Cold, Clear and Chubby

It was never going to be warm...

 SATURDAY

Canals would be frozen, as would small lakes and with high water having run-off the local upper Avon and Leam these offered the only options. As I've been in eight minds for every trip lately, two choices would prove a bonus.

Saturday the Avon was shrouded in freezing fog and thick frost. The little pond by the gate somewhat remarkably not completely crusty.

Tee shirt, thermal layer, grandad tee, thick shirt, microfleece, fleece gilet, thick fleece, thermal padded coat with zipped-in lining. 9 layers and nothing was getting through this.

Minus two on arrival, but it's been worse. Since my water thermometer became zander bait no temperatures have been taken but I suspected the river would have been around 4degC.

  The colour had dropped out more than expected but that seems to be common with this river these days, quite why is beyond me. The Leam would hold it longer.

As I approached a water rail was silently flushed across into the far side undergrowth and a pair of swans with a still clingy brown-mottled youngster dunked for breakfast.

Somehow I expected roach and it was a little liquidised bread cage feeder that sought to do the business.

 Third cast into the deep hole and a tentative bite was missed but immediately after that unmistakable drag round of the winter chub but it didn't fight like chub staying deep and not diving for the gathered uprooted weed under my feet until well into the battle. From thence he was scooped to the bank however and at 3.7 a nice start.

 In celebration a tiny chestnut bank vole tazzed among the stalks at my feet and was out of sight no sooner than he had been in it.

This was a late start. Firstly I had arrived after the usual faff with gates and as I unloaded realised I hadn't stopped for bread on the way. So the nearest option left me with a Marks & Spencer soft white thick sliced loaf.

"How would this compare with the Blue", I asked myself.

In practice it was a good substitute so if you're ever stuck it's another possibility, albeit medium would have been closer to the mark.

Consequently I contact fishing traffic control to advise of the landing error and was advised I had until lunch time to get over it so things weren't so bad...or so it seemed.

Thankfully the resident ravens kept me amused, as the fishing did not continue as it had started, and as I packed away lifting my seat to expose the last area of frost that hadn't yet thawed it felt a little anticlimactic. Just that one nice chub, always a pleasure in cold weather, but I should be thankful for a bite under such conditions.


SUNDAY:

The following day the second option was taken-up.

The Leam did indeed hold a touch more colour but, as before, it was obvious that the best had passed during the working week.

If Saturday had been the script for Sunday it wouldn't have been a surprise. A decent Leam chub of 2.10 early doors and then flushed green sandpiper and squealing water rail in the phragmites later when roving. Bites in every peg but all tiny tippy-taps and only two sub-sized fish, a roach and a dace to show for it.

A very confident Robin shared each of the first four swims in its search for egg sandwich crumbs and, even though each time I moved scraps would have been left behind, it somehow preferred the challenge of testing its bravery with me sat there.

I'd gone a good year or so away from this stretch until recently and it was incredible how it had changed. The floods can be quite impacting here and it showed in the changes where rafts had been lost and others formed; standing reed and rush beds flattened, dragged-out and reshaped; and whole trees removed. It was as if approaching a new venue in many areas and a few mental notes were made. Dace still lived in the same glide though, as did roach.

Through the meadow back to the car the standing water remained frozen as I cracked-on and with the ram looking a little more lively than some weeks ago I gave him and his flock a wide berth; not that he's ever defensive in his duties, but you never can be certain.

WEDNESDAY

Back to the Avon.

The afternoon fog that appeared to be thickening suddenly slipped away on arrival but the water was clearer still. The flow however remained urgent as I again settled into the mysterious deep hole.

 Again a water rail squealed it's piglet-like call from the far bank and a steady approach, given the continuing cold weather, of liquidised bread in a 15g cage feeder and a smaller than usual flake hookbait combined with the more delicate than usual 9' wand.

A series of unhittable fiddly bites ensued and filled the first hour or more - then an unrelenting pull on the 3/4oz tip resulted in solid resistance.

The Boy Wonder trotted along and removed rod no2 which was dangling a lob down the edge and meanwhile the excellent little lead rod I was relying on that, it turned out, was attached at long last to that elusive for four years 4lb plus chub, coped as well as one with a blue chip reputation would be expected to.

The fish wasn't particularly long and initially it was puzzling as to why it was a struggle to lift it up the bank...until it came fully into view.

"How big do you think it is?", asked TBW.

" I think it's bigger than the one on Saturday but I'm not sure how much more".

Secretly however I felt it might just be tantamount to THAT fish. The fish I set out four years ago to extract from the Leam. A four pounder.

It was in 2016 that I started a new relationship with the Warwickshire Avon though, having been a regular BAA member decades ago. Many say the biggest fish have been removed by the dear old otter and that may well be true so a four pounder could prove to be of greater value than it might immediately seem as time passes.

When TBW asked how many ounces I needed I couldn't bring myself to say and simply asked what it read, praying to myself he would say more than 64.

"66.6", he exclaimed. It must be an omen for a similar Leam fish next surely.

Damien, the chub.

 4 pounds 2 ounces 10 drams. I became a bit Flintoffian.

We anglers often talk of scale or fin perfect fish and on that score this one took some beating

Strangely not the biggest F,F&F chub. That was a 4.6 specimen from a canal back in the 1990's. Okay it wasn't a River Leam fish but, so long in trying, it was very welcome nevertheless.

That ended the afternoon's action but that really was plenty, thank you very much.

From the Murk, Diamonds

The limitations to fishing on highly trafficked relatively shallow canals are obvious to those who have experienced the dubious pleasure but perhaps to those more used to lightly-used, wider, deeper venues it may be difficult to comprehend.

Canal fishing life revolves around two main factors, the weather and boat traffic; and to benefit most from the undoubted pleasures of the cut decisions need to be made based firstly on water colour and then wind direction.

