Trotting at the Backend

A heavy downpour was forecast for three solid hours this afternoon so I planned to be camped before it set-in. Given that I've managed to rip my waterproof bib and brace in four places this winter I even carted the umbajig the quarter mile plus to the armchair peg imagined in the minds eye

I counted about 15 spots of rain.

Since the year that Mr Fish was blamed for the hurricane that turned Sevenoaks into Ratherlessoaks they have been so cautious haven't they?


The air has a feeling of impending excitement about it at present though...

All manner of rustling, squeaking, singing and tweeting in the countryside, and a preponderance of bugs, unseen since October, crawling over me and the gear

Just on the off-chance the trotting rod was slotted into the bag. Bought some weeks ago, it hadn't yet produced so much as a bite, so out of sorts has this little river been until the past few days. If last weekend was peak winter fishing for the Leam there was the slim chance of a bit of action today too with air temperatures likely to be 8degC all afternoon and into dark. The prospect of the first fish on the rod was unavoidable

I headed for a distant swim. A gully with over-hanging bushes around six feet deep and through ran the avon float, the flow was a touch too slack but the slower the bait was eased through on the 'pin the better the fish liked it. Alternating this with a light 2AAA link leger fish came steadily in the clearing water until about half an hour before dark when things reached an abrupt end, coinciding with panicking moorhens under imagined or real attack by an assailant upstream

First trot through with flake was immediately taken by a small Chub and the immediate impression of the rod was just that...impressive. I've written before about the twelve footer I bought for bigger canal fish which could surely not be bettered and this, a 13' specialist trotting rod with a useful two foot extension, is equally perfect for its task. On the third trot the float sunk down that hole again and this time a better fish was on. It took a while to tame and the tip action of the rod extended to the middle as a chub, I initially underestimated at 1-8-0 but weighed-in at 2-2-0, tested it considerably more in its attempts to get under the near bank and then into some branches overhanging to my left

I had been searching for this discontinued model of rod for many months after reading some praise of it and it's been more than worth the wait

Only two fish were below six ounces in weight and I honestly don't think any of them had seen a hook before. Very few bites were missed with the enthusiasm of the fish for feeding much greater than had been the case since around November as water temperatures continue to creep up

 

A lovely catch just one more fish short of seven pounds, there were fourteen though the photo shows thirteen, their friend found his way back in rather too quickly! Roach to ten ounces and three chub to go with them

Tackle-wise, since rebuilding the set-up on returning to the sport, I am very pleased with the range of rods collected, all of which perfectly suit their applications it seems. In terms of reels however I am still struggling a touch, apart from the centrepin which, as Parps would say, is 'epic'

  

 

Birds came into the upward-straining plantation to roost. Fieldfare in their crashing chaotic manner sought the most dense bushes, woodpigeon at high speed whooshing with air brakes locked into the trees and pheasant, accompanied by ear-bending and shocking crowing, at close range to the hawthorn

Jackdaw, buzzard, blackbird, redwing, robin, reed bunting, skylark; long-tailed, blue and great tit; wren, treecreeper, moorhen, mallard,  kingfisher, chaffinch and bullfinch completed the set for the afternoon
Very, very enjoyable indeed


Three days to go...

Darkness Falls and Possibilities Grow

On increasing air temperatures came rising water levels. Spring on the horizon and springs in peak production

Those bursts of strengthening sunlight, once again blinding in intensity, squeeze moisture as vertically drifting mist pockets from rotting remnants of summer past. The rains strangled from their  reed insulated bed of earth

Skylark and reed bunting burst-out their wildly contrasting pleasure at the seasonal change afoot. Their brethren in the knowledge that they would need their own space in which to bring forth the populace of future grass and sedge

The occasional optimistic and ever-enthused dace breaks surface, and a brief circling sign of its excitement smooths back into the surging, rolling flow

Small whirlpools slowly swizzle down the torrent seeking compatriots to combine to a larger vortex but as the approaching deepening bend pulls them into an accelerating glide, magical, mystical and short-lived, they shrink and close

Overhead the hoarsely kronking jet black raven flaps and flops through the heavy cloud, into which the sun does boldly beam through low trajectory, and on drifting breeze he is taken-off over hawthorn and out of sight.

