A Variety of Similarities.

A twittering, a chattering, a sip.

Leaning back under mature salix - gazing into the canopy - the innumerable gathering throng.

Blue, great and long-tailed they are. A post breeding flock of families slowly forage as a group yet frantically feed individually as they wend the willow-lined watercourse.

Hopeful I search. The occasional slurp of an ancient carp barely noticeable in distant fringing lillies.

Aurally straining. Yes, there is one there, and so is another

The most incomprehensibly evolved of passerines, the treecreeper, probing every crevice and fissure of the arboreal armour. A louse here, a moth there. A delicate call and the loose organic cloud rolling through the treetops is gone, but remains intact.

----

The forecast indicated cloud. The sky indicated continuous sun.

The latter prevailed.

The Gormless Old Duffer, shirtless, was not a pretty sight. Thankfully we had the lake to ourselves. I wished it had been to himself.

Carp, of no great size, cruised in teenage gangs in the shallows, terrorising anything resembling food like orca eyeing-up seals.

No matter, we knew the big fish would feed first and then, when the heat became too much, the action would subside. This was certain. Past experience would prove it.

Four balls of ground-ait and feed went in. The Gormless Old Duffer on the feeder with an alarm. Myself on the slider.

An hour or more passed.

The alarm was silent (we checked it was switched-on). The float, well, floated. Clearly I'd bought one without any bobs in it.

Then out of the blue the alarm went, the arm dropped...and...no contact.

The slider slid and a fighting roach of half a pound was grounded and returned.

Fish topped with playful abandon.

An idea. The lake was deep and the fish might have been in higher water layers.

The canal rig shot were redistributed and the float pushed-up to 7 or 8 feet.

Bites on the drop on corn, every cast but after five 2 to 5 ounce roach - instant boredom. This wasn't the game we came to play.

Chess please, not draughts.

Back to the slider and the float immediately lifted, then disappeared beyond the visible depth and a good one was on. No fight though. It must've been a stick. But no, a large signal crayfish burst through the surface to its legally required destiny.

At first a carpet had been laid-out and a few ingredients were threaded onto the hook in desperation. Instantly the float behaved unusually and a nodding donkey was hooked. Never a battle to write home about but a fish that lights the F,F&F candle whenever it exceeds three pounds.

This slime-coated stinker hit the bar at four pounds six ounces and the day was made.

----

This had been part of an inadvertent trend. Though it had not been realised at the time and being, or trying to be, a modest sort made it all the more surprising.

A sort of introspective retrospective I suppose.

Bronze bream.

They had been prioritised on lake and river for quite a number of trips and, without quite realising it, I'd been involved in a campaign.

Of course any decent summer species is welcome when the water is low and clear and the prospect of anything other than carp on a lake seems increasingly unlikely.

I'd found a shoal on the river but in three trips only managed two fish within half an early hour of each other; catching them before they hit the morning snooze button.

The second was a river p.b. at 4.10 (I've dropped bothering with the silly drams now except for smaller species!) and a dark old bottom feeder he was too.

Lake fish peaked at 4.8 among a raft of other four pounders. A weight that suddenly feels the norm.

----

So with the species ticked in both lake and river categories today the trusty bus headed for the river with carp in mind on one rod and dace on the other.

Rest assured, like any other person, when a target is set there is the disproportionate likelihood for all to fail.

Maggots sprayed 3/4 across and boilies (yes, you heard right, boilies!) along nearside marginal lilies and streamer weed. A perfect swim. 7 feet deep between weed-beds and just enough room to trot through.

Thirty or so roach, dace and chublets later, the 'donk, donk, treadwater, donk' of a meaty adversary. So clear was the water that the fish came into view quickly. First thought was, tentatively, chub but on closer viewing the unmistakable outline of yet another bream was discerned. About three pounds was the initial assessment but in a decent flow and with a sixteen to two pound fluorocarbon between it and the net odds were very much against.

Nodding interspersed by cautious retrieval made for very little headway. This gave ample time for two things.

• Worry, and,
• Regular review of the predicted weight.

Step by step; nod by nod; draw by draw the weight increased to around five pounds by the time the fish, now with line wrapped around it's anal fins for interests sake, was scooped-up.

Into the meadow and nestled in the deep uncut grass this was no five pounder.

"That's six, surely", I muttered to the passing butter and damselflies.

Six pounds?

Nope. Way out.

Seven, six.

A river and overall p.b. by a clear 2.12

----

Of  course nothing could top this, even removing the pike that constantly marauded the keepnet was well adrift in the enormity stakes.