My angling backyard, as regular readers will be somewhat sick of reading, is the Oxford Canal north of the conjoined Oxford and Grand Union's from Braunston in Northants to north-east of Coventry where it meets the Coventry Canal. The majority of the cut is in Warwickshire, an area of largely clay-based surface geology, and consequently the incoming run-off or flood water from fields and ditches leaves fine beige silt behind.

Fishing early morning has become more critical during my lifetime and evening fishing is all but pointless with narrowboats active often until dusk.

The couple of hours one can often enjoy before the boats can be, at certain times of year, of quite unbelievable angling quality. Spring and autumn are those times and currently, with unseemly weather conditions prevailing for the past month, we are experiencing one of those periods.

The average weight of fish to be caught in these heady days is usually between three and seven pounds an hour with the number of fish in a catch usually averaging around a pound each.

Sounds great doesn't it? Imagine a five hour canal match in which one could take fifteen to thirty five pounds of fish based on those averages! Well, as you might gather, it isn't quite like that. The canals are not overstocked commercial fisheries after all.

Two things influence that catch; the fish population and the first boats of the day.

The North Oxford, or 'NOXC' as I have come to abbreviate it, averages around five feet, six inches deep along the boat track. Some areas are a touch deeper, others shallower. The width varies from just 8m to perhaps 20m-odd, but the average is around 12m. The consequence of these limited dimensions, heavy boat traffic and an unsurprisingly commensurate lack of weed growth is a dearth of natural food and an associated low fish population.

Fishing can therefore be challenging outside these peak times and within them one to three hours' action is as much as one can expect to enjoy.

Being little deeper than the length of the narrowboats' tiller the disturbance by the first boat of the day is often devastating, such that fishing-on if the boat passes at any great speed is the least desirable of the two options available. The settled silt overnight prior to an early start will leave the canal with a certain turbidity first thing. After long frosty periods and reduced boat movement some areas can go almost perfectly clear but this is unusual and the majority of the time a certain amount of colour is present due to suspended sediment in the water.

The two baits I tend to favour most these days, bread and lobworms, both work better when the water isn't too heavily coloured but thankfully if some stretches of the NOXC are blighted by a complexion like milky tea after downpours there are usually other (elevated) sections that will remain sensibly fishable.

Yesterday at 09.50hrs this happened...

It is possible to appreciate the water colour prior to the boat going through by looking at the undisturbed patches of water on the far side but within minutes the canal would be like pea soup all over, the fish scattered and the likelihood of more boats would then far exceed the possibility of sitting it out successfully for more fish worth catching.

Prior to the first boats however this happened:

and then this:

Note the water colour at this point.

and there were others...

Three roach of between 1.1.0 and 1.4.0. A hybrid of 1.8.0 and string of perch to 12ozs for a total weight of around 7.8.0 from a surprisingly shallow peg.

The effort is indeed worth it

A New Adventure is Underway

 

Two weeks ago Pat delivered new licences for Parps and myself which enable us to wander further into the Leam valley in search of a literally deeper experience

This tiny, in width, river is hideously deep in places. I know of no other river like it, split as it is by a somewhat incongruous sluice at Eathorpe pumping station, meandering through the best countryside Feldon has to offer and which it has of course itself created by its own efforts through geological time

I thought the stretches I had spent the last two to three seasons tackling were surprisingly deep in certain pegs but first impressions of this new stretch double those deepest areas and, with over two feet of water on, must be approaching twenty feet surface to bed in places

The charm though is certainly wider than the watercourse

The birdlife is often surprising and never less than entertaining, particularly in the colder months and after dark, and even the fungal blooms are engaging

The fishing however is tough but that's how we like it. It makes the few red letter days all the more warming

The Leam is not a river to covet in pursuit of a net full, except perhaps in the town reaches the urbanossity of which does not draw these two anglers in. That said we do not attack it with maggots and so we do purposely limit potential for higher numbers of smaller fish but conversely maximise the chances of the prey fighting-back if the tip or the float indicate sufficiently positively

With The Dog twice at the mercy of the surgeons knife and long-distance journeys being involved this past fortnight, things have been at best disjointed and at worst a shambles but I have managed to get in a couple of brief visits, once accompanied by Parps, to suss-out the new canvas onto which we hope to apply that fish-oil paint

As with many rivers, excluding perhaps those in fenland, the adjacent terrain is contoured and fascinating. One bank can be low and grassy, the other steeply banked and, at this time of year, festooned with decaying willow-herb or, perhaps, tree-lined. Rushes burst out of the flow wherever the depth allows and cattle-poached pasture banks form conveniently comfortable terraces on which to sit

The flow can vary from slow to quite pacey dependent upon the depth and relative width of the length

The first brief attempt comprising a few hours spent in a glide leading to a deeper pool resulted only in numerous initial tappy small roach bites on bread but a few lob sections thrown into the pool itself resulted in an immediate p.b. perch for the river of 1-6-14 followed by four or five around the 5 - 6 ounce mark. At the time these were quite boldly marked individuals but the ongoing turbid water will soon have changed that as they take on the shade of a cup of white tea, with stripes

Highlight of the late evening though was a synchronised flying display by a pair of woodcock, reasonably unusual for Warwickshire and the Feldon landscape (though more so in spring and summer), as dusk fell and they burst from bankside ruderal to orbit a nearby group of trees and then disappeared overhead to the east; their ridiculously long bills and chunky duck-like bodily proportions unmistakable against a dusk sky

A second short visit produced a cracking roach of exactly one pound on two legered lob sections in a rising river some 0.6m above normal. This fish beaten only by one of 1-4-11 two years ago from this river

So even the limited time on the bank between personal crises had produced enough encouragement to suggest worthy potential once the venue has been grasped and some experience gained. Thus a visit today was inevitable, not to say necessary, armed with research on a method for use in swollen rivers which produced instant roach and perch to lob tails followed by three other perch, the largest ten ounces.

