Just recently I received news that I had been successful in gaining membership of a syndicate that controls angling on a water I regularly visited as a boy. My interest then was largely ornithological and being, then, of an age to permanently capture vividly fruit-centred memories my recollection is fond in a quite dewy-eyed way
Sanderling and black tern there remain my only sightings of the species, in the company of The Old Duffer, but it was the rattling voices of reed and sedge warblers that stick more clearly in the mind combined with finding a frog inside a tuft of rush, owl pellets and a jack pike being caught on a spinner which contained 90-odd tiny roach fry and a single sucking leech. I recall the pike tasting like very mild trout and remains, thankfully, the only time I have eaten it from both a culinary and conservation orientated perspective...there'll be none of that going-on this time around!
In angling terms it is something of an enigma to me. I never had a proper bite there as I recall, just a couple of liners on a swing-tip and yet I know that with concerted effort it was capable of producing roach around the magical weight and held at least one shoal of hefty bream plus odd tench, a group of which I once had the pleasure of viewing in shallow water as they queued up to spawn in a channel, perch and pike. No doubt there are other species but I distinctly recall a lack of small fish among the catches elders and betters then took. A friend of The Old Duffers' claims to have caught an inordinate number of big roach over his long angling career and it is mainly this possibility that draws me back
Approaching this completely new challenge 'safe' in the knowledge that this is very hard water, harder than any canal, currently spurs me on and yet in my previous angling life pre-1990's I wouldn't even have entertained such a prospect. Now though the prospect of the odd blank in pursuit of the incredible is an attraction and, having lost impetus with canals for the time being, it also comes at an opportune moment when seeking a contrasting and varied angling portfolio, so to speak. Yes, I can see the mix of small stream, very difficult stillwater and occasional canal will suit quite nicely for the foreseeable
The syndicate does not permit publicity and although the pro's and con's, well mainly the con's, have been debated in blog-world recently I can respect that view on venues which would otherwise be vulnerable to the down-side of literally 'broadcast' news. While I would generally take the view that the more open and transparent we are the better I am not averse to a touch of secrecy from time to time if it is necessary and in this instance I strongly believe it to be so therefore will have no qualms in being very careful about future information and how it is presented, for that I apologise in advance. That said I yet need to even set foot on the bank and cast a line into the fondly remembered waves before I can even dream of reporting anything even remotely interesting but at least the enthusiasm and confidence in the challenge are well-set.
With The Lady Burton back in the real world the prospect of an early sortie might just present itself fairly soon. The prospect of high winds, rolling waves, the tempting bird life, a type of angling I have never before sought to understand and perhaps even the occasional bite is really quite appealing
Showing posts with label common frog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label common frog. Show all posts
Tuesday, 2 July 2013
Thursday, 29 March 2012
A CLOCK & A HARD PLACE
(A blog out of sequence on the North Oxford Canal)
Light was already fading as I approached the water, flushing the obligatory pair of mallard into a syncronised vertical take-off (& yet a harrier is a floaty bird of prey?!). Sunset was to be at 6.27pm and camp was made at 5.50pm
The increased acceleration of a narrowboat could be heard penetrating the arch of the traditional brick humpback bridge as I emerged from the muffled sound within the car. The impact remained visible closer-to with clouds of silt swirling a channel like cold tea. 'One lump or two?' I murmured, as I took pole position two swims east, and concluded 'probably none!' with only a few minutes until dark and little time to build any interest
Such a long time away from such a scene had erased the memory that Friday evening was the antithesis of pleasure, as would be Saturday morning, with instant narrowboaters charging back to madly multiplying marinas at full throttle for changeover to the next...and end of school term imminent
Undeterred, I assembled the minimised kit having discarded all manner of, now pointless, competitive attachments and fry-seeking enhancements in the back room to gather dust until the Lady Burton could explain the machinations of 'sell one like this' to me
Selecting a rig from the myriad multicoloured bars of the 'gaudy fishing heaven' tray was a challenge...all too light, until I found one I could make do & mend with and attached an 18 to take two maggots
A regime of introducing 3-6 wriggly carrots & turnips every few minutes commenced, the gable of a building opposite served as a perfect target as the effort concentrated in the gap between a window and the alarm box in its reflection
Things were always going to be hard, this was at best a location from which I had occasionally mustered two pounds of fish and at worst a place to avoid an unequivocal water-licking but I was there & approaching a potentially good time of year
The water pulled left then right and refuse to settle, with locks 2 miles west and 6 or 7 miles east to battle over the water volume; the tug of war continued into the gloom until, at the point when I had again blanked-out the possibility of further disturbance, a second narrowboat with headlamp blazing chugged out of the bridge arch to my left, slowing-down as it passed - the cafuffle thwarted - but at an optimum time to terminally delay the likelihood of a bite
By this time a precious hour had passed and I reached for a headlamp to illuminate from above. An ultrasound device, seeking out the night's first common pipistrelle at around 10degC gently glowed next to the piercing brightness of my phone clock while the headlamp bizarrely picked up the reflecting white back of a common frog's eye as it passed the blazing float tip. It moved as if breaststroking against the grain of a ploughed field toward the near bank and out of view
The bat appeared at 7.10, with its slappy sound somewhat distant and fleeting, accompanied by the probable pre-nesting nocturnal peewit-ing of green plovers in a meadow to my left, abruptly returning later to forage briefly nearby and depart as instantly. 40 minutes after sunset suggested the flying marvel was a long way from its roost given that they tend to emerge after just 20.
