Two Weeks & Two Rivers

SHIFTS HAND OVER

The moon was brightening and I thought I could sense something breathing, but the sound was continually drowned-out by the sky, throbbing with the lumpy drone of a hundred distant combustion engines

Now the river, at its narrowest accelerated channel, glinted silver as sunlight struck it via the surface of that early evening moon; each turbulent surge outlined and shrinking as it subsided into darkness

Through the summer it is readily forgotten how thoroughly the cup of calm can be drained right down to the very last drop by the riverside at dusk. Everything settles to roost and a whole new everything soon stirs. 

Rooks and jackdaws, tonight over a thousand starling, and of course the pheasants' unpleasant cocophony as they crash-in to perches, often inappropriately selected and then deselected, are the regular proponents of the changing guard. 

No sooner have they handed over to the night-shift than the rustling and chewing of rodents; the last minute piscean displays of ebullience; then the cries, hoots and screeches of owls; moorhen scrambling into bushes or climbing rushes all comprise the, albeit brief, B-side of the day's soundtrack before a general silence descends. 

On two consecutive trips the local barn owl flew straight to me as if to check-out this new and mobile feature of the usually unchanged landscape. What a sight, as they floated without even the slightest sound on moth-like wings. Unsatisfied on both occasions each perched nearby to survey the scene but lost interest as efficiently as they gained it. Voles called (now when I say, "Voles called", I don't mean...well, anyway). 

The little grebe, a ubiquitous tiny river bird, seemingly ever present in the colder months, is easily missed or mistaken for a crashing chub or rolling roach, but with stealth they can be seen in between the reed stems diving for the last water boatmen of summer or perhaps winter  sticklebacks to sustain their Slender yet impossibly buoyant selves. 

The evening was frustrating in the extreme. It's not often I can say I've had 15 bites when chubbing with meat but conversely quite usual to say I've had just the one fish. This however was that day. The first three or four bites were sail-aways yet were struck into nothing. Slow to learn, I held back and allowed the next bite to develop more fully, managing to hook and land, via a crisis-let with a weedbed, an immaculate chub of 3lbs 13ozs

I was no better off afterwards, as the bites became increasingly short, sharp and stacatto, such that I began to consider the possibility of eels. HonGenSec suggested signal crayfish, which I suppose could have been trying to swim off with the bait and then quickly losing grip, neatly reflecting my own demeanour as I sloped away into the mist of the darkening field, largely defeated

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RIGHTS HAND OVER

To be sat there again; feet in the rushy margins, backside on the bank; was like the reopening of the sweet shop hoping mint humbugs were back in stock. 

The Leam is, as they say, "A funny river"

The slightest miscue and she appears devoid of life. Her appetite generally on the reluctant side of anorexic except during those occasional times when her complexion suggests a flush of rude and ravenous health. 

This weekend was clearly the former, as she lay chilled in serpentine stillness. Visibility was two feet plus, far too clear for more than the odd fish per swim, with any panic palpable, but hope would be a companion.

In flight, fieldfare and the seeping Redwing, flushed from hawthorn and willow, scatter in random abandon at the first morning sight of man. Meadow pipit and skylark continue the winter spread as they filter throughout the land. 

Prostrate willows seemed more prevalent, and more dramatic, than three years prior. 

It had been that long. 

20 minutes of 10g feeder deployment and no bites to show for it, the river low and clear, I slip into the old banker swim. A change of approach to boot. 4 finger blobs of mash, scattered such that they would entice the quarry from its lair, drifted down in the negligible gentle flow to the edge of a previously significant feature, now depleted. There was something about it though, something imperceptible that made it attractive to both chub and roach in the past and so there was no reason to conclude that this would still be the case; perhaps the bed was scoured gravel?

First flick - poor. 

The second? Accurate and short of the spot imagined where the feed came to rest. Ideal.

