as though it enjoyed the whole experience so much it had an urgent need to find some more bait...it didn't.

A further tench ensued of 4.14 together with a decent lost fish when a second alarm distracted me and the clutch wasn't adjusted quickly enough as a consequence.

Something then catches the corner of my eye.

Something tern-like but simultaneously something 'un-tern-like', both in size and in not being white.

But no, wait a second, it was a tern.

An individual black tern.

The first of the year and always an outstanding experience, such wonderful creatures that they are.

No sooner had the migrant gone out of sight than another monster bream was on the hook. Straight for the emergent rushes it headed but again it was eased up and slid across them without only the slightest twitch of anxiety.

On the scales, this second of the day's brace, registered 9lbs 15ozs (if only it had succumbed an ounce later in it's growth!).

That signalled the end of the string of bites and, totting time and total, the eight fish rolled up at forty seven and a half pounds; the bites spanning only three hours' or so of fishing and not a carp in sight.

By far the best fishing since match fishing ended and way beyond my current, and most likely future, wildest dreams.

Roll on next weekend. Ye Gods!

Bloggers Challenge Run-in

Onset of April marks the start of the final month of the Bloggers Challenge 2017/18.

One or two anglers have been able to put some good points on the scales since the New Year but most of us have struggled. However, today is the turning point in the weather with temperatures set to rise over the next fortnight to fifteen centigrade in the day but more importantly five degrees plus overnight, enabling the stillwaters and canals to boost the possibilities of some late 'summer fish'

Brian had a tremendous burst of quality fish toward the end of the river season which cemented his place in third for the time being, a hundred points behind my dear old self, sat 200 behind runaway leader James.

Scorecard

So, in the knowledge that 100 points is just three cracking fish for Brian to overtake me, I've set myself the challenge within a challenge of adding as many points in the next four weeks as I can glean and really give it a go; almost as if it had only just commenced.

It can be a fizzling last few weeks of the competition and so the prospect of some excitement in it is not to be sniffed at.

Scouring the potential identified a few species that slipped through the gaping holes in the ramshackle landing net, some of which (say it quietly) should be quite easy to catch. Others not so.

This past weekend The Canon took me to a pond known to contain ide. Thinking of it as a day-ticket fishery it still appeared to be one as I arrived, if a little full to overflowing across the path in places. On closer inspection however it was clear that under that increased water level sat platforms seemingly inches apart; a sure sign that this was a commercial fishery.

I immediately felt quite queasy but found putting my fingers in my ears and repeating, "La la la la", helped, as I stemmed the flow of blood, quite neatly actually, with sticks of pop-up foam in each nostril.

Now I had never seen an ide and had to Google it so that I could recognise one and apparently it's just a naturally coloured orfe. If a zander is a 'pike-perch' (it isn't) then an ide is a chub-roach.

A bit more research suggested the most likely method, keeping it simple, would be float fishing on the drop with regular maggot feed. I knew it could rain all morning and so rod and line was preferred to the pole.

The Canon left me to it and wandered off to find a suitable bread punch swim peg (commercial after all) less affected by the high water having advised the water was 18"-2' up on normal...and it was coloured. Well, I knew such fisheries were often coloured due simply to the action of their inhabitants and, looking at it, I felt if it had been a river I would be rubbing my hands. I set sail therefore with some self-promoted confidence.

At this point there was no one else there but, slowly, a trickle of vans bounced and splashed through the water-filled potholes just behind me and as the first one passed, a bite, a strike and the devil incarnate was hooked...a commercial carp.

Clearly there would be some risks taken here; I was after ide in a venue the population of which was generally unknown to me so I set up with a 16 hook to a 3.5lbs fluorocarbon hooklength and 4.4lbs reel line. A 4BB insert waggler with 3no.8's down the line would act as the middleman. This set-up would give me some chance of landing Satan should he bite without too much affecting the ide prospects, or so I thought.

