A Reflective Surface

The fields rolling and falling though marsh to the rush-lined margins, bleached and wrung-out by winter.

A consuming stillness save for the calling raven, finches and thrushes. Artificial yet real, but isn't it all?

Three moorhen career through the pasture's edge headlong as if to fall in a chestward heap, legs in cartoon motion to the rear. How many are they, these ever-present canal rails? Thankfully more than sufficient to gladden the heart on all-but every gongoozling excursion, without doubt.

Here a major chunk of F, F & F history would be recalled. Negotiation, advertisement, commitment, engagement and satisfaction in the pursuit.

This was a stretch of the most picturesque Midlands canal snaking, as it still does, from dark tunnel to complex locks; through ancient parkland with its mature oaks and chestnuts; cutting through sheep pasture like a chisel to linocut. The result the same. A work of human art.

A change had come. Rush beds extended, reedmace beds established. A wide, now narrowed, bend and whereas, in decades past, the plate glass surface would be punctuated by the innumerable concentric rings of myriad small roach. Now- nothing.

Here, one imagined barn owl and drifting hen harrier slipping over rough grassland untouched by beast or harrow from decent to recent times.

There, a badger sett high and deep in the clay bank.

Then otter-marked brick paving. "Private, trespassers will be persecuted", it said to anything capable of interpreting it.

Today so different.

In years gone, sixty brethren would gather in the dawn-time mist. A fleece and nylon clump of pink-eyed expectation and laughter. "That's a posh shirt you're wearing there George. Are you trying to raise the standard of match angling attire?"

Of those a handful would remain to be showered as they coveted; the clump dissolved to all corners; glitter cast on the worthy.

Perhaps a shoal of bream, a 'juicy' tench or carp, a hard-won net of sparkling roach would attain the jewels, and otherwise perhaps just a handful of tiddlers as winter set in.

The crinkle-cut towpath edge, a straightened pastry cutter, still beats out those reminders with a numerical rhythm.

Twenty-three, the first; through thirties, a favourite 52 and up to 74, a narrower tiddler-filled straight.

Today though it was the teens and in pursuit of that toothiest of adversaries, pike. They had always been here. A slowly raking, shallow near shelf overhung by branches but the turbidity would prove to work against us and only the nuthatch, dunnock and siskin would keep us from sliding into tedium.

The historic stone wall, consumed by ivy yet still partly intact beside the massive oak and, more distant, fresh lamb; twins and triplets in red and blue. How closely the ewes knit their lanolin-infiltrated wool to the reins of their excitable young.

March violets quietly bloom, a modesty instilled by evolution, on woodbanks and in the lee of hawthorn hedges. Hints of green among the marginal rushes and young rabbits, all dewy-eyed twinkles and bobbing white tails, conscious of the soaring threat of these cloudy skies.

Spring, and the sweet shop is again open.

Tales of the Unexpectant

Freezing conditions, iced margins but perfectly coloured water greeted the intrepid princes as they embarked on their respective recent midweek missions

Last weekend though two breezily snow flake speckled visits produced but a solitary half pound roach from a gentle glide under a sparsely crowned willow in the valley. Parps however excellent himself (again) producing a miracle fish from thin air while I cast into every rush bed and tree visible to the human eye in an attempt to keep the tackle market bouyant. I can't actually remember catching ye olde miller's thumb on rod and line, although something tells me I might have many years ago. This one though was perfectly formed in miniature and had wedged three of boy wonder's maggots sideways in its not inconsiderable miller's mouth, the red glowing through its strangely gold encrusted iridescent and transparent pot belly.

A very unusual occurrence all round that is unless you are Jeff Hatt who has taken a veritable miller's hand of the rock-lurking blighters:
http://idlersquest.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/lords-of-piscine-punyverse-revelation.html
In fact blog world has been awash with hugely tiny record shakers lately, try this one for size too, in which Russell Hilton is caught aghast by an oversized minnow:
http://canalangler.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/monster-minnow.html

This has reminded me that we found some massive sticklebacks in a pool above the high water line on holiday a couple of years ago. In fact Parps caught one with his bare hand so big that when raised above the waterline it went dark, no, seriously, it did...just like fishing the Gloucester Canal when one of those incongruous inland ships travels past

This year we are staying close to that spot so I intend to take a pen rod and try to claim a record. There are problems to address though. The pool is in Scotland so I don't know if they have a record list or whether 'ours' covers 'theirs' too, especially since 'the vote'. The pool may have a hint of salt in it but what is the ruling there? Would it be a sea record or a freshwater record? Could we apply for both or does it depend on the type of fish rather than the water it is caught in, i.e. If eventually my first non-canal 4lb chub was caught at sea would it be a sea or freshwater record?

