Three Weeks In…The Hiatus at Home

A Long Season Behind & a Long non-statutory Close Season to Follow

There was a time when life was simple

A time when a close season was accepted, when fishing was uncomplicated and when people knew where they stood

They knew right from wrong, in a sense

The glorious 16th. Of spring fishes, sharp mornings, misty views, gritty eyes and the heartbeat of uncertainty

Those of unfathomable feathered feats of migration would start to trickle in. A few waders, the odd martin or swallow; overwintering chiffchaff and blackcap might start to sing, boosted by a far greater number of visitors and, conversely, some would leave; redwing and fieldfare most notably, but they can also be noted hanging around seemingly far too long (7 fieldfare in a mature garden aspen just 2  weekends ago)

Wildfowl leave and wildfowl return; cetaceans follow prey into the waves warming coastal waters and, somewhat intriguingly, become spotters’ fantasy sightings

Frogs, toads and newts; snakes and lizards; invertebrates; fish; every living thing becomes caught-up in the palpable swell of Spring

Except this year, 2020, when we British humans are to be denied our Spring

Questions are begged

"But what about the League?!"

Liverpool, perhaps Coventry City, Celtic, Dundee Utd, Cove Rangers they could all be declared champs and not many would be bothered but when it concerns tight current positions like those of Leeds, Crewe/Swindon, Raith Rovers, etc., plus the numerous also rans seeking promotion and those trying to drag their legs from the rubber towel holder of relegation, what’s to do? Well okay the, disrespectfully so called, lower leagues have been scrubbed but firstly, does it not seem quite incredible that none of the leagues seem to have rules set-out under the heading “Massive Disaster Contingency Plans”, especially as the majority of them survived at least one and probably two World Wars?

Surely the simplest solution is that if a delay of more than ‘X’-weeks occurs the places each team occupied at the time of suspension will be their finishing positions. If the rules state it there is no doubt and everyone goes into it with their eyes open, but to take decisions in multi-million pound situations mid-flow could/would result in complete chaos with the legal system being swamped with claims and counter-claims arising therefrom. One would think they’d be ready

So that’s just one issue in this crazy COVID-19 world of isolation. I’m told there may be others


For F, F&F though there are bigger fish to skin and many ways of frying a cat (to use dear old Psycho’s method of phraseology. For the can’t be bothered at heart, he once said, “We could see the carrot at the end of the tunnel”) and some of those creatures will be positively contributing to this, the Hiatus at Home, while others will suffer

Research, conservation, breeding, crime, birth rates, death rates, sales, mental illness, wealth, etc., will all have wildly swinging fluctuations of fortune and we’ve just got to bite the bullet and make the most of what we have without any great release other than conversation, community spirit, siege mentality, gardening, home decorating, health and fitness, families being drawn together, helping each other, playing games, cooking. Blimey, sounds quite plausible actually.

So, for our part, it’s been a case of writing up angling notes, imagining what one might need to prepare for and what options might present dependent upon the timing of our release.

Revisiting those notes is always rewarding, not least because the number of hopeless trips become apparent and being confined to literal gardening duty seems nicely profitable in comparison to those

One aspect, it being a Bloggers’ Challenge season, is the noting of those slightly more special fish. There’s a little schedule that qualifies a fish in FFF-land and anything above gets underlined in red. So it’s quick to glance through and see how successful a period has been in terms of fish that have hit the mark of being noteworthy, albeit they all get noted anyway

They’ve become known as Stone-fish

PB’s merit a red box around them. Any type of PB. Best for rivers, canals, lakes; best for individual watercourses or lakes or of course the actual overall, indisputable, species, ‘with knobs on’, Lifetime Personal Best

PB’s came along like mornings when the Float & Flannel elements of the Blog were growing and the first Bloggers’ Challenge entered was underway. A few years on, a PB has become more of a rarity as the number of pyramid topping species has racked-up. Indeed, it’s become more a case of seeking epic moments than PB’s in their own right.

But is this right? Is angling all about breaking previous barriers?

The Bloggers’ Challenge  is all consuming.

The inner competitor breaks-out of dormancy and influences every move.

What points-scoring fish do current conditions suggest the most likely? Catching it is uplifting but there are many, many failures and its easy to look back at a year via the notes and (lack of) underlining to see the fact

Some nice fish have been to grace the net, certainly, but the whole period has been more about quantity and filling the scoreboard with ‘nice fish’. The final part of the plan, this current river close season from mid-March to mid-June, was to have been the icing on the cake but of course, chances are it won’t now happen at all

Post-Coronavirus I envision a world quite different

When nature bites humankind on the proverbial, there is usually a quick return to whatever normality is, and it’ll be different things emerging from this pandemic that will stay with us. Sadly however, it will probably be the easy things that have little effect on people’s everyday lives that will be retained

In reality of course its the more fundamental far-reaching changes that need to become the norm, family, community, walking, supporting nature, growing food; all locally undertaken. British holidays, and, as the air now clears, a massive reduction in air and car travel, and so on

Personally it strikes me that if this lockdown has taught us anything surely it is that we’ve lost touch with the natural pace of life. The increasingly confusing, rushed, frantic daily grind that is neither natural nor healthy, nor sustainable is the new black. A place of darkness driven by the constant search for economic growth. More of this, more of that and less/no actual time to simply live. A pace careering to an inevitable collision with mental health and physical issues, which all begs the simple question, “Why?”.

One final question:
Could CORVID-19 be caused by a flock of rooks?