So this carp is hooked but the hook pulls out soon thereafter. Minutes later the same event precisely. Then I hook one that doesn't seem to be in danger of coming-off and my light match rod suddenly seemed incredibly under-gunned making the fight long and, toward the end arm-achingly long-winded. Upon inspection of this 6lbs 8oz common carp the reason for the lost fish became evident. No lips. Let's call him "Marchello".

At this point a little flurry of estates and vans pass and pull-up 100 yards to my left, the occupants of which then disembark and proceed to shout to each other about the conditions.

"He's catching down there", floats down wind into the shell-like. Well, why wouldn't you? It's coloured and clearly stuffed with fish.

Soon after, a 7.4 version was dragged to the net like an unwieldy channel swimmer...with horns. This one, hooked on the outside of the orifice formerly known as a mouth, was never slipping the hook.

The maggots continued to be drizzled in. 10 at a time and constant, rather like scaled-up squatt fishing. In fact it took me back about 30 years.

So, here I am on my lightweight chair, under the gamp with my trusty centrepin offering encouragement to the blinkered pole fishing masses who decide to stay, unlike previous visitors who turned straight round and headed for breakfast.

I think there's five in this mass and they're having a 'match' albeit they seem to choose their pegs but I simply may have missed the drawer for numbers. They shout at each other while moving their gear.

"He's got another" accompanied the second fish as a water vole, yes a water vole, swam between banks. Apart from the ide the highlight of the morning.

On the drop - a smaller fish. It could be a roach, rudd, hybrid...or...the target. On the retieve it became roach or ide alternately two or three times before I swung it to hand and my first ide was banked at 8ozs. Unfortunately, in the rain and excitement, I forgot to photograph it and then dropped it back in anyway but thankfully the Challenge guys agreed the six points could count.

"You had a bite yet?"

"No mate"

"You on pellet?"

I hook and lose, after a long battle, a third sack of evil.

"You got one?"

"Yeah"

...."You lost it?"

"Yeah it's come off"

At which point the rest of the competitors shout and laugh at him. Inwardly I'm thinking, "Really?!.

The Grumpy Old Man in me is tempted to comment that, in my day, open matches started at thirty anglers and went up to 200 plus. On the odd occasion something went wrong and only a handful turned-up we'd go pleasure fishing. This wasn't a match, it was at best a knock-up and at worst a practice session. Let's face it, you'd only get Matchman of the Year points if there were a minimum of 60 competitors.

It gets harder now. I try chopped worm and hook a fourth of these dark satanic ills that again pulls-out.

The float rig gets an even more risky 18 hook in the hope of a further ide but the only other bite comes from a bream of 3.1

So I've had seventeen pounds odd of fish and lost (taking an average carp size as six pounds) 24lbs = circa 41lbs of fish due to the light tackle. The two matchmen in my 'section' are blanking.

I pack the stuff in the car and visit the Canon, who slips in that he has started catching bream...on bread punch. No pellets here either? How odd.

Approach the venue; assess the situation; fish to the conditions. It's not, as they say, rocket science, but then it's the match angler's job to know that, not mine.


With apologies to the memory of William Blake

Another Back-end to Die from.

This back-end of the traditional coarse fishing season has been, like so many others, a time of luck and opportunity.

One seeks to glean what one can from our rivers but dear old Jack Frost and John Snow(?) tend to intervene more often than not. Indeed when these two characters are not at large it's probably raining heavily anyway.

The albatross shot on the way back from Wiltshire a month or so ago hangs like a necklace of increasing pungency.

----

The Bloggers Challenge has proven a tremendous boost to the season. The careful planning of the pursuit of each species across all three platforms has been incredibly engaging and not a trip has gone by that wasn't influenced by the competition, the format of which I find completely enthralling.

I confess I had been targeting the overall leader board this time but of course in the knowledge that James would be way out in front by now; and such has been the case.

