The Intentional and Unintentional Roach Angler

Strange Roach?!

The, so-called, tench campaign out of the system, it was time for a new challenge but not before the usual period of indecision when confronted by the sudden ditching of a plan, and this was an end as abrupt as Thomas crashing into the Fat Controllers house at breakfast time

For a start, no feelings arose as a guide for that next step. Nothing at all in fact. So we had a few canal dabbling sessions (resulting in some tenchlet's strangely enough, I'd only had 3 tench in a lifetime minus 10-15 years on the Oxford canal, yet in two trips another six were added with only two over a pound). 

Good signs. I'm certain most of these 'exotic' canal captures come from adjacent fisheries that, over time, for various reasons, end-up with their contents mingling with the established fish populations of the canal. In this instance they have obviously since bred successfully

So that was an interesting interlude but, to be frank, it produced insufficient water to float this angler's boat

Then a chance chat (while clearing the car of the spare gear) with Committee Keith provided the answer, the Lure Wizard then concurred and Bailiff 1 soon confirmed without any necessity for a preemptive retaliatory strike - big roach were being caught at Rocky Res.

Okay, that's interesting, but it's summer. We don't fish for roach in the summer!

But hang-on a minute, The Old Duffer used to.

In the late 1970's the holiday destination for anyone who was anyone in angling from our part of the world was the Great Ouse. A sixty-mile/80 minute trip to, what we then considered, angling paradise. Catching fish in the heat of July and August was boosted by early and late sessions combined with all day trips using a single bait, in fact, as far as the hook went, a single bait

In those days the (roach) pole was in its, early stages of renaissance but, as with all things angling, the technique would ultimately transform many an angler into a fish catching machine

The Old Duffer was one of them

I can see it now - iconic 22' Shakespeare pole (very dark brown/black with gold taped bands and a white wrap on the centre of the handle); Ivan Marks bristle float, black and slenderly bottle shaped like the Milo 'Siro' that would follow in the '80's; classic Mustad 90340 barbless hooks ("You can't use barbless hooks, all the fish'll get away!", "Not as long as I pull back they won't!"); bait waiter, comprising metal baitbox-shaped square 'hoops' on a bank-stick; a circular 'spoon' landing net with handle to match the (roach) pole and a ring around the base, like one section of a keepnet; a wicker basket ('seatbox') and, finally, a bag of just-cooked hempseed, as fresh and gorgeous smelling as possible.

There are many good tales emanating from the use of hemp in fishing
¬ It drugs the fish!;
¬ It only works at harvest time;
¬ You should cook it in 'bicarb' (bicarbonate of soda) to make shells go black to contrast with the white shoots. 'Problem being, cooking in bicarb also turned the shoots brown so we soon sought non-other than, then World Champion, Ian Heaps' advice, "Cook 'em in sugar", he commented, and so we did. Not just black with white insides, but they also tasted good (I'm told!).

In 1976 we had a summer like 2018. Wall to wall baking sunshine. The Old Duffer was fishing with the above gear and trickling in a few grains per slow run through, the river being low, until the roach were sent into what can only be described as a frenzy. Ultimately they were so mesmerised by the bait they were literally eating anything that floated past within the feeding zone; leaves, flies, feathers, nothing was safe. It was only roach though with just the odd hybrid amongst them and generally 3 to 6 ounce fish with occasional bigger ones. Thirty pounds and six ounces of them, culminating with the fish so close they were simply swung to hand

...and so it proved everywhere we went. There was barely a venue where hemp didn't work under those conditions and it appeared to draw the fish from a good distance but, as the Somerset Shubunkin noted recently, they were fish one wouldn't even suspect to be there were it not for this, the most magic of baits.

Armed with these memories and the knowledge that big roach could be drunk in on the rocks, off
we set with 10m pole and a few grains per 'cast', maggot on the hook but immediately small rudd were pests. A swap to double caster produced a, string of perch in the 3 to 6ozs bracket and then slowly but surely bites on hemp started to occur just tentative at first but with a bit of fiddling with the depth combined with the breeze, and therefore an undertow striking-up, it wasn't too long before perhaps every third bite was a proper one.

First fish was a 12oz beauty (and another thing these hemp roach were immaculate, strange for a heavily fished water)

The list I jotted down went like this:
12ozs, 9ozs, 7ozs, 8ozs, 2ozs, 1.0.0, 2ozs, 6ozs, 7ozs, 10ozs...and...1.3.10, 13ozs, 1.1.0, 14ozs.

The best of the lot

Those last four fish all taken with a mid-depth bulk and a few droppers, held tight against the pole as it settled and all of them taken with ferocious bites on the drop; just as I had to leave.

Unfortunately the next fish in the sequence was dear old Cypry, leaving the rig and elastic looking like a schoolgirls multi-coloured string collage.

It was time to go anyway. Back in the day, hemp was one of the most successful baits I used, so quite why it has taken so long to remember this when I'd had such confidence in it is beyond me, but then, many things are it seems.

