The Evolving Situation

The Bloggers' Syndicate stretch of the Upper Warwickshire Avon has transmogrified into a perfect meandering stream over the past month

No longer the sluggish, eutrophic, apparently lifeless ditch. A bank-high torrent has flushed activity into it like steady rain to a recently drilled field. Suddenly the scum-clad becomes the pristine and, to the piscean stomach, comes hunger.

The tinge of colour suggestive of feeding fish, combined with swift narrow runs flanked at bends and obstructions by gentle glides, slacks and tiny whirling depressions easing through the creases and slowly, imperceptibly, diminishing to nothing, had raised expectation to unprecented levels.

Over-excited surface-bursting fish remain rare, but they are now occasional, while confidence and competition for a morsel in the chilling, constant curvature of the channel abound.

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A week ago, the tiny River Leam sought to issue forth all its Chub in one magnificent morning.

Fish were so ravenous as to tear-off with large chunks of crust before the anglers' contact with them could be affirmed. Rod tips pulled round barbel like and clutches squealed in otherwise rural tranquility.

Eight fish between 2lbs 1oz and a touch over 3lbs came to the net in a couple of hectic hours while a match angler harvested eleven of these aquatic omnivores for a catch of over 27lbs the following day. 

Quite unprecedented action. 

Those 19 fish averaged 2lbs 6ozs, a fair reflection of the state of this oft misunderstood stream, it's potential shrouded by a paucity of suitable conditions, and yet it has recently been said this is "A River in Decline".

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So the era when global warming manifests physically in the feast and famine of fish is firmly established.

Clear or coloured; low or threatening the fields; stagnating or vigorously flowing. Such are the extreme phases of the midland river in the 21st Century. A time when partly forced predation combined with the above climatic influences is turning, or has turned, our fish to increasingly nocturnal behaviour.

One wonders whether angling clubs of the future will need floodlights.

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In a recent exchange with that expert Specimen fish pursuer James Denison, we were agreed that we can live with the natural balance that otters will ultimately create once back to a population balanced with their environment but when it comes to the invasive signal crayfish and ever increasing displaced cormorants there is no obvious solution, and, as with all these things, the answer will be considered long after the piscatorial horse has bolted.

What will this leave?

In New Zealand there is a purge on non-native fauna but where would we start, with so many established former invaders and introducees that one wonders what would be left if they were removed from the landscape and how that loss would now affect the indigenous species.

Perhaps rewilding, with the reintroduction of long-lost top predators and landscape-shaping species, would impact these flourishing animals the dissipation of some of which is now ingrained in our culture. The rabbit for instance.

No. It is far too complex to contemplate a solution but, one thing is certain, pot-shotting the odd fish-eating bird changes nothing. If it is man that has changed the balance of nature then it is men that have to live with it.

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Moving-on!...

'Bumped into Zed-hunter extraordinaire Mick Newey on a new stretch of the Leam the Bloggers' Syndicate is trialling just after the aforementioned floods, and prior to the colour completely falling away.

Dressed resplendently as always he leapfrogged my swim at the very moment I had my best twang on the new wand, on its first outing.

Rather than plough the usual chub-likely crease, the day was to have been one of experimentation. The mini method feeder idea recently tested for big canal roach seemed, on the face of it, to be equally suitable for small stream, smaller species.

So arriving at the first swim, a bag of 'liquidised' at the ready, a long, steady glide around three feet deep looked ideal - nothing.

Working upstream, any fish facing away from me,  a deeper hole concealed in trees caught the eye. Tap, tap, quiver, twang and a handful of Chublet was eased back into the protected shallows bankside.

...And so it continued, until we met. The bite was struck sharply and a sparklingly silver fish twirled in frantic action in the clearing water. It had the look of a battery powered silver bream but of course it couldn't be. Soon the net slipped under the biggest dace I had ever seen in the pearlescent-clad flesh.

Now when I say biggest ever, the excitement must be tempered by the fact that I have never seen one over five ounces, but nevertheless the fact remains. Mick felt it could go seven or eight ounces and I underestimated, match angler style, the fish ultimately weighed-in at seven ounces four drams.

Perhaps a feeble P.B., but it was one, and that would do me, and, for me at least, that moment was enough to confirm the potential of the water.

Further swims produced other previous P.B.-shaking dace. All from steady, shaded glides over gravel.

The 'mini-method' displayed an additional virtue that could, just possibly, set it on its way to being a standard technique in the F, F & F armoury; it enabled the swim to be searched without risking over-feeding the wrong area and wrecking it before casting in. The rig could be flicked around various spots until the fish were found and then the feed built-up cast by cast, and, by increasing the stop shot size, casting weight could be adjusted neatly too.

Certainly with more flow and depth on the stream would take float fishing as well but it shows signs of being a tactic to employ with some regularity, and far less crude on casting than a standard feeder set-up, however tiny 'they' might make them.

That said, it is perhaps time to confess that the past as a 95% float angler has been completely turned on its historical, not to say "hysterical", head in this second, and last, wave of angling submersion. It didn't take long for the taxed and diminishing grey matter to twig that the effort and, let's be frank, discomfort of float fishing for bigger fish really is not worth it all that often.

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Catch Mick Newey's blog here

... And James Denison's here

POLE FEEDER in FLOOD CONDITIONS for ROACH and CHUB...AND BLOGGERS CHALLENGE NEWS!

 

Opting for the pole on a small river or stream with the usual prevalence of snags and other potential banana skins may seem foolhardy on the face of it.