Okay, I'll admit it early - drugs may have been involved in the writing of this piece

Anyway all of that is somewhat premature as the fish are probably dead, the pools gone or the area is now the first known british colony of the great white egret, happily lunching on the spiny critters; and I don't have the pen rod, and even if I did does it count as a rod?

So many questions!


So back to the present from the potential fantasy future...

At the car park we princes inadvertently gathered. I recognised two charming gents as lure fisherman who had passed me on the cut some months ago and, anglers being as rare on canals as record minnows, thankfully they recalled me being there too. We exchanged the usual notes and pleasantries and as they headed-off east for perch and chub on artificials I headed west for chub on bread, which, of course, thinking about it is artificial too. I guess the main difference then would be that I was throwing more free artificial in that they might, albeit in this snag-pit of a brook that may be debatable

Interestingly they had taken chub to two pounds-odd thus far in their first season on the river which seems, and again confirms, the average for the Leam and perch to a pound and three quarters which parallels my efforts to

What I didn't realise though was that one of them, Eric, is a blogger too, and a damned good one, with much thought provoking material interspersed with the necessary blogging drivel we all love of course. I happened to stumble across 'Artificials Lite' after the above event
http://www.ericweight.co.uk/artlite/rss_1.xml

(Note to self: Stop plugging others' blogs, else no one will read past the first link)

Continuing the mashed bread feeding experiment that Wednesday I made the mash at home and took a dinky little box of pre-cut bread discs and crusts, partly to save time in a pre-work session and also to save freezing the poor little pinkies off (actually my girl's fingers barely qualify as squatts) by squeezing it in subzero temperatures. This time I would feed a swim and fish it immediately for no more than 15 minutes

Third peg in and I was just giving-up hope when a drop-in very close under the near bank below me produced a proper pull and after a spirited battle in such cold water a lovely chub of 2-3-10 graced the early sunlit net and I began to think in the process that crawling around with audibly creaking joints on the bank in winter to hide behind the odd blade of dry grass is conduct unbecoming of a man in his fifties

Moving-on, swim five proved to be a newly discovered deep hole that needed the pole approach really but produced two little taps from small fish but nothing to strike at

Eventually two minutes before the bell a gentle bite in the last swim, which I missed, and off we went to stand in line with the others kids ready for the day ahead

The other princes were still at it with cars still ensconced as I left. You can read about it on Artifial Lite's 4th Feb post (if you haven't had enough of this venue for now!)

I do love fishing in the frosty conditions when thoroughly togged-up in mobile duvet and multiple thermal layers but if only the light snow earlier in the week had been sufficient to lay that chub against

One day, one special crisp day

----

This past few while I had noticed what has become known in birding circles as an 'LBJ' [a phrase almost as abhorrent/belittling/disrespectful (delete as appropriate) as 'silvers' in angling]. This Little Brown Job was, it turned out, a meadow pipit, not the usual dunnock...and here's the bust to prove it

Quite a sighting for the garden, albeit we adjoin a field, but certainly a garden first for any of the houses we have lived in

Then the dunnock put in an appearance with its dainty but feeble warble evident every morning at present and with the four local birds forming their usual promiscuous tangle immediately pre breeding season as these sparrows of the hedge tend to do. I do like dunnocks, such under appreciated contributors to our world

----

Since, three or four more trips to the stream have produced only a single dicey bite when line became as one with some dried willow herb and simultaneously tugged by a chub in an undercut. Not ideal. A vigorous strike remarkably saw all resolved in one deft (that's an intentional 'deft' in case you were considering whether that might be a typo) fell swoop taking the line from woody ruderal straight to fish rather neatly. Rather too neatly as it happened, with the fish clearly facing away from me at the time and, not entirely unsurprisingly, mortally shocked by the experience, leaping clean from the icy trickle, landing with a massive tail-slap, whale-style, on its left-hand side, dividing the line into more lengths than recommended with a single rod and charging downstream at a rate of knots leaving his shoal mates wondering if he'd just heard where Nemo was

An intriguing distraction occurred in one peg where I had cut a hole in vegetation to poke a squeeze of flake into an undercut when I became conscious of a quite large, and yellow and blue, ball of fluff floating to earth beside me. As I turned to view it, at the same time trying not to twitch the rod and invite a bird's nest, it instantly transformed into a pair of blue tits fighting over territory/mate in the first luke-warm sunshine of the year. They emitted a strange electronicmtweeting and gripped each other with their feet like two beached dayglo mini-peregrines while fluffing out their feathers and remaining in a quiveringly rigid state. I would have attempted a photograph but with many bare intervening stems it would have been pointless as the phone camera, while good enough, inexplicably doesn't focus on what my brain anticipates. As I moved to get a better view, no more than a metre away from my cushion, they realised my presence and, with bounding unhurried flight, disappeared swooping into the dropping willow branches like primates in a rainforest

I have now reached a point where I do not expect to catch anything at all prior to arriving but more see the trip as simply a case of being out by the river. When I get there though that unending confidence that the next cast will produce that bite never goes away

Now I have started to regularly bait a couple of likely swims with a slight rise in air temperatures predicted this week and, on the second visit to do so, having seen only two other anglers on the river when I have been fishing in over two months, found not one but two such fellows firmly set-in for a session in the very place.