As is the case with small rivers, one tends to seek-out micro-quivertips to indicate the tiniest of twitches, but when the fish is worth the effort it could put a curve in a 2oz tip without any trouble. This bite was to be no different; the customary tremble closely pursued by a wrap around and what felt like a proper combatant was engaged.

Now the wand isn't made for specimen fishing but it copes adequately with fish up to 3lbs and can subdue bigger fish in open water but this was the Leam, all rushy margins and snag-ridden runs. Initially the fish didn't show any desire for the vegetative route of escape but as it approached the net instinct clearly took hold and there it was being dragged to the surface and into the net before we had to offer it the option of releasing itself before digging it from the debris.

The opening fish of the new era then was chub of 2lbs 13ozs, and a very welcome start!

Usually under such circumstances I might give it one more cast or I might move on immediately. The former was favoured, given the re-acquaintance with the stretch, and in went a tasty fresh flake of Jonathan's best. This time the hook bait lodged in the leading edge of the feature and the heart fluttered like a cabbage white under the gaze of a wren but one gentle tweak and it flipped neatly out and sunk right next to the snag. Needless to say, when such luck abounds, it wasn't long before the tip was arching downstream again and another decent fish was hooked. At first it was a roach, then a chub of a pound or more but the head-shaking didn't seem right and, as it came into view, it was clearly a more than decent roach. Then it turned into chub again and dived into the dead rushes. The landing net turned excavator scooped the fish and all around it up, and at the scales it proved the first river pounder of the season at 1.1.8 and the world was good; for five minutes there was no COVID, no climate crisis and no war. Anywhere.

A chance call to the farmer had resulted in the syndicate getting access to this excellent stretch of the river where the features almost outnumber fish and offer so many options as to make one all boggly of mind.

As I tested another glide I was feeling that loss of engagement, that prelude to the trudge back to the tank, and through the distraction I became aware of a huge but somehow gentle swirl to my right next to the fallen log the bait rested beneath. Thinking initially, "Giant chub", I became conscious of a seal-like shape slipping underwater on the far side between the, now brown, rushes flat to the surface where up-periscoped an old, distinctly grey haired, Labrador head, or so it seemed, and this guy was not happy.

"Humpf", he exclaimed, inwardly, and all breath-y like, "What's going on here? That wasn't there yesterday!" 

His neck so unfathomably long and able to project so far out of the water as to be unreal, this was the biggest dog otter one could imagine, with rolls in his neck like a 60-year old Mike Tyson. He regarded me, for what seemed quite some time, as I too regarded him - with sheer disbelief - but then, he was gone, and the bubble of apparent fantasy burst.

Things do come in threes after all and this day was no different

 

Autumn in Full Flow

The rate of decomposition of aquatic plants has been quite surprising and given that the daytime temperatures have been more akin to a poor summer and the first noteworthy frost only bit this week this appears to prove that, unlike the triggers our so called intelligence would have us believe apply to such events, it is not simply heat that controls the reaction of life to the seasons

On the stretch of the Leam that Parps and I have the rights to the arrowheads were slipping into browning dormancy some weeks ago and now, it always seems sudden, the bulrush is losing its bottle green shade in many stems, and ‘cabbages’ break up into slimy, khaki folds as, with the oncoming winter, they prepare for that which will ultimately leave only the rhizome intact


Ten days ago the first seasonal redwings sipped in panic as they burst from foraging to the shelter of thick hawthorn in the nearby Warwickshire countryside and only this past week their erstwhile companion the fieldfare followed a similar pattern as a flock of forty took an undulating course parallel to the Fosse

The gnawing sound on stems being trimmed becomes ever less frequent whether I sit bankside or walk quietly near water and the family of six swans on our stretch is reduced to four by the ravages of predatory instinct and the need to feed the next generation of ‘higher’ species

Yesterday morning a train of five jackdaws sky-jacked a quite massive cronking raven as it headed out to the meadows, its Maltese cross profile as evident as ever it could be in this fascinating individual. How long before we become blasé about their presence in the central and east midlands much as we have with the buzzard, and yet at the same time we worry about the loss of species? Strange times indeed

