That Awkward Time

Even a steady breeze can convert the comfortable cold to an eye-watering blast. Someone should invent a hat with racehorse style blinkers. 

In the second angling life it has often been a struggle turning from autumn into no winter with any degree of success. It's easier on the canal, with the fish always so obliging and confidence always high, but lakes, apart from Rocky Res, and rivers, are another...kettle of fish, but there's more to like than hittable bites (I'm told)

The last 3 or 4 trips have been brief, often super-local and eye-opening

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THURSDAY - R Leam - New stretch - Early:

Smattering of snow, hard frost, - 1°C.

River, clear with steady flow, iced shallow margins. 

Swim scalloped by overhanging trees opposite. 

15g cage feeder with liquidised bread and flake. 

Not so much as a tap. 

There was a big swirl 10m upstream. A bit splashy so probably not an otter and, in the moment, I plumped for a chub. 

Then, noticing movement downstream, I glanced to my right on a river narrower than Sir Jonathan Edwards could jump to see the most brazen of cormorants looking sheepishly at me out of the back corner of its yellow circled eye

"What the...?!"

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SATURDAY a.m. - R Leam - WBAS 3rd field - early:

Biting West wind, just above freezing, no cloud. 

River clear, nice flow. 

15g Pole feeder + liquidised bread and flake. 

1st swim one that always looks good but hadn't yet produced anything of note.

Dropping the feeder off the edge of far bankside grass beds resulted in the usual clear water tentative bites from small fish. 

Second drop in, the, "peep, peep", of the king of fishers approaches. 

Thud! 

He lands on the pole not 1.5m from my bulging eyes, bobs his head 2 or 3 times and, to my amazement...starts fishing, looking, apparently, at my float! Desperate to pick up a camera, I twitched, causing the pole to jerk at the very moment he flung himself into the water and came out with a small fish only to departed upstream to render it senseless on a branch before swallowing it, head first. 

"The little bugger!", the exclamation. 

1 small dace came to hand. 

2nd swim, same area but one which has thrown-up decent roach in the right conditions previously. 

Similar outcome. This one a roach. 

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SATURDAY p.m. - R Warks Avon, PH stretch - late:

Stiff westerly, 4°C, some sleet later. 

Clear river, good flow, tinge of colour. 

Bread mash to right + link leger & flake on a 2'+ tail. 15g cage feeder upstream to downstream edge of rush bed + crust on a 3" tail. 

Quiet start then a proper wrap-round bite on downstream rod. The fish was substantial and kept deep chugging upstream close in. A short burst took line from the clutch and then it reverted to chugging, this time downstream. Suddenly though it decided to take off toward mid-river and 'ping' off it came. Swinging the line to hand revealed the biggest scale I'd ever extracted from a foul-hooked fish, almost as large as a typical shot box. 

WhatsApp discussions concluded in a stalemate, chub or carp? One thing is certain, if it was a chub, it was biiiiiiig.

Two little grebe twittered to each other upon meeting downstream and paddled out together to quarter the bay opposite me. 

Next cast the upstream rod goes round and the bite is missed but a decent fish is hooked within 5 minutes. It felt like a chub but approaching the net it pulled out. 

3 or 4 further bites of varying ferocity ensued but no contact was made in a frantic 20 minute spell around dusk, typical of a clear river. 

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As is typical of early and late sessions, rarely are they without incident, even when the fishing is less than remarkable. It's just great being out there but I did manage a nice chub to round the weekend off this evening

Two Weeks & Two Rivers

SHIFTS HAND OVER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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RIGHTS HAND OVER

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had been that long. 

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

First flick - poor. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Lights, Camera, Action or The Written Word?

The recent foray into film with fellow blogger Eric Weight of Artificial Lite represents quite a departure from the usual F, F&F fare. It has caused less time to be available for writing, and certainly less to say, as the focus has sharpened elsewhere. Combine that with the Blogger's Challenge running this season and opportunities for the wide angle of variety found so absorbing in angling is hugely diminished.