Seat photograph: Copyright Florian Müller

The Thick Mists of Shocking Time [UPDATED]

Today was the first in a planned canal campaign devised only to put some points on the bloggers challenge scoreboard in the hope that three aims could also be achieved :

•  rekindle the flames of passion for my first love
• have a decent roach to run-up a few points
• add a perch, any perch, to the scoreboard

To my surprise I had no difficulty rising for the first early start of this increasingly autumnal period and, questioning my sanity as I pulled-up, I was barely able to see to get the stuff out of the boot

Travelling light, I did manage to bring the keepnet as I do like to look at canal catches on departing

The mist was thick but not so dense as to qualify for fog, in my estimation, as it didn't soak-in or build-up on clothes or equipment. Chances were, therefore, that eventually the sun would burn it off and it was simply a case of when, as the spot I was headed for would not produce a single bite after sun-up with clear skies likely later

Moorhens, mallards and those dubious hybrids of questionable origin scattered as I wandered through the murk and settled into the swim in a gap in the vegetation no doubt created by previously-moored boaters. I set-up well away from the water in the shade of the tall hedge. All was still and nothing noticeably topped. This being a location where roach will top if they are present it made me wonder if I had peaked too soon in the canal hunt but, as it was likely to be a relatively short session before Mr Blue Sky brought it to a close, it was of no great concern as we would, quite literally, test the water and then decide how the campaign might evolve from there

Flocks of gulls whooshed low overhead as they sought to navigate by visual landmarks given the shroud they had awoken to. Individuals, spilt from the flocks, constantly twisted their necks left and right in trying to keep in touch with their companions. The traditional sounds of the farm were evident but not visible

Bread mash down the middle and lobworm down the inside would be todays 'no holds barred' options. I rarely use anything else these days, though there were a pint of casters left in the fridge which I have been trying to keep healthy since last week for tomorrow morning

Fifteen minutes in on the lift bite method and bread flake produced nothing. Momentarily I wondered. When I have fished here before, on three or four occasions, bites have usually come quickly and then fizzled out just as quickly as there aren't too many bread-taking fish here but they are usually of a good size.

I started to drop free-lined lobworms over the near shelf to my left. A first in terms of canal method, and taken from my recent river findings, but more in hope than expectation

Then, tempted already by the flask, I looked up to the see the lift bite had failed as the float was gone and struck at fresh air. 'Crayfish' I thought, often the cause of a rig being slowly towed under and not the greatest of omens so early in proceedings

A runner came by and we exchanged pleasantries, his with a breath of determination, mine in a cloud of uncertainty. The freelined rod twitched and as I struck an eight ounce probable bronzeXsilver bream hybrid shot out of the water and into my lap. I had forgotten this was the canal and that I had a 1.25lbs t.c. Avon in my hand

Then the float lifted, a fish was on, and comedy and chaos ensued as both rods produced bites too quickly for comfort for a five minute spell

The first fish to the float fought well. I was not as necessary as normal to be careful, with the overhead light levels low and the water colour perhaps a touch too cloudy for respectable bread fishing, and it was just as well, as my lack of recent experience with the tackle left the style and skill with quite a number of improvements to be desired

It was a roach, silver flash then red fins, and a good one. I knew if I caught roach there was a good chance they could exceed a pound here and when this one lay on its side in that 'okay, you've got me' pose it was well over that target. In fact, as I lifted it out, I guessed around one and a half pounds but, as I started to handle it to remove the hook, it's rear end was a touch empty and a reading of 1-5-8 on the scales was really no surprise

Roach size - increased from 10 ounces

The next few minutes produced another roach of exactly one pound from my only other bite on bread and a perch of one pound six on a whole lobworm

Perch size - increased from zero!

Then - motorised death.

This was a silty length of canal and any boat traffic would not help at all. It would kill the bread line and left me with only the near shelf to go at, so I fed it again and put the float rod among the wilting, browning loosestrife. At the same time, with the canal now towing this way, then that and back again, resembling the hokey-cokey, the decision was made to add a swan shot link leger to nail it down

A magpie laughed at me from a fencepost and a chiffchaff bizarrely struck up it song from a hawthorn through the mist thirty yards to my right. Perhaps a young one practising for next season. I wonder if it'll remember the words by next spring? Compared to many other species it should have a good chance. Only two words after all, albeit if he gets stuck only one of them is in the dictionary

Coffee was welcome at this point and that which propelled from spout to cup perfectly matched that served-up by the rotor of the 'pleasure' boats. Time to take stock. I tidied-up. Then I fed another bread swim 25 yards to my right and went to fish it. Nothing

The boats lulled and yet it was still before breakfast. Something made me take the lead off the line again and revert to a free-lined worm. Instant action. Obviously the natural fall of the bait was essential. If only I'd known that thirty years ago!

A bite. A strike. A small zander came to hand. My first the season and worth a handful of points maybe.

Then the line tightened again and the rod arched over before I could grab at it. The reel had been left to backwind inadvertently and the handle, and rotor, were fizzing round, painfully rapping the knuckles of my left hand and the ends of my reel fingers as I strove to do something to resist the challenger

As I started to gain some composure, species ran through my head. Loosening the clutch and engaging the anti-reverse gave some degree of contact and, as the drag was adjusted, I became aware of a frantic head-banging from below. As I tightened further the head movement became interspersed with surges, taking more line

Carp?
No.

Big zander, in the swim?
Yes, probably.

I settled for a 5 to 10 pound space invader and set about trying to land the worthy opponent yet half expecting the line to part on its sharp teeth, but, bearing in mind this was my river rod and reel, it was loaded with 5.6lbs line straight through to an 8 specimen hook, so I was in with a shout if the hook hold was conventional and the line was not being frayed

As I tried to subdue the monster the head-banging became increasingly severe the greater control I achieved. I walked ten yards to my left to shorten both line and odds. As I eventually started to feel like he was mine I became increasingly bemused by the head action. What fish could possibly move its head about that much unless it really was so huge. I could not really make sense of the situation. It was fighting like one might imagine a sea serpent would. Then it's white side flashed underwater. Zander, yes, it must be. Too pale to be anything else

Then it's smiling little mouth and tiny eye appeared and yes, my god, it was a snake! Almost.

