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

 

Variety and Application...or...What to do when it gets tough

Christmas Day a warm memory, the FF&F household refreshingly quiet as the others recover and a scattering of Santa seed brings a small flock of chaffinches to the bare bonfire surrounds, but the male dominated group are flighty and currently peer out from the trees awaiting the first mover to trigger the rest to follow.

A lone fieldfare, a much overlooked species but quite beautiful if one takes the time, in violent pursuit of anything thrush-like, ensures the fallers are his

Pondering the last month, it has been outstanding in its unpredictability and, largely weather driven, hit-and-miss-ness. It pays to plan carefully and ensure anything is possible at any moment but even then these intentions will fail more often that not without stable conditions.

Applying the experience of the decades is so important at such times and, rifling through the notes, it makes for a veritable eclecto-feast of tactics:
15.11.17 - Canal - sea deadbaits & lures
17 11 17 (am) - Reservoir - Cage feeder & bread
17 11 17 (pm) - Stream - Cage feeder & liquidised bread
18 11 17 - Reservoir - Slider & caster
19 11 17 - Reservoir - Experimental 'zig rig' with bread
20 11 17 - Reservoir - Waggler & caster
22 11 17 - Canal - Spratt deadbaits
25 11 17 - Canal - Lift method & bread
26 11 17 - Reservoir - 2 x maggot feeders
28 11 17 - Canal - Lift method & bread
29 11 17 - Reservoir - 'Zig rig' & bread
02 12 17 - Canal - Lift method & bread
03 12 17 - The Stillwater - Mackerel deadbaits
17 12 17 - ditto
18 12 17 - River - Pole feeder & bread mash

Minus 10C overnight; five or six inches of snow; heavy rain; 11C in the day; clear skies & sun have all been over and upon us during that period and none of them to any benefit for the angler unless they were to stick around and become the norm

The above and more determine the unquestionable need to keep the mind active and look to apply methods that will work in the particular circumstances that prevail, led by the preceding and present weather

In all those trips since the last post (not now bugler!) there have been one or two highlights that must not be omitted. Top of the list, firmly, a call from a dear old former traveling companion who, since our paths diverged, made his merry way into one of the handful of top English match angling teams as soon as I stopped holding him back(!), captained them until 3 years ago and took part in the World Club Championships. We could have spoken for hours and it took only a few seconds of the call to get onto angling! I can see it will be regular thing now that we're back in touch

Onto actual angling - a second-largest stillwater pike of 8.11 was rapidly subsumed into the afterglow of a p.b. dismantling lump of 16lbs precisely. The third bite in three casts at dawn. A perfectly spotless fish, well those spots that weren't supposed to be there at least, if you get my drift-float. To top it, there was still some snow around to enhance her visage

A three pounds nine ounce chub first cast on the pole feeder with bread was welcome on a particularly tricky day on the Warwickshire Avon. The somewhat subdued fight brought about by the elastic a boon when fishing this method. Unfortunately a slip and sudden flip saw it back in the drink before I had even taken the camera from the bag, so to speak. Accomplished as ever.

The chaffinches have returned on the other side of the glass and, grabbing the bin's, we seek that gem of the winter, a brambling, but no such fortune as yet. It usually takes a prolonged spell of desperately cold weather to bring such rarities to the garden and today follows that pattern.

Slider-fished double caster was successful in teasing a two pound perch from eleven feet of chilly reservoir water in a clear patch when weed was problem further out but it took three repeat sessions of regular feeding that same swim to encourage the blighter and some of his small brethren to risk a nibble

The hawfinches continue to elude us but regularly visiting bearded tit showed well enough in the reservoir reedbed, a male again this year. Sometimes as many as six are seen but just the one on this occasion of passage. An agitated individual, seemingly unable to settle, and, flitting from reed stem to reed stem, made itself impossible to photograph and therefore there is no proof to share

Of course I would want normally to close on that now traditional note of a nice big a canal roach. In fact a fish of 1lb 3ozs 3 drams from the banker swim and a bright highlight in a largely testing six week period only very occasionally punctuated with gems but, inexplicably, there is no pic so we will have to make do with this unseasonal tench taken two days before Christmas on a rubber/real red maggot balanced hookbait hopefully wafting just above the reservoir bed. This welcome winter imposter went 2.15.0 but when it came to etiquette in front of camera she was clearly found flipping wanting!

