Disruption and Discontent or The Fish won't Feed 'cos the Weather doesn't Know What to do Next

It's been a tough year for the angler thus far...and sheep. Thankfully the latter, with their special feet and woolly coats, can cling-on through the worst of weathers

If it hasn't been gales, heavy rain and rising filthy rivers it's been frozen canals, lakes affected by fluctuating temperatures and excessive colour in the waters. Not the greatest of recipes

The decision had been made to seek to gain blogger's challenge points on rivers or seek-out pike where their seasons are limited until March and then revert to still-waters and canals but it has proven almost pointless, in both respects

 

Until just this last Tuesday six consecutive blanks on a wide variety of all three categories of venue and numerous methods had been fruitless since the last week of January. It feels longer. Most of the visits didn't produce even the merest hint of a bite and none of them saw fit to offer reward with any sport at all

Then on Thursday three bites all hooked and two nice chub of 3.6.0 and 3.4.0, with one  perhaps a touch larger lost at the rim of the net, were offered-up by the Upper Warks Avon and, at last, razor blades were not a consideration for the journey home

The better of the brace added a measly two points to the challenge tally but it was a pleasant event adding that couple to the chart having been so long away from it. I estimate that the past four point-scoring fish have added a sum total of around 6 to the aggregate. Not great.

The winter birdwatching has been okay while out there sitting by a range of waters, the highlight of this was a small flock of siskin feeding on weather damaged alder in the glorious and thermal-layer eschewing sunshine of last Sunday, together with close-up views of treecreeper and the, ever confiding, long-tailed tit flock, and of course it's always a pleasure to see the immaculate and continually diving goldeneye.

Kingfishers have been abundant and a brown hare brightened a cloudy lakeside stroll with lures, though he seemed uninterested in an imitation perch, perhaps a fake blade of grass may have been more to his liking

It's quite incredible when I think back through the tactics used in that spell that link-legered bread and lobworm, free-lined lobworm, cage feeder with groundbait and maggot/worm/caster hookbait, lures, deadbaits, etc., etc., have all failed when in different conditions all would produce the necessary goods.

The fish simply shut down.


Even these wouldn't work

The weather hasn't been all bad though. When the river fell, and at the same time it was suitably cold, fantastical glistening pendants of ice formed as the stiffening receding waters clung on to strands of vegetation bent like small spinning rods to the lowering surface; extensive sheets of magically thin ice were left floating in the air over the shallows and those natural, but rarely seen, phenomena formed in the riparian margins turned boredom to wonder

A glimpse of the chocolate merlin commuting through her wintering quarters in the valley of the stream was enough to bring confirmation that sometimes it's acceptable to think all is well in the real world. Well enough for now anyway, pending a turn in fortunes

A planned day off was looking perfectly timed until the rains returned today and by the time those clouds are drained the rivers will be rising again, the lakes will be coloured by cold water and the canals likewise.

What are we to do?

The Boy Wonder and I satisfy ourselves by working-out imaginary comedy situations. An evolving episode of which currently involves a tramp working as a barrista in Nero, or Costa, or Starbucks, or somewhere. Anyway it was funny to us, wherever it was staged. He even found a better way to get his groundbait out to the middle of the lake...

Things became so bad on Sunday that I sat with the dead-bait line metaphorically tied to my toe, Huckleberry Finn-style, when the incredible quantity of, mainly plastic, refuse settled in the debris left behind by the receded Avon became interesting. I actually found myself sifting through it to see what I could identify, until I heard a rat scuttling below the land-based raft and thought better of inviting Weil's Disease upon myself

The badger footprints in the deposited silt were good though, among the rat impressions - not ones I had trodden on, I do mean the footprints

Updates:

Mouse training -
Bubble still runs at the sight of anything that isn't known to her to be in her cage.
Squeak is now taking sunflower seeds from my fingers
...and I found out they can eat celery, which they love.

Blogger's Challenge -
Everyone is struggling in the Midlands and James just gets further and further in front with his ever-increasing dace, grayling, unicorn and other mythical beasts we can only dream of up here in Warwickshire. Next time I think it unquestionably necessary to handicap him like a champion race horse. I don't feel a weight disadvantage would help much though as he's probably fit enough to deal with that too. I'm leaning toward a straightforward ban, that should do it

Snow-caught Chub Challenge (commenced 2012/13) -
I have always loved seeing experts with their pictures of chub in the snow but it has not been until the past three or four years that I have tried it and, at last, in the most recent fall, it happened. Not huge at 2.6.0, and not the deepest snow cover, but welcome and an ambition achieved

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

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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

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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

Crave New World

Jack of all trades

Despite seemingly being reasonably able to turn my hand to most angling methods with varying degrees of success I am particularly poor at making good decisions in respect of likely venues