The biggest writhing colossus I have ever witnessed, and it wasn't keen on daylight.

Wriggle and squirm it did and there I was with my canal landing net feeling utterly inadequate, baffled and excited in the extreme, all at the same time

I grabbed the net and shoved it into the margin from whence massive eruptions of silt and leaves rose and gave clues to the true enormity of this beast. Then I saw the whole thing. Keeping it off the bottom was the answer, but then - solid.

I gave it some slack. We were in again!

I tried feebly to get the net under its head but it was futile. However watching the way it contorted I estimated that if I lunged at the right moment I could have him.

"NOW!" appeared in my head and now it was. In, completely coiled, into the shallow net. Yeehaar!!! I think I said.

Dragging the net towards the bank I lifted at the last minute and surveyed this magnificent old eel. Back from the Sargasso who knows how many years ago little bigger than the lobworm it fell for and preparing over the years its physically almost indestructible body for the return trip

From the back issues of my memory I recalled that eels don't wriggle if they are on their back. As chance would have it the tiny net kept it neatly in that position as I fretted restlessly around the bank like a spaniel expecting his tea

4 pounds 9 ounces of natural power

What should I do, I needed to record the moment and savour it. It should not be like my first final and not remembering anything due to nerves. Pleasantries were now exchanged with what I should call a fish but the description doesn't do it justice. It didn't look like a fish. It had a certain aged wisdom about it. It seemed to know it wasn't in danger and that it was merely a question of time before either I released it, or he got bored and released himself

A narrow-boat passed and Mrs Tripper was gobsmacked, a state I have thought about imposing on boaters many times in the past but not in this manner

The eel was at least a metre long. A p.b. by about three pounds!

After the celebrations I slipped him back a few yards along to my right and he immediately swam, calm and determined, into that turbid world to resume his life as though nothing had occurred at all

Perch and zander ensued and soon it was time to head for home. Just over three hours' canal fishing and just under twelve pounds of fish, less the eel, to admire at the end, though I hadn't noticed the net had become detached from its spreader during the boat traffic and so they went back a touch less pristine than I would have wanted putting a damper on the conclusion I must say

So the three targets were certainly hit today as I head off now to add points to the board and see where that leaves things. Hopefully with some slack to commit some more time to stillwaters before it gets just too cold to stomach that option

What a morning!


UPDATE:

Well the casters didn't have much impact but a second hook carrying a fresh whole lobworm, quite the thing at the moment it seems, upped the perch p.b. yet again from The Stillwater

Just the one bite but 3-6-8 of seriously chunky predator to show for it

I do love this time of year

Tench. Time.

Time is a strange concept i'n'it?

My whole angling life has been driven by relatively short sessions on a variety of venues, but groups of venues that have come in fads over the years. Warks Avon & Trent; The East Midlands/Anglian rivers and Lakes; Thames; South Midlands Canals; West Midlands canals and, now, various appealling waterbodies and courses of the Feldon landscape.

The earliest visits were often quite long by my more recent standards, perhaps eight hours or more. Then as club fishing kicked-in with the, then, Rugby Midland Red bus co. angling club, they reduced to 5 or 6 hours and, as time passed through open matches on canals in the East and then West Midlands to the past three seasons of increasingly short sessions around dawn and dusk, they went to four, three, two hours, sometimes even less...and rarely the same peg fished twice.

So the past month has seen a massive change of outlook and direction since the river season ended.

 I am now around 40 hours into what I hope to be a real, not fantasy, tench campaign without even so much as a nibble to show for it. Not consecutive hours I might add, but 40 hours' fishing the same peg in bursts often preceded by baiting visits the night or morning before.

They've been rolling and laughing at me, and the pike have been avid munchers of the inanimate as I've wound back in various contraptions of bait placement but not a proper bite to show for it

Metal crunching, feeder munching Automaton

When I first stepped-off the river bank onto The Stillwater the water immediately seemed quite 'warm' to the touch in comparison but I now realise that it had been heated by the sun in a manner impossible for a shaded, narrow, winding, deep stream and, in fact, to its inhabitants it was still inconducive to much feeding activity.

Now though, a month later, the water temperature is approaching that level at which it starts to be similar to hand temperature and, were it not at the same time wet, it would be undetectable

Comforted by the fact that others are not lowering the water levels by removing myriad tincas I have become, on the face of it, bizarrely content to watch motionless tips

Superficial this situation certainly is however as what this outwardly tedious, if not pointless, exercise has rekindled is my passion for birds. Having been a birdwatcher for as many years as an angler I have hopped-off the ornithological perch in the past decade, largely due to work and the boys' cricket commitments but, since the end of the so-termed noughties, also by an earlier resurrection of angling interest of course.

Here though, at The Stillwater, I have a specific view from the peg combined with the walk back and forth, and suddenly the local recorder finds himself inundated with sightings. Largely common or garden, yes, but the odd flashback to birds not seen or enjoyed for so long together with the returning migrants...and bats

Highlights thus far have been green sandpiper, the returning chiffchaff, then first willow and sedge warblers of 2015 for the location and flocks of twittering sand and, eventually, house martins interspersed by swallows, as well as departing goldeneye, regular barn owl foraging activity and then more arriving warblers such as whitethroat

Chiffchaff

Wednesday I was also able to wend my laden way back to the car park listening to the 'slapping' of common pipistrelles, the 'chip shop, chip shop' of Noctules, our biggest common bat at 16" wingspan (no, that's not a typo!), and the Geiger-counter-esque Daubenton's bat...that hovercraft of the natural world...as they fed freely over the water, margins, carr and treetops. Their calls interspersed by the raspberry-like 'thrrrrripp' of the feeding buzz on contact with tiny and not so tiny prey

The, close to, two days of wider natural study has rekindled this naturalist and I am sure my friends and colleagues are sick of me ranting about observations but sometimes it just has to be shared to extract true value. I know I've seen it, but sharing it and making use of it in the written record adds an extra dimension that's been missing for so much time.