The seasoned angler who may have fished with a pole back in the days when we referred to them as Roach Poles and flirted with thin white elastic, tiny floats, light lines and miniscule hooks would certainly find the idea questionable with memories of yards and yards of uncontrollable light elastic coming into play when a big fish took the bait under extreme, or any, conditions. I distinctly recall The Old Duffer hooking tench and carp in a side-arm off the River Nene some decades ago when the main river was a raging chocolate torrent. All the fish knew where to shelter of course, and so did he. Fibreglass pole in hand, aluminium crook and 6 or 9 inches of dangling elastic made very hard work of landing anything over a pound!

Today the pole fishing world is much changed. While the weight of poles is not much different the stiffness and power is hugely improved and the prospect of using elastics that could tow a small car is only too real.

Against that intro then the pole on snaggy streams is not so daft an idea but, that said, I would not suggest it is any substitute for an Avon rod in tight situations with snags all-round but when there is space to wield the thing, and slacks and creases to take advantage of, then it offers more than float fishing and ledgering in the conventional sense during the colder months. 

It is often the case that rivers fluctuate in depth, colour and flow for the majority of the January – early March period and this is the time when the method is at its most useful, although it does have its uses for a few fish in clear deep water too when perhaps all else would fail during daylight.

The biggest issue with fishing the ‘tip on streams is the finicky bites of smaller fish. It is not, these days, in my own modus operandi to pursue small fish anyway but it has become quite clear the vast majority of roach to this method are over 3 ounces, and often over 6 ounces, but of course it is more the effect of the winter state of river causing this; a time when ‘bits’ are less susceptible to an anglers bait for whatever reason.



4lbs 4 ounces of roach at a good stamp on an otherwise difficult day

The benefit of the pole is that innate feel for what is going on under the surface and associated instant contact with the fish.

Over the past three seasons I have been slowly working on this method each winter when circumstances allowed and eventually coming to terms with the issues and finding solutions. Some of these came from the internet, via websites and YouTube, others were worked out on the hoof, but the way I use it now is good enough to produce a few fish, and very regularly good fish, when all else available is a touch too hit and miss to be reliable.

So how does it work?

I am not big in technical stuff these days as it can very quickly get boring and so I will keep that to the point but, as I alluded to in the previous post, there is one particularly ingenious little dodge that cannot go unmentioned...

The biggest issue as with ledgering for roach is the fish feeling the rod tip and smelling a water rat. The answer is to use a separate short length of fine pole elastic, the old no2 (red) or 3 (green) will usually suit, at the top of the main line of the rig and attached parallel to it in a manner that enables the tension of the line alongside it to be adjusted, for this fairly stiff pole float rubbers about 10-15mm long plugged with an off-cut of pole float bristle do the trick. It is however far easier to look at a diagram!

The idea being that the line between pole tip and feeder is held tight so that the little slack in the mainline enables the fish to pull against the light elastic for 3 or 4 inches (75-100mm) before it meets the more solid resistance of tightened main line and pole tip/main elastic.

The other unusual part of the rig is that it does not require float, to do so would not work as the rest of the line needs to be held tight, as in normal ledgering. All one needs therefore is a simple marker and so chunky pole float bristle, fixed double-rubber, held so that the majority of it is above the water does the job...although I am about to make a further experiment here which I will report back on as, currently, this is the weakest part of the system.

The feeder end of the set-up is fairly standard. A 20g upwards cage feeder (to suit the flow) will do although proprietary ones with the weight in the base are best as this leaves the line above it in more direct contact with the business end.

The feeder is attached, via a beaded clip, on a 4" (100mm) loop to a 1 to 3 foot (300-900mm) hook-length, which in my experience usually ends up at around 18" (450mm) long, and with shot about 5" (125mm) from the hook varying from no8 to no4 again dictated by the flow and (lack or scarcity of) bites.

Finally to the main pole elastic. This does need to be heavy elastic as one needs to subdue those occasional chub. 16 seems to be ideal. This may sound heavy-handed but with the flow, the feeder and the fish a good foot will often show and, as long as those roach are handled gently to the net, there will be no concern at all about preconceived over-gunning.  

Technicalities out of the way then, the actual fishing is very simple...this is the bit that no one else explains!

Somewhat obviously the depth is plumbed with the feeder (best done before adding the hook-length) and the marker bristle ideally wants to be set around 6" (150mm) over-depth.

Personally the preferred bait (be shocked!) is bread. Coarsely liquidised in the feeder and a pinch of flake in varying sizes on the 14 or 16 spade end (for lightness) hook but, again seeking those bigger stamp fish, never smaller than a five pence piece (That said, Iobworms in low feed-content ground bait or molehill is also a good bet when the water is heavily turbid, using sections or indeed whole lob's on a 10 or 8 hook).

Let's assume, for starters, that the depth and flow suit fishing to hand, with the line, say, a foot or so shorter than the pole. The feeder is swung-out downstream and allowed to gently 'plop' through the surface about a metre below the spot where you intend to hold the float, and of course, on small streams, the background can vary massively so being able to see the marker is key in the decision.

The pole is then held tight to the feeder as it sinks against the pole in an upstream direction with the marker above the surface until it is felt to hit the bottom...and if you aren't sure whether this has occurred the feeder is too light and is being held-up by the flow...the marker can then be lowered (still on a tight line) upstream and down toward the surface until it is just touching the water, and held there. This action makes sure that the line is not vertical to the feeder which gives a more direct line from fish to marker without it feeling the feed so much and also gives a degree of latitude in holding the pole whereas a vertical marker is also very difficult to hold in place.

Bites are often very positive in fish above six ounces and sometimes will straighten the slack line parallel with the extra elastic feature such that the bite is felt on the pole before you can even react. Chub regularly do this. More tentative bites however are often magnified by just allowing the marker to hang a fraction more freely at the onset of a bite, thus allowing the fish less resistance once you realise it is interested.