The day will close with heavy rain and then snow

The only certainty therefore being the uncertainty of the weather

The Pursuit of Small Stream Chub and Roach

After the now customary summer angling hiatus, autumn and winter 2014 was a somewhat rudderless affair

Canals had drifted to the back of my mind and the intriguing little River Leam pushed itself to the fore via its curvaceous contours, enhanced later in the year by a new licence allowing a much wider search to be made in often deeply sculpted recesses. Now access to three rural stretches was possible (plus the town waters of Leamington Spa which offer little attraction)

 

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Dear Diary,

 

Saturday

The two trips prior to this weekend had been partly experimental in trying cheese paste for chub without a single bite. Yesterday I reverted to bread, as I had promised myself, and had a lovely fish, just gaining a few golden scales in readiness for summer, first cast in the first swim...they're trying to tell me something. That's meat, worm and cheese paste I've tried for chub over the preceding months and years now and every time I come back to bread. The fish gave a brave and memory-registering account of itself in the stronger flow here, displaying 3-1-0 on the scales and bending the light Avon double at the same time offering a reminder of those many evenings seeking the one biggest fish from the swim after dark that I have now become so impatient with

The sheep by now were apoplectic at my presence and braying loudly in their comedic multi-coloured voices as they faced across the water. Soon though they grew tired of the lack of, no doubt, anticipated food and wandered as only sheep can to the distant reaches of the meadow in search of whatever their somewhat empty heads seek, and back again. They say a low boredom threshold is a sign of intelligence, sheep seem to be up there with the house fly.

Second and third swims, although looking tasty, produced no real bites but the fourth, in many ways similar to the first - a smooth glide leading to an undercut with overhanging bushes - again offered an indication of feeding activity on the first drop-in. As with the first fish, upon the strike it leapt clean out of the stream and a concern it might tangle in branches above the water afflicted me, but no, things were soon calmly in hand and an immaculate never before caught beauty of one and a half pounds was soon laying in the glistening mesh of safety, mildly rouged fins rigid in resistance and mouth fixed agape like a miniature basking shark

Swim five was one known to be holding a shoal of roach from previous visits. An unexpected deep hole leading to a long glide that had an annoying branch impeding tackle control and which had not been removed on the previous visit. No bites this time, despite a couple of topping occupants, and the woody irritant was soon dragged up the bank leaving a clear run for the future

Another uncut leading to a bush was next but it proved snaggy and dangerously tackle-consuming so it was soon deserted

By now darkness was falling and, despite being multi-thermal layered, the air soon noticeably chilled as fieldfares began diving and crashing into riverside bushes for roosting sites in their inimitable style. Woodpigeons and various crow species headed-off to their own secret slumbering locations among the beckoning branches of the darkest woods. The resident punky little grebe scooted by in semi-darkness

A couple of bursts of tapping on the tip lead to nothing decisive another than the distinct impression of a rather desperate small roach in the very last swim and, as the impatience set in once more, the net had frozen solid as I closed-up the stall and headed back, the knowledge of the most likely bait once again underlined in ink, the others struck through in red

Tomorrow, the intention of seeking the biggest chub after dark with the temperature rising to seven or eight degrees into the night from zero at dawn. The river continues to slowly fall, being about eight inches above normal level with a tinge of colour. All indicators suggest an ideal opportunity, but first there is cricket to coach

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Sunday

So, with twenty young batters, fielders and bowlers, and five coaches, thoroughly worn-out, a return was made. Not to the same length but, given the conditions, to the location thought most likely to threaten the current personal Leam chub record of three-thirteen

The pre-planned intention was to alternate crust and flake, feeding mash every half hour or so and possibly also swapping between swims if safe and sufficiently discreet to do so after dark, feeding each as I left in rotation and expecting bites as I dropped-in to each. On this basis expecting relatively long periods without a bait necessarily being in the water, but that depended upon the prevalence of bites and also whether it would be possible to use more than one swim

On arrival, half hour before sundown, three pegs were selected and fed. The air temperature was 8degC and a breeze blew across the river over the right shoulder. The most upstream of the three pegs was to be the one I would be likely to settle in after trying all three, based on the conditions, likelihood of fish and previous experience

First cast was around 5.15pm and two hours later, with not the slightest indication, I sauntered back fishless

But that's why we keep going isn't it? The unpredictability. The challenge.

More time. Less fish?

Two trips down the river this weekend, both p.m. and both in swims I has fancied from previous visits but at ten minutes door to gate it ain't no hardship

Saturday was spent trotting bread under a balsa in what appeared the perfect smooth water glide, up to and beyond a bush, and then a link-leger into dark under the bush with two reasonably decent bites, one missed, one pulled-out, and therefore no fish

Ever-present family of swans slip past backwards in the dark...why?