Buzzard and mobbers

Yes, tench time has its benefits, even when they are not quite ready...yet

----

Mouse training update:

'Big set-back when Monica went stiff and had to be ejected as she was becoming food for Potty. Well, it's just life (and death) in the FF&F study

Subsequently Potty became less trusting but, only tonight, a breakthrough that took us back in time and fast-forward simultaneously to the point at which she clumb (that word has a wiggly red line under it, I wonder why?) completely onto my hand for a black sunflower heart...irresistable to Pot-Pot are those

So we're back on course and I'll be able to imagine taking her to school in my pocket again soon

----

Bloggers challenge diary:

Only 7.5 more sleeps to the starting cast

Still time to book-on at:
http://canalangler.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/blogger-challenge-who-in.html
and if you struggle with the link feel free to comment on this post accordingly and I'll happily let Russell and Jeff know

BIG Challenges All Round



I hadn't prepared myself for the break. So consumed was I by the challenge of the River Leam that the somewhat sudden end, even though I was working towards it, caught me napping. Captivated, enthralled, enthused, maybe even obsessed and possessed, I had been by its secretive charm but now it had come to a close

Improving temperatures over the past three weeks or so tempted me to spend some time birding and plumbing some pegs on The Stillwater (yes I did say "stillwater", it may be something of a shock to my regular reader but it is true) more out of fancying a walk in the sunshine than anything else

Last Sunday was glorious of course. I was severely overdressed, having arrived before the temperatures soared, and lost about a stone during the day's wandering. Something I can ill afford

I found some enticing pegs in areas I hadn't been to for some time and a number of interesting birds, the highlight of which, though I wouldn't have found it myself as it wasn't on my walking route, thanks to another generous birder's 'scope was being able to view (and he confirmed as) a white wagtail. Frankly I couldn't have i.d'd it without some guidance as the heat-haze we were peering through barely made it recognisable as a wagtail...or even a bird! Nevertheless, a lifetime first it was, I'm told   

From the lawn: Pied not White...the murky underside is the give
away, even though the nape/back interface here is quite crisp

After enjoying the sight of a small foraging flock of tree sparrows, which is never anything less than an absolute pleasure, I found a swim I felt might do the job for the spring. A little weedy it was, but that makes two of us, and I was hopeful that if I could get the fish feeding there they might help to clear it over the forthcoming poaching months until June 16th obliges us with the mental moral right to continue to do the same until this time next year when we revert to doing so guiltily, as we do now

So the plan was hatched to concentrate on the stillwater, intermingled with the canal when conditions we were too poor to be exposed on an unforgiving lake, until June

In parallel with all this however came discussions with south-west blogger, talented angler and catcher of goldfish Russell Hilton of 'Tales of the Towpath' with a view to establishing a bloggers challenge for 2015/2016.
Russell's idea had gradually been honed in discussion with myself and Jeff Hatt (who took part in previous challenges until they petered-out two years or so ago and was full of sage wisdom, as ever)
The final challenge is very engaging and has me fired-up already with still a month to go until the mid-close season starting pistol fires.
Of course the only way these things can succeed is through the honesty of the participants and one thing I have learnt since starting this middling blog is that the level of integrity among angling bloggers is set very high and this gives me, and I hope many others, the confidence to get stuck in and take part in what promises to be an excellent event, with points available for 20 species across each water type of rivers/drains, stillwaters and canals relating your best fish to the British record
In trials it has proven perfectly possible that an angler seeking a wide number of species of relatively modest size might challenge the water/species specialist with four or five really big fish so, as planned, we hope it genuinely will prove a challenge for bloggers across the whole spectrum - from out and out specimen hunters to those who simply like to write about the pleasure of angling.
Personally I fall somewhere between the two (tending to fish certain appealing venues for larger than average fish), and I suspect most of us do, so I expect this to suit our category of angler rather nicely.
I will leave Russell to explain the machinations and how to enter here:
http://canalangler.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/blogger-challenge-who-in.html
and I very much hope you are as enthralled by the prospect as I and the Boy Wonder are

 

- - - - - -

 

Seven days on and The Stillwater campaign has now reached the fifth session (15 hours) and has yet to give up any secrets of the, not so, deep. Increasing air temperatures through the week, water which is no longer cold to the touch and latterly, and certainly today and yesterday, windy conditions that can only serve to bring spring time to the sub-surface world ever more quickly. So I remain optimistic that soon the tip will wang round or the plunge into the depths, be it quiver or float, sometime soon

 

One brief (overslept!) Grand Union visit produced little of value except the unusual experience of a canal rudd around eight ounces and some unremarkable roach

 

Meanwhile life is not all about (lack of) fish. I preoccupy myself with my favourite bin's, a treasured possession, scouring the water every twenty minutes or so to see what has moved-in or has appeared overhead. An old pair of reasonable quality 8x40's are ideal for this task. They give just enough magnification, aren't too heavy to carry with the tackle and let a good deal of light in when needed at those awkward times of day; so much so in fact that it is as if a light has been switched-on when raising them to straining eyes

 

Signs of the changing season came in the form of chiffchaffs with this early arriving warbler singing and suddenly apparent all over the countryside last weekend, and sand martins have reached us too, flicking their delicate yet effective brown wings against the wind into which they face, just above the water's surface, making consumate headway against the odds. It's truly amazing they find enough to eat when they first fall upon us with little invertebrate activity evident to the human eye

 

The week has produced an interesting if not mind blowing bird list but today I got to thinking...got to thinking about mammals...