So, to add mystery to the mayhem, I went to the canal. To an area of the Grand Union I could rely on for bream, and big ones. Feeding maggot over groundbait towards a tree opposite for those beauties  but with a separate hemp line near side of middle to the right, purely as a change method.

Needless to say, I had one small perch that must've been irritated by a grain of hemp for some particular reason and then a huge canal roach of 1.12 on the double maggot bream rig.

Fourth biggest ever canal roach...by accident!

The all-time F,F&F best canal roach list now looks like this:

1. 2-3-10 (2013) Oxford
2. 1-15-5 (2016) Grand Union
3. 1-13-0 (2015) Oxford
4. 1-12-0 (2019) Grand Union
5. 1-11-8 (2015) Grand Union
6. 1-10-0 (2017) Grand Union

Fishing. It simply makes no sense!

Life in the Old Bog yet

Minus one and the iced mist drags itself from the water in an almost imperceptible spiral of a farmhouse in diameter.

Undeterred, the cacophony of April strikes up as the sun burns though the silhouettes of trees as if whitefire lies behind.

Then as a squeezed irregular shape, rays bursting through the stout timbers of a hundred years standing, the earth's candle fires up.

Beneath the surface those mucus encased shoals start to dream, but they dream of the confidence of dusk.

Teetering over the margins, the butterbur, having thrust out of the now frozen ground, stand reluctant, their florets pendulous, as if ashamed of their emerging splendour.

This is spring in these neglected parts that only the chiffchaff and its cousins appreciate sufficiently to return.

As that most modern of woodpeckers, the great spotted, drums a beat on a galvanised steel mast the wide-eyed silver bream, bathed in sky blue iridescence and salmon fins, lies spent and still in the magnificence of its defeat, teased again by the most lowly of baits.

If You Complain Nothing Happens!

The process of complaining is riddled with a lack of challenge. Degree of difficulty 1 out of 10. Zero being the good old, tried and tested, 'do nothing' option

It is of no greater import therefore not to be seized by that hair-triggered mantrap

To place irrational blame at the teeth of the otter; at the clarity of the water; at the bill of the cormorant; at the whimisical flow; at the indiscretion of the poacher; at the paucity of boats; at the glut of boats; at the clarity of the sky or at the myriad other potential scapegoats for the angler; is surely no more than an attempt to thinly veil a lack of vision, planning and understanding in ourselves

If the angler wishes to catch fish then surely she or he must prepare for that eventuality, and never more so than in the toughest of circumstances

On a certain day, faced with 'good conditions', one might choose to fish a float rather than 'the lead'; to feed caster rather than maggot; to find shallow/flowing or deeper/steady water, and so on. These decisions being based on their likelihood of success driven by a blend of experience, watercraft, common sense and gut feeling

That being the case, when faced with these options over a recent weekend - clear, strongly flowing canals; clear, only recently cold, pools, and; clear, slow, weedy and leaf-bestrewn rivers - what is the angler to conclude?

Well, we could narrow our options in the same logical manner an angler would select a float. A 6AAA balsa would be a touch oversized for the canal and conversely a 2no8 loaded dart would be a pitiful bite indicator for the Severn. So do we know of any local canals that fish well when they are much clearer than normal? Experience says, "No". The next thought springing to mind then is to consider short dawn or dusk sessions in shaded cuttings or tree-lined stretches when fish will be emboldened by low light levels and an associated feeding reflex.

Pools were going to be tricky but pursuing perch or other predators could have been viable choices in clear cold water.

Rivers compare favourably with the canal options except that the odd feature might hold the odd feeding fish during the day, but beware that 11am to 3pm piscatorial vacuum!

Surely the whole point of angling is the challenge and a major part of this, for the thinking angler, is the planning. Making decisions on venues that will produce some action if logic prevails. Maybe this is the difference between an angler and a fisherman?

'They' say angling is defined as the pursuit of fish with an angle, a hook.

Today though I like to think the contemporary application of the word 'angling' is trying to deduce how to catch the target fish by looking for an angle, much in the same way as one might apply a unique personal meaning to a song written about something completely different.

It would be relatively easy to whip a few sprats from most venues even in the aforementioned tough conditions but when such situations prevail it has to be preferable to apply every available ounce of craft to the situation and limit oneself to dusk and dawn adventures which will often offer-up similar results to those of a whole day in snooze mode.

Like many animals, larger than average fish are crepuscular in their feeding habits, albeit perhaps increasingly nocturnal with the increased threat of predation.

Bats, as an order of mammalia, forage earnestly at, and just after, dusk but then have a lull in this activity and it is no coincidence that anyone's experience of fishing at such periods is that the peak opportunity for that trophy catch is around this time and at dawn, with noticeably less action before and after, generally speaking. 

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The above was written a fortnight ago, but now, after a week of rain, the local rivers are finally flushing through with a colour and pace that suggests excitement is around the corner.

I'm off now to prepare for that very eventuality but before I do this Bear of Little Brain has been mulling over an appropriate 'angle' to focus more tightly on the perpetual quarry, big canal roach, especially for quiver-tipping into dusk.