The seed was sewn however and with the river falling to inversely reflect a contrary increase in air temperature predicted on the Sunday all seemed to point to an unavoidable opportunity. Shopping was pulled-in early with Parps and I waltzing into the shops as soon as they opened and Sunday's first gentle indoor net as he builds up for next cricket season between ten and eleven this would leave a good slot after dropping The Old Duffer and The Old Trout for a show and then night out just after lunch

Having enjoyed running a float through with the centrepin, but sadly not having anything to show for it, I decided to revert to the new pole method which had been reasonably successful a fortnight ago tempting a nice chub first put on the pole and then a sequence of roach

Slowly the tactic is starting to evolve into something worth using regularly and, if anything, it seems slightly more productive than the standard techniques, largely because, in a river dominated by 3 to 12 ounce roach hitting their bites on the 'tip is a recipe for certifiable frustration

A peg was chosen at the end of a mid-river crease where a glide started and I intended to pole-fish that line. The river was still two foot six above normal and nicely coloured with a few smaller roach topping from middle to far bank. An added bonus was a nearside slack downstream of the peg behind a rush bed which I would drop a link leger into as a sleeper option (wit' lobs on't t'hook)

Somehow I wasn't quite 'with it'; the wind was painfully awkward, despite not hitting the water as such, and I was easily distracted. Fifty fieldfares flapped their staccato randomly undulating flight overhead and buzzards mewed as the rode the gusting breeze over the paddocks off the far bank with an eye out for the local bunnies. Other things drew my attention. Dog walkers, wrens, car headlights in the distance, anything but the fishing. On dropping in however a sail-away bite resulted in another first cast chub on the hook, probably around a pound and a half, and in taking one too many joints off the pole too quickly I allowed it to bury itself in rushes under my feet before I had it beaten!

A series of nice hand-sized and just swingable roach followed, and maybe during the forthcoming holiday I may just ditch the effort to seek slightly larger samples and try maggot under a waggler just to see what is in really in there

While the breeze subsided I decided to have a hot drink and triangle of pork pie, only a Pork Farms  jobbie but welcome none the less. Head and tail of lob meanwhile were lowered into the slack while the pole was rested in the field for the time being. As I tightened the rod tip dived toward the surface and a good fighter was on. Ten feet of murky water and a light avon rod helped and hindered the prey but soon it was at the surface and what I thought to be a guaranteed 2.8.0 perch, angry with its erect dorsal flagging capture (and later stabbing my index finger) was netted.

This was one a chubster of a perch, very wide for its length, but it must've swallowed a tennis ball as it went 28.5 ounces on the scales; which was on the one hand disappointing and on the other quite brilliant as it beat the river p.b. by around six ounces and was the second Leam p.b. from the stretch in around three weeks

A veritable pig-perch but quite a beauty nevertheless

At the close the local barn owl screeched just once as it left to quarter the river margins and rough grassland further afield in its massive winter vole-producing range. The net was lifted and three pounds ten ounces of quality fish were carefully returned to the cold water in this the shortest of days, though without a photo as I was rather keen to get away on this occasion

The quite incredible, nay delightful, annual display of Christmas lights in the local village made the single track lanes akin to motorways in weight of traffic with every under twelve, and quite a good number over, visiting to absorb that festive feeling. I however, wishing to avoid the melee, comforted myself in the prior sunset

Autumn in Full Flow

The rate of decomposition of aquatic plants has been quite surprising and given that the daytime temperatures have been more akin to a poor summer and the first noteworthy frost only bit this week this appears to prove that, unlike the triggers our so called intelligence would have us believe apply to such events, it is not simply heat that controls the reaction of life to the seasons

On the stretch of the Leam that Parps and I have the rights to the arrowheads were slipping into browning dormancy some weeks ago and now, it always seems sudden, the bulrush is losing its bottle green shade in many stems, and ‘cabbages’ break up into slimy, khaki folds as, with the oncoming winter, they prepare for that which will ultimately leave only the rhizome intact


Ten days ago the first seasonal redwings sipped in panic as they burst from foraging to the shelter of thick hawthorn in the nearby Warwickshire countryside and only this past week their erstwhile companion the fieldfare followed a similar pattern as a flock of forty took an undulating course parallel to the Fosse

The gnawing sound on stems being trimmed becomes ever less frequent whether I sit bankside or walk quietly near water and the family of six swans on our stretch is reduced to four by the ravages of predatory instinct and the need to feed the next generation of ‘higher’ species

Yesterday morning a train of five jackdaws sky-jacked a quite massive cronking raven as it headed out to the meadows, its Maltese cross profile as evident as ever it could be in this fascinating individual. How long before we become blasé about their presence in the central and east midlands much as we have with the buzzard, and yet at the same time we worry about the loss of species? Strange times indeed