Yes, that would do. That would do nicely.

Thank you world.

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. 

----

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.

----

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. 

----

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

References:

Burning Sky (Paul John Weller, 1979)

Disruption and Discontent or The Fish won't Feed 'cos the Weather doesn't Know What to do Next

It's been a tough year for the angler thus far...and sheep. Thankfully the latter, with their special feet and woolly coats, can cling-on through the worst of weathers

If it hasn't been gales, heavy rain and rising filthy rivers it's been frozen canals, lakes affected by fluctuating temperatures and excessive colour in the waters. Not the greatest of recipes

The decision had been made to seek to gain blogger's challenge points on rivers or seek-out pike where their seasons are limited until March and then revert to still-waters and canals but it has proven almost pointless, in both respects

 

Until just this last Tuesday six consecutive blanks on a wide variety of all three categories of venue and numerous methods had been fruitless since the last week of January. It feels longer. Most of the visits didn't produce even the merest hint of a bite and none of them saw fit to offer reward with any sport at all

Then on Thursday three bites all hooked and two nice chub of 3.6.0 and 3.4.0, with one  perhaps a touch larger lost at the rim of the net, were offered-up by the Upper Warks Avon and, at last, razor blades were not a consideration for the journey home

The better of the brace added a measly two points to the challenge tally but it was a pleasant event adding that couple to the chart having been so long away from it. I estimate that the past four point-scoring fish have added a sum total of around 6 to the aggregate. Not great.

The winter birdwatching has been okay while out there sitting by a range of waters, the highlight of this was a small flock of siskin feeding on weather damaged alder in the glorious and thermal-layer eschewing sunshine of last Sunday, together with close-up views of treecreeper and the, ever confiding, long-tailed tit flock, and of course it's always a pleasure to see the immaculate and continually diving goldeneye.

Kingfishers have been abundant and a brown hare brightened a cloudy lakeside stroll with lures, though he seemed uninterested in an imitation perch, perhaps a fake blade of grass may have been more to his liking

It's quite incredible when I think back through the tactics used in that spell that link-legered bread and lobworm, free-lined lobworm, cage feeder with groundbait and maggot/worm/caster hookbait, lures, deadbaits, etc., etc., have all failed when in different conditions all would produce the necessary goods.

The fish simply shut down.


Even these wouldn't work

The weather hasn't been all bad though. When the river fell, and at the same time it was suitably cold, fantastical glistening pendants of ice formed as the stiffening receding waters clung on to strands of vegetation bent like small spinning rods to the lowering surface; extensive sheets of magically thin ice were left floating in the air over the shallows and those natural, but rarely seen, phenomena formed in the riparian margins turned boredom to wonder

A glimpse of the chocolate merlin commuting through her wintering quarters in the valley of the stream was enough to bring confirmation that sometimes it's acceptable to think all is well in the real world. Well enough for now anyway, pending a turn in fortunes

A planned day off was looking perfectly timed until the rains returned today and by the time those clouds are drained the rivers will be rising again, the lakes will be coloured by cold water and the canals likewise.

What are we to do?

The Boy Wonder and I satisfy ourselves by working-out imaginary comedy situations. An evolving episode of which currently involves a tramp working as a barrista in Nero, or Costa, or Starbucks, or somewhere. Anyway it was funny to us, wherever it was staged. He even found a better way to get his groundbait out to the middle of the lake...

Things became so bad on Sunday that I sat with the dead-bait line metaphorically tied to my toe, Huckleberry Finn-style, when the incredible quantity of, mainly plastic, refuse settled in the debris left behind by the receded Avon became interesting. I actually found myself sifting through it to see what I could identify, until I heard a rat scuttling below the land-based raft and thought better of inviting Weil's Disease upon myself

The badger footprints in the deposited silt were good though, among the rat impressions - not ones I had trodden on, I do mean the footprints

Updates:

Mouse training -
Bubble still runs at the sight of anything that isn't known to her to be in her cage.
Squeak is now taking sunflower seeds from my fingers
...and I found out they can eat celery, which they love.