How could it be possible to ensure the bait is in the right place in the dark with the combined risk of not wanting to shine a torch over, or into, 3 to 5 feet of clearing water?

What flashed through the darkness and into mind was a superlight mini-method feeder, or at least what I thought one might look like...a tiny coil with bread squeezed into it.

Next port of call, China. Followed by these little beauties in the postbox...

Weighing-in at a gnat lighter than a bluebottle, these far Eastern coils seem perfect repositories for a handful of liquidised bread and, being stopped three inches from the hook with the usual flake floating above it, suggested the perfect night time solution. 

A trial in daylight hours seemed the logical conclusion.

The coil was far too light to clip-up at the mini-range, as it just bounced back off the tip, however it didn't take too many attempts to achieve a regular landing point, emanating ever increasing circles, on the far edge of the boat run.

The liquidised worked very nicely and we (the 'cut coil' and I) actually promoted more bites than had been the case in recent trips float fishing; very often 'one bite, one fish' sessions.

Strangely the first fish might have been target size but certainly was not target species, as a very much out of season, but mighty welcome, Silver bream chewed on the white flake and in doing so tripped itself up.

The bite was positive and no problem to hit with a nine foot wand. So proved the case with the ensuing two roach though the only one of note caused rather more excitement with passers-by.

The event was enhanced by that educated ejaculation, "I didn't know fish grew that big in here, in fact I didn't even know there were any fish in the canal. What is it?".

Certainly crumbs for thought. I wonder where this might take us?

Canal roach on a method feeder! Whatever next?!

An Indication of Syndication

At the end of last term's Bloggers' Challenge a very prominent loose end was left wafting in the breeze

The end that was loose related to the next undertaking, the next challenge in fact. Whilst usually the alternate season away from the competition is welcome, when I came to look the letters had crumbled from the signpost

Disatisfied with the limitations of local known river fishing options my mind started to wander, followed closely by the F,F&F bus and then my poor old feet

As it happened I ended-up spending the close season seeking-out new venues, mainly rivers and, initially, mainly my (now beloved) River Leam

Somehow it was almost as though each landowner I approached had never had the idea before and, in what seemed like just a few bewildering days, rights were acquired to some lovely waters all of which have one thing in common - exclusive peace and quiet. One massive plus of a small Syndicate, admittedly with higher fees than your average Angling Club, is this factor. You know that it is hardly ever going to be a race for a swim. So, after extending the angling antennae, there were soon ten like-minded individuals on board and, if everyone fished the whole range of venues on a given day, on average we'd still only see one other angler and we'd know him anyway.

At least four of our number are Bloggers and thus "Warwickshire Bloggers Angling Syndicate" was born...WBAS

The latter was an idea three or four of us had previously floated briefly when the Saxon Mill stretch became available after Warwick club relinquished rights, but at the time we concluded it was a difficult venue, being generally too public

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I must confess first thoughts were to try to gain access to as much of the Leam as possible as most of it is not fished and those areas that could be are slowly shrinking away. Godiva have lost half of their water and much of Leamington A A's is inaccessible.

Once it had dawned on me that I couldn't fund the whole venture myself I started to ask around and before we knew it there we were all sat round a table next to the weir at the Saxon Mill, with that unmistakable cologne of treated sewage that pervades the intimate areas of the Warwickshire Avon mistily perfuming us like an air freshener working in reverse. We ran through the venues and after some polite arm-wrestling with landowners I think it's fair to say we are all still pinching ourselves with what we have managed to achieve so quickly.

Part of the initially evolving idea was to gain control of the remaining North Oxford Canal and possibly also some of the more accessible combined Oxford and Grand Union Canals but it transpired this was probably my own dream and no one else's(!) so we quickly dropped that idea and concentrated on rivers and the search for a pool.

Sean Dowling (Off the Oche, Down the River) was full of suggestions and came-up with some crackers that came to fruition, with more that we didn't have the wherewithal to follow-up.

The landowners have all proved very amenable and open-minded, within their obvious business limitations, and each venue has it's own quirks that we have to work within, one of which, by way of example, limits river access to winter months...no problem, it's weeded-up in summer anyway!

What could be better? Exclusive access, no other anglers, way off the beaten track, peace and tranquility, unmanaged river banks, no litter, good fishing, new locations to grapple with, great variety. Nothing beats it.

Perfect.

So here we now sit with options as varied as the Warwickshire Stour, River Leam, Warwickshire Avon and a picturesque, comfortable, sheltered pool. The latter being the subject of a long-term project to create a tench and crucian fishery, and for which we are opening membership to ten others to share the challenge.

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The Tinier Inhabitants of the Warks Stour

The one magical thing about these waters is their mystery. The majority have not been fished in anger for years, if at all, and the potential is thoroughly engaging.

We've set-up a WhatsApp group to share findings and shallow-off a potentially steep learning curve. This also helps to quickly and easily disseminate more strategic messages without time-consuming meetings. Something I think we all welcome even though the amount of messages inevitably becomes a touch unwieldy at times and WhatsApp Fatigue (and known disorder!) can kick-in.