I read recently that the great ecologist Edward O Wilson was marking the start of the MEMO project to build a shrine to the species which have become extinct since the dodo began the decline, now known widely as the sixth mass extinction, on the ‘Jurassic Coast’. A thirty million pound investment in what, to my mind, could prove to be the most powerful reminder to us (in Britain at least) that it really is time to act. Human life created the issue and, if it is possible to reverse the collapse, surely we owe it to the earth to urge it back to fitness

(see here www.memoproject.org)

 

Speaking of counter-intuitive increases in populations as I was, I am seeing, preceded by a deep dull drone, regular hornets in many locations now and yet, until about three years ago, I could only recall one dead individual noted on a bathroom window cill during a survey of a rural house a decade ago. A friend of mine had a swarm take up residence in her porch just a month ago but while they seem somewhat breathtakingly repulsive, with their bloated wasp-like appearance, they are apparently quite docile and unlikely to attack unless, like the bee, they are provoked to such a degree that they feel the need to defend themselves – such as at food sources or nest sites. In fact there is only one documented record of anyone seeking medical attention after a hornet encounter in the whole of Europe! So, like the buzzard and then the raven, is the hornet expanding in Britain having been restricted to southern counties in the past? Well yes, according to the Natural History Museum, it is indeed as they say ‘a known fact’ that hornets are spreading from their historic stronghold around the Exeter and New Forest area

 

The wet weather towards the end of this week has pushed the Middle River Leam level from the standard summer range of 0.25-0.3m to a positively healthy 0.75 over the past two days and with this in mind fresh vigorous lobworms were obtained and are added to the bait range with the obligatory bread. So with a simple Avon quiver set-up and the contrary, but still relatively strong, sun bursting across the field and in through the windows a plan was hatched

Roach, chub and anything else daft enough to be fooled would be the target. The spaniels seemed to know too but they, with live lamb on the agenda, would be staying to bathe in that same sunlight from indoors

On arrival, the afternoon sun was starting to slide behind a comforting blanket of light cloud while two herons took flight and barked, as only they can, their raucous contact call. As I sauntered to the water’s edge kingfishers piped and their neon blue streaks abounded. Jackdaws jack-ack-acked as, in their fluster, they exploded from the wood with fears all their own…and all was well in the valley

I all-but trod on a field vole as it scurried underfoot into waterside rush margins where cattle and sheep had broken the bank into terraces as it dropped toward the water. But it was not him I sought. For me it was the waterscape that drew me in search of undercuts, slacks and glides; and therein, I dreamt, the aforementioned quarry

Recently I had discovered an undercut with overhanging grasses and hoped it would offer steady water under these first suitably raised water levels of the colder months, but it was not to be; the water gently, admittedly, boiled and surged through the channel and I would need to wait for levels to fall, or rise considerably more, for this area to came back into play

 

An enticing slack I had harboured far from complementary thoughts about when approaching from the opposite bank in the past suddenly seemed all the more attractive downstream of a substantial bed. As the main flow cut past the outside of the shelter, it cried-out for a stab at its likely refugees. Heads, tails and indeed the haemorrhaging middles of a series of unfortunate lobworms were offered to its inhabitants, and, cast after cast, bites ensued. Roach, perch around 12 ounces, then a river best (though far from exceptional example) of 1-1-3 battled and failed to get under the decomposing but, at the same time, high water-animated rush stems. Then another roach before the closing gloom of the evening pushed me back to my prepared bread swim to engage in the last rites of the angling day at the head of an awkward to access shallow gravel run

Last weekend I had been buzzed by a tawny owl elsewhere on the river just minutes after briefly observing its barn-dwelling cousin hunting over rank bankside vegetation. An incoming message from mission control had lit me up in the dark and the enquirer came for a closer look, delaying his fly-by with a brief hover and eventually alighting over my left shoulder until, as I reached for the camera he slipped with the flow and out of sight. This week was to be little different, a male buzzard had landed in bare branches on the opposite bank but soon realised there was a bigger predator already here and silently flapped north and away from this imposter but, as darkness fell and before the evening hoot commenced, another tawny owl swept in from behind willows to my right and settled ten metres in front of me. This time I managed to reach the camera but the owl, wiser than I and fearful as to survive, saw this as an invitation to drift back from whence he appeared and to my horror the gadget slipped from my grasp, bounced down the grassy bank and settled part-submerged in the water. As I write it sits upside-down, stripped-down as much as is possible, next to a radiator – in hope, whether vain or not is yet to be revealed

Although another two small roach were quite taken with the bread after dark the swim wasn’t ‘right’ and I decided to tidy-away and weigh the perch with a heavy dew coating everything at hand

Next week. There's always next week.