Blogger's Challenge -
Everyone is struggling in the Midlands and James just gets further and further in front with his ever-increasing dace, grayling, unicorn and other mythical beasts we can only dream of up here in Warwickshire. Next time I think it unquestionably necessary to handicap him like a champion race horse. I don't feel a weight disadvantage would help much though as he's probably fit enough to deal with that too. I'm leaning toward a straightforward ban, that should do it

Snow-caught Chub Challenge (commenced 2012/13) -
I have always loved seeing experts with their pictures of chub in the snow but it has not been until the past three or four years that I have tried it and, at last, in the most recent fall, it happened. Not huge at 2.6.0, and not the deepest snow cover, but welcome and an ambition achieved

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 Boy with the Gift (Small river roach and chub)

During a temporary lull in the high level of the Leam we at last had the opportunity to test Parps' Christmas present, a new John Wilson twin-tip 10' Avon, on Saturday. The level was dropping a couple of inches every two to three hours at Kites Hardwick, where the upper river passes trout angling Mecca Draycote Water, according to the ultra-useful Environment Agency website, and it seemed we were likely to be able to find the odd slack from which to attempt to prise a gem

It would be a brief session, with civil sunset due at 5pm and our arrival at the bank not before 3.30

For ease and balance we matched the Avon with a closed-faced reel loaded with 4lb line and settled on a shelving bank right in front of a willow that stretched from far bank almost to near and he gently plopped various flakes of bread into the slack for the hour with no lack of skill but, despite a tawny owl calling as we reloaded the car, the highlight for him came second cast when the tip pulled down quite urgently a couple times before pulling more steadily and he struck into a fish that put a bend in the rod as it wandered out into the flow. Recalling without prompting that snagging swims call for no line to be given he leant into the fish and drew it neatly over the net after it had been convinced not to hang in the flow for too long

A perfect jewel of a roach hung in the hammock of a landing net, all sparkling ten ounces of it - it was sparkling I am sure of it - and both initial incredulity and beaming smiles ensued

Rod christened

A picture of calmness - outwardly

 Next day it was a heavy frost and he who was still pleased and dreaming of record roach had Rugby training (subsequently cancelled) so I, quite thankfully once I saw the extent of frost in the previously water-logged field, returned to the site to try some further slacks and glides

After having over-confidently selected a swim too short and snaggy to trot a topper through I was soon on the prowl and primed four swims with mashed bread. Roving with an 1/8oz bomb link-leger, eventually a shoal of roach were located at the end of a steady glide which shallowed-up towards the end but due to the fact that I had left my quivertips in the car the one being used was rather too stiff and the peg did not allow the rod to be pointed at the bait to accommodate a bobbin indicator but, nevertheless, a proper bite did occur and it felt a good fish in the flow at 20-odd yards distance. That said the fish was on under control and the closer it came the less sizeable it seemed until it flashed its washed-out flood water colouration on the surface and into the net. 13 ounces the gullible one went and that was an enjoyable result after two fishless, but tap-tappy-tap-tap, hours

Next peg soon produced a couple of additional taps to add to the growing list I imagined I'd carved as notches on a stick like a nineteen century cricket scorer before a gentle pull-round, and twang back, followed by a longer gentle pull-round, striking into which a chub attempted to take me into roots of the undercut near bank from whence it bit. With a strand of barbed wire to contend with too, this was no time to mess around and the fish was soon bullied into the net at which point it spat out the hook and I thanked myself for not giving it any chance to escape. It only went around a pound and a half but it made the effort worthwhile. Unusually, in fact for the first time on this river, I think, I had used a keepnet in slack area

Today the company of a grey wagtail illuminated the day (having chosen to fish out of direct sunlight in the hope of getting more bites later into the day and appeared to be successful) plus drumming of green woodpecker and creeping of nuthatch and treecreeper; the piping and arrow-like flight of the passing kingfisher as well as the omnipresent long-tailed tit, blue and great tit

The river was the to rise again later and has probably been largely unfishable since but hopefully, by this coming weekend, we might again venture forth into falling levels and sneak the odd inhabitant from its lair of murk. To see the face of a twelve year-old Crabtree with a chub in his hands - now that would be something

The Leam Comes Good

Wren observes action with intent

 Today a somewhat reluctant response to the alarm with more storm conditions forecast resulted in the perfect day's fishing on the Leam, in fact by far the best yet experienced

Two chub of 2-3-14 and 2-6-6 on the lead...

...and then a 10 yard move to try the 'pin and a 9BB topper in the ideal glide as the already 2'6" high water rose some 8 inches further during the morning which produced a further three chub of 2-6-6, 2-6-6 (yes, really!) and the prize of the day at 2-12-13 all on mashed bread and flake.

A few roach to 6ozs, a dace and a minnow completed the catch of around 13lbs and at last the Leam performed as I had always hoped it might

There are days when you feel you have really achieved something and those when it just so enjoyable you don't want to go home, but a lack of food with me sent me home in hunger, more than anything, as the two hour trip had become five hours long!

The best session for many a day topped by nuthatch and treecreeper at close quarters