I read recently that the great ecologist Edward O Wilson was marking the start of the MEMO project to build a shrine to the species which have become extinct since the dodo began the decline, now known widely as the sixth mass extinction, on the ‘Jurassic Coast’. A thirty million pound investment in what, to my mind, could prove to be the most powerful reminder to us (in Britain at least) that it really is time to act. Human life created the issue and, if it is possible to reverse the collapse, surely we owe it to the earth to urge it back to fitness

(see here www.memoproject.org)

 

Speaking of counter-intuitive increases in populations as I was, I am seeing, preceded by a deep dull drone, regular hornets in many locations now and yet, until about three years ago, I could only recall one dead individual noted on a bathroom window cill during a survey of a rural house a decade ago. A friend of mine had a swarm take up residence in her porch just a month ago but while they seem somewhat breathtakingly repulsive, with their bloated wasp-like appearance, they are apparently quite docile and unlikely to attack unless, like the bee, they are provoked to such a degree that they feel the need to defend themselves – such as at food sources or nest sites. In fact there is only one documented record of anyone seeking medical attention after a hornet encounter in the whole of Europe! So, like the buzzard and then the raven, is the hornet expanding in Britain having been restricted to southern counties in the past? Well yes, according to the Natural History Museum, it is indeed as they say ‘a known fact’ that hornets are spreading from their historic stronghold around the Exeter and New Forest area

 

The wet weather towards the end of this week has pushed the Middle River Leam level from the standard summer range of 0.25-0.3m to a positively healthy 0.75 over the past two days and with this in mind fresh vigorous lobworms were obtained and are added to the bait range with the obligatory bread. So with a simple Avon quiver set-up and the contrary, but still relatively strong, sun bursting across the field and in through the windows a plan was hatched

Roach, chub and anything else daft enough to be fooled would be the target. The spaniels seemed to know too but they, with live lamb on the agenda, would be staying to bathe in that same sunlight from indoors

On arrival, the afternoon sun was starting to slide behind a comforting blanket of light cloud while two herons took flight and barked, as only they can, their raucous contact call. As I sauntered to the water’s edge kingfishers piped and their neon blue streaks abounded. Jackdaws jack-ack-acked as, in their fluster, they exploded from the wood with fears all their own…and all was well in the valley

I all-but trod on a field vole as it scurried underfoot into waterside rush margins where cattle and sheep had broken the bank into terraces as it dropped toward the water. But it was not him I sought. For me it was the waterscape that drew me in search of undercuts, slacks and glides; and therein, I dreamt, the aforementioned quarry

Recently I had discovered an undercut with overhanging grasses and hoped it would offer steady water under these first suitably raised water levels of the colder months, but it was not to be; the water gently, admittedly, boiled and surged through the channel and I would need to wait for levels to fall, or rise considerably more, for this area to came back into play

 

An enticing slack I had harboured far from complementary thoughts about when approaching from the opposite bank in the past suddenly seemed all the more attractive downstream of a substantial bed. As the main flow cut past the outside of the shelter, it cried-out for a stab at its likely refugees. Heads, tails and indeed the haemorrhaging middles of a series of unfortunate lobworms were offered to its inhabitants, and, cast after cast, bites ensued. Roach, perch around 12 ounces, then a river best (though far from exceptional example) of 1-1-3 battled and failed to get under the decomposing but, at the same time, high water-animated rush stems. Then another roach before the closing gloom of the evening pushed me back to my prepared bread swim to engage in the last rites of the angling day at the head of an awkward to access shallow gravel run