3lbs plus chub on pole feeder

The strike can be straight through the line of marker to feeder and then the fish will be drawn upstream, gauging its size as you go. If it is a bigger fish, perhaps a chub, then do not hesitate to put a significant bend in the pole to keep it out of snags. The heavy elastic is incredible at not only controlling the fish but somehow the lack of a solid resistance, such as it might feel with a rod, makes the fish less likely to 'try anything silly'. This may sound odd, and until it is experienced it is hard to believe, but it is undoubtedly true that fish fight harder on a powerful rod than on an elasticated pole. I am certain they feel more 'concern' the more direct the contact, which is logical.

The second critical point when playing a fish is the need to play it out completely before bringing it too close to the bank to net it. The main failing of the pole is that, subject to the sudden last minute lunging of the fish to get under the near bank, there will be insufficient control.



Biggest chub on the method to date at three pounds, seven ounces

I have tended to find that bites will come within the first three 'drops' (they can barely be described as casts!) and, again odd though it may sound, I am happy to rove with minimal kit until I find creases and slacks that have the target fish in them. Once the fish are found sport can be very entertaining and with the fish often inclined to move around slacks under flood conditions it is often necessary to keep moving the feeder position to keep the bites coming after the initial burst of bites.

Again in my experience, a bite seems to come a certain time after the rig has been settled into the right position and I always believe, though have no actual proof other than the ever-expanding gut, that this is the time it takes for the bread to become waterlogged and soft.

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Okay. All clear so far?

To the final, trickiest, but again very inventive part of the method (I can say that as I didn't come-up with the idea!). Most pole anglers will be aware of the difficulty in shipping-out a pole with bread on the hook and not losing it on the way out, or, in other situations, snagging the rig and any bait in nearside vegetation.

The above assumed fishing 'to hand' but if you need to add and remove joints to perform the task how do you keep the feeder and bait out of the water until the time is right?

The answer is, as often with these things, very simple and yet a perfect solution.

Cable ties!

Simply wrap a cable tie around the pole a few inches short of the distance between pole tip and feeder; cut the tail off leaving about 3/4" (20mm) projecting up on the side of the pole where your spare hand is (in most cases to the right) and simply hang the line off this as you ship-out. When  you get to the correct length twist the pole with tip held high until the line falls off and lay the feeder in the water once you have requisite control of the swinging weight. These are the sort of tricks, I could never fathom as my wind doesn't work in that way, very impressive thinking indeed, and it's easy to carry a few cable ties of varying length as they weight nothing. One word of warning however - it is no challenge to crush a modern pole so please do not be tempted to over-tighten they only need to grip and this can be achieved by attaching them loosely and sliding them along.

So that is about it. The feed levels and therefore sometimes feeder size will vary from river to river but experimentation on the day will soon sort this out.

Good luck, only about three weeks to go now but, with rivers continually above normal level currently, it is a method well worth the effort of adding to the repertoire in my humble view.


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BIG WINTER CANAL ROACH CHALLENGE 2016/17

I am told the phrase 'red letter day' refers back to the old tradition, still practiced, of using red ink for special days on calendars and the like.

In that case I have one thing to state here: 22nd February 2017

A date when this happened on the North Oxford canal in an area I had neglected since last winter...

The best single catch of big canal roach to date.

The glow still pervades I must confess, like a Ready Brek advert of old...but with a special diamond and rubies recipe.


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!! A NEW BLOGGERS CHALLENGE 2017-18 !!

Myself and Russell (yes, he's back!), are intending to run a Bloggers Challenge very much along the lines of the 2015-16 model but with the added small species bleak, gudgeon and ruffe.

This time round it won't be necessary to be author of a blog so long as your fish are reported in photographic form on someone's blog (Martin!) before they are recorded on the spreadsheet.

I am seeking 'expressions of interest', as Land Agents would say, with a view to commencing at 00.01hrs on May 1st 2017, splitting the close season neatly in two. This should give us all plenty of time to seek-out suitably accurate small fish kitchen scales and for the spreadsheeet to be readied and all registered to access it.

'Can't wait!

The Power of the Stream

Low among the phragmites dreaming of a shade more turbidity, the words of 'Burning Sky' drifting around in my skull. Tumbleweeds of hope roll past each time the tip moves. 

Earlier the frost lay thick. An overnight sprinkling turned to silver.

A water rail squealed in communication with its widespread winter brethren, a sixth successive recording. Then, a flash of white in the corner of the eye through the smudgy mist, and there it was. Tamed by icy circumstance. It's reticence depleted. 

"How are things in your little world?", I inquired. Escape route planned and tested with aplomb, its flickering white tail off-putting to the predator.

Ravens are in discussion in the grove while the beauty of the roach is studied in the hand for return without drama to the shoal below the gently swirling surface, the hue of which is suggestive of more to come. 

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A deeper glide overhung by skeletal salix. Three mallard burst vertically in a cacophony of quacks, panicked wing-beat and spray. 

Engrossment in the event is complete as ravenous roachlet's continually attack the baker's best. Now with gravel beneath the boots and the stream pushing past them the bait is dropped under flood-festooned branches. 

The day brings comfort but a glance back at the bank brings questions as to extraction.

We'd think of something. A treecreeper feebly sips a suggestion.

Little fishes relentlessly nibble and with the occasional flip and fizz are drawn out into the air but, with nothing sizeable succumbing, thoughts turn. 