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...

Silver Anniversary

It was almost exactly a year since the big canal roach adventure started with a trip to today's venue but this time the approach would be with rod and line rather than the pole in order to compare the methods on a deeper narrow stretch where the target fish always seem to be present

The morning, which commenced with a great view of a roadside muntjac, produced the now customary frost of course but, as daytime temperatures have been a somewhat balmy 7-8degC of late, no ice had formed and the crispness of the bankside vegetation would soon be burnt-off for certain

As the rod was set-up some aural entertainment was to be had as a variety of 'kronks' emanated from the north and I turned to see a pair of ravens tussling with a third bird, presumed intruding into their airspace, and all with notably different voices. It really is now reaching a stage, similar to the buzzard spread a decade ago, when one expects to hear ravens rather than not in Warwickshire these days

On casting-in a tried and trusted float rig just past middle, a good half hours' peak fishing time bewilderment ensued as the appropriate presentation was struggled with until the realisation dawned that, for some unaccountable reason, the bread was somehow more bouyant than normal and was floating in mid-water preventing the proper settling of the rig resulting in more than the expected normal quantity of shot on the bottom to anchor the flake down

A skylark heralded this stunted spring, to date subdued by unending easterly winds, by climbing to his quite literally out-of-sight peak in a series of fluttering, twittering stages while a chaffinch set-up his song perch in a small hawthorn to my right on the water's edge where, first, a drake mallard, then a cock blackbird and the, always fascinating, moorhen foraged in consecutive sittings immediately below in rough grass. Meanwhile the line did it's best to freeze into the tip ring and the overloaded reel spool shed line like a slinky, constantly...but we got there

Thirty minutes or so after resolving the bread bouyancy issue a somewhat half-hearted lift bite met with no resistance on the strike but, just a couple of casts later, a more meaningful indication proved fruitful when a hard-fighting roach was hooked and netted. As usual when the fish first surfaced various words of amazement at a certain PB crept-out into the chill yet still air. The stocky fish was immediately weighed at 1-3-13 but was expected to go at least 1-6-0, nevertheless the fourth biggest canal roach in the growing list

Precisely an hour later, after the first of four surprisingly carefully guided narrowboats, another lift-bite which became a sailaway betrayed the presence of bronze bream dna and lead to the capture of a hybrid of just over a pound

Two hours in, and with two hours to go, boat traffic permitting, a handful of chopped lobs was introduced 15m to the right and a light link-leger cast to the spot as a sleeper option followed swiftly by a visit from two particularly friendly german shepherds sniffing for food; fortunately, unlike the regular jack russels on this cut, they didn't consider bread to fit the bill

One more missed bite preceded a twitch on the tip which I also missed as excitement got the better of me but next cast, with a tail of a lob, the tip pulled steadily round and a good battle with a roach of just under fifteen ounces christened the new wand at the second attempt

A Silver Anniversary without doubt

A year ago the peg produced two roach of exactly a pound and a three pound bream in the first half-hour...yes the same first half-hour spent in a puzzled state on this trip!

Another pair of ravens graced the trip home which was lit-up initially by a violet peeking-out of the undergrowth by the path, offering further evidence that maybe spring was actually here, as I pondered the challenge undertaken. Clearly the pole is the best option on frosty mornings such as this when elastic would better resist the temptation to completely freeze-up than the delicate tip-eye of a purpose-made canal float rod. Decision made!

Spring at last?

Species list:

Magpie, raven, blackbird, fieldfare, chaffinch, greenfinch, robin, canada goose, greylag goose, mallard, moorhen, woodpigeon, violet, roach, RxB hybrid

　

RESUMING OF REDFIN RELATIONSHIP

The realisation that a few hours could occasionally be grabbed before work at this time of year set me off on a North Oxford Canal roach hunt this morning at dawn

Boats were moored where it had been the intention whence to head but, due to the fact that I found myself unable to sleep after precisely 03.22hrs, it left me with plenty of time to ponder other options as the day was not sufficiently broken to set-up after striding-out that far at 5.15am in any case

Eventually, following much mulling-over, and dithering back and forth, a peg opposite a dormant bulrush bed was selected and perched at

As I did so a courting gang of mallards decided that was also where they would also engage in their own form of ritual, culminating in the female being all-but drowned...eggs to follow for sure. Certain aspects of this masquerade were however quite fascinating; the female swimming underwater and coyly emerging under bankside vegetation and then brazenly swimming directly toward the best-presented male for instance. Nevertheless the almighty commotion and unwillingness of the group to go elsewhere was quite disconcerting in respect of the angling prospects and I was convinced at this point that these clowns and the flock of mixed thrushes in the field opposite were to comprise the days entertainment

The day was, again, to be somewhat experimental with the newly received wand to test while also fishing another rod with a float using the lift-bite method with bread (no change in that respect then!)