As a canal angler who has not spent any significant portion of his life fishing stillwaters (until the past three years or so) and whose regular river experience was in the distant past some thirty years back this has been an entertaining challenge and never has research been so thoroughly undertaken.

Despite this however the points-scoring fish caught to date were all duped within thirty minutes of home apart from the Hants Avon chub.

Some of the fishing has been incredible, the run of five Warks Avon barbel, smallest 9.12, for instance and the all round capacity to achieve that is Napton Reservoir.

In fact, if it were analysed, a good proportion of the fish will have come from the excellent waters of Leamington A A where much of the period has been spent.

For most participants though the challenge has been more of precisely that since Christmas. River pike had been a main target to get up above the measly 6lber extracted from the side of the keepnet in Summer 2017 but a mixture of lack of experience, the species seemingly going off the feed in general and plain bad luck conspired such that this would fail but, with a decent plan in place for the March 15th to May 1st period, the numerous hours spent in their pursuit would not, fingers crossed, prove too detrimental overall.

Chief mover over the past few days though has been Brian Roberts (no, not my local villager and former Cov City full back but of Pike Blog) with a quick burst of very impressive fish...2oz gudgeon, 8.4 bream, 1.9 roach, etc., etc.

Bloggers Challenge top 5's:

Overall:
James Denison 1089
George Burton 871
Brian Roberts 795
Russell Hilton 680
Danny Everitt 601

Rivers/drains:
James Denison 583
Brian Roberts 449
Mick Newey 376
Sean Dowling 316
George Burton 295

Stillwaters:
Brian Roberts 301
James Denison 296
George Burton 283
Danny Everitt 255
Russell Hilton 150

Canals:
George Burton 293
Russell Hilton 246
James Denison 209
Ben Hennessy 133
Danny Everitt 128

----

So thoughts have turned to next season ('always will think this way, close season or not) and I've started enquiring and negotiating access to as much of the River Leam as possible. Currently at least another four more meadows have been added to the LAA stretches, our private meadow and the Godiva length, which may well come into play again.

I'm enchanted by the challenge of the river. A bit like a child with a pond net. It doesn't have to be the biggest, longest, most overfed capture but, given it is less than 10 minutes away at its closest, is hugely varied and contains a natural range & balance of species, a concerted effort for them is a great prospect.

Each water has its ceiling on sizes. A 5.11 Hants Avon Chub might equate to a 3.6 Leam fish and therefore, despite what the national angling press might seek to sensationalise, the fact is they are as worthy as each other in their relative ways.

A quick recce on two of the new lengths highlighted the obvious - that it will be difficult to find fishable holes in summer - but autumn and winter fishing with water on should prove fruitful.

Points scoring dace from new stretch of Leam on first visit

An updated list of River Leam p.b's will probably follow by way of targets and interest moving forward.

Currently main Leam p.b's are:
Chub 3.13
Roach 1.4
Dace 0.4.6
Perch 1.12
These from very limited opportunities given the length of the river that is theoretically fishable.

Certainly pike go to double figures, perch to 2.8 min., roach to 1.14, chub must go over 4lbs somewhere and the dace potential has not been met by the waters I have fished but I suspect fish over 8ozs are present in suitable places.

----

Since the Hants Avon trip the only noteworthy catch has been a nice bream of 4.5 from the Warks Avon, on a bread feeder sleeper rod while deadbaiting with hideously oversized mackerel parts, so with the final river weekend upon us, rod licences renewed, temperatures suddenly soaring into double figures but heavy rain causing local rivers to burst the season is highly likely to end on a river fishing wash-out and leave us wishing it had occurred either a touch sooner, or much later.

To repeat then; "A time of luck and opportunity"; enough time and too little opportunity, for this angler at least...but there's life in us yet!

The Snag Is...