For my part, my first visit to the Stour stretch was my first visit to the Stour, the only contact I'd had with it previously being running my finger over it in BAA Handbooks as a teenager,  enthralled by tales of deep holes and giant bream. Fish that I never felt capable of catching I should add, assuming they were snared either by accident or by smelly, bewhiskered men with ivy growing up their legs in the way people currently nurture tattoos. This at a time when my modus operandi was to stand in the water wearing a thick jumper and tie, fishing the roach pole, like the late Ray Mumford (who I once watched openly cheat in a match on the Great Ouse by the way, a moment that quickly changed my wardrobe. What a magisterial name for a river that is, the Great Ouse, capturing it's scale, history, latent power and piscatorial magnitude in but two small words, and yet, I look back at them on the page in a reflective, Miranda-type, way and think what strange words they are).

I've drifted.

The Stour was, is, everything the Leam should be, were it not for the extent of its clay geology. Similar in width; shallow then deeper; rushing then still; weeded then clear; shaded then sunlit; devoid then infested; untouched yet touchable and with wildlife abounding. I actually flushed a little owl from the bankside field margin midday while roving with rod, net and bumbag full of the usual. The first one I have seen away from one known nesting site for some years, since their decline in lowland Warwickshire.

Natural Beauty of the Warks Stour

Both Warks Avon stretches are a totally unknown quantity and when access commences to the Upper reaches on October the 1st, it being five minutes from Chez Nous, there's no doubt where I'll be.

As for the pool, well, there's work to do to meet our expectations. Currently it's overrun with small rudd, roach, perch and various hybrids so the long-term aim is to thin those out to give the preferred species growing potential and to remove the carp under double figures so that they become a treat rather than a certainty. It will take time but it has all the potential we need to create an estate lake without the mansion!

I'll keep updating on our adventures via this portal I'm sure but, in the meantime, I was driven to prose while basking in the glory of a deep pool on the new Leam stretch at the end of the hot weather:

Flowering Arrowhead on the Leam

Many a step from a road, from buildings, from fellow man; an oasis of water, giving life.

As I sit, the sun, awkward on the eye, floats imperceptibly higher like a lemon pip gently lifted by the bubbles of a fizzy drink.

The irritated churring of the great tit in a mixed family flock of animated baubles, complete with hangers-on of numerous fattening chiffchaff, breaks through the now strained-for rustling of leaves on a gradually rising breeze as if in a relay without rules.

Fulfilled without false entertainment, the rod tip still, I watch as the flow grips specks of duckweed in its movement and tweaks them, drifting like tiny skaters, spinning and careering in perfect natural chaos toward their own overpopulated metropolis awaiting them in deriliction of decay downstream.

Surely no finer experience is to be discovered than by the stream.

Ice and a Slice

Dawn was sullen. Cold and unmoving in the crystalline shroud

Fingers burnt to metal, numbness pervading. Conductivity seeking to turn flesh to ice. Hard pellets of snow blistering the complexion like a hundred wind-driven air guns

The cocoon would stretch to its limit by both the day's acts of God and chronic Festive fall-out. The nylon mushroom, stout as a defence, would only offset so much bitterness

Gulls cackled in a rural melee as wild duck took flight and out of the fear a solitary brown, beautifully tortoisehell-marked, downy feather braked from a burst of turbulence and floated to earth, landing suspended by its quill, from least year's dock. A reminder of a fragility we oft-times lose sight of

There was tingling water; there were clouds indistinct from the frozen pearls that swept in arcs towards the pitch and there were open fields; ridge and furrow magnified by a coat of pristine perfection but, sub-surface, who could predict? Any attempt would be decorated with more pessimism than encouragement but the pitch was free and, with an unstinting confidence in the outcome, we embarked on this foreseen 'one bite, one fish' morning with, at times, as many as three hands tied behind our back; the first by winter

A guru, once deposed, but an oracle nevertheless, advised that if anything would be sufficiently enticing in a challenge such as this it would be a caster. We had bread and lamprey; the latter in preparation for an inaccessible location this easily avoidable invisible sunrise

Two hands tied

Knowledge though was on our side we thought. Banking on success in bad days on the bank, seek out the banker location. The outcome would never be in doubt. The inevitable speck dispatched into the margin swayed and drifted down so slowly that it seemed never likely to disappear from view, but it did, captured by the brown hand of the depths and dragged into the dark. The top quarter of the mirror visible to the straining eye

Pre-planning had been absolute, nothing forgotten yet nothing unnecessary

Some overspill attractant flicked along the path of geological soup for those more in need would be consumed by a bouncing female bomb of that contradiction, a brown blackbird, followed by the red of breast in waiting for the red of fin

Flow

Week in. Week out. The Captains were afloat, nothing contains a percentage. Not even this most miserable of days.