A ripplet in the margins. First here, then there and further too. Tiny indentations and evidences of movement against the silty, here steady, high water. Below I imagine an oblivious pike, masked by the turbidity, slumbering in wait of clarity of view and ambition. It may be some days. The inundated grasses twitch and twang as though plucked by a subsurface picker. Then a foot, a head, a muzzle. The water shrew pops its foraging face through the stems to view the onlooker square in the eye and he too is gone, beset by fear

A twang, a flinch but then no more

Turning to view the scene a splashing, sploshing swirl of power and spray moulds a shocked expression and a search in the gloom with focused beam. The true controller of the stream, flushed from it's evening hunt in terror, re-emerges beneath the tunnel of arched, looming far bank growth, its eye gleaming in, now, bright moonlight pushing like an illuminated OO loco against the flow and it too, like the shrew, was gone. The otter, elusive, exclusive and demonstrative of a recovering world, was on the prowl but caught-out by the ultimate predator; though on this day, some eight hours' effort resulting in one average capture, but one of valour against the odds, once again confirmed fulfilment by the water meadows

The stream may ebb and flow, it may twist and turn and, in devastation, alter its course, but here is the truest reality of the modern world. The water cares not for the interference of man, its indefatigable motion restating its own form and community year upon year; decade after decade; millennium in, millennium out

River is king, make no mistake



 

A Start

It's that time of year again

Peak season and yet I am having to force myself to get out there having not set foot on the bank, rod and reel in hand, since May. The spring trip to the Highlands and the end of the school summer holidays being the markers for an instinctively respected close season

Three trips to our local small stream have produced very little piscatorial excitement but a rather wider range of mammalian entertainment has helped things along and in the process pegs have been created in otherwise dense nettle and rush. Top for amusement was a persistent little chap fighting his way through the waterside vegetation at dusk like a small unseen cartoon character in a wheat field; when his head and, eventually, his whole body appeared after some half hours' scurrying, the shape of a brown rat was more than a little disappointing when I had gone from mink to polecat to stoat in my mind of possibilities. "Boo hiss scum bag, get back in the rushes, it's my bread", I disrespectfully suggested

Juvenile reed bunting. Intrigued at my presence

The wild seems rather more lively than it was this time in the previous two years but then I had not taken to the river bank on those occasions when the canal seemed more appropriate. Not so this time around, although I do believe that might change in a few weeks.

A barn owl swung round the bottom tree hole like a giant moth as the rat charged around. I crept up the bank but it was already gone, odd though it seemed; then a sudden crack and unowl-like noise as it lifted off with an unstruggling snack in its grasp and settled on the old gate to devour it, out of view

A family of swans could, despite their muteness, be heard to shuffle for positional comfort behind midstream rushes to my right. Six of them there had been two weeks ago when I took my accomplice Parps and the The Dog, who was briefly visiting, to suss-out the state of 'our stretch'

In the descending gloom one evening Parps plucked the landowners exclusive rights letter from my pocket as we sat deep among the rushes, more in search of a little interest than anything else, then he scanned the rod licence receipts which stated that they would be issued within 10 days...bought in March, still waiting. At least we have the proof. And then there was the 'proper' licence, a book, that enables us to fish a longer stretch of our favourite little river. They always fascinated me too, the venue maps, the match dates, the record fish, the old-fashioned sounding officials' names. Now at the tender age of 12 he suddenly qualified for them all

Tremendous colouration on this clear stream perch

I've also been pondering the syndicate water and a somewhat brash and successful bid on a pole on eBay did little to arrest my burgeoning drive to pursue the angle

....