The Project that Eric and I are working on has proven difficult

The unending fluctuations in the weather since mid-December have made any likelihood of consistent sport ultra-slim

It's been a case of blanks occasionally punctuated with fish, rather than vice versa as we would prefer it, and some encouraging wildlife but no pattern to life

The rivers have been bank-high for some time and still retain colour, especially the Warks Avon, and more rain is due so that can only be good in maintaining that position

Lakes remain very cold and canals, generally, still retain some colour but would fish feed this past weekend?

They needed to

----

The call of our biggest crow, the raven, currently resonates it seems in every rural corner of the countryside. With their distinctive voices, and some relatively squeaky ones for amusement, they offer the warmth of their unending charm these cold mornings

When we arrived on Saturday morning it was no different, the accompaniment of both green and great spotted woodpeckers to boot. Resident moorhens, stripped of their cover a fortnight since by hackers, hugged the far piles in their gentle waterborne perambulations. Stealth mode without the camouflage, trying to be as invisible as possible 

The Project would benefit from this location. One that has produced some of the best canal roach catches for FF&F over the years including one caster caught net of well over ten pounds and a burst of five fish over a pound, and up to one pound six ounces, last winter

A slow start on bread but the pull of the canal with the daily adjustment of inter-lock water levels makes it difficult to catch more than the odd one on the lift method. The bait, no doubt, is waving around, yet anchored, and those erudite adversaries are no stranger to the inadequacies of this angler. They pose and stare, as fish do, and carefully browse the mashed bread scattered in the boat channel but ignore the bait

Once or twice before I had experimented running the rig through with the flow by simply swapping the BB anchor shot for a no.4 pushed up the line a touch and the depth reduced in the hope that the flake would be suitably weighted-down as to be presented at the acceptable depth relative to the canal bed

In two trial periods on Saturday the second produced a bite and the only fish of the day was taken. A roach of just eight ounces but it was a welcome blank-saver when three 'proper' lift bites had failed to result in fins and scales on the bank, albeit the hook length was struck-off on what could have been a decent fish, the other two being completely missed probably due, simply, to bad timing

A sparrowhawk drifted along the willow canopy to a cacophony of alarm calls, and slipped-off behind the canalside house. Gulls, even when just above freezing, found a thermal and raced in spirals toward the regional fluffy grey throw that stretched north, south, east and west overhead

A move for a few minutes into a darker area more overhung by trees did not enhance matters and the conclusion was drawn that another day would be better. Any day would be better

That evening our eldest, The Dog, would be getting married in the USA, for us by Facebook Video-link; a touching yet also matter of fact affair to enable him to permanently move there to be with his Queen Victoria sooner than would otherwise have been possible

More would be explained when he returned to Blighted on Wednesday

----

Sunday, alone, treading the trimly manicured towpath, the 'go-to' area came into view

Moor Morehens than one could shake a rail at seem to be resident here, constantly in dispute over a particular blade of rush or other but they are a favourite water bird and so this behaviour is largely accepted as quaint. This is not the case with spring-fighting coots though which really do drive this poor soul to distraction

The water looked too heavily laden with super-fine silt to offer any confidence yet, upon introducing a speck-let of bread, the Grand Union sought to deceive the angler, who, on the basis of turbidity alone might well have expected little from the occasion. The white blob was visible until around ten inches (25cm) below water level, a definite pointer to the bait being successful

Focus was all this day

One rod, one bait, only one potential excuse (incompetence)

Full concentration, no distractions, no pressure; just as it is preferred 

The surface was quite still but, like the previous day the canal pulled gently to the left. Initially the standard lift method was deployed as per usual and we'd take it from there

2nd cast after enticing the quarry with one and half slices of mashed bread the rig met with a supreme lift bite and solid fish was on, one with far greater energy, power and urgency than one might expect in mid-January at one point making off for the far rushes 

The local cuts do house some magnificent roachXbream hybrids, if there is such a thing, I have come to love 'em. From memory, at least one, maybe two, have been coughed-up into the F,F&F landing net by either North Oxford or Grand Union canals in recent years that exceeded a previously deemed impossible 4lbs plus, together with a few more over 3.8. This one, once relieved of a valiant battle, caused the scales to quiver at 3lbs 13ozs