Within a hour three had slipped past with the barest hint of commotion but we knew that, on days such as this, when tranquillity would deliver the prize, this would clamp our third hand, shackled and useless...and so it continued

Once the hour-glass was spent the sand settled the account at zero, the motions to be repeated. An uninviting yet disarmingly productive desperation spot took the imagination and soon the cast was made into the by now enlarged stars of ice that floated toward the face like perforated marshmallows, iced and sliced

That thing that is always against us would soon bring itself to bear. The cocoon at thermal breaking point, the ice water trickling down to the boots of mud-pie. It would not be long before a line had to be drawn and tidied away

Endurance is one thing, stupidity another. The latter was on the white horizon

The lamprey rod broken-down and all peripheral paraphernalia packed; a quick glance, a twitch, a lift and that confirmatory delay. A strike, a curve, a whispered, "Yes!"

"It's a roach", the fight said

"Now don't come off"

"Ooh, a nice one too"

The obligatory, "C'mon you beauty", over the net and lifted clear without so much as a splash

"Not quite a pound, I'm giving it 0.14.8", was the internal reaction to this lifesaving chill pill

The scales suggested 0.15.10 over three measurements but never has a fish been so beautiful, so pleasing

So huge

Leaves on the Line

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angling is nothing if it is not a challenge.

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So what have we encountered?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A public location...a crowd had gathered.

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

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

Delighted?

We were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bring it, and the proper cold weather, on!

In between Times

Living in the Midlands possibilities for roach of such magnitude as to make one wonder whether it's really worth having another cast, or whether the bewildered state should somehow be embalmed and taken from the bank, are few.

Revisiting Mark Wintle's excellent roach books, it being autumn now, in "Big Roach 2" was to be found a statement by Pete Shadick pronouncing that 2lb river roach are at least 14" from snout to cleft of tail.

Out came the measures and, by deduction using ratios from photographs, the second of my two lifetime two pounders, a canal fish of 2.3+, measured at least 14"

This was of some comfort as, being the doubting sort, even casting aspersions on my own old records, I do sometimes look back at those fish and ask whether a mistake could have been made.

Well not in this case it seems.

Comfort is drawn.

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So, The Boy Wonder "TBW" decides it's a fishing weekend and his favourite location is agreed upon.

The Res has been good to us this year from roach in the frost early-on, through rudd, perch, tench and even a proper crucian but, since the Challenge commenced TBW had not seen a tench to his own rod

The imaginary Golden Maggot would get an airing too

Weapons were chosen for the duel:
TBW - 1 rod - maggot and hemp feeder at 30m
F,F&F - float fished bread at 2 rods out (and a sneaky chopped worm feeder down the inside on the wand)

The level had dropped and colour with it

Standard Custom and Practice ensued...
I catch my biggest fish first cast and TBW casts his rig off and spent the next hour in state of general faffulence

Yes that first throw of the flake and up pops the float to reveal the clutch screaming surge of a 4lbs 5ozs 8drm male tench, but that was that

Total Bloody Womble "TBW" eventually gets into the swing and as per usual proceeds to tease two decent tench of 3.3 and 3.5 with a bigger one lost on his last cast to pluck the total weight prize from my grasp with some excellent counter-attacking. Draw the opposition out and into a sense of security then hit them hard. Perhaps Jurgen Klopp could learn from this boy Womble

Result:
TBW - Total weight 6.8; total species 1; number of fish 2. Points 1
FF&F - Total weight 6.0; total species 2; number of fish 4. points 2
Never in doubt

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My staple water the North Oxford Canal is very poor at present. Few fish, much colour and boat traffic high.

A move to the short length of conjoined Grand Union and Oxford Canals, even with its essential bow to stern flotilla from 8am or so, has been far more productive and a new area of attack has offered surprising all round  quality.

The wind could have been awkward hence the choice of an east-facing bend which was inevitably capable of offering shelter whichever forecast one favoured.

The local farmers were flat-out flattening-out the fields for winter fare. It seems but yesterday that the dust of the harvest clogged the airways but now there is no sign; the reaping, rolling, ploughing, tilling and drilling all complete in perfect linear patterns.

When everything else is failing revert to what you know. In this instance mashed bread and chopped worm. That approach on two rods produced a marvellous catch of just over ten pounds in two hours this very morning.

It was not the overall catch however but the size of the best fish of each species that made the eyes bulge, like Marty Feldman on speed.

The trend of the sequence caught with this approach when bream are present usually goes: bream/hybrids then a roach, or maybe two, then when that dies (by reverting to the worm rig) it's perch and the odd zander.

This morning followed the protocol to the letter with five bronze bream to 2lbs 2ozs followed by the best roach of the campaign yet at a cracking 1.10.0, albeit a fish of two halves with the anterior of a definite two pounder and a posterior that suggested a pounder, then five perch to 1.13.13 plus a zed-let.

That hard fighting roach would sit proudly in the top F,F&F canal roach list and, without checking, probably at around 6th or 7th.

It's 10am now and, the morn only having been sufficiently light 7am, already it's bums on (heated) seats and foot down heading off for a breakfast but not before a triple take as the last of today's many less than immaculate narrowboats chugged through...two years since we'd spoken I'd estimate...and there he was, a little changed by the passage of that time. Duncan, a good former angler, now operating on the dark surface of the water - with the odd dabble when the mood takes no doubt.