The river was alive with quality roach though, as they topped with abandon all morning while I experimented, more of which in the future if it is proven to be successful after more refinement

This past week's study of the water levels and weather forecasts suggested a falling river at perfect height and flow and so it appeared. I, however, need to get my act together if it is to be taken advantage of this weekend as, tomorrow afternoon, we go again

Combined bird list:
Grey heron, mallard, moorhen, pheasant, woodcock, raven, carrion crow, jackdaw, magpie, woodpigeon, stock dove, kingfisher, green woodpecker, mistle thrush, song thrush, blackbird, fieldfare, redwing, robin, starling, wren, skylark, blue tit, long-tailed tit, chaffinch

Going Back Again, Again and Somewhere New

5am bathroom floor, Lepisma saccharina, Silverfish. An omen? 

 This past weekend, with the house to prepare for estate agents, it was to be one or two pre-breakfast sessions followed by paint, plants, timber and turf

Saturday I peaked a little early and had time to wander well out into the wilderness before first light to a formerly favourite area prior to direct and easy access being cut-off. Walking until fish could be seen topping and then, having found them, deciding to carry-on a little further to a, then, favourite peg; albeit that was somewhat difficult to define with landmarks having been decimated in the past 20 years

This is a fascinating landscape with the ridge & furrow that lines so much of the eastern North Oxford Canal falling away into a gentle tree-lined valley. Just the kind of place I dream of living in a tiny thatched cottage with woodsmoke barely perceptively drifting across the shades of green...and then suddenly we're jolted back to the present as a large fish crashes to my left in a very non-roach-like manner. "Maybe bream have moved-in", was the thought, and, having introduced a fair helping of mash expecting instant action before the sun burnt-off the bites, another sizable fish topped. The big fish were here, but this was no big fish peg in the past; sure it held its share of what we described as 'bonus fish' in the old days but nothing over twelve ounces, and lots of them

Topping big roach

In went the float, and sat there. Then it twitched and dragged and twitched again. The mill-pool-perfect surface became like ginger beer as a crayfish troupe marched in and proceeded to jostle for crumbs, catching the nailed-on rig in their articulated armour and sending their tiny microtench-like bubbles to the surface


Eventually the float rose dramatically, as it does, and stayed there long enough for it not to be a signal of crayfish. A strike met with the somewhat frantic distress of a hybrid of something over a pound

Fish continued to intermittently top, one leaping fully clear of the water within two feet of the fed area; a roach around the pound mark. Although spawning fish had been sat amongst previously in the, now two-year, big roach campaign never had this kind of activity been witnessed. Usually it had been a bigger shoal of smaller fish constantly splashing around but in this area the cut is more of a channel than a bowl in cross-section and as such I suspect much of the activity occurs deeper down out of sight

Soon, a second bite and more challenging fight. This fish was, without being in anyway bream like, more sedate than the hybrid and, as big roach tend to, strove hard to disgorge itself in the remnant roots of ripped-out bank-side trees. Lively was not the word but netted at the third attempt it was

I knew this guy (I use the word 'guy' here not to suggest this fish was male but in the 'here's your meal guys' manner of waiters and waitresses these days to suggest neutral gender). I even knew the name, Francis Lee, and what he or she weighed 1-7-3 (although THE Francis Lee was male it could be a female name of course)

Now this was spooky and yet it only just dawned on me in writing this that I could be accused of sliding that slippery slope to knowing the names of the fish I am in pursuit of, but no, over 50 pound-plus canal roach now and this the first time I have suspected such an occurrence; so its going down as a fluky experience rather than a sign of being uber sad

Franny was weighed at 1-6-14. He or she'd lost some weight! Not only that but research showed it was caught from the same peg on exactly the same day last year and photographs appear to confirm that, yes, it probably was the same fish as can be seen here: http://floatflightflannel.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/going-back-for-more.html

This really is one chunky roach

This spring is far advanced on last year as the photographs of the barrel-chested attacking mid-water fish demonstrate. The shade of bank-side vegetation was straw-coloured in 2013 but this time it is already a lush green

I'd like to say the story ended there but no, the bites ended certainly but then I drifted into wonder if not wander-land and, having tidied-up, went further into the wilderness in pursuit of newly arrived migrants, mammal tracks and large topping fish...and got them all. Blackcap in full voice just a few feet away but could I see it in the burgeoning hawthorn?, no. Rabbit excavations, otter spraint and molehills. Another presumed big roach swirled a hundred yards on from the day's chosen peg

One more task then, as the sun came fully up suggesting an uncomfortable trot back in all the early-frost-proof thermal gear, to photograph a stand of wild cowslip between well-trod towing path and waters edge

At risk of boring the odd reader (are you odd?, that's not very nice is it?, but I leave you to decide), the next (Sunday) morning was equally and contrastingly engaging

There isn't much of the canal east of the Brinklow centre that I haven't fished but being caught out by the retreating time of sunrise I needed a short journey and, like most, the stretches nearest are those fished least so I headed off with a plan in mind only to find white van man in my parking space and peg, the cheek! Two bridges further on I started to walk back towards home and into the unknown, never had the peepers clapped on this wide and enticing bend but this general part of the canal had never been prolific, with the occasional skimmer and a few roach, and so the suspicion was that any bites would be precious. The morning was to prove equally avian as piscine however

The bird song is mind-blowingly loud and the challenge of reminding ourselves of, and sifting the sounds for, a diagnostic melody is upon us as the warblers arrive in series. Quite a nice list stacked-up but the unusually confiding pair of moorhens that joined me on the bank for a bread breakfast was the highlight. All anglers, canal or otherwise, will recognise the moorhen as a nervy bird more likely to avoid proximity to us than approach closely but not these two, oh no. "Okay, so what have got then?"' was clearly their motto and up they sidled and flicked until just 7 or 8 feet away and devouring bread-mash like a shoal of bream. Knowing glances were exchanged and photographs taken, of them that is, I assume they couldn't...well anyway, moving on...