It's the same kind of luck I have with my fantasy football team. If I transfer them in they get sent-off, if I keep them they stop scoring. Such is life it seems, but I'm not bitter about any of it, really I'm not

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!!

When the Fishing gets The Bird

Distant washing moggy

At the crack of dawn this morning on former moorland by the canal with a young plantation nearby it was evident that willow warblers had this year arrived in good number, with three simultaneously singing from different perches both within the wood and in standard hedgerow trees

A mistle thrush struck-up it's somewhat limited repertoire from a distant branch and the occasional blackcap, chaffinch and dunnock joined in

Of greatest interest however was the faint calling of the lapwing later fully brought out of his carefree staccato patterings in an arable field by a passing corvid, causing him to take to the air like Mo Farah with dodgy joints. Rocking first this way then that with his over-sized pied wings exaggerating each movement and giving away the nesting activity his imperceptible mate undertook below on the bare earth

The bird interest was exceptional for a fishing trip, mind you my trips are never just fishing trips, they ought to have another name really, 'nature observation' or some such title perhaps. Again the enchantment stemmed from the numerous songs to be heard at various times. The morning had commenced with the slightest hint of frost on the banks in isolated pockets opposite the wood and it was there that the angling expectation took root with a good helping of mashed bread deposited down the middle of this narrow stretch, the first two casts produced roach of just over and just under the pound...no longer the wait of an hour or two for a bite with the gradually increasing water temperature. The peg was the most pleasurable, with a short section of subsided bank allowing a seat to be taken down at water level - always preferable for that feeling of being at one with the water and surroundings

Despite a burst of topping fish half an hour after dawn no more action was to be enjoyed. A first boat at 06.38 did not help greatly but that is the risk of early Saturday mornings, when narrowboats hired by the inexperienced need to cover too much water in getting back to the marina for handover, necessitating an early start for them too

So, armed with some knowledge gained in recent weeks, more bread was introduced some four pegs to the left opposite an open field. Immediately it was noticeable that the bird list was growing just for the sake of an 80 yard walk into a adjoining habitat linked only by the canal and its margins, as the gear was relocated while the feed settled. A male reed bunting could be heard forcing out his feeble notes in the now suddenly emerging rushes and the previously seemingly distant lapwing was now more visible and careering over his chosen field in a manner evocative of an age gone by; when, on many a rose-tinted balmy spring evening, The Old Duffer and I, would wonder at their ability to tumble apparently out of control without breaking any wings or losing feathers and yet braking before hitting the ground too. All to distract the intruder, and what a distraction! 

Of course the first cast in the new swim produced more of the same but this was some fighter. I prayed, in some sort of bizarre agnostic fashion, for a dream roach.....

Hybrid. 2-11-5 

Another big canal hybrid eventually relented and slipped into that dream-like state that finds them in the net. A couple more fish followed and an overall catch of over six and a half pounds was returned to the, by then (8.15am), strongly pulling water on conclusion of a brief but most enjoyable dawn to breakfast, pre-B&Q, session

Some chunky fish, now fully recovered from a hard winter but some showing signs of the excitement of spring with absent scales
Roach 1-2-5, 0-15-3, 0-6-0. Bream 1-7-8. RxB Hybrid 2-11-5

SPECIES LIST:
Willow warbler, carrion crow, blackbird, woodpigeon, mallard, moorhen, magpie, blackcap (singing, and female viewed), skylark, chaffinch, lapwing, bullfinch, reed bunting, jackdaw, dunnock, greenfinch, mistle thrush, goldfinch, collared dove, swallow, indet gull, wren, blue tit, robin, house sparrow.
Roach, bronze bream, (roachXbream hybrid).

If Saturday had been dream-like then Sunday was the real thing. Another early alarm call but this time ten minutes earlier to allow a longer walk should the opportunity present itself, as no decision would be made on destination until the wheels were turning. Last time this road was taken a barn owl was seen scattering jackdaws and this time it was in the same spot and slipped over a farm gate between trees to vanish into the mist

Only a few hundred yards on, Volpone trotted across the metalled surface with his bunny and disappeared into the darkness of the hedge destined to cause mayhem amongst the waiting cubs no doubt

I hadn't visited this stretch since match angling had lost its gloss but recalled two things quite vividly a match winning perch taken on half a pinkie in the depths of winter and an asthma attack from the long walk in a heavy frost; a day of extremes!