 

How often does one see an array of mammal species, or even any (other than brown rats), while dabbling at the water's edge? Rarely, yet the signs are often there. At my peg and as I pottered back windswept this morning, with the forecast heavy rain hinting by gentle splashes on the personal rain detector (bald patch) I found evidence of shrew and badger (both in my peg), fox, muntjac and mole. I could probably have found vole or field mouse too with a little more effort and yet, in terms of actual sightings, it's was as though they didn't exist



Badger latrine...nice! Somehow I lost my pic of fox poo, how sad

Shrew hole 

Muntjac hoof prints 

Mole

 

Anyway enough of this, I'm off to plan the attack for the Bloggers Challenge 2015/16. Only 33.5 sleeps to go until the 00.01hrs May 1st start!

What Constitutes a Good Day?

An impromptu possibility Wednesday morning was ignited by a somewhat startled little owl standing on the edge of the road as I headed out, remarkably blotchy bundles of feathers that they are. If a silverfish was an omen last time out surely this could be one this time, or so I had hoped

I figured that owl was worth about 25% of what could be considered a good day

A peg was selected that The Old Duffer used to frequent prior to his canal angling retirement. Relatively narrow but with a vegetated natural bank across and grass neatly manicured by fluffy, big eared, powder-puff-tailed Roman imports to sit on

A lot of small fish were topping and the bird song was almost so prolific as to make some of the species i.d. confused by the noise

Little happened initially and I fed another swim in a marina mouth as Plan B after about half an hour, having wet a line at about 5.30am. On returning to the swim and casting in the lump of punched bread the float did some strange gyrations and a two ounce roach had somehow managed to swallow a bait about four times the size of its mouth. A few casts later a similar thing occurred but this time it felt like a good-sized fish but without much much fight, it soon appeared near the surface. A black shape from the depth of reasonably clear water and those curvy fins unmistakable as a tench. Only the third I had ever seen from this cut, having taken two back at new year 2013...and suddenly, on seeing me, it took flight...then it was interesting! The nearside shelf soon became clouded as the slippery customer sought refuge in it's silty bed, and among rocks and roots beneath my feet. First one way then the other but somehow it was possible to limit the line it took and the baited area was not ploughed through. After what seemed quite a few minutes, but probably wasn't, the fish tired and was drawn towards the, suddenly tiny looking, big roach net

This took the percentage of a good day up to 80% minimum on the joint ticket of rarity and size

Overhead a pair of warblers, possibly chiffchaffs, chased wildly over the water perhaps in shared celebration of the capture resulting in one actually hitting the surface but managing to shake itself clear and escaping into the bushes, only to be pursued again

A trot along to the other peg indicated a serious infestation of crayfish with fine fizzing bubbles covering the still canal top over the fed area and sure enough the action under the water confirmed it. After a few minutes it was decided to return to the first peg but to little avail

The temptation of a never before fished area the other side of the nearby road bridge grew greater and, as I made my way there, the paleness of the far shelf was evident in this tree-lined darker cutting contrasting with the relative open airiness of the starting area. Soon after introducing both bait and feed a hand-sized silver bream obliged and was reintroduced to the water some fifty yards to the right

Then, an unusual event for this canal, a genuine bow-wave of a far side fish off the edge of trailing brambles. Seconds later a dark shape drifted in the same direction under my nose. A three pound fish. Species unknown.

Within seconds a positive bite, as a blackcap struck-up its liquid song in opposing scrub, and a more than decent fight. Again unusually for the canal the need to allow the centre-pin to give line off the ratchet took hold as this powerhouse fish took flight. What could it be, another springtime mega-hybrid perhaps?

No delayed confirmation this time however as the first time the fish broke the surface, not something I encourage of course(!), it exposed it's whole self to view as its flank gleamed that of a massive chub. A CHUB!

Only a week or so ago a friend asked if this, to all intents, crude bread fishing method ever caught any carp. Well the answer was 'no' (as they are not numerous in the canal and I tend to fish it down the middle, whereas canal carp of course tend to patrol far bank shelter) but it has to be said that an undoubtedly, by sight, three pound plus fish far outweighed any canal carp I might, or rather might not, have caught

I'm sure I will have stated this before but north oxford canal chub are, while statistically less rare that tench, very, very uncommon. In the 1990's there was one peg on some brambles where they would very occasionally show, some five or six miles east, but I don't recall anything above a two pounder and, other than that only two fish spring to mind, one around a pound and one just under two above Hillmorton Locks

This fish only just fitted the net and as the connection, pole to net thread, was somewhat dodgy I lifted the net itself with two hands from the water...and wondered.

Three nine it went, three nine. I keep repeating myself. Did I say it was three nine?

All those hours spent chasing River Leam chub and here was one, dare I say, caught by accident from the bloomin' cut that would sit second on that river list! What a beauty though and as chunky as a tin of pedigree chum...with scales

So, as by this time we were up to around 150% of a good day, 'one more cast' was risked. A proper and surprisingly quite instant bite after the commotion brought a roach of half an ounce under the pound into the bizarre early morning equation. This alone would have been 20-25% of a good day under normal circumstances.

As I mused my way back home, and ultimately to work, I pondered the conundrum; although football managers believe it is possible to have more than 100% of something the rest of the sane world realises this is impossible, but had it been achieved this exceptional morning?

'No!', I decided...it must have been 100% of a very good day, very good indeed.