Travelling ultra-light and without rod-rests presented an interesting set of challenges with two rods to arrange such they didn't get in each others way, so to speak. Initially a light link-leger was used with a whole lobworm set against the rush bed while mashed bread was introduced just past middle for the float

As per the weekend, an early boat before any bites had materialised did nothing to bolster enthusiasm but after a further feed of mash things settled into some kind of logical rhythm and by this stage mallard had steamed off into the distance given that decisons had been made and three less desirable drakes were real Charlies left quietly sulking under the brambles (even I could see that coming, they really ought to look at their reflections sometimes and take it easy!)

This, and the setting-up, took rather longer than I had hoped and so a line was not wet in anger until 06.45. The boat caused the flask to be cracked early and by 8am I was wondering if I'd be going to work with a bill longer than the rejected mallards but at 08.15 the float duly rose from the water like Excalibur and, despite trying to tidy the wand positioning at the time, a swift strike met with admirable and vigourous resistance. 'Roach or hybrid?', I pondered as it swirled twice in front of me, the rod drawing it instantly away from the feeding area in a manner which the pole cannot achieve with big roach due to the soft mouth/elastic strength dilemma. Its next appearance indicated a flash of red fin and as I netted the fish it was clear this was the first pound-plus roach since mid-December! Not a beauty with one side badly scarred and one showing signs of recovery but a good one all the same and, given the recent dirth of the larger examples of the species, most welcome and heart-warming at 1-2-3
 

Next cast, as is so often the case, produced a similar bite, a much heftier fish and a significant fight it must be said, but, bizarrely, it was soon over when the fish gasped fresh air and lost the will. A very plain yet perfectly formed bronze bream of 1-12-5

No further bites and three more closely-spaced boats brought the session to a close after just over 2 hours. The wand had ultimately been deployed with an over-large piece of crust anchored to the bottom immediately right of the mash feed while the float was dropped to the left and down-tow of the feed. The idea being that if I am indeed ever to beat the 1-4-12 canal roach PB this might just be the way, although it sat motionless on the day

Species list:
Carrion Crow, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Black-headed gull, Starling, Blackbird, Fieldfare, Redwing, Greenfinch, Dunnock, Mallard, Moorhen, Roach, Bronze bream

When Plenty is quite Enough

 

A couple of weeks ago it was decided it was time to crack the Leam

What one might call the middle river upstream of Leamington had consistently got the better of the rusty river angling skills (and what puny skills they were related only to catching nets of small fish in a 'that was a good day's fishing' kind of manner)

The river at the time was starting to fall from flood proportions and was about 0.5m above normal. Last weekend a late evening visit produced the usual owl-related entertainment but I don't recall having a proper bite with the river about a foot above normal

This weekend I felt it would be spot-on. 250mm up and probably with plenty of colour still in it to keep the feeding confidence of the fish high

As the river is a task for late in the day rather than early, the dawn visit on Saturday had to be canal-orientated, and so it was. The journey there should have acted as a warning. A barn owl scattered some early rising jackdaws and wheeled across the dual carriageway. It's huge moth-like form so distracting close-up as to make one question one's driving concentration but soon became a memory as the car careered toward the venue; nothing, surely, could match that sight. The prospects however seemed good with the heavy colour of a fortnight past having dropped-out of the water until, kneeling at the water's edge to scoop water for the bread feed, it became apparent that the visibility was almost too good extending to at least a foot down and, on the particular stretch, would potentially prove the kiss of death...and so it proved.

Soon after, a male sparrowhawk, with his sleek and unmistakable flap and glide flight and slate-blue back, drifted past just above mid-water and disappeared to the right following a line just inches above the towpath as he contemplated breakfast

Two hours passed and no bites but (there was a big BUT) as per the previous post, something unique occurred as I sat wondering if anything at all swam under the surface, as not even crayfish bites were evident, I happened to glance to my right where a wide turning bay was just in view by a large tree. Against that dark backdrop three large birds on the water with a hint of white caught the eye. "Canada's", I internally muttered and glanced away, they were often here, but, in doing so, one slipped under the surface in an naturally accomplished manner, a natural assassin. A double-take then had me convinced, they were goosander. Now I couldn't begin to work-out how many hours had been spent in isolated locations on canals early in the morning in the lifetime to date but never before had goosander been been on the agenda ('nearly said 'menu'!), as a truly wild bird with a healthy distrust of man. Being a sawbill they are fish-eaters but, not being blessed with mouths in heron-like proportion, they don't offer much of a threat to the inhabitants of the North Oxford Canal, given that the majority of them are probably over 4 ounces in weight and therefore not on the menu (there - squeezed it in!) for the fine-mouthed goosander

