The Snag Is...

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

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

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

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

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

They needed to

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More would be explained when he returned to Blighted on Wednesday

----

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

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

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

Focus was all this day

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

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

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

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

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

A VERY roach-like Hybrid

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

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

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

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

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

A pound plus of Grand Union beauty

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

----

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

Well, via the pork pie shop 

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

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

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

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

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

There was yet more bread to be eaten after all

----

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

- 80p

You can't beat that for value of entertainment!

Predicting the Unpredictable OR the Winter 2015/16 Big Roach Quest

The midlands canal network can be a treacherous place. Boaters slip into locks; country gentlefolk fall into the water near pubs after dark; ponies are drowned and, most worryingly of all, gongoozlers sell cheese.

If you are indigenous and wild there are natural threats. Kingfisher, otter, pike, heron, signal crayfish and of course zander together with the universally disliked mink, not to mention the occasional diving bird, may seek to harm you.

It's a tough world out there.

How tough, is best encapsulated by the following image taken at about 9am today (Saturday) which depicts a group of women afeared of the challenge that walking the towing path might set them. Now admittedly I took the difficult route to the water by descending brick steps but it didn't occur to me for one moment that I would need dayglo clothing and not one but two hi-tech walking sticks to make this dangerous journey. I know for next time however.

Why did I never notice the hazards before? Sometimes I am so stupid. Thank God for Humbrol fluorescent paints. The Walking Wagglers have saved me, and now you I suspect, from a grizzly end, without doubt. Take heed canal users out there, the towpath comprises a route almost as risky as the wilderness of the Scottish Highlands.

Todays risk didn't end there though...

Midweek, the gauntlet had been well and truly thrown down with...(I was going to use the word 'gay' here but, now that the meaning of this word is in its third incarnation in my lifetime, I no longer know what it stands for. So I'm going for a different word as it suits the mood)...dangerous abandon.

The target is to catch a canal roach so huge it will beat the Idler's Quest Authority (IQA, not to be confused with IPA which fuels the associated engine) - accepted British Canal Record of 2.4.0.

Eager for first blood I returned to the spot from whence the 1.13.0 roach, covered in the last post, appeared. It was colder now though. Six degrees C overnight and rain forecast from 9am.

An early start was, as usual, key; especially at a weekend.

In terms of light levels, I had peaked a little soon as I struggled to focus on the yellow-tipped float which sat, apparently motionless, before me. Some twenty minutes it was slumped low, between changes in ever-increasing bait size. The gloom started to lift as the first dog walker of the day appeared to view as far as one could see to the right - a resting carp angler, in uniform, strode toward me with twin sheep dog types afore. Dramatically the float lifted and I struck into a very solid fish. It seemed bream-like and then took on extra power as it headed south causing me, very unusually, to leave my seat and follow it toward where I assumed stealth mode man to be. Only visible by his dogs.

"'Got one on?", came out of the blue, or should that be khaki.

"'Sure have!"

"Ah, there's some lumps along here. Some big Zander too". 

Funny how everyone becomes an expert when they see an angler and yet no one fishes the canals.

"Well it won't be one of those on bread", I replied.

"Unless it's taken the roach that took the bread!", he blurted as he wandered further on...and then stopped as the lump surfaced. I had to ask him to repeat himself as I was strangely distracted at this moment.

"Slab", he said, all matter of fact.

"Hybrid", I said, matter of accuracy...and off he and they went to plot the rounding-up of some named fish elsewhere.

The shocks continue.

There are canal hybrids and then there are super-charged over-sized monster North Oxford Canal hybrids. Like that eel a month or more ago this one needed threading into the net sideways as, even head on, it would only just have fitted.

A couple of years back I recall taking a series of ever-increasing hybrids week by week, peaking at 4.0.3 and growing to love these the most pointless of naturally occurring fish. 

This was clearly over three pounds by some margin. A very roach-like example (if only!) but as chunky as a bag of sugar in the body.

I hung the presumed infertile beast on the scales, knowing the Little Samsons would be somewhat overstretched and feeble, expecting nothing specific but when the read-out hit 84.6 ounces I also knew this was a special moment. Deducting 12.6 for the net was a trifle and I was left with a round 72 ounces and a simple calculation of four pounds eight ounces.