From the age of about twelve my angling was very much cast in a match angling context and, absolutely love it though I then did, it is no way to teach an angler how to understand seasons & conditions in relation to individual species

There were certain obvious situations to avoid. The weed choked summer river or drain for instance, a recently dredged canal or severe flood conditions spring to mind but these would even be obvious to the non-angler, although there can be merit even in some of those apparently uninviting circumstances of course

Selecting a stretch of river, canal or pond because of its seasonal bias to summer rudd or clear water winter pike would pass me by

For me it is more about the methods and techniques that might winkle a fish often somewhat against the odds. The tiny hook and finest of lines to avoid a blank for the team on an all-but fishless January canal; a hemp line contrary to popular belief on a North Oxford Canal evening match; a ludicrously light rig fished treble-depth and held tight for the slowest of slow drops seeking bonus roach on warm-water summer canals. This list goes on, but all of these scenarios were artificially induced by the constraint of having to fish the peg gifted by the mystery of the draw bag; a case of having to; win or lose, death or glory, the approach to the random peg was the sword by which the match angler did, or died

Top match anglers at the peak of their sport have an edge. It might be a complete method they have perfected or as little as a slight variation on a theme used by all. Some will occasionally succeed when the circumstances allow it. Others increase their own odds by being ahead of the game in as many key departments as possible but when the matchman or woman is on form, flying, high in confidence, he or she just knows what the next step is, what change to make. It is instinctive and rarely lets him or her down...until something changes to remove the advantage and they must change with it or be proven briefly to have been extremely lucky and not that good after all, and, I have crossed rods with those too of course

Having spent the recent few years pursuing fish larger than the match angler would consistently target on similar venues, I hesitate to use the phrase 'specimen fish' as that would simply not be completely accurate, it is undoubtedly apparent that the level of pure angling skill generally purveyed in match angling far exceeds that of other branches of the sport. The ability of some anglers to extract decent catches in superficially the most unlikely of swims is quite beyond belief. Indeed I personally have lost count of the times that great, or, at least, exceedingly good, anglers have achieved this kind of incredible feat before my very eyes. Of course it isn't possible to catch what isn't in front of you but that really is not the point

In big fish circles it is more a case of utilising that same unshifting self-confidence and applying it to a method, bait or water that the angler believes in. Top specimen hunters think nothing of casting what they consider to be the killing bait and rig to the spot they know will produce that fish of a lifetime and then waiting an inordinate amount of time for it to happen. Contrast this with top class squatt fishing at its peak when 200 canal anglers sought 3lbs plus of small roach to gain superiority. A method that required a recast if the float had settled. In an attempt at real time as you scroll down, it went like this:

Feed, 

Cast, 

Mend line, 

Refill catty pouch by touch,

Strike,

Plop fish in net,

Rebait, 

Feed, 

Cast,

Mend, 

Refill pouch,

Strike,

Plop...

And so on, minute after minute, hour after hour for four or five hours. Sometimes 'feed' and 'rebait' could be interchanged. A hundred plus fish to far bank waggler tactics would be ideal, and later on to the pole of course

The key was to get the inter-feed timing such that the last fed squatts were hitting bottom as the next feed hit the surface, a constant stream in fact. Well, that was the simple part of the theory anyway

Now though it is the variety of methods, rods, reels, poles, species, conditions, etc., that this particular angler is getting to grips with and, while many years competing with and against the aforementioned cannot fail to rub a little all-round craft into the piscatorial pores I cannot change the fact that I do tend to target the right thing at the wrong time. What I mean by this is that I might wake-up with the heady excitement of a river roach session buzzing around my skull to then forget that same river is gin clear, perhaps barely moving and that I ought really seek-out a pike in the morning (not the afternoon), and so forth

Certain favourable conditions are being grasped however. The turbid, high but falling river water in rising temperatures post-flood takes no thought as it is an instant draw, but, largely due to the fact that it triggers ticking that 'difficult challenge' box in my angling mind, even though I must surely soon realise that it is in fact one of the easiest times to catch fish of many species, it just doesn't look as though it should be! Frosty banks are a great time for canal roach, this also has not passed me by

I can only put it down to the fact that I do not yet know enough of the information floating around this complex world I now reside in. Certainly I read a lot from certain sources; books in preference to magazines and blogs in preference to manufacturer's websites; but even though I know for instance that tench are spring feeders in cloudy conditions perhaps best caught at dawn rather than at night but certainly appearing to feed in bursts, I do find it very hard to apply it when my mind says, 'I do fancy some bream today'.

As with the many new things that we have to get to grips with in life it tends to become more clear eventually if one immerses oneself long enough in its essence and, as a bird is not fully fledged as soon as it hatches, so must I retain the patience to let it all osmose into the blood and ultimately become second nature, perhaps the original Mr Crabtree could help me out here?