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The Bloggers Challenge is at an odd stage.

Many of the summer species are tabled and those that passed many of us by, largely those of flowing water, are not feeding due to a lack of rain.

For my part then it's purely a case of enjoying the fishing with no particular target other than whatever occurs, or at least for now.

Canal Research gets Silver Liting

There was a time when the pursuit of big canal fish was a combined effort. Committed anglers pooling information to inform a common goal.

Then that all changed two winters ago and since the furrow had been ploughed alone with neither horse nor spreadsheet.

A chance encounter with a bankside acquaintance has changed all that however with our work on 'the project' stimulating the latent traditional angler in an otherwise rubber fetishist mind (as a hitherto devout lure angler).

Witnessing the early morning success of bread on the canal had inspired him into a burst of activity on a canal I last fished in an NFA West Midlands Junior Championship precisely 40 years ago.

Results have been comparable with those I too have experienced and at last there is a sounding board out there, a catch-it net from which to pluck some rebounds.

Eric Weight authored an excellent lure fishing blog "Artficial Lite" which he then had to mothball due to the age old problem, but now it's back and now adorned with a separate glittering subsection "Silver Lite" in which he eloquently sets-out his findings in this new venture.

Initially Eric has had little difficulty in depicting my dear old self as a complete know-all (clearly he is a good judge of character) but hopefully by sharing what we've gleaned through the research and ramblings of F,F&F he can subjugate the learning process and cut to the chase of the chase on the cut.

Silver Lite is proving the fish of the Ashby de la Zouch Canal to be more akin to heavy metal by the weight of numbers of large hybrids Eric has teased into the net via dawn, and even pre-dawn, presented flake.

I joined him for a tough session on a recent Saturday morning and found the canal very much reminiscent of my local North Oxford Canal in appearance and, possibly, stocks. The main noteworthy difference being the sheer size of its armoured space invaders; one of which I had to net and must've been nigh-on half a pound!

Eric has been having some great early morning catches and has recently tracked down some decent roach to just over the pound mark so there is potential in that cut, albeit, for myself, it's a few minutes further than I like to regularly travel.

Interrogating the map however reminded me that other lengths of the Ashby do run closer to home and must be worth some attention this winter, especially in sheltered countryside locations.

Thankfully it is generally a rural canal.

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And so the canal campaign begins...

Today I sit writing with rising, recently seeded fields before me, migrating skylark and occasional meadow pipit calling overhead. The water now turbid as the passing narrowboats exceed double figures.

On the inside of this wide piled bend I had hoped.

The clarity at dawn was perfect for some 'bread fish' as well as those susceptible to the odd large worm.

These mornings however can never be lengthy. If the canals were closed they would soon be clear so, yes, we do need boats but the resultant short sharp sessions need to be very focussed to avoid wastage.

Good things are always possible...



Roach X bream hybrid 2lbs 1oz

 

Roach 0.14.2

 

Perch 2lbs 1oz & a few more challenge point

The above formed part of this mornings 11 fish, 9lbs catch from an area I'd been meaning to visit for three years but for various reasons didn't make

It was certainly an education and were it not for a mad spell of fifteen minutes during which four bites came to both rods simultaneously and all ended-up being completely missed.

It's clearly going to be a while before we get back in the groove!

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BLOGGER'S CHALLENGE UPDATE:
1 James Denison 999
2 George Burton 771
3 Brian Roberts 623
4 Danny Everitt 503
5 Sean Dowling 428

Canals & Barbel. An Eclectic Mix.

The suddenly changing seasons, firstly with gales and short bursts of heavy rain combined with a noticeable drop in air temperature, have taken me back to considering canals.

Initially a week too early it seemed as, having endured over twenty narrowboats in an hour and a half period recently, I did wonder what on earth, or water, I was thinking.

Thankfully it was a one-off and a couple of subsequent quiet weekday evening sessions after work have been pleasant however, neither with a boat in view, and both mixing tactics with bread down the middle and worms to one side at the bottom of the towing path shelf.

The highlight of these visits, somewhat oddly, was a lost fish...
A whole lobworm was lowered among a mass of physically discumbobulated dendrabenas and, upon striking, there ensued an initial aquatic hiatus during which the fish (if it wasn't a seal, or Adam Peaty) did nothing and felt relatively manageable. As the realisation struck, the fish decided it was an appropriate moment to make use of it's express single ticket to the far bank and as I searched belatedly and frantically for the tightened clutch I was beaten to it by the crack of the line.

I say that was the highlight but on the next trip a ruffe just under the ounce snared itself on three dendrabenas and a fake maggot. A rarity indeed, followed closely by a surprise but sought-after rudd just over a pound which, combined, provided a few unexpected but welcome Challenge points.

It was nice on a separate early Feldon morning the register the first impressive canal roach of the campaign at a touch over 1.5 and a few perch to just over a pound have succumbed too.

Two new (to me) stretches of canal have been visited, the Ashby for big hybrids (failed) and the Grand Union Leicester Arm for tench (failed)

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The first spell of seeking-out Barbus maxima was partly covered in the previous post but that was only the beginning of a truly unbelievable run of three or four sessions either side of the physical feature identified as the most  likely holding spot.