The explosive chattering of great tits and an alarmed blackbird hint at danger and, high in the willow, there he sits. Staring of eye and fluffed of feather the male sparrowhawk scans for suspects. A bite, a strike and he's gone, no stomach for sharing the world with distractions these hawks.

With the urge to wander comes the need to leave this deep ravine and with water levels having dropped only recently a skimming of damp silt adorns the leaf litter. A rigid flood-displaced branch acts as a crutch and, without the slightest slip, up and out and on.

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Next, one of the formerly prime swims now succeeded by nettles and blackthorn scrub. No one had been here in the recent past. Pushing through and creating space was enough to scatter the prey as tiny droplets began to spatter the stream.

The high pitched tweeting of a goldcrest, indistinct through the rain in the thick spiney trees bonsaied by the annual pressure of floods on the vertical rooting bank, draws the attention. Flycatching, it flutters into the open and returns as a green woodpecker yaffles in the grove.

It's getting late and the last supper is delivered with appetisers in a basket, a nugget of bread the irresistable stand-out treat on the washed-clean riverbed as a shrew runs underfoot, full-tilt in its high-paced frenzy to support it's rapid  metabolism. It and the goldcrest have no time to waste.

The supper presented and served. The fish absent or distracted. 

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The final subject to consume the mind - the awesome power of water...

References:

Burning Sky (Paul John Weller, 1979)

WINTER CANAL BIG ROACH SEARCH (1)

Drama on the Cov Canal?

The conclusion has been reached that, for now, with the usual temptations of canal and small stream ahead until mid-march, the Blogger's Challenge can be intermixed with those delights and any incidental points scored along the way will be exactly that

The prospect of targeting specific species through that period will be difficult but hopefully some chub points, combined perhaps with roach and dace, might just come along and, in the right conditions, pike can hopefully be added too with nothing more than a micro-specimen to show for the season thus far

So, the past couple of weeks have involved a brief obsession with a certain stretch of canal which I visited with Jeff & Russell on Zedvember 54th when the change in weather overnight had been little short of horrific in angling terms - from an extended period of exceptionally mild autumn weather to a burst of cold rain then a strong frost and no prospect of reaching 4degC all day. Not the best of circumstances for Jeff and I to take up the 2lb canal roach challenge nor for Russell to have his first taste of big roach fishing on the Oxford. Needless to say that little sortie had nothing to commend it

The Zedvember fest itself however was most enjoyable with the Boy Wonder and I having a brief dabble and then a chinwag with those bloggers we'd not met before from far and wide in various shapes, sizes, accents and interests. All with a tale to tell, largely involving plenty of schoolboy humour of course!

 

While we were gathered Jeff's partner Judy arrived with words to the effect of, "Ooh. A bunch of fishermen. What do you call a collection of fishermen?" The only word I could muster in the circumstances was 'a blank' and, with no advances made, we stuck with it for the time being; albeit I'm not sure anyone actually did blank but it felt as though most of us had

B.W. and I had intended to stop to eat but the pub was so deceptively busy [the only person out front all afternoon had been Jeff (all afternoon) and yet the car park and the overflow at the back was packed] that we decided to leave it and tackle a bag or two of chips on the way back

The highlight of the day, apart from the obvious of course, was in running back to the car to get Russell's birthday card before he departed, misjudging the steepness of a grassy bank and falling headlong forward like some kind of poleaxed grandfather clock

Until, that is, on the way to the chip shop, many conversations later, this...

"I've got it", said The Boy, in mildy subdued exclamation, all matter of fact.

"What?"

"It's was a cast"

"What was a...? Oh yes! It's a cast. A cast of anglers. Now that is clever". The penny dropped and, yes, sure enough it was a cast of anglers, and some cast at that


Back to the plot from the cast:

The ensuing visits to the canaloid have been interesting, engaging and predictable in equal measure. That is about 1/3 of each

(Canaloid: A three-dimensional form with level top, rounded bottom, and indeterminate, often snaking, length).


A quick sojourn to the area that produced the biggest roach of recent weeks at 1.13.0 brought a few fish with a single specimen over a pound, coming in at 1.5.4 to be precise

Otter signs nearby suggested young ones to be present from the scat evidence but the entertainment of the day was a 'flick'(?) of 3 friendly moorhens (okay not as good as a cast, I'll grant you) which ran toward me at the prospect of bread and then retreated with equal gusto once they'd claimed a morsel each never to be seen again

Following this the first subsequent visit to the stretch alluded to earlier involved a couple of pegs being fished in the usual manner, bread down the middle and lobworm nearside, 10 yards to one side on the tip, producing two roach to 12 ounces on bread and not so much as even a sniff-let on worm

Peg two was a contrast.
No bites on bread but plenty on whole lobworms. A surprise chub, thought initially to be a rare carp, took a lob on the drop and tore-off along the far shelf, eventually being beaten and weighed-in at over three pounds. Soon after a smaller one was lost, which I didn't initially realise I had hooked, and then a real beast took possession of the hook and bait proceeding to surge from the swim eventually losing grip as I ventured to follow it along the towpath, an opportunity lost. Two perch on worm followed, up to 1.2.0

 

With no significant roach to show for that trip yet driven by some kind of disbelieving urge I was back at dawn the next day and mistakenly, as is usually the case with revisits, back to the chub peg which this time produced a couple of skimmers to 1.4.0 on bread and perch to 1.5.0 on worm. Moving to two other pegs again produced roach to just under the pound and numerous perch and small hybrids

The longer walk however brought into view even further pegs overhung a little by hawthorns and the like, plus some rushes and sweeping bends which were just too tempting to miss-out on and, it seemed, the odd topping fish too