Similarities with today were initially limited to the frost with the fields white-over at 5am but soon cleared as the air warmed with the cloud cover that approached gently from the north-east. Mist gently drifted across the water as I approached an S-bend I had not seen for over twenty years, an area where I had learnt bread punch fishing by trial and error (and a few magazine articles) as a teenager

A narrowboat floated in the mist as if a cake decoration on icing with a deep ribbon of the frozen green field below. Soon the sky turned orange as the sun rose together with a number of large fish beneath the growing cloud cover and dramatically illuminated the whole scene with growing concentric rings of each topping specimen glinting gold

Rooks were the first birds to show as they ferried more beetles than the land can concievably support back to their young in bulging bald beaks. The first lift-bite came five to ten minutes in when a vigorous fight culminated in a noticeably silver fish coming to the surface, no hint of blue to the scales. A large silver bream pulled the scales down to 1-3-6, a sliver off the PB, and the best start imaginable

The first skylark took to the wing to declare the day open for business as a number of blackbirds practiced their own tunes from a variety of perches near and far

The worm line, 15 yards to the right at the bottom of the near shelf, was subject to the 'sleeper wand' but first cast the bait did not hit the bottom before a violent twang of the tip resulted in the hooking of a superb fat spring Dandy of the Stream resplendent in striped tunic and collapsible battlements. An all canals PB at 1-13-5

It was then fish for fish on the two lines but the undoubted highlight was yet another PB hybrid, where are they all coming from, and do they fight?! The seemingly impossible four pounds ceiling shattered by this fish of 4-2-3

The rest of the session was usurped by the bird life and a steady stream of smaller perch on the 'tip seemed somewhat insignificant as a mysterious repetitive warbling seeped from a scrubby patch to the left. Wandering along using the hedge as cover a closer view was attempted but the culprit was deep inside the thorns so I returned to my own perch but not before a pair of tree sparrows chirped their way from an ash to a field hedge in a landscape that has always been something of stronghold for them despite their apparent recent decline

Another hybird came to the net on the wand, this one 1-11-3 and swiftly followed by a good roach on the float, which seemed fairly modest until lying in the net, of 1-2-0

Soon though the warbling moved to a bramble patch with few leaves and gave the ideal opportunity have have another go. With all the stealth of a penguin in clogs I ventured closer and could see movement as the songster headed toward the camera. By this time the iPhone app had confirmed that the sound was made by a lesser whitethroat, all that was missing was a good sighting to ink-in the tick. Then suddenly, and equally briefly, he was all but in the open and a couple of long-lens record shots were reeled-off. Result!

Over eleven pounds of clonkers in a mixed bag including a few small perch out of shot and the surreal period of North Oxford Canal angling continues

What to make of this quality of fishing before the boat activity starts? Well, that's another story...

SPECIES:

Barn owl, red fox, skylark, tree sparrow, blackbird, indet gull, rook, mallard, moorhen, canada goose, dunnock, reed bunting, great tit, wren, chaffinch, lapwing, lesser whitethroat, kestrel, silver bream, roach, perch, rXb hybrid 





When you're on a Roll, Butter it and add Jam

Saturday's events left me reeling with the suggestion that a fish I had not given a second thought as anything other than a hybrid might be the roach of a lifetime, or perhaps a hundred lifetimes...with tapeworm

As the warmth of home was left on Sunday morning for another pre-boat traffic mildly frosty dawn start I had no clue where to go. As usual I was armed with the simplest of baits, lobworms and a loaf of bread, but I really could not go back to the same area as the previous day as it would have become a pursuit of the impossible. Equally I couldn't go somewhere with any potential and so in the interest of a challenge the least likely place to catch a decent roach I could think of mysteriously rose to the top of the list of options, but, the lobs could come into play as it was possible that a few perch might inhabit the area, as well, these days, as zander of course

The infinitesimally tiny likelihood of a decent catch from this stretch cannot be over-exaggerated. in matches it would often be missed-out, of such dubious repute was it. I had never seen a weight of even two pounds from there in around 25 years' knowledge and didn't recall personally even having a pound of fish from it in the former angling life before the late 1990's. Not great then. I had not considered the prospect of the crayfish population either, not yet having had much trouble with them this year, but this was one of those places they might relish, deep inside, shallow across, a rocky towpath edge and a tree-lined far bank

I introduced the now customary three helpings of mashed bread down the base of the far shelf at the start despite the lack of form on the basis of an emerging notion that the quantity of this type of feed is important to stop a marauding roach shoal in their tracks in a manner that white crumb or liquidised bread simply appear unable to match