More internal rumination at this point, "I shalln't be amused if they catch one!"...and catch one they didn't. In fact, within just a few minutes they flew to my left seeking stretches with more snacklihood revealing their number to comprise two males and a female. Beautiful birds and perfectly evolved for their lifestyle including the rather odd habit of nesting in tree-holes of course

Soon a skylark was singing in the distance as spring threatened it's intentions reinforced by the somewhat feeble attempts to pronounce itself present by a yellowhammer. The chances of life underwater had slipped-away by 9am and after collecting fresh moss for the lobworm collection the warmth of home seemed irresistable

Later in the day a long overdue trip to the tip offered a few spare minutes to pre-bait three likely-looking Leam swims with a mixed liquidised and mashed bread mix accompanied by the mildly unhealthy Lady Burton who 'needed the fresh air' and, by 4pm it could be resisted no more, although the water was a touch clearer than expected with visibility 9 inches down.

The three pegs were re-fed on arrival and I perched myself in the most comfortable of them to run a small 'Topper' through. I did this for an hour and then intended to change to the lead as the light faded and try the other two swims before returning here to fish into dark.

The peg had surprised with it's depth previously and the rig was set well over 6 foot as a 6 ounce roach came on the third or fourth trot through and then one bumped-off on the strike but soon the float buried in that all-consuming chub-like manner and a fish of just a fraction over 2 pounds was drawn to the net with the power of the Avon rod too much for it, thankfully, in this snag-lined stream

As light started to fade it was time to wander to swim two, a shallower stretch will sunken rushes evident and with the main flow tight across, a chance therefore of some interest closer-in. The intention was to give it just 15 minutes or so in each of the other options having reverted to single-swan link-leger

The action was certainly non-stop but from small over-excited fish. I hooked one of the sharp bites and saw a flash as the fish spun under the water in a manner which only dace can achieve and just as suddenly it was gone. Frantic tapping and pulling continued until I had a reasonably proper bite and struck into something a touch more solid, which being a shallow swim, immediately rolled and splashed on the surface revealing itself as a decent roach. It fought well in the flow, as river roach tend to, and took a while to come to the waiting submerged net partly due to a touch more care being taken than had been afforded the earlier chub. He/she/it was a deep-bellied perfectly-formed example of the species and, as I tend to with any roach over a pound, wasinitially over-estimated in size but when quickly dropped on the scales was confirmed as an exact replica of my largest canal roach at 1-4-11

The commotion lead me to seek-out peg three where a similar sequence of events ensued brought to a halt by this time a small dace

By then there was just sufficient light to allow the return journey to first base to be made; for a betalight to be attached to the tip and to settled-in for the first hour of darkness with that comforting glow hovering over the water, just into the shade of the steeply sloping far bank. Quiet however it was not! As the owls struck-up their now anticipated chorus, and as is also customary one flew low over the water in complete silence to my right and disappeared into the increasing gloom of the wood while his mate or, at the very least, competitor continuing hooting from a distant Cupressus

Half an hour later, as the pungent smell of a farm fire wafted through the valley, I became conscious of the falling temperature and hats were exchanged for a higher 'tog'. No sooner had I looked back at the tip than it slammed round and that instantaneous, instinctive reflex of striking found me attached to my own substantial foe in the dark. standing quickly up and initially without any illumination other than the reflection of the light sky on the water (metaphorical) gauntlets were thrown down onto the now rippling surface (besides, they're new gloves). This was going to test the rod and myself; with minimal vision and little experience of such situations to call on all that could be done was think 'hit and hold' and trust the Avon to do the rest

At this point my secondary angling aim from 2012, which had been scuppered, partly, by the terribly wet year, came to mind in a somewhat fateful fashion. Could it be 4lbs? It felt it, or I willed it to feel it, but of course I couldn't really be sure. My only previous experience of such fish was on the pole from the Oxford Canal with a carp rig, the only comparison to which was that I was on one end and a chub was on the other