So, Wednesday, there I was back again with a plan to work my way along those previously unseen
swims 25 yards or so at a time with bread only. If the fish are there we know they will fall to the magic bait within minutes and a twenty minute maximum was set unless a peg was consistently giving-up good fish of course

First swim opposite some hawthorns gave-up 2 roach to ten ounces

Second, on a bend with an ash tree overhead - 2 roach to 1.0.14 and a 3ounce hybrid

Third, again on the bend, but this time in the middle - 2 roach to 0.14.13

The 4th peg - I settled into but got boated-out before long and breakfast called with just two little perch in the net

This three-trip adventure told me enough about that stretch and it will be left well alone for some time now. Perhaps until I feel it is time to try to tackle some chub again


Over the subsequent few days the mild weather has returned with high winds and rain too. This has put far too much colour into the other more likely stretches of the Oxford nearby and so it may just be time to tackle the Leam again, perhaps with a few lobs into the more slack areas, which the postman kindly delivered out his capacious red bag this very day

Has Santa come early I ask myself?

TARGETING BIGGER FISH

 

Since returning to angling, now some four years ago, the purpose has been to fulfill a number of aims

Firstly, if the intention was not to return to match fishing, it would need to be engaging as otherwise the couple of false returns I had attempted to the sport would increase to three and that would probably be that

Secondly, it would be intriguing to discover how much canals had changed since my ten to fifteen year canal match angling obsession abruptly ended in burn-out in the 1990's

Thirdly, the prospect of fishing for anything that swam on match-type methods and baits was unattractive and, without the associated competitive element, futile in the extreme

Fourthly, the methods and baits employed would have to sit comfortably with my own beliefs and ethics. Not necessarily traditionalism for its own sake but retaining a reasonable modicum of decorum (too many 'ums).

Finally, having been interested in large match-caught roach during the early 1990's I fancied targeting them more specifically if they could still be caught

How the past four years have evolved has been enthralling, not least due to the magnetic fields that have also drawn me both to the enigmatic yet tiny River Leam and The Stillwater over the past three of those years

On the face of it the attractions of this triumvirate can be put very simply:
■ Canals - mainly to chase roach of over a pound.
■ R. Leam - because it is 10 minutes away; to see if it's glory days continue and pursue a 4 pound Chub from it.
■ The Stillwater because if I had a bite it was likely to be a P. B. and it had contained big roach in the past.

This might look like a thinly-veiled recipe for a specimen hunting 'career'. Indeed by some interpretations that could be the result and that is a question of definition.
To me a specimen hunter is one who seeks to catch the biggest fish of chosen species by design with a view to a record breaking example if at all possible by whatever (legal) rod-caught means

For myself however the challenge is not that. Certainly there is a crossover in that I am intentionally seeking bigger fish than the procession of one to six ounce fish, with the odd bonus, a stick float or waggler and maggot approach might produce but it is simply that which appeals to me - bigger fish

Richard Walker, Peter Stone, et al, championed the possibility that anglers could consistently catch bigger fish before and soon after I was born. Yet as a boy, youth and young man I read very little of their writings as it was Kevin Ashurst and Co., that sparked something in the competitive psyche back then, when I would never have believed that the sheer number of decent fish one can catch if one actively avoids the littl'uns could be possible.

Recently I have invested in some old books by various authors of yesteryear, largely now passed away, to try to understand what it was that made them tick, what methods they used, why and what they sought to achieve. Walker and Stone as well as David Carl Forbes and John Etherington have been scoured and digested leaving one thing clear, they were all able to selectively target larger fish of many species, regularly, if not always to order.

Match fishing taught me that if you were lucky enough to draw a known big fish peg they would not always feed and often, if they did, it would be due either to favourable climatic circumstances or carefully feeding for a number of hours before some of the fish would be tempted (or both). They were also likely to have been fished for two or three times per week by all-comers. Pretty much the first thing to become apparent when seeking those bigger than average fish was when they feed, and match hours of 10am to 3pm or perhaps 9am to 1pm are clearly not conducive to success when those more experienced and therefore reluctant fish are least circumspect at dusk and then dawn. Many of the 'bonus' fish we would have sought, particularly on canals back in the 1980's and '90's, would perhaps have been only four to ten ounces in weight in any event.

Time of day is clearly crucial, as is the deterrent of clear skies and sunny weather, but one thing to stand out as a particularly interesting factor is the (apparent) crudeness of rigs when hunting those cracking fish that might just grace the landing net. The belief that the odd no7 styl or no13 shot and their disposition in relation to the hook could be critical in getting bites in matches is replaced by absolute proof that a BB nailed to the bottom gives better bites from much bigger fish! Temper this with the realisation however that fish under the pressure of match conditions in the middle of the day are not so responsive as at daybreak or sundown and it doesn't take a great deal of concentrated thought to realise that catching fish ain't gonna be easy, so it's fair to say this can't be seen as I direct comparison but it is nevertheless fascinating.

My ever-increasing but still limited experience has already resulted in the realisation that line thickness, amount of lead on the line, hook size, etc., are only relevant as deterrents if they are not suitably balanced with, or against, the chosen bait such that it behaves sufficiently naturally to fool the larger fish in the swim. This is no less evident than when using a chunk of bread crust balanced to slowly sink against a swan shot or two to tempt chub from the stream of course but the porcupine quill, with a single AAA or at least a BB laid-on, can also produce incredibly positive sail-away bites from better fish that would think, or nibble, thirteen times at a pinkie or a squatt on a 26 hook (and then be lost!).

So rigs don't need to delicate at all, they just need to match the intention.

Puzzling innit?


Bloggers Challenge Update:
The Boy Wonder was excited to land his first bream of the season at 1-9-0 from the Grand Union Canal last Sunday. Fishing a tight peg, we ended-up with line wrapped round each others rods in the process!