The release to date of three films, all accessible across the tabs at the top here (popcorn extra) has put our combined little worlds into a whole new orbit, it seems. What started as a kernel of an idea during a chance encounter on the banks of Rocky Res one sunny morning, zoomed into an idea to keep the pair of us amused and then, a little while after initially putting Big Canal Roach on YouTube, it must have had some kind of boost somewhere as views rocketed and, before we could gather our thoughts, our little film, made initially to challenge our own aspirations, hit 1000, then 5000, then 10,000 and, now, closing-in on 25,000 views.

It's a job to know what to make of this. Many of the comments have cited calming, nostalgic, easy viewing as a heart-warming feature. Others like, what we like to think of, as the original, perhaps even unique, type and  flow of information. Certainly though, the fact is that many videos, while claiming to be of the 'how to..' type actually pass surprisingly little useful information on and often concentrate on the product and/or the 'wow, look at this/me' factor.

All this is fine of course, in its place, but it wasn't for us.

A fine mid-afternoon 6lbs 8oz river bream after the height of the Warks Avon floods. Anything is possible under such conditions. 

Firstly, one of the driving forces was that it doesn't matter who markets the rod you use, it need neither influence the achievement nor the pleasure of the pursuit. The kit we show in use is above budget/entry level but not in the expensive bracket, it's lower mid-range 'specialist' kit on average, or quite old, and perfectly adequate either way. The only extravagance was the centre-pin, which was a 50th birthday gift, and the only other thing we might habitually spend that bit more on would be line, as poor quality in this critical link is not to be entertained, but even in this department we see no need to advertise the fact, all quality tackle firms offer good enough lines, and, even for the beginner, tackle dealers will be quick to point out stock to meet the need.

Nothing is fixed, and anglers, above all others perhaps, will have their own preferences on tackle choice. We could easily have had the chance to catch more fish for the camera had we fished with match tackle, we would have lost more chub in some of the types of snaggy swim we were concentrating on in the knowledge that fish were likely to be present, but that would be misleading the viewer into believing this could be a sensible approach when it certainly would not be. "Hit and hold" is essential in such circumstances, both in terms of levels of success in landed fish and also fish welfare. We don't want to leave any fish tethered to roots, etc., due to inadequate or under-gunned tackle

Secondly, the making of any video had to be a pleasure in itself and this is where the 'bang, crash, wallop' manufacturer-type approach certainly didn't fit the bill. It had to try to stand alone even in the absence of any angling interest. Ideally though it would be a case of combining both aspects in a mature manner and one that would sit neatly in the 'roaring fire and nip of single malt' category, maybe even stretching to a puff on the old pipe.

Conversely, while one might always aspire to something of the quality of that benchmark in angling films know simply these days as "Passion", we preferred to avoid the retro-vintage tackle/eccentric country boys approach.

As Eric put it when we discussed the lack of a proper net bag one day, "It's just a bloke going fishing. I don't care if you've got a bin liner with your net in. That's the point". This is the ethos that encapsulates all of the above.

It's just a bloke going fishing.

So, Big Canal Roach having been released, we set about truncating the process as that took far too long, we felt. Not least in editing time, 90% of this for Eric.

Then, suddenly, dilemmas. Lots of them. The reception for the first effort - would it become a milestone round our necks? How would we move forward? Should we just stop there? What could we do that we know enough about to, a/. Be convincing, and, b/. At the very least match it in all other respects?

To give it a parallel in popular culture, imagine The Jam, or the like. Cracking, intense, true, passionate, heartfelt, real debut album, "In The City", when they really meant it, with no record deals in place as songs were written; then confronted with the need for follow-up albums after they've put everything into the first but there's nothing comparable left to share. The eye comes off the ball, so things get more far-fetched, more experimental and less real. In their case there's a contract and a deadline, it's now a living and everything depends on it, cue "This is the Modern World".

Thankfully in our case the only pressure we felt was a combination of our own desire and regular requests for more from commentators.

We put everything into the roach offering without holding anything back for the future. We did have a loose list of half a dozen ideas we might have considered a series but we never sat down and planned them in that manner. It was far more of a, "Let's try it with this one and see how it goes" approach.

The idea of a shorter, "What about this neglected misunderstood fish", silver bream option, though it always going to be of lesser interest, broke the potential for our heads to slip into a metaphorical noose 'early doors' by purposely deviating from the initial philosophy somewhat. For a start, it wasn't winter and it included more asides, especially with the rudd incident knitted in there, albeit unintentional, but that's fishing isn't it? Things happen and, more regularly than not, it's not what you might previously have planned or wished for.