Back in the water, pre-match pennants had been swapped in the form of three handfuls if mash deposited just short of centre, this being the outside of a bend, and, frankly, nothing happened...and the bird list grew

Soon though hiviz-clad wolf-lady approached from the left, really, really slowly, with two dogs way off in front, in fact by this time sniffing around my tackle (steady!) and nudging my elbows, etc., still she moved with the speed of a beached yellow submarine, staring at the ground. Closer she crept, the dogs jostled and trampled, 15 yards, in-ear headphones now visible, 10 yards, 8, 7, then "Whoah, sorry, I didn't see you. I was listening to my book and...! SORRY, really sorry, come-on you two!", Homer would have been proud at the demonstration of shock only he could have matched, and off they went, very, very slowly

Chiffchaffs and various finches, my second swallow of the year and jackdaws over head disturbed the ensuing silence when, looking back at the float (yes that was what I was here for!) it lifted and battle, some battle, commenced. Obviously I was using the new rod and starting to understand its capabilities but this was different. If it was a roach it was a record, if it was a bream it was on speed and if it was a tench it was nothing if not very unusual. It had to be the last fish to enter the equation, a hybrid, and of course we are into the period when in 2013 the big'uns showed in number and increasing magnitude just as they were about to

"Chiffchaff, chiffchaff, chiff", imaginative it ain't, evocative it is.

This was some fighter and it reminded me very much of a scrap between a mink and a large eel I witnessed on a backwater of the Great Ouse in the 70's, first one was on top and the eel was out on the bank then the other was on top and dragged the mink back in the water, no prizes for guessing the victor though and the same applied here as eventually even this three pound two ounce eleven dram specimen ran out of juice and slid over the rim and toward expectant scales. Brilliant, I almost love hybrids as much as real fish, almost

Suddenly the focus returned and so did the action, another outrageous lift bite, another outrageously hefty canal fish tussling under the water. Unmistakable by fight this time as a big old bream and, sure enough, he was and, with line wrapped around its pectoral fin, not at all easy to contain. In the net to which it only just fitted this was the archetypal old battle-worn fish with scars and a damaged dorsal to match, a survivor. The rod showed additional depth of strength this day and it really is the all-round perfect big canal fish model

Two ounce roach made to look like bait fish

I could go on and on, and on, ("You already have!", you may cry), so entertaining were these two mornings. I actually tried other pegs with further events involving jack russells, muntjac and jays ensuing but I'll stop here. Second biggest ever North Oxford Canal bronze bream, fourth biggest ever all-waters hybrid and seventh biggest NOxC roach in four hours of activity, you just can't beat this fishing lark can you?! April was the month last year and so it is proving again

Saturday bird list:
Chaffinch
Magpie
Mallard
Moorhen
Blackcap
Blue tit
Swallow
Cormorant (x3)
Greenfinch
Blackbird
Song thrush
Carrion crow
Rook
Woodpigeon
Chiffchaff
Reed bunting
Heron
Mistle thrush
Great tit
Wren
Robin
Pheasant
Green woodpecker
Goldfinch
Bullfinch
Jackdaw
Indet gull

Sunday bird list:
Chaffinch
Greenfinch
Goldfinch
Blue tit
Great tit
Wren
Moorhen
Mallard
Carrion crow
Jackdaw
Heron
Goldcrest
Stock dove
Woodpigeon
Pheasant
Robin
Blackbird
Song thrush
Rook
Great spotted woodpecker
Swallow
Blackcap
Chiffchaff
Jay
LBB gull
Silver bream
Roach
Muntjac
Rabbit

My Back End. A Resume of the End of the River Fishing Season

My back-end.

Wednesday the mist quite literally descended on another coarse season, at least for this angler, and, as the greens begin to emerge through the browns, what is certain is that 30 years ago, when he last regularly set foot on riverbanks, he would rarely have found himself there in winter and even less likely in floods, preferring the alternative challenge of a canal to the liquid soil that is the inundated natural watercourse

That anyone ever endeavoured to discover what is now known about the good possibility of catching fish under such circumstances is beyond comprehension, but do it they did, probably due to the need to eat in prehistory, and now we are able to take advantage of that knowledge

For only two weeks of this winter has the River Leam been at its 'normal' winter level and yet the catches this angler has enjoyed have been of great interest, even if only to himself. At times, were it not for proof elsewhere, one might have wondered whether 'normal' level meant flush with the tops of the banks.

So the past couple of weeks, with the river quickly reaching a comfortably fishable state and the fish, according to the textbooks, undoubtedly ravenously feeding, a number of visits needed to be made before the opportunity slipped away and, on next inspection, the river banks would be chest-high in vegetation and the channel awash with rushes.

At this point we need to remember that my now favourite small river is no Trent of the '80's either in size, species variety, fish population or any other respect apart from holding water for that matter. It's fish are also quite difficult to catch.

Every available opportunity to get on the Leam's banks has been taken over the past two weeks and some of the best roach and chub fishing of the season within the above constraints has been there to enjoy.

 A last week catch. Chub to 3-1-11, Roach to 0-11-10.