A VERY roach-like Hybrid

Soon after in pursuit, a bream of just under 2lbs joined the rXb in the imaginary net and the tow started to increase a touch

With no roach to show for the session as yet the float was slid up 7" or so and BB swapped for 4 again, immediately a ten ounce roach fell to the ruse as the flake drifted past its very nose but that was it

As it had been a boat-free morning until the first came through after that moment another swim was fed further from the bridge where the cut is distinctly more tree-lined and apparently shaded, albeit the trees were fastigiate and sparse of branch

Again, soon after casting-in with a close-by raven cronking as it looked over its shoulder in the direction of the bite, another hard fighting fish was on, this one a 2lbs 2ounce rXb hybrid; by now though the over-rapid distant thumping of a diesel-powered narrowboat could be heard above the birdlife and came into view to the right, stern depressed and bow waves imitating the severn bore lapping along each bank without subsiding. Thankfully two other similar moored craft at perfect distance caused the eroding vessel to ease-off, ridiculously well in fact as it happened and a friendly, "Thank you for slowing down", not only met with a, "Say again?....No problem at all Sir", and a wave, but also an extended gentle exit from the swim with a higher gear not being engaged until at least 50 yards away

In the forced prelude, rather than the imperceptible wake, of that speedy but immediately born-again boater the trotting option was again taken and as the red float tip ran into the perceived zone it dithered then sailed under, and this time the actual target was on. A good roach of just over one pound, one ounce fell to the moving bait. Clearly this is now something to concentrate on more often and endeavour to fine tune

A pound plus of Grand Union beauty

The total for just six fish in two and half hours was a distinctly rewarding ten pounds and five ounces. Two hybrids, one bream and three roach 

----

After what had proven a particularly exhausting weeks' work, I treated myself to another relaxed session straight after

Well, via the pork pie shop 

This time we were on the Warwickshire Avon in the most awkward, barely accessible Avon swim imaginable

The remaining bread mash from the morning was dropped into the flow of the crease well above an over-hanging branch and an access platform through the deposited sludge for a rod-rest created out of all available loose sticks and twigs

After a bit of general jiggery-pokery a nodding bite on the quiver commenced, and endured, on a large piece of crust off a three inch (75mm) tail intended for a p.b. chub

The strike met with a weighty fish that tried, without any great power, to secrete itself under the downstream branches. Soon though it was just under the surface and wafting its bronze flanks in a very unchub-like manner

Within a spilt second it was apparent that this was a good river bream, not a chub at all. Niceties were exchanged, he was noted at 4.10 and slipped gently back into a deep-ish slack, near what looked like a mink residence, to adopt another steady position in the coloured falling water without doubt

There was yet more bread to be eaten after all

----

Bait cost for the weekend, given the quantity left too?

- 80p

You can't beat that for value of entertainment!

Are Things on the Up?

Even the day after Boxing Day the full english looked appealling despite the gastronmic gut-glut that was this festive period. The prize though was not to be found on the fork nor in the chocolate sprinkled cup. It would, perchance, be outside lurking in the leaf litter

There would be no rush

TBW would be explaining manual focus on his now optically-enhanced super-snapper, thanks to Santa, and this for sure, not given to brevity, would take some time

The fat had barely congealed as we strode to the spot we interpreted as 'the one'. Myself with ancient bin's, he with his world (for now) around his neck

'Pigeon

Blackbird, five of them

Song thrush. Never tire of those understated, clever beauties

A chattering group of tits

Ah! Chaffinches. Three under one canopy, two protected by another. These could be key. 'It' might be with them

The sun (yes, the sun) was behind the target however and it was a case of risking the worst by wandering gently past before turning and waiting, the light now on our backs, at a respectful distance 

Goldfinches twittered among the alders; no redpolls, no siskins. A robin, committed to 'film' together with them. A wren