Next session after the 9.12 was banked two hard-battling fish were landed at 11.14 another p.b. and 10.9 but then to my parallel amazement and unbridled joy a 12.11 hit the net a day later and raised the p.b. bar yet further.



Worse than dreadful picture but here it is. 12.11

Barbel were also pursued in a second little burst on the Avon since very recent heavy rain achieved the all but impossible and put some colour into its customary fish tank like clarity but no bites have been forthcoming. Others have been catching them elsewhere so I suspect they may have moved.

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An early start on the Grand Union 'proper' this past Sunday was however exceptional. If we can ignore a little three ounce tearaway of a zander the smallest fish of the other eight fish of four species banked weighed a chocolate mouse less than a pound and the biggest, a bream, went 3.2.0 on the replacement, and now suitably calibrated, scales.

I was really after carp however (failed!).

In a feathered sense regular barn owl views on the river, a marsh tit roving through the backside vegetation on the GUC and an unusually showy, quite magnificent, adult water rail wandering out onto lilies in search of the sustenance of the Leicester Arm have been worthy distractions there.

News is though that we will soon be back on The Stillwater, necessary maintenance works having been completed, and this very evening The Boy Wonder and I traced the wending route of The Stream to deduce best options with colder roach, perch and chubby weather on the horizon. Only three swims appeared to have been fished this season and those the armchair options of course.

"What size tell-tale to hold this down?!"

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BLOGGER'S CHALLENGE UPDATE:



1. James Denison 920
2. George Burton 754
3. Brian Roberts 633
4. Danny Everitt 513
5. Sean Dowling 428

Silver Scaled Springtime Shocker

At this time of year a tench-like weakness overcomes one of the less common of our canal species.

It's oversized eye seeks out the bread and maggot of anglers' provision; it fights in a frantic manner reminiscent of the crucian carp yet passes most anglers by as 'another skimmer'.

The Silver Bream is one of my favourite of fishes, in fact if a giant roach gives me palpitations on a scale of 10/10 a silver of similar proportions would certainly score 8 or 9.

Strangely they only get caught in any numbers in late spring. Tench-like indeed

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They have been showing well in the past few sessions on both Oxford and Grand Union Canals and any fish over a pound is a specimen equivalent to a roach of around one pound eight ounces. Sean Dowling ('Off the Oche, Down the River') has recently taken them to one pound fourteen, a true specimen, and yesterday evening, for the second time in two weeks, pound plus fish have fallen to the f,f&f hookbait just as it was barely possible to see the float at dusk.

Maybe, like the Zander, those big eyes suggest nocturnal or perhaps crepuscular feeding habits. Why would they evolve in that way otherwise?

Yesterday's fish caused some excitement overseen by HonGenSec on a visit to a swim he should have frequented but the tables were turned in comedy style.

It went like this:

F: "Are you there yet?" (Thinking I'd go and watch for a bit to surprise him)

H: "I'll be leaving in 30 mins"
I drive to venue but get there first...then deciding to fish for the last hour and a half of daylight and set-up to test the new perch/zed method again on a second rod, together with the usual bread rod.

H: "Too much to do. I won't be going now".

F: "Oh! I've just cast in".

H: "Okay, I'll come down"

On arrival -

F: "Did you bring your stuff?"

H: "No, I'll just watch"

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The session itself was surprisingly hectic but, with a boat going through as I walked to the spot and contemplating turning round just 50 yards away but then abandoning manoeuvres and ploughing the far shelf for good measure, the prospects appeared somewhat slim.

Yes it's narrowboat rental time. Imagine being sent out to drive a bus on the road with just a few minutes tuition.

While not rushing to cast in, as the milky complexion that filled the watercourse fell back into black tea, bread mash was fed heavily. With an hour only ahead, there was little point taking it gently. Specimen or bust it was.

The worm rig sat 5 yards to the right. It's upgrade intended to avoid wasps and zedlets by presenting whole lobworms in a more definite manner to avoid inevitable failed strikes when the fish has simply got hold of a hookless loose end of the bait.

A silver bream of around five ounces started the ball rolling followed by hybrids and more silver's of up to ten ounces.

Then a surging run on the worm and a heartily scrapping perch of 1.6 was followed by another of a pound before death by crustacean descended on both lines of attack.

Signal crayfish abound in most of the places I fish on both Oxford and Grand Union canals. Their presence given away by silly little runs and dips and dodges of the float. Very unusally is one connected with but three were this time and all suitably dispatched according to the law.

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A massive swarm of midges glowed like orange fireflies in the, all but horizontal, setting beams of the source of life through an historic bridge arch to my left.

And so it went quiet.

Darkness descended.

HonGenSec said his goodbyes and as he turned to go a raging lift bite on bread and a good scrapper was on. "Hybrid!", we both exclaimed. No, a really good silver bream and both combined excitement and astonishment on my part.

On the scales it plunged the proverbial needle to just a tad under one pound eleven.