Soon it was apparent that a substantial crayfish population did indeed exist here with the float constantly being pulled about by the line caught around them...and those tell-tale tench-like bubbles they create punctuating the surface immediately above the feed. Casting slightly away from the fed zone to avoid them gave had a tentative lift, little different to those movements attributable to the crays, but, enough to make the trigger finger twitch. the result was the head-banging resistance of a roach of around 8-10 ounces from which the hook pulled-out in mid-water

Not dejected as such but nevertheless convinced that was my chance for the session gone the worms were reached for together with the wand. Feeling around in my bag and behind me the realisation...no worms. They, it seemed, were conveniently tucked next to my shoes in the car boot. A blessing, perhaps, that would ensure I stuck to the bread, fully focussed. Some prospect however!

Constantly checking left and right, primarily for signs of topping fish and then for approaching boats I glanced back at the float to see it twitch and postively sail away. This was either a crustacean on speed or another creature with bream-like tendancies. I struck into a fish which took fully five minutes to land, a monstrous hybrid the like of which I could never have dreamed existed in any water let alone this narrow little canal

Humungus mixtupipiscillana at 3-14-0

I hate to keep repeating myself, genuinely I do, and my limited writing skills don't help when attempting to convey the exponential levels of amazement at the current 'form' of the canal, but, yet again, the hybrid PB has been broken with this lump of fish flesh and scales, the progeny of both roach and bronze bream. Although it is never perhaps fully conceivable that one might be impressed by a hybrid, simply because the disappointment at not having caught a pure roach or bream get's in the way of those feelings, I could not deny this was something special. Yes, despite the monster of the previous day that was more roach than bream, this more bream than roach example was over half a pound bigger, the largest North Oxford canal fish I had ever caught for the third week in succession! Surely this would not be beaten ever again unless a rare carp or large zander entered the equation?

This session was unusual from there on to it's conclusion three and a half hours after setting-up, in that bites then came at regular intervals rather than in a burst of 3 or 4 bites in quick succession as was fairly standard when a shoal passed through. Roach then took centre-stage as they moved-in and for a change apparently stayed hovering over the feed which had been topped-up every hour with two more helpings if bites had tailed-off

The first was a fish of 3 drams over a pound, followed by a fourteen ouncer and at this point I became drawn in to the incredible bird song surrounding me so started to mentally compile a list of species from song as a bit of additional entertainment. Warblers were making themselves known in some numbers for the first time this year and a swathe of violets carpetted the bank as it dipped toward the hedge behind me. A hybrid of just under fifteen ounces intially interrupted the test but great tit was the obvious starter for ten, 'Teacher, teacher!', the male urgently cried as the contrastingly contemplative, 'Chiff-chaff, chiff-chaff, chiff', emanated from a distant twig in tree-lined scrub to the south. Blackcap, greenfinch, mistle thrush and stock dove joined the musical throng as the list approached twenty species, the larger proportion of which were not ever seen

Perfect roach of around the pound started to show-up

The third roach was a muscular chap akin to the barrel-chested 'All Canals PB' of the previous weekend. The fight was something he or she could be proud of as it continually attempted to get round tree roots under the near bank and, at one point, managed to somehow get the line behind a log laying in the side which increased his chances of returning to the shoal considerably. Fortunately (for me) however the help of the landing net in dragging the log to the right brought the line back out into open water and the fish apparently became disorientated soon to be beaten. For the third time since the new year I was convinced this fish could be another PB but with the 1-7-3 fish in the back of my mind this time I knew it would be close and not a huge increase, if any. The capture of pound roach earlier in the session helped to gauge the scale. In the wetted bag the read-out appeared to gleam the result with some excitement as 24.3oz...converting to 1-8-5 and, yes, another All Canals PB to boot

The best roach from a canal so far at 1-8-5

Another thickset spawning season fish but how had they eluded me last year at this time I thought? In fact, checking 2012's notes they hadn't, I just have a bad memory but that ceiling of around 1-4-0 was quite obvious and the average was slightly smaller than this year, they are a year older after all. Could it be that simple? Well, it could but a theory is starting to formulate on this which I will share in a future post when updating current thinking on the tactics of this big canal roach quest

As a hint of water movement started to take effect a last bite of the day produced a fourth roach of just 8 drams below the pound as the first willow warbler of the year struck-up its melancholy descending song and soon after my photography ability was found wanting trying to make something of the literally fantastical catch of six fish for nine and half pounds from this previously angler-forsaken stretch. I shall not be rushing back there though, much preferring instead to seek-out a new challenge but it will not be ignored so freely in future certainly!