Bullfinches "phee, phee" in modest canopy-high flight and settle, partly obscured by black branches, 'twas ever thus

The chaffinches begin the return, first a male to join a female uninterested in the initial disturbance, and a third

Still no sign

A more hefty bird alights in a small tree...bin's to face

"That's him", matter of fact. This twitching lark lacks the excitement of unexpected encounters but when ten minutes from home it's not necessarily to be ignored, even at these reduced adrenaline levels

The lens is tested and the bird captured

Hawfinch, and, though a touch distant for an ultra-clear view, not in doubt. The oversized bill, the deep white wingbar, the size, the build. This would be for TBW (Top Bird Watcher) a lifetime first and only a second for myself. Both twitched somewhat tainted ticks but ticks they were

The avifauna scatters. 'The bird' heads behind the clump

Enter (stage left) - Blunderbirder One

Stealthily waltzing under the cap of self-importance, midway between our dearselves and 'the bird', Swarovski's at the ready

He'd get the bugger

We retreat to the sanctuary of family and further frothy cappucinos. Smug, sated and gobsmacked in equal measure

For Blunderbirder the search continued, and so it should. The great tit

----

New Year's Eve and the torrent was as strong milk-laden tea, still carrying the second wave of snow melt. An incorrect reading of 4degC in the water was corrected to 7degC much later in the day so we were perhaps psychologically a smidgen more negative than was necessary

To seek the slacks, we waded through puddle and mud, weapons at hand, and there it was. A gentle backflow in a massive eddy that would do quite nicely as a starting point

Three and two thirds anglers were passed on the way. The first, consumed by expectation, didn't flinch. The second, sporting a sheepish smile that said, "You caught me", confessed no bites in half an hour. The third, sat facing the full flow with no respite flanked by two non-practising fishermen, was keen to advise that it was, "Really fast!! I chucked my lead out there (points to the raging flow) and it was down here (points downstream in the edge) before it hit the bottom". You don't say

TBW chose to drop a small maggot feeder just over the near shelf. The colour being completely opaque, the preference where I sat was to offer lobworms on a similar line, bread 10-11m out in the eye of the eddy where it was least busy and thirdly a sleeper rod with a half herring deadbait which, I should add, was not expected to do anything other than slumber. We were right on the latter point

It will come as no devastating shock that the non-deadbait fishing also proved very difficult but on the F,F&F Scale of Engagement this type of fishing, against all odds when any so-called sane angler would have sought solace on a Stillwater or by staying in bed, is dinging loudly on that 'Test your Strength" bell

After an hour or so a series of taps on a lobworm resulted in a resistance-free strike and that was it for that line

The bread was presented with pole feeder dropped slap bang into the cornea. The tiny feeder crammed with breadmash, the hook concealed in Warburton's finest. There would be fish here, there had to be. They would be drifting around the eddy seeking the easiest snack in the quietest flow

Third careful drop and the bite marker bobbed and drew away. A pleasing curve established in the pole and the hefty chub-anticipating elastic extended a metre or so, blinking into daylight, with the unsuspecting startled ten feet below the waterline

"Got one", came the call, "No idea what it is though. It's not a perch and doesn't feel chubby but in these conditions it could be I suppose". A monster roach, albeit largely as a somewhat wild dream, might also be marginally, perhaps 10%, less than impossible here

No runs, no extreme power but an ability to remain at a good depth set this fish apart. TBW manned the net, the fish stayed pretty much as hooked and proceeded to circle slowly eventually drifting against the backflow toward the near bank. It appeared, line wrapped around the body. Foul hooked perhaps? A bream but difficult to size in the murky water, two plus we agreed. TBW then chipped-in at three and no one could disagree. Partly because I wasn't inclined to and partly because no one else was there

The fish slid over the rim and as it did it untangled. The hook was clearly in the lip and the hooklength snapped leaving just the 16 hook attached to the upper lip with a tiny pig tail of line protruding