One surprising aspect of the winding course is its depth in certain pegs. In some pegs the river is all-but as deep as it is wide and, bearing in mind that a 6 foot deep peg this week would have been 11-12 feet deep a month ago, Parps and I were staggered as we fished into dark to find the margins alive with fry in our headlamps. How could they have survived a period of five months of extreme raised levels one might ask, but then we do have to recall that these species have been around far longer than we have and they might just have evolved some coping mechanisms by now. Even armed with that knowledge it still seems incredible however.

So we've tried a few new things over the past few days...Parps tried fluorescent pinkies in white bread groundbait but only succeeded in catching minnows, but, as a new species to him, he was mildly amused by that. At the same time it has been impossible to catch roach on a float with bread flake whereas they could be caught with a static bait so long as one was prepared to wait for the hittable bites among the taps of fish pulling crumbs off the hook bait. That has been entertaining too but the main lesson to be drummed home by a concerted period of attention to the river has been that short sharp attacks on the unsuspecting inhabitants are by far the best approach. After two or three hours things start to tail-off and cannot be resurrected in its limited confines; this, combined with the obvious peak times at dawn and dusk, provides some obvious answers.

The short stretch that we now have exclusive rights to has proven unfishable quite regularly but the past couple of weeks have produced a couple of chub at just under and just over 2lbs and it currently further adds weight (sorry) to the conclusion that a two pound chub is very much the standard and one over three pounds seem to me to be a good'un. I wonder if anyone else has any contemporary experiences to compare with that on this lightly-fished watercourse?

2 pounders above and a three pounder below

After two seasons, or winters in reality, on the river much has been learnt and a simple effective approach while travelling light has been settled-upon...and then just yesterday a guy comes down to try drop-shotting, now there's an idea!

So, what next then? Well, literally next, we are back to canals and the odd appropriately naturalised still-water including the syndicate water, which to date has been baffling largely due to heavy colour which should be dropping out now, but, as far as river fishing goes, there is a distinct temptation to extend the stretches of the Leam we can access beyond that currently available to us come next season, so that needs further investigation.

For this angler though the highlight of the river season was the very last thing to happen.

At 7.15pm fishing in heavy mist that had descended unnoticed in the infrared glow of my head-torch, and very little other than odd micro-dace-like taps on the tip to amuse me and apart from trying to identify night flying birds by call...and failing, there was a splash and slopping sounds just down to my right, As the positioning was adjusted to gain a view a quite huge curving dark shape broke the reflection of the sky on the silvering surface. As it cruised past just four metres or so in front of my eyes the finest sight since the (too oft mentioned) two pound canal roach formed in words in my mind - a quite massive dog otter had entered the water from its daytime lie right next to me and headed south down the river. This was one camera opportunity I could not miss, but miss it I did; as I reached for it this superior predator, and survivor of 5000 years of human persecution, dived in an instant panic of self-preservation to resurface downstream past a concealing bush at which distance it was too dark to get a focus and the chance was lost

The scene through which it swam

How long before the next bite? Fifteen minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Water clarity was good for bread fishing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What to do?

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

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

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

Kids and Fishing. Part Two

"That tree is usually on the bank and next to it is a dished channel that all the fish will be in under these flood conditions".

...2 hours later...

"Shall we try somewhere else now?"

"Let's put everything we don't need in the car and just take a few bits down the field and we'll see if we can find any steady water to fish. That's where the fish'll be"

"Okay. Don't leave the pork pies in the car though!"

"Make sure you don't go over the waterproof bit of your boots in this marsh. When you're climbing the gate hotch along to end so that you can climb down on to dry land".

"The farmer's come down with a rope dad what would he need that for I wonder?"

"Hmm, not sure unless he's worried a sheep might've been washed in and he'll need to drag it out".

"This peg looks brilliant you can just imagine where the chub and perch will be like in Mr Crabtree, You know, when he has C's and P's on the water an' that. You can see the crease as well look!"

"You can, can't you? A great looking peg this. We'll definitely catch something here".

...1 hour later...

"I tell you what, let's go back to the car now. I don't think the water is still rising (it was) but I don't want to risk getting cut-off without waders".

"What would we do if it did get higher?"

"Just follow the higher ground with the sheep, see how they stay up there and they'll sleep up there too as normal. They never sleep low down. They might seem simple but they know where to sleep".

"That was quite an adventure today Parps!".

"Yeah I loved it. Even though we didn't catch anything, I'm not bothered about that. Don't you think the pastry makes pork pies? I love the pastry".

Next day, the canal, sense prevailed but no early start

It went like this...

"There see, a little imagination and the right way to tempt the fish and you've got a half pound perch to show for it and I haven't had a bite on bread. You'd win matches with that attitude, there used to be plenty of anglers who'd just sit there and wait rather than make things happen in matches".

"Did you used to fish in many matches when you were younger Dad?"

"Well not at your age, just one or two junior matches in the summer but when I was older, before you were born, it would be at least four matches a week in the summer. Open matches Saturday and Sunday with two or three evening matches in between"

"It must've taken a lot of time?"

"Yes, but that's what I wanted to do. It was more a case of how much it cost so you needed to put all your spare wages into it. Opens were £10 pools in those days with evening matches much less"

"So if there were ten people and they all paid ten pounds the winner got £100?"

"Well it's not quite that simple but yes thats the principle of it"

"When can I go in a match?"

A PREDATION SENSATION

Having just visited Mick Newey's always entertaining Piscatorial Quagswagging (http://calamitymn.blogspot.co.uk) (where did you discover that word Mick?!) to find a link to a 116 page document about the angling world-perceived problem of fish predation I feel compelled to write something

But what, what should I write?