The whole nine and a half pounds of the blighters

In the words of the recently deceased Baroness Thatcher, "I'm enjoying this!", but how much longer this streak of unfathomable luck can continue I have no idea. I feel destined for that inestimable balancing event known as a series of blanks to descend upon things any day and I could not complain if it were indeed to do so

Soaring buzzard and kestrel sought thermals over the road and reflected the light-headed mood as I headed back not noticing either the load on my back or the ground under my feet, angling gets no better than this

The four canal roach in all their spring sunlight glory, totalling 4-5-11

Species list:
Rabbit, roach, (roachxbream hybrid), great tit, blue tit, mallard, moorhen, canada goose, heron, wren, chaffinch, bullfinch, carrion crow, woodpigeon, blackbird, mistle thrush, willow warbler, chiffchaff, robin, greenfinch, blackcap, skylark, stock dove, dunnock, buzzard, kestrel

When Plenty is quite Enough

 

A couple of weeks ago it was decided it was time to crack the Leam

What one might call the middle river upstream of Leamington had consistently got the better of the rusty river angling skills (and what puny skills they were related only to catching nets of small fish in a 'that was a good day's fishing' kind of manner)

The river at the time was starting to fall from flood proportions and was about 0.5m above normal. Last weekend a late evening visit produced the usual owl-related entertainment but I don't recall having a proper bite with the river about a foot above normal

This weekend I felt it would be spot-on. 250mm up and probably with plenty of colour still in it to keep the feeding confidence of the fish high

As the river is a task for late in the day rather than early, the dawn visit on Saturday had to be canal-orientated, and so it was. The journey there should have acted as a warning. A barn owl scattered some early rising jackdaws and wheeled across the dual carriageway. It's huge moth-like form so distracting close-up as to make one question one's driving concentration but soon became a memory as the car careered toward the venue; nothing, surely, could match that sight. The prospects however seemed good with the heavy colour of a fortnight past having dropped-out of the water until, kneeling at the water's edge to scoop water for the bread feed, it became apparent that the visibility was almost too good extending to at least a foot down and, on the particular stretch, would potentially prove the kiss of death...and so it proved.

Soon after, a male sparrowhawk, with his sleek and unmistakable flap and glide flight and slate-blue back, drifted past just above mid-water and disappeared to the right following a line just inches above the towpath as he contemplated breakfast

Two hours passed and no bites but (there was a big BUT) as per the previous post, something unique occurred as I sat wondering if anything at all swam under the surface, as not even crayfish bites were evident, I happened to glance to my right where a wide turning bay was just in view by a large tree. Against that dark backdrop three large birds on the water with a hint of white caught the eye. "Canada's", I internally muttered and glanced away, they were often here, but, in doing so, one slipped under the surface in an naturally accomplished manner, a natural assassin. A double-take then had me convinced, they were goosander. Now I couldn't begin to work-out how many hours had been spent in isolated locations on canals early in the morning in the lifetime to date but never before had goosander been been on the agenda ('nearly said 'menu'!), as a truly wild bird with a healthy distrust of man. Being a sawbill they are fish-eaters but, not being blessed with mouths in heron-like proportion, they don't offer much of a threat to the inhabitants of the North Oxford Canal, given that the majority of them are probably over 4 ounces in weight and therefore not on the menu (there - squeezed it in!) for the fine-mouthed goosander

More internal rumination at this point, "I shalln't be amused if they catch one!"...and catch one they didn't. In fact, within just a few minutes they flew to my left seeking stretches with more snacklihood revealing their number to comprise two males and a female. Beautiful birds and perfectly evolved for their lifestyle including the rather odd habit of nesting in tree-holes of course

Soon a skylark was singing in the distance as spring threatened it's intentions reinforced by the somewhat feeble attempts to pronounce itself present by a yellowhammer. The chances of life underwater had slipped-away by 9am and after collecting fresh moss for the lobworm collection the warmth of home seemed irresistable

Later in the day a long overdue trip to the tip offered a few spare minutes to pre-bait three likely-looking Leam swims with a mixed liquidised and mashed bread mix accompanied by the mildly unhealthy Lady Burton who 'needed the fresh air' and, by 4pm it could be resisted no more, although the water was a touch clearer than expected with visibility 9 inches down.

The three pegs were re-fed on arrival and I perched myself in the most comfortable of them to run a small 'Topper' through. I did this for an hour and then intended to change to the lead as the light faded and try the other two swims before returning here to fish into dark.