Simple and yet bewildering.

 

One of those rare moments when the overwhelming desire is not to return the fish but continue to admire it. To do so however would be contrary to our ethos as anglers of course and so, reluctantly, I slipped this comfortable P. B. breaker back to observe the power as it surged back into the depths, it's strength recovered.

Despite this incredible capture to add to a run of them recently I expected little more on the day, and little more I got, for the time being at least.

Soon enough though the urge to free-line whole lobworms centrally down the cut to my left set-in. Action was immediate with relatively small perch coming to hand regularly. Then one of a pound six followed by another powerful hybrid of 2.6.0 as the only other bite on bread, apart from nibbling, tugging crayfish.

The perch continued in a steady procession right down to a one ounce fish but then a proper head-banger (pursued closely by another one of 1.6.0) sealed the day putting 1.14.0 and another three pounds of fish onto the tally as a working boat came through spoiling prospects as surely as the spots of rain would send me packing.

The total catch equalled sixteen pounds five ounces and beat my previous best ever North Oxford catch by some three pounds-odd.

The quite staggering run of canal sport continues and, as I write the temperature has risen to around eight degrees above this morning's with moist tropical air blowing in from the south-west ensuring that tomorrow might offer another opportunity to tap into this  geyser of big canal fish before it freezes up.

The bloggers challenge scoreboard is now a struggle. Points are limited with most obvious species categories now pretty much peaked so this hybrid, and the few ounces I managed to add to roach and carp in recent days, may prove to be crucial moments.

For the sad record - Somebodies former pet carp, minus top lip. Obviously someone previously caught the fish in kit form. 4lbs 2ozs.

----

So that was yesterday.

Today (Sunday) started with a better plan.

Or so I thought.

Get there before sunrise and walk into the wilderness towards known big roach territory and seek a quiet spot out of the gales and impending rain.

Technically this worked a treat. Not a ripple. Wind ripping overhead and rain delayed, no doubt by the same phenomenon, and, as I it here around lunch time, still no rain

Usual tactics were deployed but as it grew light the water appeared somewhat changed by yesterday's rain. Visibility was reduced to only 4 to 6 inches down and that required something of a squint.

The bread rig sat untroubled for some time.

The whole lob rig however bent round first cast. Two early and unimagined Chub both just knocking on three pounds, from an area I have never seen one before, followed by a stream of Perch from three ounces to 1.5.2 made up for just two fish on bread, both roach and topped by one of 1.0.3.

The interest this morning though wasn't the fishing but the fish.

Now that may sound a bit odd but nearly all of the fish were streaked with sores if above half pound in weight. Early-on I had seen two cormorants in flight descending and heading for the canal to my left. I can think of no other culprit that could cause this damage.

The location is very secluded and they could comfortably spend an hour or two each morning trying to arrest the escape of anything they can attempt to grip. I have never seen such wholesale harm to a net of fish and can only assume this is indeed a regular hunting ground.

Now dayglo coats would not help these little guys but it just goes to show the Walking Wagglers were right. It just ain't safe out there

...if you're a fish.


The catch totted-up to fourteen pounds two ounces today, boosted of course by 6lbs of Chub in the first three casts. Big fish straight-off at the start is the continuing trend. 'Twas ever thus early on the cut but as long as this ridiculously mild weather continues I see no reason why the fishing should not remain so good and the next few days are forecast to be similar. Now, I need to find those roach again...

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

A PREDATION SENSATION

Having just visited Mick Newey's always entertaining Piscatorial Quagswagging (http://calamitymn.blogspot.co.uk) (where did you discover that word Mick?!) to find a link to a 116 page document about the angling world-perceived problem of fish predation I feel compelled to write something

But what, what should I write?

My natural reaction is to side against any groundswell of angling opinion as it is all-but always driven by the sensationalist and self-preservative tendencies of the tabloid-esque angling press, desperate for a sale in an insular world they would have you believe is necessarily controlled by tackle companies and a single fish species

The fact that it is inevitable today for issues associated with carp to be high profile factors is again a turn-off due to the inextricable link to economics and ego. It is surely natural to question the supposed necessity to maintain waters for the benefit of a single species or any unnatural mix, the reasons I resist can surely be the only ones

Next there is the logical thought that fishery owners and managers shoot themselves and the sport in the foot and fin when they measure the importance of their, no doubt individually-named, stock in £'s not lbs.