"Right, I'm going three, four", spouted the ghillie, confident

"That's not a bad call", I replied, "But I'm going for 3.8. He's thick in the body though"

The scales confirm three things; the actual weight to be four pounds six ounces; we two to be bad estimators of weight and the fish to be the fourth biggest F,F&F river bream yet

Mrs and (grown-up) Miss Entertainingly-Forthright, (well, we were near Stratford-upon-Avon where even the spud guns are double-barrelled) walked vigorously past for the second time

It went like this

Us: "Oh, we did catch one by the way"

Miss E-F: "Oh good, where?". She feigned to tiptoe, hoping to get a look

Us: "It's gone back now"

Miss E-F: "Oh, I would've liked to see that!"

Mrs E-F: "How big". She spread her hands by varying degrees, indicating first three feet long, then one, then two

Us: "It was a good one, four pounds"

Mrs & Miss E-F: "Hey, that's not bad at all, well done"

Us: "There you go you see, not so mad after all are we?"

Mrs E-F: "No, not so mad. Just marginally"

Us: "Thanks for the vote of confidence!"

(Cackles all round)

The fact no other bites were enjoyed mattered not. This was what fishing in the conditions was all about. Fishing for a bite from who knows what, who knows when; it could be a ruffe, it could be a barbel, or, it could be a bream.

Magic stuff

Leaves on the Line

The past couple of weeks have been varied in all manner of ways.

A return to The Stillwater is imminent but a mixture of lake, canal and river have kept this soldier of the angle busy meanwhile, if punctuated by the odd blank.

I asked my colleague to do a raindance for the rivers and it worked, to a degree. In fact it was the degree, or lack of them, that ultimately scuppered that plan with two frosts in that period.

So there's been the chance of the odd fish, by hook or by crook (perhaps attached to an orange 1970's fibreglass pole) and an inexplicable influx of our biggest finch, the hawfinch, with its massive bill (Greater Invoice Finches?) has occurred over the past week or two. Odd individuals and groups into double figures have been turning-up 'all over' and having a bird-conscious sideline has never been more timely. Plus winter visitors are arriving in force when it only seems like yesterday that summer visiting warblers were singing from every tree,  thicket, reed and hedge.

So it was with an eye to the tip or float and another to the sky (Marty Feldman again) that entertainment was sought.

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It would be misleading to say the good days outnumbered the bad in angling terms but without doubt there have been some highlights in a phase of such variable global warming-induced weather that made the seeking of regular decent action improbable.

This 'bonus fish-hunting' lark is nothing if not regularly rewarding but it would be too easy to plunder the same stretch of canal that has given-up some double figure bags of bream and hybrids.

Fluctuating river levels mean occasional days with floating vegetation gathering on the line and the need for colour in the water make it constantly sought after, yet not often present.

Angling is nothing if it is not a challenge.

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So what have we encountered?

Starting with the highlights, the list is quick to define through it's lack of depth.

Top of the list, without anything coming close, was catching a stationary stoat in the headlights on entering a fishery. In turning to face the light it exposed an inverted triangle of pure white chest crisply set in chestnut flanks before bounding into the verge and the consolation of darkness. The nearest warren would soon be on the highest level of alert.

Next, a bruiser of a barbel from below the weir, a fish that somehow managed to find itself being replayed a week later in the Club newsletter. This capture was unusual in the way the swim was fished.

Unbeknown to me the depth of the river changed dramatically precisely where I sat. If I swung a lead under the near bank to the left it suggested around 5 to 6 feet but to the right it was comfortably into double figures.

Given that it wasn't deepest winter the shallower area was favoured. A couple of handfuls of meat went in, the big fish rig was lowered to join it and left to simmer while a light liquidised bread feeder was cast a third across hoping to bring that area to an immediate boil seeking that elusive big river roach.

The latter didn't occur, the best of seven fish going around eight ounces.