Going Back Again, Again and Somewhere New

5am bathroom floor, Lepisma saccharina, Silverfish. An omen? 

 This past weekend, with the house to prepare for estate agents, it was to be one or two pre-breakfast sessions followed by paint, plants, timber and turf

Saturday I peaked a little early and had time to wander well out into the wilderness before first light to a formerly favourite area prior to direct and easy access being cut-off. Walking until fish could be seen topping and then, having found them, deciding to carry-on a little further to a, then, favourite peg; albeit that was somewhat difficult to define with landmarks having been decimated in the past 20 years

This is a fascinating landscape with the ridge & furrow that lines so much of the eastern North Oxford Canal falling away into a gentle tree-lined valley. Just the kind of place I dream of living in a tiny thatched cottage with woodsmoke barely perceptively drifting across the shades of green...and then suddenly we're jolted back to the present as a large fish crashes to my left in a very non-roach-like manner. "Maybe bream have moved-in", was the thought, and, having introduced a fair helping of mash expecting instant action before the sun burnt-off the bites, another sizable fish topped. The big fish were here, but this was no big fish peg in the past; sure it held its share of what we described as 'bonus fish' in the old days but nothing over twelve ounces, and lots of them

Topping big roach

In went the float, and sat there. Then it twitched and dragged and twitched again. The mill-pool-perfect surface became like ginger beer as a crayfish troupe marched in and proceeded to jostle for crumbs, catching the nailed-on rig in their articulated armour and sending their tiny microtench-like bubbles to the surface


Eventually the float rose dramatically, as it does, and stayed there long enough for it not to be a signal of crayfish. A strike met with the somewhat frantic distress of a hybrid of something over a pound

Fish continued to intermittently top, one leaping fully clear of the water within two feet of the fed area; a roach around the pound mark. Although spawning fish had been sat amongst previously in the, now two-year, big roach campaign never had this kind of activity been witnessed. Usually it had been a bigger shoal of smaller fish constantly splashing around but in this area the cut is more of a channel than a bowl in cross-section and as such I suspect much of the activity occurs deeper down out of sight

Soon, a second bite and more challenging fight. This fish was, without being in anyway bream like, more sedate than the hybrid and, as big roach tend to, strove hard to disgorge itself in the remnant roots of ripped-out bank-side trees. Lively was not the word but netted at the third attempt it was

I knew this guy (I use the word 'guy' here not to suggest this fish was male but in the 'here's your meal guys' manner of waiters and waitresses these days to suggest neutral gender). I even knew the name, Francis Lee, and what he or she weighed 1-7-3 (although THE Francis Lee was male it could be a female name of course)

Now this was spooky and yet it only just dawned on me in writing this that I could be accused of sliding that slippery slope to knowing the names of the fish I am in pursuit of, but no, over 50 pound-plus canal roach now and this the first time I have suspected such an occurrence; so its going down as a fluky experience rather than a sign of being uber sad

Franny was weighed at 1-6-14. He or she'd lost some weight! Not only that but research showed it was caught from the same peg on exactly the same day last year and photographs appear to confirm that, yes, it probably was the same fish as can be seen here: http://floatflightflannel.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/going-back-for-more.html

This really is one chunky roach

This spring is far advanced on last year as the photographs of the barrel-chested attacking mid-water fish demonstrate. The shade of bank-side vegetation was straw-coloured in 2013 but this time it is already a lush green

I'd like to say the story ended there but no, the bites ended certainly but then I drifted into wonder if not wander-land and, having tidied-up, went further into the wilderness in pursuit of newly arrived migrants, mammal tracks and large topping fish...and got them all. Blackcap in full voice just a few feet away but could I see it in the burgeoning hawthorn?, no. Rabbit excavations, otter spraint and molehills. Another presumed big roach swirled a hundred yards on from the day's chosen peg

One more task then, as the sun came fully up suggesting an uncomfortable trot back in all the early-frost-proof thermal gear, to photograph a stand of wild cowslip between well-trod towing path and waters edge

At risk of boring the odd reader (are you odd?, that's not very nice is it?, but I leave you to decide), the next (Sunday) morning was equally and contrastingly engaging

There isn't much of the canal east of the Brinklow centre that I haven't fished but being caught out by the retreating time of sunrise I needed a short journey and, like most, the stretches nearest are those fished least so I headed off with a plan in mind only to find white van man in my parking space and peg, the cheek! Two bridges further on I started to walk back towards home and into the unknown, never had the peepers clapped on this wide and enticing bend but this general part of the canal had never been prolific, with the occasional skimmer and a few roach, and so the suspicion was that any bites would be precious. The morning was to prove equally avian as piscine however

The bird song is mind-blowingly loud and the challenge of reminding ourselves of, and sifting the sounds for, a diagnostic melody is upon us as the warblers arrive in series. Quite a nice list stacked-up but the unusually confiding pair of moorhens that joined me on the bank for a bread breakfast was the highlight. All anglers, canal or otherwise, will recognise the moorhen as a nervy bird more likely to avoid proximity to us than approach closely but not these two, oh no. "Okay, so what have got then?"' was clearly their motto and up they sidled and flicked until just 7 or 8 feet away and devouring bread-mash like a shoal of bream. Knowing glances were exchanged and photographs taken, of them that is, I assume they couldn't...well anyway, moving on...