I could go on

...and I will


For those who, like me, do not have the stomach for 116 pages of such information, 'Predation: An Ecological Disaster. The Big Picture' is a compilation of research documents, press clippings, commentary and opinion by scientists, supposedly high profile anglers, politicians, celebrities, etc., presented as being published for The Predation Action Group (PAG).

PAG it seems is the joint effort of various angling 'personalities' and others reporting back to the Angling Trust but sadly their website does them no favours (www.thepredationactiongroup.co.uk). If you were to click on the otter in the predators section and read the first sentence you will immediately get my drift

Anyway, the thrust of it is to convince those who may condone it that destruction of presupposed culprits is essential to maintain an artificial level of control over predators to the benefit of the quantity and size of fish available to be caught and ultimately, of course, to reward those who believe that fish exist to adorn them with gold and those whose heads grow fat upon their capture. No need to expand further on that

Thankfully blogworld is heavily populated by countryfolk who fully appreciate that a balanced ecological community is what we all desire of our favourite waters and that a healthy, naturally biodiverse countryside is a laudible aim we should all be able to enjoy for its, at the same time, magical, beautiful, weird and wonderful qualities

The fact that certain introductions would upset the balance was inevitable. Otters for instance have spread naturally into my part of the world following, and possibly directly because of, introductions elsewhere. It will now take time for a natural balance to descend on the watercourses they inhabit especially when combined with the fact that there are now coincidentally so many signal crayfish for them to forage on in some of those waters

New introductions of non-indigenous species, it would undoubtedly be fair to say, are never well advised

Alien species inevitably cause initial problems beyond prediction and the imagination before they settle back to a natural level in the newly adjusted ecosystem, often at a cost to a pre-existing species (mink/water vole being the obvious example)

Reintroductions are another matter, what are we (they) trying to achieve? If we allow ourselves to be sentimental for a second then, yes, it is nice to be able to see the majesty of red kites close to home but I still and always will see them as a slightly false 'tick', just as I do with white-tailed eagles on the annual Highlands excursion, monstrously impressive though they are. These species have been lost for whatever reason in the past and their presence now does nothing to reinstate the then extant balance of fauna at the time they last graced these isles. So what is the point of all that?

I could go on and on, page after page, on this subject of course

The fact of the matter is that we have what we have at any one point in time. If it were down to me, and it isn't as thankfully I am nobody in the scheme of things, there would be no introductions, no reintroductions and heavy protection and conservation of what we already have with emphasis on the relinking and enlarging of the widest possible variety of valuable habitat as part of a nationwide strategy. This should be the fundamental thrust of conservation - to maximise the chances for the broadest range of biodiversity to survive, strengthened not weakened, in the interests of maintaining Gaia to the benefit of all species, ourselves included. This should be the predominant national policy above all other or our, perhaps immediate, children may live to regret the actions of ourselves, their predecessors

So how does that leave us with the PAG document?

Well, do we not simply have to wait and make of situations of change what we can? My local waters had been hard venues from which to catch fish, certainly since the 1960's, but in 2013 the canal fished so well I actually got bored and stopped going, and yet simultaneously there was, and is, otter spraint under every suitable bridge and signal crayfish everywhere...oh! and, yes, it is riddled with zander too. This example is the antithesis of the PAG argument; a venue that was incredibly difficult to winkle a few small fish out of thirty years ago but that last year produced numerous double figure bags of quality fish with the additional benefit in the interim of otter, signal crayfish, zander and, at times undoubtedly, cormorants and, to my definite knowledge, goosander too. Similarly a syndicate I belong to has a water which for the first time in living memory is alive with small fish and yet this has occurred at a time when cormorant numbers have been increasing. 'For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction', 'remember those words from school physics?

So what does that prove?

Well nothing of course, other than nothing is clear and it's all guesswork, all round. Nobody understands whats going on and every time it gets tampered with it it goes wrong and becomes ever more complicated

It's quite simple - leave what species remain alone, protect them - and embrace the constant change; 'twas ever thus and always will be so