Last weekend I had been buzzed by a tawny owl elsewhere on the river just minutes after briefly observing its barn-dwelling cousin hunting over rank bankside vegetation. An incoming message from mission control had lit me up in the dark and the enquirer came for a closer look, delaying his fly-by with a brief hover and eventually alighting over my left shoulder until, as I reached for the camera he slipped with the flow and out of sight. This week was to be little different, a male buzzard had landed in bare branches on the opposite bank but soon realised there was a bigger predator already here and silently flapped north and away from this imposter but, as darkness fell and before the evening hoot commenced, another tawny owl swept in from behind willows to my right and settled ten metres in front of me. This time I managed to reach the camera but the owl, wiser than I and fearful as to survive, saw this as an invitation to drift back from whence he appeared and to my horror the gadget slipped from my grasp, bounced down the grassy bank and settled part-submerged in the water. As I write it sits upside-down, stripped-down as much as is possible, next to a radiator – in hope, whether vain or not is yet to be revealed

Although another two small roach were quite taken with the bread after dark the swim wasn’t ‘right’ and I decided to tidy-away and weigh the perch with a heavy dew coating everything at hand

Next week. There's always next week.

Bream, Thrushes, Perch and Upstarts...or...The Canal Bug Returns

The last time I caught anything on bread on the canal was November 10th

Admittedly the visits have been few and far between as the 'middle' River Leam fascination has extended its control of me, only six sessions in fact, but I had recalled seeing even the most clearwater-stable lengths turn to strong tea when the rains commenced and, as they continued unabated day after day, week after week, month after month that image had scalded me like that with which the tea may have been made, were it real

Deep down though its true to say that my urges go in cycles when it comes to angling; each little obsession (ah, the smell of it) having to be sated before the next expands like a pin prick of light through a black surface to a sparkling diamond of a challenge until that too is addressed, usually by failure and the need, ultimately again, for variety

That variation often involves one of my other obsessions, probably put on the back burner in the jewellers workshop until such time as it is needed again to fulfil its role

It seems odd in this wettest of winters - has anyone claimed it the wettest on record yet? I'm sure they will soon, everything has to be a record, the biggest, the fastest, the most boring, you name it - that this particular angler, and yes, 'peculiar' would fit to, has spent his time trying to scratch chub and roach from the Leam in the considerable aftermath of each deluge regularly involving beached cars in Welsh Road, Offchurch (being the point at which the world as most know it is at its most vulnerable to this tiny River's wrath) when most others have stayed at home

The challenge got the better of me this weekend however with a blank trip for one of us (me) on the North Oxford last weekend and an opportune trip over the cut in the week revealing that it was not as coloured as one might have expected and the urge to fish the canal returned




Water clarity was good for bread fishing

Saturday a short trip, which seemed quite hard work but thats how I like it (as you will have gathered if a regular visitor, assuming F,F&F has any), to an area that produced some bream including a good silver in the summer saw my now traditional approach unfurled on the unsuspecting watercourse. I say 'short trip' but it was a touch longer than usual as no boats came, although I understand Hillmorton locks are subject to some work at present which may explain

Bread flake down the deepest water bottom of the far shelf on the float and lobworm at the nearside equivalent to my right on a very light 2AA link leger were the methods although the bread feed was cut back as, in the odd session of gongoozling since November 8th I have fed too much

I was again beginning to think the canal was devoid of fish with no toppers and no bites when, half hour in, a bream lifted the flake off bottom and the equivalent lift bite resulted in a fish of 1-8-10 of silver bronziness staring up at me from the landing net but that seemed to be it for quite some time until a small perch wrapped the trip round and while I was unhooking an awkward situation became considerably worse as a bite on bread occurred and 'we' ended-up playing another similar bream with my knees while I did eventually manage to extract the hook from the footballing mascot, no damage done. The bream was then netted too and another 1-6-3 of non-slimy bream went into the keepnet

From this point on the wand was the most active and eventually, as has often been the case with this dual approach, the light bread rod and centre-pin became abandoned on the bankside grass while the lobworm was concentrated on. Air-injection it seemed was critical to getting bites, and they came regularly once that was sussed, with three perch to 1-3-6 and a lone zander of 1-6-14 completing the days entertainment when I ran out of worms

The catch totalled 6-8-11 and included my first canal bread fish for 13 weeks and first canal catch over 1lb for 12 weeks

The birdlife was quite fascinating too, moorhen were mating, but they will be nesting soon of course. Just as winter really takes hold no doubt.