For my part, I managed my first few silver bream of the campaign the best of which went 0-14-8, a nice example and equivalent of a pound roach in my eyes

An eight ounce roach from The Stillwater added a couple more points midweek.

Yesterday, a cracking Grand Union Canal roach of 1-6-0 (a GUC personal best) followed by one of precisely a pound only added half an ounce and a point.

Whereas a bronze bream of 2-3-0 added precisely four for increasing the species weight by fifteen ounces. So very little progress there.

New species/waters now required I suspect.


Mouse training update:
Both dead.

No respecters of the time you put in training them these rodents. No sooner have you got them literally eating out of your hand than they fall off their wheel all stiff-like.

On the search for a new 'un now.

The Summer Stream

This past couple of weeks the stream has intermittently forced itself to flow with the irresistible weight of a little rainfall easing it's reluctance. The Leam is never keen to flow in the summer and it's mysterious deep holes from 6 to 16 feet barely enjoy any movement between winters.

When the sun bakes the surface to a duckweed crust there is little to attract the angler not prepared to approach with extreme caution. Though the fish are distinctly active double rubber floats become redundant and this particular angler has had to learn to free-line lobs and bread to muster an enquiry or two.

The Stillwater offers no escape from the heat of the day and, as such, it's attractions, while needed in the world of The Blogger's Challenge, must be left for another day, month or maybe even a season.

On my tiny bankside scoreboard, Captain Cook's men, having had the drive drained out them by a literally unbelievable Ashes win, toil in the sun in the south of the country in the final test, as the remnant Aussies that haven't declared retirement play for their futures.

Clarke may not be liked by many it seems, and maybe his persona close-up and in private is not what it appears to the distant viewer, but for me he has been a top class cricketer and individual, even if his record in away Ashes tests is so poor.

This is not a great England side but the opposition is a very good one and their capitulation in the face of alien English pitch conditions has been as out of character as the beligerence of the home side  when it mattered.

For my part I now sit here in the nettles and remnants of now unidentifiable umbellifer seed heads awaiting another equally unlikely event. Despite my care, the irritant of the nettle stems bites at most of my fingers as I wait, expectant.

This, the most discreet of pegs, which produced fascinating winter fishing indeed some of the most exciting I have known in high water conditions last back-end, has delivered via the great river God two unexpected chub. One a baby of a pound followed, unexpectedly, by it's dad at 2.10.11.
Two other twitches have materialised between flicking slow-sinking bread pellets, through and among those overhanging nearside nettles, into the margin and pouring a steady trickle of strong sweet coffee over my parched throat as the temperature rises from 20degC at arrival before lunch to a predicted 28 by tea.

A flock of, it seems, somewhat over-chunky sheep lie in the shade of a giant ash in escape from the torture of the mid-day heat, compounded by as yet un-shorn fleece. They view me with caution as I pass, slowly, wishing not to flush them into the sunlight, and a small number get to their feet but resume their slumbers once they realise my intent.

As I wandered the length of this simmering watercourse on reluctant legs hawker dragonflies checked me and each other out. How they crash into each other to defend their territory! Head-butting the thorax until the intruder relents and a normal insectivorous foraging patrol may resume.

Much of the exposed water is so overgrown as to be unfishable and under more overcast circumstances each little clear patch may have been tested for life but today the shelter of overhanging trees was essential to provide anything but a lack of fishy interest.

The local buzzard, the closest we could get to an eagle in these parts, is mewing overhead and opposite, above the high clay bank, harvesters gather the grain in vast swathes as the breeze carries dust up and away over the hill to irritate the throats of villagers down-wind to the north.

Eventually what little evident feeding activity there has been declines and with the two chub in the metaphorical bag I trudge back through the mid-afternoon, shaded by my over-heavy winter hat; remembering as I go why those two colder seasons are so precious to me, and ponder the prospect of hemp, tares, and even elderberries. When the harvest is underway and water temperature high it is always peak time for those the most unlikely of baits.

Just as proof - a dace of 0-4-3 from a previous session in The Bloggers Challenge

The End

As the river season floats away, a little ripple of interest these past few days with water at last at a steady winter level having been too low between deluges right through since October. What a contrast to last winter when the level was not at 'normal' through the whole period!

Air temperatures have gently risen two fleeces from a month ago and a four inch rise in river level on Friday caused a torrent of wishful thoughts, having enjoyed a roach windfall these past days

Although word on the bank had it that roach were again suffering pre-breeding ravenosity I fancied the day searching for a chub. Paddling against the flow as usual

Mid-afternoon was the best start time I could manage with the preceding whirlpool of Mother's Day prep and work to attend to. I pulled-up in the bay expecting to be unable to park however only one other angler had bothered, a sign of these sad egotistical times if ever there was one to behold. It made me happy, then it made me sad in equal measure

A long initial meander through the increasingly rough grassland saw a deep hole appeal to me as a somewhat contrary starting point and base, but I remembered I had taken our wide-mouthed friends there before, albeit not to any noteworthy size. So it was here I set up and trotted a 5AAA balsa-bodied topper at two rod lengths in mid-stream; a work of art under the wayward control of a philistine

The depth varies greatly where deep-holes exist on the Leam making them very taxing for the float angler; not only is there the depth to contend with (this one was around ten to eleven feet) but they are often quite steeply bowl-shaped such that the bait is only near bottom as it leaves and then reaches upstream and downstream slopes. The river, adorned with fantastically old creaking and splitting veteran willows as it is, is also remarkably but commensurately snaggy. The aquatic scrub-like bed must be festooned and pebble-dashed with lost line and shot. My own swan shot bill per annum must exceed £15, and I am as tight as a dabchicks ear never casting into the gaping mouth of the overhang except in the desperation of those lifeless winter days