Now, some three weeks and around six trips later, nothing much was to report on the hook. Chub to 1-14-5, roach to ten ounces with the highlight undoubtedly a dazzling dace of 5 ounces 14 drams, a proper little beauty on free-lined bread. A lot of small topping fish were evident but the stream was low as it gets and quite clear encouraging predatory perch and pike to strike where deeper pools existed

A perfect photo opportunity presented itself as a kingfisher settled 8m in front of me on one occasion but as I started to reach for the camera the inability to resist striking at a sudden bite got the better if me. That presented an interesting little conundrum, does that mean I actually prefer fish to birds? Well it's probably more that a trap was set and then tripped that made the bite so unavoidably enthralling as compared to the prospect of a kingfisher picture I suspect. In fact I know


Then just this last Sunday evening a quick-fire evening session when three swims not too distant were primed with a total of six slices of bread and then rotated 20 minutes each, at a time when daylight would be limited by the onset of dusk, formed the entertainment

The first of these was a narrow, busy little glide immediately upstream of, and feeding directly into, my favourite winter peg, which, as yet, is completely overgrown. At about four feet wide it ain't no big river peg but there was always the chance of a single decent fish before the necessity of the chaos surrounding its capture forced one to move on

Getting the bait in place was a challenge but, hiding below the tips of the rushes and flowering water bistort, a lump of flake was neatly flicked sideways into the bulrush-lined and punctuated channel, gravel imagined below

One thing obvious in this late summer escapade has been the positivity of the bites as compared to winter, especially from roach, they are all but unmissable, yet all but unhittable beyond November

The tip pulled quite hard and a strike met with reasonable resistance and a bit of a battle until, clinging-on and giving nothing, given the swim, a good roach popped into the waiting new landing net (all we need now is a decent handle), he weighed 0-11-14 and was a welcome start

Prior to baiting the swims I had chatted to an even less bedecked angler than myself who had been freelining lobs to good effect in the afternoon sun, taking some nice chub, roach and perch plus, he suspected, a couple of small zander but, having thought it through since, I suspect they may have been ye olde daddy ruffe

Second peg was a former cattle drink, now overgrown, and a favourite for a single good fish when conditions and extant vegetation suit. Barely had the hook hit the deck when the tip formed an animated arc followed immediately by the kind of aquatic commotion reserved only for chub. Hit and hold did the trick and the fella's rubbery lips appeared from amid the nearside rushes to find the greenery of the net. Scales applied, he went a nice 2-15-14, just a ha'penny short of 3lbs and the best of the short campaign thus far

Peg three was to be the one I fished into dark having fed it further before settling into the cattle drink. It was an awkward lie, in fact lying would probably have been a better bet had I been blessed with something to lie on

A gentle glide of around 5m wide across to a long bulrush bed opposite with some submerged cabbages inside was always looking good for a quality fish before sloping-off indoors. A rapid series of taps ending in a gentle pull brought a three ounce roach to hand and on dropping back in very close under my feet, so to speak, a gentle but determined bend was pulled into the tip by another fighter which, with less in the way of danger to navigate, was given a little more time before being drawn to rest. This one was a little more full of frame than the first (which surely would have gone 3.4.0 to 3.8.0 midwinter) and a very similar weight at 2-13-8. He was gently returned via the net to recover and find his way back into the flow

Knowing the evening's action would be brief in such restricted swims I decided to return to the cattle drink but, true to form, it produced nothing else and I hit the road to indulge in some Heavy Soul...how such brilliance could have eluded me for so long is beyond me, ruffling my old feathers for sure. Did you think I should?


References:
Heavy Soul - Paul Weller, Island Records, 1997
Peacock Suit - Paul Weller, Go Discs, 1996

A Quiet Morning by the Water

First swallow today, so its now official

Best fish - a roach of 1-1-3, which was immediately pasted onto the Idler's Quest (is that guy Jeff Hatt dead we ask ourselves?!)/FF&F spreadsheet of pound-plus North Oxford Canal roach

 

The sun rose rather too sharply for the fishes liking this morning, and the action was over as soon as it began, with just two skimmers and two hybrids to add to the actual quarry

Skylarks were tentatively venturing into the air and running through snatches of their song and the farmer's wife ran the perimeters of all the fields opposite (twice) with a particularly wired spaniel as if in training for a marathon. 