Linnet, goldfinch, chaffinch, fieldfare and redwing, dunnock, blackbird, robin and jackdaw all alighted in the hedge opposite at sometime during the session



A hat trick of thrushes (I missed the blackbird!)

Armed with this knowledge of life against the odds in the canal I took Parps the next day for the next step of his angling development. We accessed at the same point but walked the other way knowing that gales were forecast and there the wind would be behind us and blowing over a tall hedge

A similar day ensued in many ways. A cracking bream with a strangely dented shoulder (more noticeable in the photos than in the flesh) started things off about half an hour into the session and then after a further half hour or so lull a 15oz roach and another bream of around 12ozs in consecutive casts. Then nothing.

Crayfish were in residence and pulling the float around quite regularly in their irritating manner

The boy wonder meanwhile remained bite less so we changed his link leger for a newly created heavy duty float rig for suspending lobworms just off bottom and it worked immediately but the fish of around 10ozs came off as he went to lift it clear of the water

Applying the tricks he had learnt last week he went on to get 7 or 8 bites and land three perch to 1-2-6 with three falling off the hook at the surface

This boy likes his bigger fish and is catching them regularly now

So my fishing has taken-on an unexpected twist of kate, or even late (not fate, and who's Kate?) and I find myself having to draw-up a golden maggot chart. Not just any old golden maggot chart, oh no, as this is no ordinary golden maggot competition

[I can't use 'gm' or 'gmc' here so I'm, somewhat thankfully, stuck without an acronym (The revered Lady Burton used to work in mental health, they don't use ANY real words!)]

This golden maggot is all encompassing...biggest fish, heaviest catch, most fish and of course the, technically correct (to quote the late, and famously slow-scoring, Trevor Bailey), most species...per trip

And, lo and behold, I find myself already 6.5 -12.5 down to a 12-year old companion who has rather conveniently slipped into the peg vacated by the self-confessed, past his sell-by-date Old Duffer, who may now only fish when it's warm and when standing-up with a stick float is the order of the day; so maybe, maybe not. It's a bit like that at the moment but time will tell, you're a long time dead. Kevin Pietersen just flashed into my head

Parameters have not yet been settled. Will we work to the old coarse fishing season and then have a sort of inferior, perhaps bronze pinkie, award for the ensuing three months? Or will it be annual, or even a monthly award? I know not, consultation with the ebullient one will be sought

What to do?

The match fishing embers finally burned-out about 15-18 years ago but this is different, this is personal. Could I possibly let a young upstart, not any upstart but THIS upstart, get the better of me?

Well, yes, I could. Seeing him learn so fast and take stuff in you couldn't even imagine, and then catch fish using the knowledge is more pleasurable than catching them myself. 'Never thought I'd live to see that possibility but here it is right before my very eyes. The fire now burns within him and boys seem to have a natural gift to fish anyway, don't they? I suppose it's the unavoidable hunting instinct that drives it but the technical ability is beyond me, where does that come from?

Roll on next time! Snow on the bank is forecast and the opportunity to land a decent chub in it is one unfulfilled dream that needs to come true...