The peg had surprised with it's depth previously and the rig was set well over 6 foot as a 6 ounce roach came on the third or fourth trot through and then one bumped-off on the strike but soon the float buried in that all-consuming chub-like manner and a fish of just a fraction over 2 pounds was drawn to the net with the power of the Avon rod too much for it, thankfully, in this snag-lined stream

As light started to fade it was time to wander to swim two, a shallower stretch will sunken rushes evident and with the main flow tight across, a chance therefore of some interest closer-in. The intention was to give it just 15 minutes or so in each of the other options having reverted to single-swan link-leger

The action was certainly non-stop but from small over-excited fish. I hooked one of the sharp bites and saw a flash as the fish spun under the water in a manner which only dace can achieve and just as suddenly it was gone. Frantic tapping and pulling continued until I had a reasonably proper bite and struck into something a touch more solid, which being a shallow swim, immediately rolled and splashed on the surface revealing itself as a decent roach. It fought well in the flow, as river roach tend to, and took a while to come to the waiting submerged net partly due to a touch more care being taken than had been afforded the earlier chub. He/she/it was a deep-bellied perfectly-formed example of the species and, as I tend to with any roach over a pound, wasinitially over-estimated in size but when quickly dropped on the scales was confirmed as an exact replica of my largest canal roach at 1-4-11

The commotion lead me to seek-out peg three where a similar sequence of events ensued brought to a halt by this time a small dace

By then there was just sufficient light to allow the return journey to first base to be made; for a betalight to be attached to the tip and to settled-in for the first hour of darkness with that comforting glow hovering over the water, just into the shade of the steeply sloping far bank. Quiet however it was not! As the owls struck-up their now anticipated chorus, and as is also customary one flew low over the water in complete silence to my right and disappeared into the increasing gloom of the wood while his mate or, at the very least, competitor continuing hooting from a distant Cupressus

Half an hour later, as the pungent smell of a farm fire wafted through the valley, I became conscious of the falling temperature and hats were exchanged for a higher 'tog'. No sooner had I looked back at the tip than it slammed round and that instantaneous, instinctive reflex of striking found me attached to my own substantial foe in the dark. standing quickly up and initially without any illumination other than the reflection of the light sky on the water (metaphorical) gauntlets were thrown down onto the now rippling surface (besides, they're new gloves). This was going to test the rod and myself; with minimal vision and little experience of such situations to call on all that could be done was think 'hit and hold' and trust the Avon to do the rest

At this point my secondary angling aim from 2012, which had been scuppered, partly, by the terribly wet year, came to mind in a somewhat fateful fashion. Could it be 4lbs? It felt it, or I willed it to feel it, but of course I couldn't really be sure. My only previous experience of such fish was on the pole from the Oxford Canal with a carp rig, the only comparison to which was that I was on one end and a chub was on the other

Under what felt like extreme pressure (how would you get a six pounder out of a peg like this?!) it still managed to dally briefly with some roots but the tension drew it clear and into open-ish water, then it seemed to be mine and the net seemed tempting as a way to draw things to a swift close but it shot-out into the main current to take on an altogether superior fighting capacity. It being the wrong side of a central reedbed left only one option, more pressure, and that worked as the surface erupted and the fish slid over the reeds and into the now expectant gape of the landing net

An iPhone flash photo doesn't do it justice, but here it is

So, some battle, but how big was it? With the 4lb target hanging over proceedings the scales which weigh ounces added an extra dimension...'61.0oz' it read...soon it dawned that 64 ounces would be enough, and, though it wasn't 'enough', it was certainly plenty as my biggest river chub slipped back into the depths. It was quite a slender fish that would comfortably have pushed 4-4 to 4-8 fully nourished but of course the peculiar advantage of missing a target is that it still exists to be beaten however with only 11 days of the season to go is it really possible from the Leam? Whether it is or it isn't, plenty of hours will be put in before the close I'm sure

...and with some scale

Species list for the weekend:
Rabbit, roach, chub, dace, perch, zander, chaffinch, goldfinch, yellowhammer, robin, blackbird, song thrush, fieldfare, nuthatch, dunnock, great tit, blue tit, starling, woodpigeon, magpie, carrion crow, rook, raven, jay, sparrowhawk, barn owl, tawny owl, mallard, moorhen, canada goose, goosander, black-headed gull, common gull
(4 oz zander and 14oz perch from Sunday morning trip to N Ox C)

The Extremes of Frosty Days

How often do we venture out into the wild early or late in the day and witness something for the first time?

On consecutive recent days events have been enjoyed, brought about by conspiring circumstances, that I don't recall experiencing previously, mostly influenced by the effects of temperature

First I decided to visit a stretch of canal I hadn't fished for around twenty years, and, going further back, probably 13 years before that to the previous visit. A good catch back then, believe it or believe it not, was high ounces so the prospects weren't great set against that context. However the zander-induced proliferation of big fish in the canal generally ensured that it was likely to be one bite, one fish wherever I went on a morning with clear skies anyway, so what was to be lost by trying this place with the better haunts either too coloured or too often visited recently? Very little.