Chaffinches sought territories around the ash trees.

A tremendous smell of fox emanated from one of the three pegs I tried and a remarkably heavy dew sparkled upon the tips of the grass in the early sunlight

 

A swan cleaned-up the remnant bread pellets that surfaced as I struck them off against phantom crayfish bites with one of the armoured critters making it to the top only to drop off, thankfully, as it witnessed the shock of daylight

 

Yes, you guessed it today is Wednesday and therefore fishing day. Well actually it was not because as The Lady Burton is in hospital Friday having an irritation removed, no not one of our children but a cyst between tooth and sinus (I know, 'sounds painful!), so it was just a pre-work session for a couple of hours. I am hoping to squeeze an hour or two in Friday though, once she's ensconced

Many times over the past years 35 years had I trod this path, I suspect around fifty times in fact, and little had it changed. More boats certainly; moored boats back then were something of an event, now though they are something of an expectation...and the 24hr Emergency Potter was still in residence which is always comforting (you never know when the handle might come off your mug) although the union flag bunting was being removed so I assumed a trip abroad beckoned. Another pair of buntings, the reed variety, flitted into bank side vegetation perhaps in search of a nest site now that herbage is in the initial throes of impending rampant growth, I wonder if they could be related to the buntings that frequented this place in the 1980's?

 

Today was a recce really, trying to determine how far the shoals had spread as they move out to find suitable spawning substrates but the clear early skies taught nothing, roll in the cloud later in the week!

OF SUNRISES, AND BOYHOOD ADVENTURES RECALLED

The weekend enabled some fishing, some water meadow wanderings and, armed with new otter sign knowledge, some general naturey meanderings were undertaken in an area not seen since I was at school largely at the upper end of the Warwickshire Avon and its crossing of watery paths with the North Oxford Canal

First thing Saturday saw the usual roachy shenanigans on the cut. Cut it was, but accompanied by the word 'short' as 60 walkers and 12 narrowboats, each one associated with a Rugby Union Premiership Club, headed off from Rugby to Twickenham in aid of the Matt Hampson Trust. The leader-off was a gentleman, and a former canal match angler, who broke his back seven years ago and was attempting the route on crutches for the fourth time, and sometimes we are inclined to complain about our lot. Complain, about the boats and otherwise considered disturbance, I did not; for once I was humbled by the sight and bid them good day and good luck as I parted with the only two shiny coins deep inside many-layered clothing and slowly packed my gear away in awe of the effort these people were putting in for a worthy cause

The catch had been good in any event, albeit a couple of solid fish were bumped on the strike for no apparent or logical reason later on. The roach fed well from the moment the rig hit the water as seems to be the case at present with the water not noticeably cold when mashing the bread to pursue the method described in the previous post. Indeed they came thick and fast before bream moved in on the heavy feed. The best roach (pictured above) went 1-3-5 and sits safely in 10th place on the all time canal list



The Saturday Catch. 5 roach to 1-3-5 and 3 bronze bream to 2-6-0

An event I hadn't witnessed on a canal for many years unfolded before my eyes and, initially, ears when I heard a definite 'plop' to the right and looked round to see an orange fluttering as a kingfisher emerged from the water with its, or its kids', breakfast, which was duly beaten into submission on a branch. The extravagantly coloured bird which, when flying from twig to stem, in the hunt for fry has that bumble bee-like impossible design aesthetic converts into a jet propelled blue missile when commuting more urgently around it's territory. The roach almost seemed as nothing by comparison to this little wonder of the waterway

Later in the day The Lady Burton had an appointment; The Dog was batting no.5 for the local town club so Parps and I headed off for, in one case, some nostalgia and, in the other, a new adventure

We started on the canal and found evidence of otter having passed through under the very first bridge. I, we, found it incredible that this large elusive mammal could possibly live in such a busy place, but they do and, while I had expected to find such evidence by the river the canal was hardly the first spot I would have looked  

Some good looking pegs were passed in an area I had only once before fished in the Rugby Schools Championship back in the mid-late 1970's, when ounces were the order of the day(s)

Then we decided to follow the river, first downstream, then up. I remembered a few of the features of the landscape but naturally it had changed in the ensuing 35 years. There is no direct link for fish through the area of the river with the downstream section cut-off from the upstream by outfalls, overspills and concrete, not to mention a fine collection of aquatic Tesco trolleys and discarded bikes.