RESUMING OF REDFIN RELATIONSHIP

The realisation that a few hours could occasionally be grabbed before work at this time of year set me off on a North Oxford Canal roach hunt this morning at dawn

Boats were moored where it had been the intention whence to head but, due to the fact that I found myself unable to sleep after precisely 03.22hrs, it left me with plenty of time to ponder other options as the day was not sufficiently broken to set-up after striding-out that far at 5.15am in any case

Eventually, following much mulling-over, and dithering back and forth, a peg opposite a dormant bulrush bed was selected and perched at

As I did so a courting gang of mallards decided that was also where they would also engage in their own form of ritual, culminating in the female being all-but drowned...eggs to follow for sure. Certain aspects of this masquerade were however quite fascinating; the female swimming underwater and coyly emerging under bankside vegetation and then brazenly swimming directly toward the best-presented male for instance. Nevertheless the almighty commotion and unwillingness of the group to go elsewhere was quite disconcerting in respect of the angling prospects and I was convinced at this point that these clowns and the flock of mixed thrushes in the field opposite were to comprise the days entertainment

The day was, again, to be somewhat experimental with the newly received wand to test while also fishing another rod with a float using the lift-bite method with bread (no change in that respect then!)

Travelling ultra-light and without rod-rests presented an interesting set of challenges with two rods to arrange such they didn't get in each others way, so to speak. Initially a light link-leger was used with a whole lobworm set against the rush bed while mashed bread was introduced just past middle for the float

As per the weekend, an early boat before any bites had materialised did nothing to bolster enthusiasm but after a further feed of mash things settled into some kind of logical rhythm and by this stage mallard had steamed off into the distance given that decisons had been made and three less desirable drakes were real Charlies left quietly sulking under the brambles (even I could see that coming, they really ought to look at their reflections sometimes and take it easy!)

This, and the setting-up, took rather longer than I had hoped and so a line was not wet in anger until 06.45. The boat caused the flask to be cracked early and by 8am I was wondering if I'd be going to work with a bill longer than the rejected mallards but at 08.15 the float duly rose from the water like Excalibur and, despite trying to tidy the wand positioning at the time, a swift strike met with admirable and vigourous resistance. 'Roach or hybrid?', I pondered as it swirled twice in front of me, the rod drawing it instantly away from the feeding area in a manner which the pole cannot achieve with big roach due to the soft mouth/elastic strength dilemma. Its next appearance indicated a flash of red fin and as I netted the fish it was clear this was the first pound-plus roach since mid-December! Not a beauty with one side badly scarred and one showing signs of recovery but a good one all the same and, given the recent dirth of the larger examples of the species, most welcome and heart-warming at 1-2-3
 

Next cast, as is so often the case, produced a similar bite, a much heftier fish and a significant fight it must be said, but, bizarrely, it was soon over when the fish gasped fresh air and lost the will. A very plain yet perfectly formed bronze bream of 1-12-5

No further bites and three more closely-spaced boats brought the session to a close after just over 2 hours. The wand had ultimately been deployed with an over-large piece of crust anchored to the bottom immediately right of the mash feed while the float was dropped to the left and down-tow of the feed. The idea being that if I am indeed ever to beat the 1-4-12 canal roach PB this might just be the way, although it sat motionless on the day

Species list:
Carrion Crow, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Black-headed gull, Starling, Blackbird, Fieldfare, Redwing, Greenfinch, Dunnock, Mallard, Moorhen, Roach, Bronze bream

When is a fishing trip a birdwatching session?

Recently, when pursuing the usual one bite, one fish tactic, it became apparent for the first time that more of the session than ever before was actually spent gazing around me than on the superficial object of the outing, the float

Now, given that the bite when it came would be visually unavoidable this was not to be seen as an issue necessarily but it did confirm that this really was something completely new. Match fishing never felt like this. The thought that one might take an eye off the float for long enough to identify a female reed bunting perched in the phragmites was unthinkable, literally the thought would not enter one’s head

The prospect of sitting for hours without that degree of focus would have been a n-starter. How could one possibly adequately compete if the commitment wasn’t there?