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So, with angling time out of the question due to dodgy weather forecast and Christmas shopping to undertake this past weekend, we set about trying-out Parps' spotting scope with a vengeance and off to Pitsford Water we headed

The causeway was iced as we set-up viewing towards the nature reserve to set the ball rolling and the breeze did little to keep the shivers at bay. The flask helped however and we were well down the coffee in no time as we picked through the more common wildfowl and checked them in the book to give him some confidence in the i.d's

Teal, mallard, wigeon, then cormorant and onto great crested grebe, etc., plus that ever-pleasurable winter diving bird the male goldeneye. A host of wintering mute swan were dotted around the periphery of the vast acreage of water but one looked somewhat too busy to the naked eye in the distance and this was where the 'scope really came into it's own as first finding and then focus revealed a great while egret with its impossibly snake-like neck and huge yellow bill stalking the margins up to its knees in icy water. Only my second ever and the littl'uns first of course

We added coot and moorhen, black-headed and common gull, grey heron and lapwing before we felt the urge to check-out the opposite side where the visitors feed the birds. Saints fan and his partner were somewhat intimidated by approaching ye olde farmyard goose but as soon as it became realised that it would not come closer than about two feet they too found their feet and scattered bread crumbs to all and sundry. Gulls seemingly the most adventurously opportunistic foragers in the circumstances plucking feed from the air

A couple who decided to feed them from the car however got a touch more than they had bargained for when a group, of mainly mallard, set siege to the vehicle and were trying to get into the passenger seat to get first shout

A whisper of a diver at the dam end of the res. from another passing father and son however sent us scuttling in that direction before we had to head off to the shops and a quick search of the water found it fairly settled close to a bright orange buoy mark 'D'. Just too far to photograph successfully but close enough to view and confirm the species as great northern on account of its more massive bill, short and uber-chunky neck and hints of chequerboard on its back. Not a first for myself but a welcome rarity nevertheless and certainly the boy wonder's debut Arctic Loon - a somewhat appropriate alternative name in his case

Difficult to see but it's halfway between the buoy and the right-hand edge of this poor long-distance photograph.
 'D' for Diver, could it have been anywhere else?!

Here we also added little grebe and shoveler to the list together with a few common passerines and went off home happy as the sunlight burst through and cast a glow on a robin and mistle thrush over bare rusty Northamptonshire soil where we had parked

 

So Much Weather About

I am always surprised at how little rain can cause widespread flooding and find it incredible each time the rain just stops rather than continuing and making the situation even worse. It's as though the clouds know when enough is enough

Now if you are reading this while stood knee deep in water in your lounge you may disagree but we seem to live on a knife-edge so regularly these days, just one more storm away from disaster in places only occasionally or never afflicted in the normal course of events

I don't understand meteorology sufficiently well to know whether there are limiting factors but if there are they are certainly changing and becoming fuzzy at the edges

We have a stream running through our Warwickshire garden, in fact to be more precise, two streams converge bringing an apparently fairly natural watercourse and spring water from one direction and another largely taking run-off from playing fields and farm ditches together at their confluence, forming the beginnings of a tributary of the River Leam which it joins between Princethorpe and Eathorpe

This stream rapidly rises and falls with each event but it has never exceeded the depth of its banks in the seven or eight years we have been its riparian custodians. This is fortunate, as our lowest floor is below the height of the banks but has never been wetted by it; this is if you exclude a freak event when one of our gutters failed when we were on holiday and left our volunteer saviours with around three inches of water to bail-out of a room that one steps down into after the rainwater seeped through the structure and neatly filled it up for them!

Being an angler one is accutely conscious of the weather and these days I am personally more likely to avoid uncomfortable conditions that I would have been able to in my match fishing days when it was necessary to do as was expected and sit it out for the team. In those times (c.1980-1995) it was apparent that winds were getting higher. more extensive and more regular but that rainfall was quite low. Indeed it was said at the time that the subterannean aquifers were so depleted that they would never be replenished, but they have been and now they seem so full as to be at bursting point so often

who me?

The severity of wet weather regularly seems to leave us without options as anglers. Birders or, more accurately, the birds themselves lose exposed mud to feed on at watersides for those of such a persuasion and water becomes so turbid as to preclude easy feeding for those adapted to dive for fish

A cormorant shocked at my presence close to the edge takes refuge in the instantly camouflaging water

This past weekend the syndicate water, which still, this season, has only produced one fish of any note to the float, flight and flannel rod was so coloured after further rain re-established the previous level of murk as to suggest no bites would be forthcoming and, sure enough, in 5 hours of effort this proved true; but goosander, cormorant and goldeneye numbers were notably down on the past week too. So do birds migrate to clearer lakes when our silt-affected midlands stillwaters take on such heavy suspensions? Maybe they do, but even if they can the fish can't follow suit and we just have to wait for the colour to subside and the associated sport to perk-up

long distance goldeneye

goosander and tufted duck

The river season ends in just ten weeks time yet it feels as if it only just started and action is already postponed by conditions. That said, the forecast is now better with the last of the foreseeable 'bad weather' confined to the next couple of days but then maintained air temperatures and lack of heavy cloud should allow some clearing of waters, fish to be caught and birds to be spotted