The third offering was enhanced by two factors, mainly Eric's imagination, particularly in respect of the nostalgic element, and the first use of underwater footage. The latter, being my department, I have more to talk about and what a fascinating period that was. Thankfully in this respect at least, unlike the current one, it was generally a dry winter thus enabling a good deal of experimentation to be undertaken with the benefit of clear water. Angle of camera when settled, location, depth of field, scale, flow, ,varying waters were all to be resolved and dealt with. I estimate it took 20-30 hours of film to produce the few seconds of footage, twenty of those until we even saw a chub! Gudgeon, minnows, roach, dace, even a tench and then perch were all 'caught' prior to a chub sucking a piece of flake up in the murk and, even to this day, not a single view of the actual hook bait!

The main benefit of the sub-aquatic camera was the lens into a different poorly understood world. The difference in natural food levels between the Avon and the Leam for instance was an eye opener, the Avon having been polluted in recent years, and the step-up from those in winter to a shallow reservoir in spring was beyond belief where the array of life was falling over itself, so densely was it populated.

The camera we used wasn't expensive, I think £60-ish, but it saved straight to a micro SD and could film for a few hours, laying down the data in short segments which made for easy reviewing and labeling.

All of the above was very simple, which it needed to be in my case, and added a new dimension to the angling as well as the real purpose. No longer did I personally expect the fish to line-up, regimentally, as a tidy shoal awaiting their breakfast for instance, and a more chaotic scene is now imaginable as various dabblings are made.

So what of the future of video for Artificial Flight?

There are a few ideas floating around and one we are about to embark on sparked by the recent seemingly interminable rain and flooding, an exciting prospect, for me at least, and one I'm immensely looking forward to starting imminently. Quite what it will bring that's different and progressive in our film making remains to be seen, but I'm sure we'll come up with something however basic it may be.

After all...it's just a bloke going fishing!

SEASON FINALE & SYNDICATE OPENINGS

A BACK END CHALLENGE

Daylight gone, gales dropping, beta light wagging gently in the post-peak flow, as it had through the previous hour. The few items in use were pushed back into various pockets and whipped up and over the hood such that it nestled comfortably under the right arm. Rod and net in right hand and chair in left, the vacant walk back across the meadow progressed, the sheep now invisible, as progress was made the glow of the rod tip bobbed like the lure of a deep ocean angler fish illuminating the way.

The perennial challenge had peaked in recent weeks at around three and a half pounds. That 4lb Leam chub still eluding capture. That fish does exist however, of that we can be certain. A recent acquaintance has had two or three around 3.13 and the closest we got this past season was but a minnow short of the bullseye.

Coupled with this though, fuelled by extensive research and inquiries, was an as yet unwritten target of increasing the river roach P.B. At the time this particular line of enquiry was gestating, memory (never a good source of accurate information) announced that the river best was a 1.4.6 fish from Leamington A A stretch, perhaps a handful of years ago. However, in a rare moment of I.T. enlightenment, a list of best roach appeared out of nowhere; this included, not one but two, fish of 1.8 - one from the Trent and one from the Warks Avon - in the mid-1980's.

The plan was simple, concentrate on local rivers most likely to produce the biggest roach and, when time allowed, start to suss-out and understand the River Severn as the only river within about an hour of Chez Nous known to contain more than the odd individual over two pounds (being, of course, the ultimate target).

The challenge bar had been raised and with plans afoot to break this barrier, a twelve ounce Warwickshire Avon fish being the best to date, the tension became palpable.

In attempting to narrow viable options, a list of potential rivers and venues was drawn-up based on distance combined with their potential to issue forth 2lb fish, this on the basis that fish of that size would be newsworthy and traceable via published reports. Limited areas of Warwickshire Avon & Leam, the Severn. Nothing else.

In these parts of Blighty the prospect a 'river 2' is comparable with an ageing plum tree most unlikely ever to bear fruit. More than the fish of a lifetime in truth, the phrase implying the possibility in every anglers lifetime. Not so.

So, should these fail, I promised myself a trip south as the sunset on a scratchy season to tackle a chalkstream or two, guided by local wisdom.