My natural reaction is to side against any groundswell of angling opinion as it is all-but always driven by the sensationalist and self-preservative tendencies of the tabloid-esque angling press, desperate for a sale in an insular world they would have you believe is necessarily controlled by tackle companies and a single fish species

The fact that it is inevitable today for issues associated with carp to be high profile factors is again a turn-off due to the inextricable link to economics and ego. It is surely natural to question the supposed necessity to maintain waters for the benefit of a single species or any unnatural mix, the reasons I resist can surely be the only ones

Next there is the logical thought that fishery owners and managers shoot themselves and the sport in the foot and fin when they measure the importance of their, no doubt individually-named, stock in £'s not lbs.

I could go on

...and I will


For those who, like me, do not have the stomach for 116 pages of such information, 'Predation: An Ecological Disaster. The Big Picture' is a compilation of research documents, press clippings, commentary and opinion by scientists, supposedly high profile anglers, politicians, celebrities, etc., presented as being published for The Predation Action Group (PAG).

PAG it seems is the joint effort of various angling 'personalities' and others reporting back to the Angling Trust but sadly their website does them no favours (www.thepredationactiongroup.co.uk). If you were to click on the otter in the predators section and read the first sentence you will immediately get my drift

Anyway, the thrust of it is to convince those who may condone it that destruction of presupposed culprits is essential to maintain an artificial level of control over predators to the benefit of the quantity and size of fish available to be caught and ultimately, of course, to reward those who believe that fish exist to adorn them with gold and those whose heads grow fat upon their capture. No need to expand further on that

Thankfully blogworld is heavily populated by countryfolk who fully appreciate that a balanced ecological community is what we all desire of our favourite waters and that a healthy, naturally biodiverse countryside is a laudible aim we should all be able to enjoy for its, at the same time, magical, beautiful, weird and wonderful qualities

The fact that certain introductions would upset the balance was inevitable. Otters for instance have spread naturally into my part of the world following, and possibly directly because of, introductions elsewhere. It will now take time for a natural balance to descend on the watercourses they inhabit especially when combined with the fact that there are now coincidentally so many signal crayfish for them to forage on in some of those waters

New introductions of non-indigenous species, it would undoubtedly be fair to say, are never well advised

Alien species inevitably cause initial problems beyond prediction and the imagination before they settle back to a natural level in the newly adjusted ecosystem, often at a cost to a pre-existing species (mink/water vole being the obvious example)

Reintroductions are another matter, what are we (they) trying to achieve? If we allow ourselves to be sentimental for a second then, yes, it is nice to be able to see the majesty of red kites close to home but I still and always will see them as a slightly false 'tick', just as I do with white-tailed eagles on the annual Highlands excursion, monstrously impressive though they are. These species have been lost for whatever reason in the past and their presence now does nothing to reinstate the then extant balance of fauna at the time they last graced these isles. So what is the point of all that?

I could go on and on, page after page, on this subject of course

The fact of the matter is that we have what we have at any one point in time. If it were down to me, and it isn't as thankfully I am nobody in the scheme of things, there would be no introductions, no reintroductions and heavy protection and conservation of what we already have with emphasis on the relinking and enlarging of the widest possible variety of valuable habitat as part of a nationwide strategy. This should be the fundamental thrust of conservation - to maximise the chances for the broadest range of biodiversity to survive, strengthened not weakened, in the interests of maintaining Gaia to the benefit of all species, ourselves included. This should be the predominant national policy above all other or our, perhaps immediate, children may live to regret the actions of ourselves, their predecessors

So how does that leave us with the PAG document?

Well, do we not simply have to wait and make of situations of change what we can? My local waters had been hard venues from which to catch fish, certainly since the 1960's, but in 2013 the canal fished so well I actually got bored and stopped going, and yet simultaneously there was, and is, otter spraint under every suitable bridge and signal crayfish everywhere...oh! and, yes, it is riddled with zander too. This example is the antithesis of the PAG argument; a venue that was incredibly difficult to winkle a few small fish out of thirty years ago but that last year produced numerous double figure bags of quality fish with the additional benefit in the interim of otter, signal crayfish, zander and, at times undoubtedly, cormorants and, to my definite knowledge, goosander too. Similarly a syndicate I belong to has a water which for the first time in living memory is alive with small fish and yet this has occurred at a time when cormorant numbers have been increasing. 'For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction', 'remember those words from school physics?

So what does that prove?

Well nothing of course, other than nothing is clear and it's all guesswork, all round. Nobody understands whats going on and every time it gets tampered with it it goes wrong and becomes ever more complicated

It's quite simple - leave what species remain alone, protect them - and embrace the constant change; 'twas ever thus and always will be so

Small River Chub and Roach

The big canal roach hunt is temporarily shelved with the North Oxford having relinquished it's usual strong colour to the invading cold nights and a distinct lack of roach in some usually key areas. There are still the deeper stretches to go at but, for now, the distraction of early evening River Leam chubbing has taken hold

Last season, and perhaps for part of the season before (I don't recall), the written advice of Tony Miles was implemented with as much commitment as one could muster for the cause and many things were learnt, not least likely swims and a knowledge of the venue which of course is fundamental to all angling quests

Having dallied with the syndicate water earlier in the season and then canals until an appropriate chill hit the air coupled with the most recent downpours, perhaps as long as a month ago, set the mind racing in another field, as it were

It was easy last season to say that the Leam is not the river it once was but who am I to make such a claim after just a few months trying to learn methods never before known? The river, in fact maybe rivers generally, are rarely in good shape for the optimum angling opportunity to present itself. Catching the colour and flow of falling river in perfect circumstances is very much down to luck and the likelihood of these factors merging together on a weekend are nothing less than pure fluke, but recently they did and things were good all along the river when, where anglers bothered, apparently there were good catches of roach to be had as their inhibitions were cast aside