Second trot with a pinch of flake and the float dipped. The Trotter arced and, just as quickly, relaxed. The mild irritation at potentially wrecking the opportunity was soon glossed over however when, two trots later, it went down again, this time more positively and the difference between hitting a fish on an Avon or with the subtlety of the new jewel of the rod collection became apparent. Taking a fish on an avon at short range is very bang, crash, wallop, usually resulting in the need to feed and move on; with this piece of sublime wonder however the quarry can be drawn away from its counterparts and it is only at the net when one sometimes wishes the immediate power of the Avon could be brought to bear. The key of course is to encourage out and then beat the fish in midstream so that its rubber-rimmed gape is gasping air before it gets sight of the bank and its associated escape roots. It can then be lead flank-down to safety without concern

At a pound eleven this chub was a nice start to the day. Two further tentative bites came but then, quiet. I re-fed and wandered into the wilderness, pegs I had never before seen, finding a freak glide of faster water created by a tree fallen diagonally toward me from upstream on the far bank such that the two feet of surface between the tip of the branches and the near bank was the only area of its full thirty foot width that was discernibly moving

I crept forward on my knees anticipating all sorts. Shallow water, a clear run and, perhaps,...chub. Unknown, unseen and unwitting(?)

Bending, bursting spring branches had to be knelt on and twined with others above the dicotyledons of future botanical resplendence pushing through the warming woodland floor

This would work, definitely. This would work

A generous crust was dropped into the slack a touch further out to check for buoyancy against the shot. Perfect, it drifted down like the real thing. Into the flow it went. No more than eighteen inches from the near edge, nothing fed, just the bait. So far back was I that only the crimson quivertip overhung the water, so restricted was the swim

The line drew vigorously from the spool, flicking my fingertip, as the crust was dragged by the current toward the prey, or so I hoped. It came to rest. I gently tightened that little bit of slack.

A twitch, a short pull, a tap. A nod and a wink to the angler now poised like the proverbial coiled spring. A definite curve round. Three inches, six inches, increasing speed, nine inches. Whack! Salar-esque he leapt from the water and, in that related momentary lack of control, headed for the undercut. I frantically walked on my knees toward the edge and gained some outward leverage, drawing him sufficiently to avoid what would have been inevitable. He surfaced and headed net-ward with that characteristic upright head-wagging gait

It didn't matter what he weighed. Leech-infested he may have been but he was fooled, and, as was only to be expected with those improbable constraints, the prospects henceforth would be wrecked

Or so one might have thought...

I took the fish back to my keepnet to join his brother and went to sit down and run the float through a few more times there, but as I crouched down to do so something made me stop and back to that tiny accelerated and now baited glide I went

The same process produced an immediate fighting fish. Not a chub though. No, this felt like an angry roach but with a somewhat juddering action. First impression when visible under water was rudd, then roach, then both from various angles. Examination in the net evidenced traits of each species but with the mouth damaged on one side that key feature could not be relied upon. The colouration though was distinctly that of a roach emebellished with highlights of rudd and the deep back was evident. A river first this, a ruddXroach hybrid just a gnat's whisker under a pound. I hadn't seen such a monstrosity since they were ill-advisedly stocked into the Stratford Canal in the 1980's, and love it I could not, p.b. though it may have been

Another small chub came from the same hole before darkness started to fall and I headed for three swims I had taken the target species from before to round the season off, one way or another

There would be no holding-back. Large chunks of crust balanced against two swan shot simply nipped onto the line four inches back from a size 4 hook to give that gentle fall was the teaser. The first of these further swims was the most productive chub swim I had yet found on the stretch I had signed-up for in the autumn. Nearly every time I had dropped in there I had been fortunate enough to add one to the day's summary, sometimes the only one to write-up through this tough period since New Year

First 'cast' along the face of the near bank produced nothing on the drop as the supposed temptation drifted in the current and so it was allowed to come to rest three or four feet out from an undercut in the steady flow and I poured a hot drink with the diminishing north-easterly eating into my face, the steam blew itself out immediately on leaving the cup. The warmth was welcome as was the ensuing initially twitching enquiry that then boomed into a wrap-around "I'm having that!" bite. The strike was a little odd, the line was under a briar and initially I thought the fish had come off the hook but as I tightened I realised the fish was moving toward me in its escape bid. On regaining contact the fish had not headed root-ward but was midstream and deeper. A good fighter too but as I flicked the headlamp from red to white the batteries were low and the fish was difficult to visualise in the failing beam. By hook, and landing net crook, it was landed fairly uneventfully though and the best fish of the day, and for some time from this stretch, was soon wriggling in the net obviously filled with belief. The hook had fallen out into the mesh as is so often the case and on weighing it went 2-8-0 and boosted the day's catch to 5 fish for 7-11-0

Next peg produced nothing on a similar basis

The last peg had given-up its first chub to me only fairly recently. It was deeper and deserved, I felt, the remaining bread mash to be introduced at the outset as I would be sitting here until it announced the season end with one more fish

It was sheltered here and the water was still. Woodpigeon panicked with the cracking of wings as only they can in the dark as I moved into position. I flicked the crust out to mid-river but had to increase the lead to three swan in order to hold in the area I imagined the feed would have settled

Second cast - a gentle pull, brief hold and slack. I guessed the line must've been compromised by an obstruction underwater and as I wound in it was indeed temporarily hooked-up

Out it went again and this time no mistake, a typical chub take. Nothing else was having this bait either, clearly! This fish was soon under control, netted and weighed-in despite the failing lamp at a touch smaller than the last, 2-4-0

9-15-0 of fish (one more ounce!!) was as good a seasons' end as I could recall. Suddenly everything had come together this past week on the Leam

For now though the riverine inhabitants can do what they do best to keep their numbers up and new challenges lie ahead

Two recent tip-offs have started the cogs whirring...