The first session on the Blogger's Syndicate stretch of upper middle Warwickshire Avon was tough, fishing the deepest hole, but as the light faded into a frosty grave, a 12ozer found irresistability in the face of a grain of corn, but, despite lingering in the spreading sparkles brought to life by moonbeams, no more.

Christmas, and a Birmingham Anglers Association (BAA) 'book' (nowadays disappointingly a card and a mind-blowing venues map book) arrived. Come January 1st it would be possible to begin sampling the delights of big River Severn roach.

Pouring over various forums, some good, some plain irritating, a pattern started to emerge. Firstly that Severn fish hadn't been really been written about for a handful of years, secondly reports suggested they tended to be caught mid-river in summer on pellets and, finally, that a noteworthy portion of those river locations reputedly held good shoals in winter.

On the basis of this loose information HonGenSec & I hatched a plot to start targeting the river over a couple of long weekends, January to March. He for barbel and chub, parallel with this roach commitment.

Overall we spent four full days together on the river plus a couple of hours when we met before dusk at the tail of my compadres fifth day.

A tactic was hatched to start on the float where possible after bait dropping and loose feeding caster with a touch of overcooked hemp, such as to not preoccupy any fish. Various tweaks to this approach were applied until settling into a routine of 2 hours float fishing, followed by a 30g feeder just below the upstream and of the 'trot' and a light straight lead halfway down on the same trotting line.

Three things became apparent in this process - the fishing was generally poor, many anglers were blanking; it worked for barbel and chub but there wasn't a roach to be seen!

4lbs 10oz Severn Chubster. Little point hiding the mug now its all over YouTube!

Best Barbus went 8lbs 2ozs and took some taming on a 16 fine wire roach hook

In desperation 38 angling hours into the Severn campaign a local tackle dealer offered the following nugget, "The cormorants have herded all the roach into towns and the only place you can catch them is under bridges". That didn't fit the criteria at all and at that point the back-up plan came to the fore.

Thus far, approximately 50 hours in total and one 12oz Warks Avon roach to show for them, and with the end of the river season zooming-in, it was time to take-up the very kind offer of James Denison's generosity to pursue what would, with any luck, be first-ever chalkstream fish.

An monotonous trip down a Monday morning motorway lead to the meeting point in an urban setting. Rolling through it though was a stream that defied its surroundings and survived as a viable ecosystem despite the pressure of civilisation pushing, squeezing and towering over it like a mid-pounce leopard, the spots of which would never be lost but only grow yet larger.

First area, a mill pool, produced it and it alone. A three ounce roach of such immensely striking colours and contrasts that it could easily have been a different species compared to its pallid Midlands brethren.

The life in this challenged stream had to be sen to be believed. Even the laundry had water lice living in it

Moving on, scaling walls, running the gamut of traffic, joggers, people with the perennial question preceding the movement of their lips, dogs (and of course their proceeds), other anglers and life itself we tested-out another area where the machinations of society displayed in all their dubious splendour.

Notably, all swims were nothing like anything experienced anywhere before. Rapids, slacks, back-eddies, features largely comprising the trappings of human occupation rather than the natural, comprised the watercraft exercise of the day. In a nutshell the bottom was visible in 2 to 3 feet of water and it was a case of flicking a float into the darkest, most mysterious areas of water, and finding the fish by trial and (plenty of) error.

Once an out and out river angler, the rust had grown so think in the joints that the supply of skill testing swims took all day to (not quite) get used to, but occasionally a trot would be about right and the resultant roach - big, bold, beautiful - were suggestive that penetrating oil had made the difference.

The bite was never-ending and the response to steady, gentle feed rewarding.

The best, of four around the pound mark, went one pound three ounces and in between came a couple of lovely dace; the best at 0.8.13 being the best of this current lifetime. Reincarnation? Don't rule it out!

The last legal river fishing day was washed away in the remnants of another transatlantic storm and so one pound three ounces will have to suffice for now.

Plenty of time to improve things next season. 

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WARWICKSHIRE BLOGGERS' ANGLING SYNDICATE

The first season of WBAS has been and gone so quickly.

I think it would be fair to say it's been a resounding success with some cracking venues trialled and plans hatched for the future.