An hour and a half in however, while fiddling with my tackle, the 1.75tc rod attempted to take off. Instantly dropping what I was doing, I managed to grab the handle and adjust the clutch to suit.

The fish fought like a champion. Tearing off diagonally downstream initially away from the bank and then back, kiting, deep in the strong weirpool flow. Then it was off again this time closer and almost under the bank. Close to capture, the fish was in and out of the net twice and landed at the third attempt.

A public location...a crowd had gathered.

Various uneducated questions were asked and  responded to. It was a barbel, not a tench and, no, I wasn't expecting that but I did hope for it. Then a guy with a unit conversion app advised me it was 11lbs 3ozs with the net, which, by this time, was large and sodden and upon deduction brought a notably chunky barbus to it's true weight of 10lbs 6ozs.

The fourth and smallest F,F&F Warwickshire Avon 'double' of the season/lifetime.

Delighted?

We were.

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Beyond stoat and whiskers it's been a case of digging deep into the notes to find no.3 in this week's chart...

The increased flow and depth of local rivers had engendered a certain misplaced excitement yet with little to report. Not surprising at this time when water temperatures are still unsettled but on a general downcurve.

So we go back a fortnight and into a slightly questionable decision. A visit to a short stretch of Grand Union that produced a rare ruffe in the summer occurred.

Knowing it might produce roach, bream and/or hybrids was of use but the worm sideline failed miserably for predators.

The session was entirely predictable in that it took time for the fish to find the feed. When they did though things instantly became just a tad interesting...

Three hybrids ranging from 15ozs to 1lb 10ozs started the action off followed after a lull by a twelve ounce roach. I felt I may have started too close in and so fed again further out after the first boat.

Crayfish were a real problem, constantly pulling the bait around, but a decent flake popped-up out of their reach and soon something somewhat more substantial was attached. At first it swam toward the bank and I lost direct contact thinking it was lost and then maybe that it was a smaller skimmer but when it turned, perhaps having seen me, it stripped line off the centrepin for a few yards. Being a fish of its species however it was never likely to be the battle to top them all and soon it caved in, flopped on its side and was directed over the net to be recovered for inspection.

Now at this point I must explain that I do not know how big my biggest canal bream had been. It will have been caught in a match on the Grand Union, probably at or near Fenny Stratford, but won't have been weighed separately. I have therefore been 'seeking claims' from myself at a minimum of 3.8.0, so to speak.

This baby went 3.10.3 and therefore now fills that previously vacant spot. Which just shows that the area one might often walk past should not be ignored when the time might be right.

The most bizarre thing of all is that this little event had gone partly unrecorded. No notes left in the phone, only part of the story in the log book but with points claimed for The Challenge.

Otherwise three things are worthy of note - a dace of a few drams larger than previously claimed and a one pound, twelve ounce river perch for challenge points together with a straggly flock of around 150 migrating golden plover over the Warwickshire countryside.

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BLOGGERS CHALLENGE TOP FIVES
Rivers:
1/. James Denison 523
2/. Sean Dowling 314
3/. Brian Roberts 308
4/. Mick Newey 272
5/. George Burton 268

Canals:
1/. George Burton 296
2/. James Denison 206
3/. Russell Hilton 180
4/. Daniel Everitt 119
5/. Sean Dowling 95

Stillwaters:
1/. Brian Roberts 301
2/. James Denison 296
3/. Daniel Everitt 249
4/. George Burton 249
5/. Russell Hilton 147

Overall:
1/. James Denison 1025
2/. George Burton 813
3/. Brian Roberts 654
4/. Russell Hilton 576
5/. Daniel Everitt 541

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A typical current river catch. 4lbs or so of rosch, dace and chublets

To conclude this particular post then -
A small number of good fish but with plenty of quiet sessions in between; some nice bird sightings but no hawfinch (yet) and plenty of the season left to go at.

Bring it, and the proper cold weather, on!