I'm not certain how many sessions I've enjoyed on the Leam over the past year or more but I estimate it, against the loss of records for 2012/13, at around 20 or maybe it was only 15 but somewhere in that bracket for sure, and those usually short, sharp sorties were an average of no more than 2 hours long. Many of those estimated 30 to 40 hours bankside were spent fishing bread flake combined with mashed bread feed for chub and big roach. The target being to crack the 4lb Leam chub barrier so regularly breached by Mr Miles and his conspirees back in the heyday of this short yet intriguing water course

Mist descends on the valley

35 hours produced 6 chub and 1 notable roach to the novice small stream angler. Then, as I often committed to writing at that time, the venue was regularly well under par with low flows and clear conditions, and consequently I only recall taking two chub earlier than 30 minutes before actual sunset - both just over 2lbs as it happens. The other four came around or after dusk when I would occasionally fish for an hour into dark by which time I'd either caught one and killed the tiny restricted swim with the commotion or no bites had ensued and the roast dinner took over the immediate thoughts

So apart from the optimal conditions three to four weeks back, when as it happens I was trying to avoid roach and later regretted it!, the river has fairly quickly reverted to that same situation and catching decent fish in daylight has become a challenge

Saturday I ended up in the fortunate situation of having from dawn until just after lunch free to really have a go at the river and I had convinced myself in a previous evening session (which produced chub of 2.1.0 and 3.4.0 to link legered large flakes while watching what appeared to be good roach rising in the moonlight at an inaccessible area of the swim) that to return with a small cage feeder on a carefully spool-clipped cast and filled with liquidised bread was the way forward.

Two pounds of lipless chub

Difficult to see in this dreadful photo but two parallel lines 4-5" apart on both flanks set this fish apart

 And work it did but nothing over 5-6ozs was taken in a major experimentation session messing around with hook sizes, tail lengths, shot on the tail, etc., until I had convinced myself that a 20mm bread punch (I didn't want to go any smaller anyway), a nine inch tail and a simple link-legered approach was probably about the best I could do. Of course I knew that the chances of bigger fish were going to be scuppered by the timing of the visit, and so it proved, but nevertheless the option of trying this at dusk instead of the usual chub tactics will now add to the variety of options on offer. I also intend not to use the 11' Avon as the tips seem just a touch too stiff for roach and so the Wand will no doubt get an outing soon and we just pray that the 4lb chub does not appear on the evening (it will of course!), having said that the wand has coped admirably with hard-fighting fish over 2lbs thus far and so maybe I shouldn't unduly worry. I'm also pondering the option of a baitdropper using a short pole for certain baits to be fed, particularly chopped worms for perch if I can decide on a swim for the approach. This may be a better bet in daylight as perch seem to me to be the least bothered fish when it comes to feeding outside the hours of darkness, apart perhaps from pike

So the day produced around 3lbs of small roach, with one dace and one minnow, and the only decent bite I had was on the very last cast as I was putting a knot in the liquidised bread bag. Apart from picking up the flask I can think of no more sure-fire manner in which to conjure that elusive bite!

Pristine little fella

 

The greed!

Sunday evening I was back for a last minutes of daylight chub session in a swim I had seen last year but not seriously fished under then heavy flows. It offered a good flow under the rod-tip in a reasonable depth, an eddy to my right on the inside and another opposite behind a rush bed. I could just about make-out the C's painted on the water by the ghost of Mr Crabtree in various locations. I have figured with this early evening tactic that the best thing to do is to fish very close to the peg initially and gradually work ones way further away from oneself as time progresses on the basis that if you fish the very end of the swim first and are lucky enough to take a fish then it will decimate the rest of the peg in the time taken to force it upstream

So, first drop in, having introduced mash in various strategic locations, was in the eddy to my right and as I tightened to the swan shot the tip just continued to bend round after I had stopped winding the reel, I struck and felt nothing. Dropping in again produced an exact replica bite and soon a chub of a pound four was being reintroduced to the water with thanks for his boisterousness

Already an isotope was in order as it had taken a few minutes to walk to the peg but half an hour later as my casts had become increasingly long and searching, albeit by small degrees, another relatively gentle bend of the tip resulted in a good fight from a fish which took me under a submerged branch and after some cajoling eventually came out on a slack line only to then take me into the rush bed just 3m in front of me! This time a good ol' heave brought it out on top and across the surface into the waiting net. A perfectly formed chub of 2.13.0 and causing enough chaos to send me scuttling back through the descending mist after snagging on an invisible bush in the dark and losing everything that mattered soon after

The most recent victim

Already the short chub list, or chub short-list, equals that of last winter with six taken but as it gets colder, and the winter properly sets in, I really fancy this just might be a more interesting campaign than last year with another stretch to assess on the horizon with deep holes linked by fast-flowing gulleys. Meanwhile the cage feeder for roach tactic will be deployed after dark to see what redfins we can tempt, if any. I took one over a pound last winter and as The Old Duffer says. "Where there's one...there's one".

The Fyshes of The River Leam

 

The River Leam has a certain hold over me it has to be said. Not that I have, as yet, in around twenty sorties to its sometimes uncomfortable banks, had a good catch or even a seriously noteworthy individual fish but it is the wider engagement and enjoyment that drags one passively within its thrall

This past weekend, before the Virtual Gentleman had introduced and then released me from canal perch heaven, a morning was spent dropping lobworms and bread into various attractive swims which concluded with the angler needing to avoid the three to four ounce roach every cast in the hope of fooling one of their larger brethren of a more established year class into having a nibble. It is some change that has occurred that finds the weight-building yet slender and easily swung to hand roach of the match angler's dreams being shunned in favour of something more fruity and ample

Two swims, with the river at a declining a perfectly coloured level after the previous rains, produced small but strongly resistant dace and roach on baits aimed at pound plus fish of any species daft enough to succumb until I suddenly burst with the enthusiasm to fish an obvious peg I had always walked past as being, well, plainly too obvious. Here the roach were even more prevalent and anyone who was of a mind to sit and fill the keepnet for a few hours over the weekend would have been made-up, as they say in some regions (and on the stage), at the level of sport as the water hit it's peak of fishability for the first time this season