One thing we do realise is that the will to obtain access to exclusive waters means we must increase our number from ten to fifteen members to cover the cost but also retain the high likelihood of a solitary day on the bank without having to grapple with others for swims. Even then, if we all chose to fish at the same time, we would have a third of a mile of bank space each!

Currently we have access to three small Warwickshire rivers, a prime stretch of Warks Avon and a pool just over the border in Leicestershire that we are developing from carp and small fish to, we hope, quality tench and pure crucians.

So, if you consider yourself like-minded; are attracted by solitude and good fishing for quality fish (in environments as natural as one can still find in the area) please do comment on this post providing an email address, and we'll remove that message from public display before responding with further information (please note that prospective members will need to be proposed by current members or contacted for a conversation by telephone).

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NEXT UP:

A bream and tench campaign on stillwaters when time allows and big canal fish when it doesn't.

Otherwise it'll be the next Blogger's Challenge starting June 16th under new points scoring rules...how very traditional we are!

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

An Indication of Syndication

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

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The Tinier Inhabitants of the Warks Stour

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

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

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

I've drifted.

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

Natural Beauty of the Warks Stour

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

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

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

Flowering Arrowhead on the Leam

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

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

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

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

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

Another Back-end to Die from.

This back-end of the traditional coarse fishing season has been, like so many others, a time of luck and opportunity.

One seeks to glean what one can from our rivers but dear old Jack Frost and John Snow(?) tend to intervene more often than not. Indeed when these two characters are not at large it's probably raining heavily anyway.

The albatross shot on the way back from Wiltshire a month or so ago hangs like a necklace of increasing pungency.

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The Bloggers Challenge has proven a tremendous boost to the season. The careful planning of the pursuit of each species across all three platforms has been incredibly engaging and not a trip has gone by that wasn't influenced by the competition, the format of which I find completely enthralling.

I confess I had been targeting the overall leader board this time but of course in the knowledge that James would be way out in front by now; and such has been the case.

As a canal angler who has not spent any significant portion of his life fishing stillwaters (until the past three years or so) and whose regular river experience was in the distant past some thirty years back this has been an entertaining challenge and never has research been so thoroughly undertaken.

Despite this however the points-scoring fish caught to date were all duped within thirty minutes of home apart from the Hants Avon chub.

Some of the fishing has been incredible, the run of five Warks Avon barbel, smallest 9.12, for instance and the all round capacity to achieve that is Napton Reservoir.

In fact, if it were analysed, a good proportion of the fish will have come from the excellent waters of Leamington A A where much of the period has been spent.

For most participants though the challenge has been more of precisely that since Christmas. River pike had been a main target to get up above the measly 6lber extracted from the side of the keepnet in Summer 2017 but a mixture of lack of experience, the species seemingly going off the feed in general and plain bad luck conspired such that this would fail but, with a decent plan in place for the March 15th to May 1st period, the numerous hours spent in their pursuit would not, fingers crossed, prove too detrimental overall.

Chief mover over the past few days though has been Brian Roberts (no, not my local villager and former Cov City full back but of Pike Blog) with a quick burst of very impressive fish...2oz gudgeon, 8.4 bream, 1.9 roach, etc., etc.

Bloggers Challenge top 5's:

Overall:
James Denison 1089
George Burton 871
Brian Roberts 795
Russell Hilton 680
Danny Everitt 601

Rivers/drains:
James Denison 583
Brian Roberts 449
Mick Newey 376
Sean Dowling 316
George Burton 295

Stillwaters:
Brian Roberts 301
James Denison 296
George Burton 283
Danny Everitt 255
Russell Hilton 150

Canals:
George Burton 293
Russell Hilton 246
James Denison 209
Ben Hennessy 133
Danny Everitt 128

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So thoughts have turned to next season ('always will think this way, close season or not) and I've started enquiring and negotiating access to as much of the River Leam as possible. Currently at least another four more meadows have been added to the LAA stretches, our private meadow and the Godiva length, which may well come into play again.

I'm enchanted by the challenge of the river. A bit like a child with a pond net. It doesn't have to be the biggest, longest, most overfed capture but, given it is less than 10 minutes away at its closest, is hugely varied and contains a natural range & balance of species, a concerted effort for them is a great prospect.