The path went past a small boatyard, small by modern standards, where boats were moored two and three abreast such that some of them edged into the centre of the canal. It was very tempting to set-up here and, when a genuinely surprising number of small roach started topping as I wandered past, I thought more than twice and even came back to the spot before continuing. Pegs beyond the boats also had topping fish and a 30m long reedbed opposite was just too enticing, especially as, beyond that point, the prospects appeared some what less than exciting.

The fishing was interesting but unexciting, marginally eclipsed by the bird life (and almost by the continuous dog life)

It was cold. No frost on arrival but then it formed on and around the kit as the morning took hold. To my right in the marina mouth I watched the ice form, there only, through the mist of my own breath but, with a decent pull on the cut as it discharged the rainfall from a fortnight past into the Avon, no ice formed in the narrow channel I had chosen.

The promiscuous dunnock showed its true self with three individuals singing and frolicking in the dead ruderal & hedgeline opposite, at times passed by a variety of tits, finches and thrushes. Most of the time the peak of a thermally-lined cap cut-out any potential action above eye-level but for no known reason I did at least once lift my gaze briefly at precisely the moment a probable wader flew rapidly by and took a steep right-turn through the hedge into an industrial estate and a small stream behind me. No great distinguishing features on this middle-sized bird which left me perplexed, maybe it wasn't a wader, anyway I'll never know and sometimes that's a good thing; keeping the uncertainty of it all to the fore.


A few small fish and a bumped specimen later and my enthralment in this long-lost stretch started to wane with the deathly chug of a narrowboat emanating from the gloom past the boatyard. The boat cut through like a non-Newtonian fluid and swept past me taking a million pieces of wafer-thin ice with it. Minutes later every speck of ice had gone; pulled cleanly to the west on the flow, and, to the 11am dog walker, it would simply have seemed a perfect mild sunny morning as the temperature crept up to a peak of 7 or 8C.

'Never watched that unfold before


Next day saw me back. I'd deposited some bread 25 metres to my left and was set to give it a go but this time when I arrived the marina was already frozen in part and spread across the whole patch during my stay

The bread from the previous morning really did the trick...crayfish heaven! Twitch after twitch after twitch soon had me scurrying for another peg safe in the knowledge that all the crays were piled-up in one spot. The second produced two small roach before the lure of the birdlife again had me drifting-off shrub, tree and skyward as the gentle 'pheep' of a male bullfinch aurally illuminated the frost, accompanied by his rich rose-red barrel-chest, high in a hawthorn

The temperature rose more steeply than yesterday and soon the ice, which was threatening to creep toward me, started to subside and by the time I headed back to see if my car had been clamped or ticketed it had been completely consumed back into the body of towing water and, by then, probably, dumped in the avon (the ice that is, not the car)

'Never seen that before


Unperturbed by a lack of angling success, that same day I had to shake-off a residual river fishing desire on the Leam. It was about half a metre up but starting to show signs of clearing after the melted snow. My footprints were the first to appear in the deposited silt of a river that had been over 2m above normal a few days prior and whole lobs presented in numerous swims for a few minutes each produced little other than an increasingly serious shortage of swan shot and hooks!

Eventually, as dusk fell, I settled into a swim where a gentle glide had formed following substantial bank erosion caused by the preceding floods. Tap, tap, tap-tap was the best bite I had and, an hour after dark, the distant honking of geese was accompanied by the sudden shocking brightness of the phone screen indicating the The Lady Burton considered it time we had dinner, and she was right.

As my eyes became re-accustomed to the dark, and the 'one last cast' ritual undertaken in plummeting temperatures, I was conscious, as I often am on this venue, of a passing tawny owl. They had been tooit too-ooing as usual for some time and had now become active. A massive bird flew past me above the river and commenced that typical bird-like rapid braking with its wings as it headed into some dense trees...'CRACK' came the sound and, within a split second, a loud splash as something hit the water. '**** - the owls gone in', I inwardly exclaimed as I leapt to my feet and trained my now faultering head-torch on the murky surface only to see the branch it had obviously tried to land-on float swiftly by! The owl, unseen and probably smirking as only owls can at my panic on its behalf, had itself floated off to seek out another perch...which is more than I managed

Sunset over the Leam

'Never known that happen before!


Species list:
Bullfinch, goldfinch, chaffinch, dunnock, blue tit, great tit, robin, song thrush, blackbird, magpie, carrion crow, woodpigeon, collared dove, mallard, mute swan, lesser black backed gull, black headed gull, tawny owl, pheasant, canada goose. Rabbit. Roach, roachxbream hybrid, perch.