Clearly, in the selected domain, no one else had twigged this fact as there were no pegs that had been fished, save the obvious one, and the tall ruderal needed trampling to create pegs anywhere else. No stalking undertaken by the summer visitor here methinks



First cast in the obvious swim with a tail of lob in the hope of catching one of the, thus far neatly avoided but supposedly resident, specimae unawares produced my best Leam perch yet at a measly 12-14 ounces (not weighed, too muddy, couldn't move, boots stuck), but a fighter in the strong current. Then plenty of bites on a small topper running through the 3-4 foot deep glide toward a small raft and teasing the float either side of it whenever possible in that secretly-held hope that a leviathan monster thingy lies in wait just behind it...it didn't, but (the royal) we did have the pleasure of a couple of perfectly formed ten ounce roach before, having switched to a 1.5 swan link leger, the trigger that often makes me up-sticks occurred - a snagged rig and lost tackle



I had told myself I would try another swim, just briefly, before leaving for the day which had been cut into perfect form by last years' apparently incessant raging floods and this was the opportunity to try it. Creeping through the growth and carefully depositing a lobworm over the rushes into the undercut just beyond I felt no action until I sought to retrieve the source of anticipated temptation from the flow at which point a couple of gentle taps and the most almighty of swirls resulted in - nothing. The wozm came back unaffected and the fish undisturbed. Gut feeling says it may have been an opportune strike by a pike but we'll never know

That was the last of the action for the day leaving me full of questions and a burning need to return. Having made the spot eminently more fishable though not exposed I departed for the pleasures of the paint roller

Wednesday, arrived as darkness fell at the perfect undercut peg. Threw in three hands full of mashed bread and wandered downstream with single lobworm while it settled and the great chub of the Leam moved in, or so I dusk-dreamt

Tap-t-tap-p-tap-tap, over and over, and nothing to strike at. Again I could have, and would in the past have, relented and offered just the end of a lobworm; the lob, the worm or even perhaps the obwo middle bit but no a fully spelt and sized lobworm would bring the unexpected and as expected I returned, with nothing to show for the walkabout, to the perfect swim

A large piece of Warburton's best was wrapped around the shank of the hook just sufficient to gently sink against a single swan shot right under the rod-tip, silently and without a ripple. And nothing occurred

The beast in the field opposite became drawn to my ill-perceived concealment giving me away to first a magpie and then a cock blackbird which cried-out its shrill alarm overhead as it crashed into the bushes downstream to hide from the dark until the morn came and Cat Stevens serenaded him back into the open as if never before

Given that my method was tantamount to freelining I found it difficult to remain in contact with the bait in the increasing gloom but as I lifted the rig to refresh what was expected to be a limp and soggy bait - resistance. A surge. The perfect peg, whilst perfect in terms of its depth, flow and ease of access thereto, was only three metres wide between bank and opposing rush bed which, combined, defined the channel. I leaned into the fish and soon realised it to be my first river chub of the season and suitably sized at 2-0-13 though no match for the 1.5lb tc rod of course

The slim fish was gently returned a few pegs below and back we came for more, not expecting anything; it is a statement of fact that I have never had two chub from the same Leam swim in those previous twenty trips

The darkness continued to descend (as I have found it tends to during the evening) and I settled-in for what I intended to be an hour's committed concentration

More mash was added both after the fish and now and then as time slipped by until, some while later, a sign of life with a more gentle bite than I had been used to and a chub of just over a pound was soon spooned out and returned with the least of fuss. The risk had been taken to return it where I comfortably sat, given it was a relative tiddler, in fact my smallest Leam cub to date I suspect, as my headtorch was waning and I could otherwise see myself marooned in the field affeared to move in case the next step took me into irretrievable, and distinctly wet, trouble if it completely failed

Just over an hour into dark I was beginning to contemplate home and a roaring stove with the realisation that I hadn't quite put enough layers on and the chill creeping through to the neck upper back like myceliae of a spreading fungal attack. As they say in the US I hunkered down (we don't really have word for that, do we?) and reverted to mind over matter and absolute stillness until, on tweaking the bait for perhaps the fiftieth time of the session, it was ripped out of my hand by the actual quarry...I assume...the fight was brief and savage; and so I became, as the line parted and literally shot into the tree to my left like a bullet seeking an identified target. A further volley, though this time of verbal abuse, filled the immediate and by-now freezing air as I tried to make sense of the sudden loss of what would without doubt have been the fish I had sought since starting this affair with this small and intriguing stream

By now though the landing net had frozen into lace ice and so a quick dash back to car to tootle home and replenish the body's warmth was in order, and with it the opportunity to ponder what had just happened. In the cold dark of night (okay I admit, illuminated by various dials) it became clear that the rod had locked-out and the clutch hadn't been lightly set to suitably respond. Cue a revisit to Tony Miles' bible and next time I set the clutch to come into play at that very time when the rod fails you and the fish bottoms it out to its benefit

In match fishing times it had been so easy to back-wind when necessary and hope for the best as often, in the old days, playing a big fish for ages would be counterproductive and it genuinely was sometimes better to lose them but now losing them is failure and landing them is all

This is learning the hardest way and, for me certainly, I don't learn until something this dramatic has happened to make it sink in

At the end of last season a chub of 3-13-0 was no match for the same rod in post flood conditions so what size might this fish have been I wonder? It is to easy to say it was this big or that big but the fact is unknown, who's to say it wasn't wrapped up with weed too? There's no way of telling but one thing is certain, the mystery of this little river gets to you and its got me good and proper