Some bread pellets thrown into some pacey, dark, and therefore deeper, water soon had chub of around eight to twelve ounces pouncing from the depths and further upstream beneath a weir a few roach were to be seen with a least one worth fishing for

Soon we abandoned this man-made riverine route and headed for the natural streamy river further up-flow where the most beauteous water meadows still exist and remain just as I remembered them from my youth.

So variable is a river at this stage of it's life. First fast-flowing through channels in phragmites beds, colonised by reed and sedge warblers as they vie for the loudest most repetitively incessant song, then slowing to the standstill of wide, deep bends inhabited by shoals of deeply-coloured roach which top with abandon mid-day in hot spring sunshine as if to celebrate the quite wondrous habitat the are fortunate enough to treat as their own

 

Top - reed warbler, softly plumaged and with an eye-stripe stopping at the eye
Bottom - sedge warbler, more bold wing striations, with a complete and deep eye-stripe

We knelt in the emerging lushness of bank side herbage, with the rich smell of crushed leaves coursing through the nostrils, and came to regret the absence of a picnic now that we had wandered so far

A few discs of best bread were compressed and flicked into the stream under a hawthorn. Roach chased and harried for the treasure until, each time, the white speck suddenly was gone, the view enhanced by Polaroid lenses, and then, from the dark water below, a chub burst through the roach and in a tight arc took the bread and was gone in a instant. All it left, the memory of the flashing flank of this one golden pirate

We followed the course downstream for few yards, past nesting moorhens and more sedge warblers disputing territory, for soon the rushes would be high enough to nest and by that time the need to argue would be better ignored with energy directed to the necessity to procreate in a world so fragile

On a winding section of river an eight inch wide surge of small bubbles commenced at the far bank and progressed downstream with some speed, mid-stream. We both knew this could only mean one thing - the mammal that had eluded us in England for so long was before us, we just had to be still and wait for it to surface. 20, 30, 40m the bubbles continued, ducklings scattered in panic and the perpetrator suddenly burst from the water in a flurry of wing beats, warning quacking and spray. A female mallard had to advise her young, urgently, that we were about to catch and eat them...and so the otter can wait until another day!

Somewhat embarrassed at expecting the unlikely and being proven wrong we offered some more bread to roach in a deep pool on a tightening bend and they accepted without question. We suspected a pellet of bread punch from a slice would have these little chaps beyond redemption come June 16th

In about 1975 The Old Duffer and I came to this very river to find it bright red with roof tile dye from a factory upstream. Fish sought refuge out of the water, so painful was it for them to withstand the effects. We could not rescue them all but raised the alarm and managed to get to a two pound chub which took up residence in our bath for a day or two while we pondered its fate. Given the Avon was likely going to be poisoned for some time into the future we introduced it to the Swift, a small tributary, upstream of their confluence some mile or two downstream of its rescue. An admittedly futile gesture but it made us feel as though we had done our bit

As we traipsed back through the finely preserved, and somewhat literally breathtaking, ridge and furrow to the path a young ginger-backed rabbit proved very confiding; basing it's survival on the old human baby theory 'If I cover my eyes they can't see me', or, in this case, it hid behind a blade of grass and we, being expert spotters, saw through it!