Immediately I declared it a p.b. but, driving back, I started to have doubts, rightly so as, checking 'the book' at chez nous, it was bettered by a 1.11.8 Grand Union fish last year.

A cracker nevertheless and an Oxford Canal best at the very least.

With luck these beauties will continue to offer themselves up for a few more days but there can certainly be no better time to pursue them than late May into early June.

BIG CANAL ROACH or HUGE CANAL ROACH?

Notice the title has been upgraded from 'Big'

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Way back in the dusty and rusty old days of this blog the scaly subject of the likely maximum size of canal roach was broached.

At the time dear old Jeff Hatt & I figured that two pounders must currently exist locally, we live 13 miles apart by road, based on our collective experiences. Jeff's with hard won, deep winter, whole lobworm-suckered fish of up to a few drams under the magic weight and my own with sheer numbers of pound plus fish.

At the time we both felt the North Oxford Canal offered the greatest chance of that fish. Zander infested, otter plundered and historically supportive of fish over a pound, even thirty years ago, with a good depth and with the small fish constantly cropped leaving the survivors to grow, and grow fat. A stock of roach well over a pound and approaching two was introduced from a trout reservoir decades ago and their progeny must form these contemporary shoals.

Since that time things have moved on to the point, and I would never have believed I would say this, where it is now possible to catch a fish well over a pound to order if conditions are right. How much over is down to dedication, knowing the water and it's foibles, and luck.

Three September's back Jeff considered a fish I took of 2.3.10 was the biggest authenticated canal roach ever but immediately this was usurped by one over 2lbs 4ozs from the Gloucester Canal.

The research Jeff put into historic roach records, taking him into waters that even the likes of Mark Everard and Mark Wintle knew little of, was as extensive as one would expect of the blogfather of angling, but it threw-up very little in the way of authenticated catches. That's not to say there haven't been any in the past of course, there will have been, harvesting it and squeezing the pips from the fruit however is another matter.

Plenty of stories - zero science.

Even the now legendary Albert Oldfield stories are not beyond reproach it seems and, generally speaking, when it comes to questions like, "...but did he weight it?", mist descends over the tumbleweed

I came across a mounted fish on eBay a couple of years ago, labelled as from New Bradwell canal, Milton Keynes to you and I, which from memory was supposed to have been two pounds, eight ounces. My memory may mislead me there but it was certainly in excess of the 2.4 recent best. The fish however would come with no certificate and lacked authentification by anyone who knew the circumstances of capture.

It is surely inevitable that larger, heavier canal fish must exist but there are obstacles to their capture and surely the greatest of these is a dearth of potential captors. One usually feels an extensive rutiloid furrow is being ploughed armed only with a Billy Lane ducker.

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It is against this backdrop that news of big roach is a welcome surprise but always received with an element of doubt. Most anglers catch roach but a good proportion would not weigh a fish. There could be a number of reasons as to why but these aren't particularly relevant here.

So when a reliably informed bankside contact advised that a big canal fish had been taken nearby it could not initially be ignored. He showed me a photograph on his phone that looked convincing enough as often one's immediate impression on seeing such images is one of rejection.

I had to know more. A little detective work via The Lady Burton's Facebook account brought me into contact with it's tamer, one Jack Williams, a tackle shop worker, who just fancied a late hour by the canal until dusk.

A blend of pole float tactics on rod and line was Jack's favoured method feeding maggots in the boat channel and fishing two on an eighteen hook. Apart from the pole float a fairly standard approach one might say.

On this length of canal though a session's success can hinge on that one sudden bite and sure enough the only indication of interest in this visit produced the goods in, first the strength, and then the shape of a rod-bending roach of mind-bending proportions (we came close to getting Uri Geller in there!).

Once in the net...wonderment.

But how big?...and was it big or HUGE?

The trusty lightweight dial scales came to the rescue and, incredibly, the needle twizzled round to a massive two pounds, six ounces.

To my mind, and let's face it there aren't many others out there with an interest in such matters, on the face of it comfortably the biggest authenticated roach ever from an English canal.

And this is what the trophy shot looked like...

Jack and I entered into some brief correspondence during which it was decided he would check the accuracy of his scales and we would endeavour to work out the length of the fish.

Many times the impact on fish size attributable to offline marinas has entered and crashed around in my psyche. There are many in this part of the world...more I suspect than anywhere else.

To produce, now proven, multiple roach over 2lbs, hybrids over four and bream, the peak size of which are not yet fathomed, but clearly also over four pounds, from what is a plain, narrow canal with little respite for its stocks from weekend and holiday boats...no, this cannot be chance. The coincidence of these safe and plentiful offline growing-lakes has an influence without a doubt.

Sadly Jack's scales showed a six ounce disparity and now languish awaiting refuse collection day but that should not cause us to underplay the fact that this was a two pound roach. To my mind a genuine fish of a lifetime and a truly marvellous fish from such an unlikely source, the humble cut, and, yes, a HUGE roach, without doubt.

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So how big do they go then?

Wouldn't it be awful if someone told us?

The mystery is all.