The water continued to pull to the right and by now I was seriously beginning to contemplate the prospect of another trip without any fish on view but with the steady trickle of free maggots continuing and the float held back against the flow with a hookbait 6" over-depth it was still possible that a monster of the not-so-deep would trip over the bait so I told myself 7.30 would be the deadline
A few tiny fish had been topping just prior to dark together with the hint of a couple of their larger brethren beneath the surface but insufficient evidence to give cause for confidence as I started to chill and drew a soft fleece-lined collar over my neck
More mallards continually quietly muttered their irritation at my presence when at 7.29 the float seemed to have disappeared. I looked to the right of my float to get that additional focus of the natural human night vision ('searches schoolboy biology memory bank - rods and cones?) and became certain I struck up and left and the blue elastic extended two feet then more accompanied by the momentary suggestion of hooked heavy debris when a motion reminiscent of piscine digging commenced, after alternate spells of kiting and more digging the predicted perch appeared a deep green in the lamp beam and slipped into the net
On inspection this footballer was remarkably brightly coloured for a murky North Oxford Canal inhabitant, and notably rotund, sure enough this female fish was eating for hundreds! At 14ozs she was probably 4ozs overweight but would soon return to fitness once the excitement of spring was over
Fifteen minutes later the call of the square section potato we know as chips overwhelmed me and the scene was deserted, next time I'll remember to avoid the prime boating periods!
[Species list: Jackdaw, lapwing, mallard, robin, great tit, fieldfare, common frog, common pipistrelle, perch]
Light was already fading as I approached the water, flushing the obligatory pair of mallard into a syncronised vertical take-off (& yet a harrier is a floaty bird of prey?!). Sunset was to be at 6.27pm and camp was made at 5.50pm
The increased acceleration of a narrowboat could be heard penetrating the arch of the traditional brick humpback bridge as I emerged from the muffled sound within the car. The impact remained visible closer-to with clouds of silt swirling a channel like cold tea. 'One lump or two?' I murmured, as I took pole position two swims east, and concluded 'probably none!' with only a few minutes until dark and little time to build any interest
Such a long time away from such a scene had erased the memory that Friday evening was the antithesis of pleasure, as would be Saturday morning, with instant narrowboaters charging back to madly multiplying marinas at full throttle for changeover to the next...and end of school term imminent
Undeterred, I assembled the minimised kit having discarded all manner of, now pointless, competitive attachments and fry-seeking enhancements in the back room to gather dust until the Lady Burton could explain the machinations of 'sell one like this' to me
Selecting a rig from the myriad multicoloured bars of the 'gaudy fishing heaven' tray was a challenge...all too light, until I found one I could make do & mend with and attached an 18 to take two maggots
A regime of introducing 3-6 wriggly carrots & turnips every few minutes commenced, the gable of a building opposite served as a perfect target as the effort concentrated in the gap between a window and the alarm box in its reflection
Things were always going to be hard, this was at best a location from which I had occasionally mustered two pounds of fish and at worst a place to avoid an unequivocal water-licking but I was there & approaching a potentially good time of year
The water pulled left then right and refuse to settle, with locks 2 miles west and 6 or 7 miles east to battle over the water volume; the tug of war continued into the gloom until, at the point when I had again blanked-out the possibility of further disturbance, a second narrowboat with headlamp blazing chugged out of the bridge arch to my left, slowing-down as it passed - the cafuffle thwarted - but at an optimum time to terminally delay the likelihood of a bite
By this time a precious hour had passed and I reached for a headlamp to illuminate from above. An ultrasound device, seeking out the night's first common pipistrelle at around 10degC gently glowed next to the piercing brightness of my phone clock while the headlamp bizarrely picked up the reflecting white back of a common frog's eye as it passed the blazing float tip. It moved as if breaststroking against the grain of a ploughed field toward the near bank and out of view
The bat appeared at 7.10, with its slappy sound somewhat distant and fleeting, accompanied by the probable pre-nesting nocturnal peewit-ing of green plovers in a meadow to my left, abruptly returning later to forage briefly nearby and depart as instantly. 40 minutes after sunset suggested the flying marvel was a long way from its roost given that they tend to emerge after just 20.
The water continued to pull to the right and by now I was seriously beginning to contemplate the prospect of another trip without any fish on view but with the steady trickle of free maggots continuing and the float held back against the flow with a hookbait 6" over-depth it was still possible that a monster of the not-so-deep would trip over the bait so I told myself 7.30 would be the deadline
A few tiny fish had been topping just prior to dark together with the hint of a couple of their larger brethren beneath the surface but insufficient evidence to give cause for confidence as I started to chill and drew a soft fleece-lined collar over my neck
More mallards continually quietly muttered their irritation at my presence when at 7.29 the float seemed to have disappeared. I looked to the right of my float to get that additional focus of the natural human night vision ('searches schoolboy biology memory bank - rods and cones?) and became certain I struck up and left and the blue elastic extended two feet then more accompanied by the momentary suggestion of hooked heavy debris when a motion reminiscent of piscine digging commenced, after alternate spells of kiting and more digging the predicted perch appeared a deep green in the lamp beam and slipped into the net
On inspection this footballer was remarkably brightly coloured for a murky North Oxford Canal inhabitant, and notably rotund, sure enough this female fish was eating for hundreds! At 14ozs she was probably 4ozs overweight but would soon return to fitness once the excitement of spring was over
Fifteen minutes later the call of the square section potato we know as chips overwhelmed me and the scene was deserted, next time I'll remember to avoid the prime boating periods!
[Species list: Jackdaw, lapwing, mallard, robin, great tit, fieldfare, common frog, common pipistrelle, perch]
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