Each water has its ceiling on sizes. A 5.11 Hants Avon Chub might equate to a 3.6 Leam fish and therefore, despite what the national angling press might seek to sensationalise, the fact is they are as worthy as each other in their relative ways.

A quick recce on two of the new lengths highlighted the obvious - that it will be difficult to find fishable holes in summer - but autumn and winter fishing with water on should prove fruitful.

Points scoring dace from new stretch of Leam on first visit

An updated list of River Leam p.b's will probably follow by way of targets and interest moving forward.

Currently main Leam p.b's are:
Chub 3.13
Roach 1.4
Dace 0.4.6
Perch 1.12
These from very limited opportunities given the length of the river that is theoretically fishable.

Certainly pike go to double figures, perch to 2.8 min., roach to 1.14, chub must go over 4lbs somewhere and the dace potential has not been met by the waters I have fished but I suspect fish over 8ozs are present in suitable places.

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Since the Hants Avon trip the only noteworthy catch has been a nice bream of 4.5 from the Warks Avon, on a bread feeder sleeper rod while deadbaiting with hideously oversized mackerel parts, so with the final river weekend upon us, rod licences renewed, temperatures suddenly soaring into double figures but heavy rain causing local rivers to burst the season is highly likely to end on a river fishing wash-out and leave us wishing it had occurred either a touch sooner, or much later.

To repeat then; "A time of luck and opportunity"; enough time and too little opportunity, for this angler at least...but there's life in us yet!

Luck in, Look out.

Kingfisher poised overhead

A Long weekend.

Long sessions and an unusually long drive.

Predators were offering themselves in the mind of temptation.

Lamprey, sprat & sardine were stocked with meat, bread & maggot the alternative options.

The days might provide a clay bed, a gravel bottom and chalk without cheese yet all would involve the Avon, both rivers and their respective rods.

Fellow blogger Nathan Walter had, very generously indeed, arranged a guest ticket on a stretch of the Hampshire Avon, in Wiltshire as it happened, but the prelude would play-out on its less vaunted Warwickshire namesake.

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FRIDAY:

How trusting can wild birds possibly be?

Mute swan, moorhen, robin and even carrion crow all happy to risk trespassing in my space in a place where no doubt they are regularly fattened by the non-believers.

"What is it mummy? A Blackbird?".

"It's looks a bit big for a Blackbird darling".

The robin had a penchant for luncheon meat; the crow for bread and apple core; the moorhen of damaged foot for pretty much anything and the mute swan for floats. It's just not natural...but then fish take bread, pellets, bits of plastic, lures too. 

In reality it's just the natural world surviving by the most readily available means in tough conditions. Who could complain about that? It's not just humans content with an easy life.

For their part (the river fallen, pulling nicely, colour gently departing) the fish did not want bread, lamprey, sprat or herring in slack or along crease but they did have a taste for spam.

Loose feeding 5mm cubes regularly tight across near a distinct feature for an hour before adorning the meat-peppered gravel bottom with a hookbait gave the resident chub time to gain confidence and, without ever being rushed, gradually a very nice net of fish to three and a half pounds was compiled during the rest of the day until dusk. Not that there was any intention of using all the luck up locally with The Trip to follow.

We weren't holding back

Sixteen and a half pounds of fish. Chub from 1.14 plus a single perch of 1.9 on lamprey and a small roach on bread comprised the catch. Tomorrow would surely be an anticlimax after such a rewarding day but, with thoughts of grayling and dreams of giant glistening silver roach, there was no shortage of hope.

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SATURDAY:

Rain for the two hour journey into Paradise. Rain in paradise. Rain on the way back. A childhood dream nevertheless

Thankfully it was not windy and thus the low air temperatures did not penetrate deeper than layer four of the cocoon.

Nathan paced the porch. Breakfast was not served but, a tap at the window, a cheery chat and soon we were devouring Wiltshire's finest to gird the guts for the challenge ahead.

Walking the stretch, an unseasonal chiffchaff foraged in the dense overhang that would prove to be the swim for the day. A steady seven foot trot down past the branches in water with 'that green tinge'.

My host imagined a dozen fish under each bush along the stretch and it was hard to disagree.