Back in the water, pre-match pennants had been swapped in the form of three handfuls if mash deposited just short of centre, this being the outside of a bend, and, frankly, nothing happened...and the bird list grew

Soon though hiviz-clad wolf-lady approached from the left, really, really slowly, with two dogs way off in front, in fact by this time sniffing around my tackle (steady!) and nudging my elbows, etc., still she moved with the speed of a beached yellow submarine, staring at the ground. Closer she crept, the dogs jostled and trampled, 15 yards, in-ear headphones now visible, 10 yards, 8, 7, then "Whoah, sorry, I didn't see you. I was listening to my book and...! SORRY, really sorry, come-on you two!", Homer would have been proud at the demonstration of shock only he could have matched, and off they went, very, very slowly

Chiffchaffs and various finches, my second swallow of the year and jackdaws over head disturbed the ensuing silence when, looking back at the float (yes that was what I was here for!) it lifted and battle, some battle, commenced. Obviously I was using the new rod and starting to understand its capabilities but this was different. If it was a roach it was a record, if it was a bream it was on speed and if it was a tench it was nothing if not very unusual. It had to be the last fish to enter the equation, a hybrid, and of course we are into the period when in 2013 the big'uns showed in number and increasing magnitude just as they were about to

"Chiffchaff, chiffchaff, chiff", imaginative it ain't, evocative it is.

This was some fighter and it reminded me very much of a scrap between a mink and a large eel I witnessed on a backwater of the Great Ouse in the 70's, first one was on top and the eel was out on the bank then the other was on top and dragged the mink back in the water, no prizes for guessing the victor though and the same applied here as eventually even this three pound two ounce eleven dram specimen ran out of juice and slid over the rim and toward expectant scales. Brilliant, I almost love hybrids as much as real fish, almost

Suddenly the focus returned and so did the action, another outrageous lift bite, another outrageously hefty canal fish tussling under the water. Unmistakable by fight this time as a big old bream and, sure enough, he was and, with line wrapped around its pectoral fin, not at all easy to contain. In the net to which it only just fitted this was the archetypal old battle-worn fish with scars and a damaged dorsal to match, a survivor. The rod showed additional depth of strength this day and it really is the all-round perfect big canal fish model

Two ounce roach made to look like bait fish

I could go on and on, and on, ("You already have!", you may cry), so entertaining were these two mornings. I actually tried other pegs with further events involving jack russells, muntjac and jays ensuing but I'll stop here. Second biggest ever North Oxford Canal bronze bream, fourth biggest ever all-waters hybrid and seventh biggest NOxC roach in four hours of activity, you just can't beat this fishing lark can you?! April was the month last year and so it is proving again

Saturday bird list:
Chaffinch
Magpie
Mallard
Moorhen
Blackcap
Blue tit
Swallow
Cormorant (x3)
Greenfinch
Blackbird
Song thrush
Carrion crow
Rook
Woodpigeon
Chiffchaff
Reed bunting
Heron
Mistle thrush
Great tit
Wren
Robin
Pheasant
Green woodpecker
Goldfinch
Bullfinch
Jackdaw
Indet gull

Sunday bird list:
Chaffinch
Greenfinch
Goldfinch
Blue tit
Great tit
Wren
Moorhen
Mallard
Carrion crow
Jackdaw
Heron
Goldcrest
Stock dove
Woodpigeon
Pheasant
Robin
Blackbird
Song thrush
Rook
Great spotted woodpecker
Swallow
Blackcap
Chiffchaff
Jay
LBB gull
Silver bream
Roach
Muntjac
Rabbit

Isn't the Real World Brilliant?

Just yesterday, for the umpteen time, it was confirmed - the world is brilliant!

Rain was forecast - no rain, a good start.

Cloudy, breezy (the latter not forecast), dull and mild. What more could the springtime angler and naturalist wish for?

Arriving at the extreme eastern end of the North Oxford Canal at (just after) dawn, ('forgot my wallet...no one's perfect) I wandered to various legally(?) fishable spots, as defined by CRT signage but fancied none except an area which was otherwise strewn with waterborne detritus. So I settled instead in an area I recalled had produced match-winning bags of up to 5 or 6lbs of caster roach back in the 'dim and distant', a spot usually precluded as an option these days due to moorings but by chance no one was making it their home today

The action was as instant and frantic as Sunday had been with good bream to over two and a half pounds and hybrids to over the pound immediately taking advantage of the bread windfall. For me of course the net of just short of 13lbs was however capped by a roach of 1-1-3 (photo above) but, the weirdest thing - a dress-making pin with a white head was protruding centrally through the lower jaw of one of the bream (it may have been the biggest one, I don't recall) with the head inside its mouth. The pin, protruding below like a rigid elongated barbule, left me initially thinking I had a first for science cyprinid, but no! So long had the grotesque adornment been there that the wound had healed like a well-established ear piercing. How this could have occurred is quite beyond the imagination

It has been clear to me since last spring that the good fish reside in the marinas and only exit in numbers to spawn; this is now underway and slowly I expect the shoals to be more prevalent away from those winter harbours of fish and boats until they then start to retreat again later in the year, especially it seems as the colour drops out

Greenfinches were trilling their exuberant song from some willows, reed bunting 'tested' and fresh otter spraint was to be found under the bridge

The morning had begun, and apparently ended, in just half an hour and so based on the absolute fact that this method is all or nothing I moved 200 yards and on the way passed a pound roach dragged from the water that very night by a predator of some sort, maybe the otter, "This might perhaps be a clue", I muttered to myself and sat down immediately beyond in the hope that the red-finned brethren remained

Sure enough, up popped the float and a definite and solid roach was identified from the fight. A flash of it under the water caused me to swear aloud as the enormity of the potential catch dawned. Try though it might to get into nearside roots the new rod had it neatly tamed and into the net it slid

No time to waste here as the fish was photographed, weighed and returned in a matter of minutes. At 1-9-4 it was the third biggest canal roach of the FF&F quest by just 7 drams and would prove the highlight of a day littered with noteworthy events and peculiarities.