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...

The Penultimate Hurrah

The curtain is about to close on another river angling season and the Boy Wonder and I, like, we are certain, many others, still await our Rod Licences yet soon we will be obliged to buy more of these mythical permits. I do hope the price will be reduced by the savings made in not producing them last year

Although my own angling activity has been as regular, if not more so, than 'normal' the weather has been such this past month or so that sessions have largely been blank or producing just the odd fish, usually a chub of 2lbs it seems

I have been losing a lot too. Not fish, but items. I left a tub of lobworms in a lay-by, a bait dropper on the bank which I retrieved three weeks later (yesterday), and my bestest rubberised roach fishing landing net (which reappeared a fortnight later)

Since targeting those bigger then average fish I have been surprised how many are actually landed as compared to match fishing. I would say I have found I lose on average around one in ten fish but (I can't confirm it) I think in matches I would probably have lost around twice as many bigger fish. Smaller hooks, lighter lines, less powerful rods in tight situations, etc, etc., all contribute of course

My keenness to get on the riverbank has meant a high number of very short sessions of late, some of them less than two hours duration, but this has provided the opportunity to try a wide range of methods on various and varying lengths of river. Pole, float & link leger have all played a part and bread and lobworms have both produced some entertainment. Until yesterday however the level of that interest was limited to the odd fish or perhaps a few roach on the pole, and I mean few!

So what was different about Sunday March 8th 2015?

There had been various false dawns over the past three weeks or so when I had managed to convince myself that tomorrow would be the day when the fish (by which of course I mean the roach) would feed and adorn the occasional capture of the larger fish with intermittent sparkles of silver and ruby

The colour might have been right, the temperature maybe, or the flow levels, or perhaps even my own availability to fish but somehow until the day before today it just didn't happen

A few days ago though frosts were avoided by that perfect insulating blanket of cloud known in the FF&F household as 'night night cloud' (don't ask). Consequently day time temperatures rose too. Colour was falling out of the water such that I was concerned it might then be too clear but, most importantly, a strong wind got up, forcing that warm air into the subsequently increased surface area of water and suddenly there we had it. Perfect conditions. Not Saturday, no, but Sunday, yes, it all clicked...or maybe plopped...into place

Saturday I ventured forth twice with Parps besieged by his ongoing illness I was again undertaking the pursuit alone in the early morning (though his is still gloating over his first Angling Times Kingfisher Award from last week with 'that perch' so I was quite happy not to keep being reminded about that!). It wasn't by any means a bad morning losing what felt like a really good chub in the incredibly snaggy swim I'd previously taken my Leam p.b. from a season or two back and then taking one of two pounds from another peg before breakfast called, with another gentleman of the angle queued up to jump into my grave the moment I reeled in for the last time

Later that same day I did manage to drag the (not so) littl'un down to another stretch in search of a chub and, as per usual, he sneaked one chublet out while I watched a tip constantly do its job of quivering under the continuous attention of sprats. Another blank

Sunday though was but one sleep away. The temperature overnight was tantamount to illegal and the wind continued to blow. The water running through the valley was noticeably warmer to the touch and, revisiting the same swim as the previous morning, I had hoped to entice the big brother of the one that got away the day before

A third of a Warburton's toastie was mashed and potted the night before in readiness and a good percentage deposited behind a fallen branch at the head of a steady glide. Bites were immediate and positive. Fish topped with unusual abandon

I knew immediately this would be the annual event. That day when the out and out roach angler, not concerned with size, would fill his or her net. It is a rare event on the middle Leam that conditions conspire in this manner but this, at the eleventh hour, would be this season's example

I also knew that the next day I would suffer my annual regret that I no longer chase anything that swims for the sight of a net of quality roach, such as these were soon to prove to be, cannot be beaten

For now though the thrust is to pick-out the bigger fish and so I awaited the wrap-around of the rubber-lipped quarry only to find that constant alternating between crust on a 4" tail and flake on a 15" tail produced roach on the latter and, eventually, once suitably whittled, roach on the former

I was having to sit on my hands in expectation that at some point a proper pull round would occur and only twenty to thirty minutes in round it did indeed go. Smooth as silk, not at all savage and in the immediate aftermath a small chub could be seen rotating under the surface...or could it? Soon it was round an invisible snag in this snag-pit to end them all. Slack line was given in the time-honoured fashion and action resumed. The chub came to the surface and that involuntary intake of breath occurred to me, as very few things in life can cause, when chub became roach, a large, chunky, river p.b. challenging roach

A cracker indeed. 1-3-7 of rare small stream beauty that would not quite take the crown from one an ounce or so its superior two seasons ago

 

Perseverance ensued. Two more introductions of feed at 30 to 45 minute intervals but no more of his or her school mates succumbed

On the return trip with about two handfuls of mash left I introduced them to a very shallow glide and again had roach but this time the tip did whack round and a strongly fighting chub of 2-5-5 took great advantage of every stem of grass and thrust of flow before sliding into the safety of the deep blue net

A lovely mornings' reward, around 6 to 7lbs of fish. Surely double figures, and maybe the traditionally sought stone of roach, were on the cards to the suitably geared-up all-rounder, but that angler was not me,  nor was it last year.

Yes, I do miss that one thing, once a year


Five days to go...