The day was one of discovery or, in my case, rediscovery and no lack of emotion and plain old sentimentality to see this landscape very much untouched since my youth and simply bursting with such a biodiverse community of animals.To think that all of England must have been of this natural quality once though even more species-rich, until the water companies straightened it out, no doubt

The first hooked fish of the morning comes to the top against a backdrop of sunrise

This morning started much as the last one but an absence of good roach did not go unnoticed. They seem to be in tighter areas now and the bream and hybrids are beating them to the feast when they are dominant in number

A hybrid with spawning time tubercles on it's head is gently replaced in the water 

Apart from a fascinating internal debate over blackcap and garden warbler song, I think I had both during the morning, the highlight was an old three pounds five ounce love-scarred bream with its sides and chin scratched and bleeding. Otherwise hard-fighting hybrids again proved the attraction together with an interesting bird list which kept me amused for the duration of the three hour session that commenced just after 5am

Next weekend sees us off for our annual spring Highlands trip and based on it being half as good as last year, I cannot wait

Species list for weekend:
Mallard, moorhen, wren, blackbird, carrion crow, chaffinch, woodpigeon, collared dove, swallow, swift (they're back!), kestrel, buzzard, goldfinch, dunnock, kingfisher, skylark, goldcrest, great tit, magpie, blue tit, lapwing, jackdaw, whitethroat, blackcap, willow warbler, reed bunting, pheasant, pied wagtail, jay, reed warbler, sedge warbler, chiffchaff.
Rabbit, grey squirrel, brown rat.
Roach, bronze bream, roachXbream hybrid.
Orange-tip, small white, speckled wood

When the Fishing gets The Bird

Distant washing moggy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hybrid. 2-11-5 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SPECIES:

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





Going Back for More

Striding-out through the base of the deep cutting in the half-light under the continuous giant many-fingered interlocking ash hands over-arching, accompanied by the crashing alarms of pheasant, ring and stock dove as they burst from their slumber into the ever more intrusive light of the day the angler emerged into the steaming, rolling pasture shaped in sine wave undulations by all but forgotten generations of man labouring over his livelihood in the truest sense of the word. 

 

Two centuries old canal courses abandoned either side of the now healed scar that is the straight and then snaking course of the contemporary route of the canal

It was here, in the depths of the incessant deluge of a year ago, that he vowed to return. That had been a day of reacquaintance, of water coloured like tea with too much milk and four whirlpools left by the rudders of fish that could only be imagined, and certainly never seen, but of sufficient imagined magnitude to inspire the need to 'go back'. 

The damp air drifted uncomfortably across his face as the earth's furnace strove to burn through the blankets that insulate it. At first it failed.

The angler had struggled with his burden these one and a third miles, yet, as the coolness faded into day, tiny birds sang their hearts out after flying from as far as Africa on no more than a stomach, as small as it's mates imminent eggs, filled with flies

 

This land was cleared no more than five millennia prior as the need to sustain the anglers' wider ancestral growth took hold and the staple of that advance so long ago would be the basis of this man's stealth on this day - bread

Prevailing circumstances were all but perfect, perhaps a tinge too much colour in the water though insufficient to dampen belief

 

Handfuls of wetted bread were tossed into the water and the challenge of enticing those monsters of before commenced

 

Half an hour had passed when the first sign of interest produced a strong battle from a cross-bred fish that broke through the silence as innumerable tail-splashes punctuated the surface film. Eventually it was beaten and a hybrid of a pound and a quarter gently dropped into a waiting net

 

The hint of chugging boat and then confirmation as the prow became visible to him in the shrouded cutting. Reed bunting, robin and blue tit set up their incessant spring choruses as fieldfares chuckled in the hedges contemplating the long route home and the prospect of furthering their kind

 

Two boats in quick succession gently slipped past as the angler rested and took sustenance welcomed after the strain of the journey. A large lion-like hound nudged his arm as he stumbled through the perforated hedge behind followed by a kind-hearted and jolly white-bearded man with a tail or two to share. As they departed on their purposeful expedition a muntjac barked by the disused cut and caused the dog to briefly attempt to seek it out until brought to heel

Soon the water re-settled and more bread was used to tempt larger fish to find the will to feed, and feed they did. An extravagant bite and a strong tussle with a roach which when it broke the surface triggered the exclaimation, 'Oh, that's a good fish!' and the ensuing great care over it's capture. Captured however it soon was and it clearly was an exceptional canal fish. At a touch over one pound seven ounces this certainly was an excellent specimen and one the angler had sought specifically for over a little over a year. A welcome reward for extensive and intensive effort, and the largest roach he had ever seen from such man-made watercourses in all his years