Drake wigeon and stretching wifeon



Two challenges still remain then, a four pound Leam chub and a snow-caught chub to grace the net. Will they come to pass before 16th March? Will the opportunity arise for either or both? That remains to be seen

'Tis the Season to be Chilly

The numbing of the fingers and toes is that bit more sharp and sudden when birding than angling but a lack of decent footwear for the purpose doesn't improve matters and neither do receding storm water levels, leaving the odd hidden mud or water-filled foothole, enhance the possibility of dry feet over a period of waterside prowling

By way of a change, it was time to revert to the original plan on Boxing Day and punctuate the angling-dominated posts with something different but still of the countryside

The Dog had taken dubious possession of a remarkably good quality 'mighty midget' spotting telescope care of Santa and, as his tripod was in Cornwall, mine came into play upon request. 'Play' being the operative word as the attachment I had wasn't entirely a snug fit and there was about an inch of slack in the mechanism, but we got there with some careful targetted jiggery and pokery

Instant success with a female goldeneye by the dam wall after a touch of confusion when the wintering diving duck appeared to stay under for around 15 minutes, bringing the unlikely but perfectly possible prospect of an unlucky kill by old Esox lucius to mind, the place apparently being well populated; but, no, we'd simply missed it when unsucessfully intermittently inspecting all of the loosely assembled great crested grebes for the chance of a red or black-necked imposter

The waterbody is split by a County boundary following the original line of the river unfortunate enough to have been dammed to build it, and which zig-zags through maps defining the two halves of the currently (sorry) treacly contents. Searching for records for the site is always entertaining, not to say, irritating, as they can appear in either County list

A busy and vocal treecreeper foraged on the thinnest of lichen-clad branches in scrub below the dam as a blue tit 'sipped' its progress throught those same bushes. These were the easy ones, but so long away from the cut and thrust left us needing the pocket guide quite regularly, this being the first determined spot of ornithology by an english stillwater for perhaps two years, certainly on my part, but we got there

The aftermath of the storm, and with more to follow, provided the substrate for tell-tale tracks on the paths, most of which were perforated by little deer hooves. Larger dog prints and the various sole prints of previous walkers marked the path to a deep-cut bay where two larger pink-hued white shapes among the innumerable coots and tufted duck gave away the presence of drake goosander. More closely inspected they were indeed both accompanied by ginger-headed, grey-bodied mates. A solitary male pintail bobbed around among those more prolific species in a heightened state of awareness at our distant, but no doubt obvious, presence as a flock of pochard dived for their lunch, here and there, in the chilled melee

By now the gentle breeze was starting to get through the lack of layers. Had we been roaching the cold would not have penetrated the interminable cocoon but when walking we were a few layers short of a thermal gateau, more of a moist fruit cake really, but enough of such admissions. Wet and unwebbed feet didn't help the situation but by keeping active and leaving The Dog to his scoping from time to time it ensured the retention of enough warmth for a fair stab at the entertainment. Next time preparation will be more thorough

A few jolly festive anglers merrily chatted by their cars as their alarms sat idly-by, waiting for the majority of the turbidity to drop out of the water. A fairly long-term dream we feared

Hen bullfinches raided the nettlebeds for leftover seeds with sun-powered blinding undulating flashes of white as they skipped ahead of us on narrow paths between marginal willow carr on the one side and hawthorn hedge on the other. Finely-barred wren and demure dunnock scuttled and skulked among the damp ruderal festooned with droplet remnants of an early receding fog. The peep of redwing and chuckle of fieldfare entralled our freezing ears as we stumbled, both literally and soggily in my case, upon a fall of apples but most of our resident turdidae failed to show with only the seasonal robin keeping up the family obligation of being represented on the ornithologists' list

Goldeneye proved to be everywhere, but unusally around the perimeter, presumably due to the water colour, with around twenty individuals counted and each group dominated by one sex or the other. Separate flocks of the two common goose species rowdily announced their imminent arrival mid-reservoir to be closely pursued by a handful of larger gulls which settled between the more hefty bodies, stretching and arguing over floating room

Soon the customarily dead iPhone (they really don't cope well with winter do they?) sent us rushing to the car park as we realised we might be late for a family lunch out. We just got there in time and belated list-making ensued whilst orders were placed; thirty-three we made it. 33 enjoyable but hard-earned species, all the better for the challenge and possibly the best option for outdoor engagement in the next week or so one might suspect