Another roach of 0-14-13 followed immediately before that swim also died and I moved again another 100 yards after just half an hour in the swim

This time the action was slower but after fifteen minutes, sat among the blooming violets, a bite came and another really good roach at 1-1-10 graced the net before it was immediately released after a quick weighing and an approaching boat drew a chug-chugging curtain across proceedings

Wandering back, two mating frogs were in the margins; very odd on a busy motorway of a canal such as this. Very rarely have I seen frogs on canals and then just the odd apparent commuter

Come the evening Parps fancied a dabble and so we chose a relatively plain but easily accessible stretch of the Grand Union in the hope of a bream for him and, in his now customary style, he beat me in three of our four challenges - most fish, highest weight and most species. The latter was debatable but because my third species was a hybrid he won that on grounds of purity! That his species included a first for him in the shape of a small silver bream and then an immediate replacement pb at 8ozs added to the allure as he beamed with pleasure throughout the session, even when he lost a couple of fish. We shared a keepnet in fishing the same swim and mustered 9-13-0 between us in two hours.

 Chiffchaffs chiffed and chaffed around us, partridges chucka'd and magpies chacked as a robin persevered through it all with his wistful song from high in a hawthorn to our left.

We pondered the sounds of the natural world:
"If you stop talking and just listen for a moment can you hear any sign of human activity?", I said, "No I can't!", came the reply.
"Sometimes when I sit here I think how great it would be not to be able to hear traffic noise but it's very unusual for it to be this quiet"
"Yes you wouldn't really know humans were around would you?".
"Well no, apart from the canal, the fence, the cables, the road and the fact that 5000 years ago this would have been woodland, you wouldn't have a clue would you?!"

The smell of spring is now around us as herbage is trampled under foot to create comfortable pegs but the pleasure of it all was lost on two lorry drivers I encountered earlier in the day who all-but engaged in a brawl in the middle of the A45, entertaining - yes, wise - no

So, if Carlsberg made days this is the kind of day they would make. Enthralling from start to finish, but sleep is in desperate need. Goodnight all

Spring Wound Decided Tight

 The dawn chorus was at aspirin pitch and the first visiting Chiffchaff chirped out his monotonous yet evocative song among the myriad jubilant voices

The first rippled and later plate glass aquatic plateau joining wooded bank to a still winter-muddied footpath was conversely mysteriously still

Eventually a small perch was tempted to try to steal a massive collection of gentles but that was all, and soon, before the unavoidable rising sun impacted events, a new perch of my own was sought

This time song thrush and goldfinch respectively repeated and twittered their way through the early morn in the revised location but with again no life under the surface it seemed

Then the distinct 'clop' of a topping roach. A good size, not huge, but big enough to whet the thereforeto diminishing appetite

Soon enough after, as a Dunnock struck up its brief warble in the hedge that now hinted at the greenery to follow as a backdrop, a companion of that excited fish was on. It felt a good one

A new rod is like a new bat to the cricketer. Cherished and perfect for the job in the mind but would it be in the action? Good in the shop is no guarantee of anything in the spotlight of the battle. All of the old gear, light and lighter still, 11' and 13' models, soft and not so soft, had now been slowly discarded and an immaculate 12' imposter installed in their wake

The curve superb, the strength understated, the tip to middle bend giving young rutilus more than a run for his money.

0-14-2 he went, a touch dishevelled on the one side but now the hope of more was set-in

Then the idiocy not experienced for many a year as Misty Blue tore past taking the towpath with it and pushing the Severn bore equivalent to the fore

Words were exchanged, not with the culprit but with CRT. The rest will be history

A distinct, though surprisingly not deathly, cloud grew from the depths and within minutes those finicky residents became confident breakfasting beasts. We were in again, this time a weightier fight and the rod curved deeper into the butt section cushioning every nod and run of the fish without a sign of risk of a hook pull. At last the ideal tool identified, purchased and in use. This one was 1-1-3 but a touch challenged in the propulsion department with some damage to its back leaving only part of a lucky Nemo-esque dorsal fin intact on this slightly foreshortened version of man's best fish

Lucky

Another quickly followed at around 11 ounces before the coloured reverted to clear and all was still again

What prospect a raked swim one wonders? What prospect indeed?

The trio of tasty roach

24 hours later, or was it 23, or even 25?, I can't work it out, it was time to unleash 'project lift bite' on a stretch of the Grand Union. I had fished here last at the age of twenty-odd, some twenty-odd years ago then, and it was hard but there were tales, and no doubt tails, of bream (together with the rest of the fish one would assume) to be had if one were to walk that bit further and, being bedecked with very little kit, that would not present a problem

I had recalled reedmace and rush beds on the inside of the canal here and, sure enough, they still remained so I set-up in the first gap on what was quite a wide stretch to fish just near-side of middle and introduced three hands-full of bread mash

What ensued could only be described as instant chaos. There were so many fish in the swim initially that the float never settled as the line was being battered constantly by fins and bodies except when registering a bite with extravagant runs and severe lifts. Yes, spring was here

Apart from the best canal catch since returning to the sport at 13lbs 12ozs the other first was three great crested grebe on the canal. Now it was clearly and literally stuffed with fish as they were topping right, left and centre so the fact they were taking advantage of that was no surprise but that they were happy to swim by an angler was another matter given their reluctance to come too close on stillwaters

The first twenty or so casts resulted in this little lot:

 ..and then it died. I was home again by 9am

Hybrids to 2-8-0, bronze bream to 2-2-0, roach to 11ozs, silver bream 10ozs and one little rudd. Most enjoyable!

First decent silver bream for quite some while

Bream dna in all of these but the hard fighting hybrid, top centre, was the fish of the day

Yes, spring is without doubt sprung!!