Francis Lee-Fish

Soon the fish was back where it belonged but not forgotten as a second substantial school mate succumbed immediately after. This one a fraction under a pound but probably not of the same school year

The education here however was simply the present day comparison with the anglers' long-recalled experiences of days gone. Days when a similar net would have comprised 30 or 40 smaller examples of various fishes interspersed with occasional larger intruders, often fledgling bream but a comparable biomass nevertheless and just as scientists would have predicted

 

The three took his scales to three pounds ten ounces which the angler took satisfaction in but no greater pleasure that the barrel chested Francis Lee of a roach, not a perfectly formed beauty but a beauty none the less

Sunlight making the fish look dry but all were carefully returned unharmed by the experience and the wiser for it

Well slept, and keen to avoid disappointment, a contrasting challenge was set as another morning broke. This time with breezes causing the muscles to tense against it. A bend in the same unnatural watercourse some miles to the west was to withstand the onslaught of piscatorial pursuit centred around the conversely natural Earthworm in search of spiny predatory fish

The success of the previous day however encouraged additional persistence with bread to bait an area away from the worms were offered, and at the same time, as the day ahead would bewildering in it's complexity and available hours severely limited
 

A tail of earthworm was laid on the canal bed with sufficient shot simply to tighten to and left to one side. Otherwise thoughts were no more advanced that the approach of the previous day with three handfuls of macerated bread thrown into the middle of this featureless bend

The activity of the fish was all but immediate as a good roach, not quite of the proportions of the fish of yesterday but a fraction over one pound for certain, fought well against the finely balanced rod and line

 

A pied-headed male reed bunting chirped his simple tune, "one, two...testing - one...two, testing" almost within reach, as a pair of buzzard soared over the hill and a chaffinch 'pinked' in the distance

 

Soon the previously still tip pulled extravagantly round to the right and an adversary took delight in plunging to the depths and immediately rising to the surface, shaking it's narrow head violently as the surface foamed in abject resistance to the appearance of this hefty sail-finned gladiator. An alien it was and so was it a monster. The net being only just large enough to accommodate it's torpedo-like two pounds nine ounce form

Following the demise of two further tiny aliens a period of calm descended, disturbed only by passing friends caught up in the excitement of a long-lost relationship over two decades prior but the period was abruptly halted and another large contender picked-up the bread...and ran! A momentary forceful pull with backwind switched-off and tightened clutch appeared to be destined for a parting of ways but the soft through-action of the rod, another old friend, took the power of the lunge and brought a large canal bream to rest, as it floated on the surface it spotted an opportunity to escape but succeeded only in finding the sunken net

A first swallow of the unfolding spring flitted past seeking to replenish the wasted resources of the incredible journey now behind it, for the time being  

At the close of this brief dalliance with the outside world seven fish had been fooled for a combined weight of seven pounds eleven ounces

Yesterdays super-sized roach the biggest from any canal; today's bream the biggest from the North Oxford and the zander just an ounce short of a canal best. Those, combined with further roach approaching and just over a pound, made for an excellent weekend's sport as the angler returns to become husband and father again.

With temperatures on the rise, and more rain in the offing, conditions should be good for the immediate future too. 'Looking good, at long last!

Saturday species list:
Barking muntjac, Bullfinch, Raven, Rook, Carrion crow, Woodpigeon, Stock dove, Mallard, Mute swan, Moorhen, Blue tit, Blackbird, Mistle thrush, Robin, Chiffchaff, Dunnock, Reed bunting, Fieldfare, Blackcap, Skylark, Canada goose, Green woodpecker, Wren, Buzzard, Jackdaw, Roach, RoachX bream hybrid

Sunday species list:
Mallard, mute swan, moorhen, dunnock, swallow, reed bunting, blackbird, goldfinch, buzzard, chaffinch, skylark, great tit, Indet gulls.