One thing which the more ‘specialist’ approach allows is the ability to drift into other worlds while one awaits the inevitable additional excitement of the initial interest followed by the capture

Those who are sufficiently in need of distraction to have followed this blog recently will realise that there have been occasions when ‘makes’ of dog have been suitably enthralling at times, especially those days when the one bite was looking dubious

The main secondary interest, though often obvious in their presence, are birds

It is unusual to rack-up a list of less than ten species while sat there enjoying the, often, morning canal-side air and there are passers-by putting in regular appearances which buck the RSPB’s perceived trend, most notably the bullfinch, a bird considered in such plight as to be ‘amber-listed’ as an expression of its conservation concern and yet, nearly always, present on the canal-side wherever there are suitably dense and continuous hawthorn/brambles on the banks 


Early morning, long distance, kestrel on wire

One remains ever hopeful of seeing the odd rarity, or even scarcity, under such circumstances but in reality this is very unusual. By definition it would be of course but it is noticeable that the canal despite its generally perceived ecological value is not all it might be. Passing as a very thin ribbon of water hedges and ocsasional trees through pasture and arable land is not an ideal substrate against which to promote a highly biodiverse ecological community 

However, with a reasonable level of appreciation of bird calls and song it can be fruitful to pick-up species passing overhead and it is this that has brought home the expansion of the raven in Warwickshire. Having once had the dubious honour of being the first person to see this bird at Rutland Water some years back it is one which always resonates when that deep gruff ‘cronk, cronk’ call approaches from any direction. Their growth toward the east seems to mirror that of the buzzard a decade or so previous

Long lens shot of ravens on tower

Strange things do happen though and in the same way that the angler might pursue a PB or another specimen of whatever species or size we always enjoy the unusual for reasons which really do not need to be explored. Three examples of this have occurred just outside Rugby in the past two years involving wading birds and, twice, the same species

On a day when only stale bread was available for bait (don’t ask) an attempt to concoct a paste out of it on the bank went slightly wrong. Ultimately despite the biggest topping shoal of fish to go at only one bite was mustered (as per normal!), the highlight of the occasion was the strangest bird call and one never consciously heard before. It emanated from two locations simultaneously indicating not one but two individuals and, thanks to the wonders of modern technology by a process of elimination using an iPhone app it was narrowed down to whimbrel, never heard or seen one before nor since. The closest bird was ‘clearly’ very close indeed on the far bank but concealed by the bankside vegetation between us at all times

The other two unusual sightings both involved woodcock and, again, remain the only encounters within memory although they are not uncommon in the right territory of damp woodland. The first was in a lengthy period of freezing weather when at first glance through a misty windscreen what initially appeared to be a female mallard was probing in the grassy verge by a quite busy road. Something however wasn’t quite right and a quick turnaround and revisit showed the out of place bird to be a woodcock forced to take refuge in such exposure where the only ground soft enough to probe was right next to the road. The next woodcock event was alluded to in a previous post http://floatflightflannel.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/interlude.html when an individual wholly concealed in dense undergrowth on the far bank emitted soft croaking sounds for a few minutes, again unmistakably confirmed by recordings  

The trend however is for a list of around 10 to 20 species to be compiled in a two hour period with a certain bunch of core birds such as thrush species in winter and warblers in summer supplemented by the crow family, the ever present woodpigeon and, a personal favourite, moorhen plus variable finches, buntings, tits, together with mallard, mute swan, skylark, etc.

Redwing seeking haws at dawn

Returning to angling had, on the face of it, taken away opportunities to birdwatch. Previously a trip out to obtain a list of thirty or forty species would have been very enjoyable but the new found benefits of a more open-minded attitude to angling has allowed the two to flourish in conjunction so they both can be enjoyed and a fishing trip genuinely can be a birding session at the same time albeit within the limitations of the habitat

Let’s face it; it’s just about being out there!

References:
Birds of Conservation Concern (RSPB)

List for 16th November when the fishing interest was just one roachXbream hybrid of a tad under the pound in a session from 7 to 9am:
Moorhen, mallard, fieldfare, kingfisher, gull sp., redwing, starling, house sparrow, robin, blackbird, magpie, carrion crow, woodpigeon, jackdaw, chaffinch, blue tit, wren, bullfinch, raven, song thrush