Steady trickling of maggots took a while to produce a bite but the trotting rod and centrepin performed nicely once the extension to fifteen feet was added. The first fish flattered to deceive and a serious impersonation of a big roach was the result.

Nathan and the wandering red or blue man sauntered forth in anticipation but we were all disappointed yet happy that something had been caught an hour or so in. Even if that fish was a chub of just over 2lbs and not the Holy Grail.

As things progressed a very satisfactory couple of hours, topped with three cracking and immaculate fish of 3.13, 4.0.8 and a new river p.b. of 4.4, ensued. All coming to a single red or fluoro maggot trotted under a 4.5 swan chubber.

Grins all round.

Meanwhile Nathan really struggled in a variety of swims but gallantly refused to move elsewhere as long as I was catching. In fact it was very noticeable that he was a thrilled as I was with the experience; and certainly the red or blue man had not caught since we arrived either.

Cetti's warbler and water rail issued their unmistakable calls from the far bank and a tidy bird list extended.

In retrospect it was clear that I had simply been fortunate enough to sit on a shoal and it was panning-out at lunchtime like an end had come to it anyway with only one more 2+ fish coming after a lost leviathon turned downstream and could not be stopped on the fine tackle required to conjure a maggot induced nibble this particular day. A further p.b. outwith the grasp.

We pondered the option of a move but on consulting the Timex there really wouldn't have been time and so the decision was made to stay, although the ghillie would be trying another swim and, for my part, I resolved to start feeding bread mash about two hours before close of play such that it would drift in the flow and settle under the leading face of the bush.

Regular enquiries from small fish kept the trigger finger twitchy and an hour or so later a more pronounced question met with the inevitable and the final chub of the day was on.

This time the two of us were conjoined via a size 8 to 4.4 fluorocarbon.

On the face of it there should only have been one winner and, ultimately,  that of course would be the case but it took a while and the further upstream the fish was drawn the better it felt in the flow, she facing into the aqueous pressure, the trotter with other ideas and angles.

Prior to this day the best fish this rod had handled was only just over two pounds but it really was now showing itself to be an impressive piece of design and engineering. Not the most recent of products but new is not always best and the fighting curve was a joy.

The fish meanwhile was not so impressed by the gear albeit it was getting to subdue this prey slowly.

Soon, mouth out, a gasp of air and a street slide sideways had it in the net.

"Another four!", I muttered to myself.

No reply.

Rod laid to one side and a lift of the net met with nothing. Aha, the net must have been caught but, no, it transpired it was the belly of the fish that caused the issue.

This was no four pounder. Earlier p.b. beware.

I knew the sling weighed around a pound, and 64 ounces on my small yet perfectly formed scales represented 4lbs.

"107 ounces!", the scales pronounced. Less 16odd was looking like 90 ounces.

What did that mean?

I was reckoning on five pounds ten.

Shaking and not unduly stunned I floated along to my partner for the day who simply asked, "What's that?!" upon sight of straining net approaching.

"A massive chub", came the bemused reply, "I reckon it's 90 ounces, 5.10!?".

We gave it a proper, considered, undithering weigh and Nathan confirmed 5 pounds 11 ounces on the button.

Second and massive p.b. of the day

A truly beautiful fish, yet more impressive than that; and in celebration the local otter drifted past and, just as quickly, out of sight.

A conclusion to events and I couldn't thank poor old Nathan enough. He wore Lone Angler and occasionally cut the figure of one but he remained irrepressibly enthusiastic for my catches and that's just fishing; sometimes you're on 'em, sometimes you ain't and there's nowt to be done. At least as the host he could sleep comfortably that night. There is surely nothing worse than inviting an angler and them catching nothing.

Two consecutive river chub p.b's, a catch of 22lbs, a good friend made, tales and knowledge shared and new lessons learned.

What could be better, but hold on!...there's Monday yet.

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MONDAY:

Warwickshire Avon again...piking.

We track down the topping dawn shoal and good pike tear through very active two to six ounce fish three or four times.

Deadbaits deployed.

Three runs, three inconclusively hooked fish, all lost and one dropped run.

Secondary bread swim primed ready for last two hours of daylight.

Nothing.

As I said, you're either on 'em or your not.


Grim.