Under what felt like extreme pressure (how would you get a six pounder out of a peg like this?!) it still managed to dally briefly with some roots but the tension drew it clear and into open-ish water, then it seemed to be mine and the net seemed tempting as a way to draw things to a swift close but it shot-out into the main current to take on an altogether superior fighting capacity. It being the wrong side of a central reedbed left only one option, more pressure, and that worked as the surface erupted and the fish slid over the reeds and into the now expectant gape of the landing net

An iPhone flash photo doesn't do it justice, but here it is

So, some battle, but how big was it? With the 4lb target hanging over proceedings the scales which weigh ounces added an extra dimension...'61.0oz' it read...soon it dawned that 64 ounces would be enough, and, though it wasn't 'enough', it was certainly plenty as my biggest river chub slipped back into the depths. It was quite a slender fish that would comfortably have pushed 4-4 to 4-8 fully nourished but of course the peculiar advantage of missing a target is that it still exists to be beaten however with only 11 days of the season to go is it really possible from the Leam? Whether it is or it isn't, plenty of hours will be put in before the close I'm sure

...and with some scale

Species list for the weekend:
Rabbit, roach, chub, dace, perch, zander, chaffinch, goldfinch, yellowhammer, robin, blackbird, song thrush, fieldfare, nuthatch, dunnock, great tit, blue tit, starling, woodpigeon, magpie, carrion crow, rook, raven, jay, sparrowhawk, barn owl, tawny owl, mallard, moorhen, canada goose, goosander, black-headed gull, common gull
(4 oz zander and 14oz perch from Sunday morning trip to N Ox C)

It's an Offishial Miracle!

Since the unexpected perch and zander-fest last week things went somewhat down-hill with a long walk to fish a particularly murky North Oxford Canal, wandering well into the wilderness beyond the furthest peg ever fished before, at least as far as memory served, to find the canal at that point to be much shallower than anticipated beyond midway and more suited to summer mornings than mid-winter
Bread produced not the slightest twitch and lobworm just the one bite - precisely as the kit was starting to be packed-away which has proven a very reliable tactic of late! This fish and line parted company after it had gently pulled 5m to the left and the suspicion was of zander from the fight it gave

There was more narrowboat activity than last week suggesting that a few had been hired-out for the new year period

The trip was not all wasted however as it served as a recce for a stretch which hadn't been seen for a long, long time. A number of formerly overhanging hawthorns had been completely removed changing the character of one part of the length entirely such that it now holds no angling attraction whatsoever when set against other options on the stretch

Onlookers trying not to be interested

Anyway, undeterred and continuingly encouraged by the mild conditions, another early start next day maintained the recent trend in leaving the house too early and arriving when still too dark to set-up. This provided the benefit to again venture further than normal to the inside of a very wide bend inspired by the result of the session referred to in the introduction above, albeit on a completely different stretch.

The big plus here was that when matches had been held here in the 1980's & 90's this would have been the place to draw. Having said that the results were never alarming but there were always a few better fish to be had in matches where often a couple of pounds of roach would be enough to give an angler a chance of some form of success. For my part I had only drawn near it once, enjoying watching all those on this section weigh-in on the way back past them and having the fact that this was the best area hammered home in a most emphatic manner. At least I had mustered a few ounces of fish and not blanked!

The canal at this point was less cloudy than yesterday, which was expected from experience, but the downside was that the south-westerly was blowing all the scum, slicks, sticks, bottles and logs to this area and what seemed the optimal peg was right in the middle of it! Fishing the pole with big baits would not be too much of a problem however as they could be lowered into gaps in the detritus as appropriate with a fairly heavy-duty rig as usual


Bread flake was fished close to the bottom of the slowly sloping nearside shelf in the knowledge that any disturbance by boats would likely be limited to water from the middle to the piled far bank due to the tightness of the bend and excessive width. The other advantage was that lobworms could be used on the nearside too, to the left and closer-in

Already a method is beggining to evolve using both techniques by fishing bread until at least an hour and a half of the session has expired and then alternating it with lobworm and continuing to feed both lines each time they are left to be rested

Again the bread flake did not produce a single bite and, having had to delay the start due to an early boat just after the initial feed, lobworm also took a while to show any signs. A text had just been sent to The Lady Burton to say how grim it was when a large but sluggish fish was lost, tempted by the tail of a lobbie. It was a good two and a half hours in however before a more powerful fish was hooked even though, on two occasions, fish had pulled at the bait when lifted off the deck (the prospect of popping the worm up off the bottom has a distinct ring to it for future trips)

The fish lead a merry dance and despite being zander-like at first became more and more intense in it's fight taking quite some while to tire. By the time any glimpse of it was seen I had manged to convince myself I had absolutley no idea what it could be other than a somewhat oddly fighting perch perhaps

The battle continued with the fish moving right then left, trying to get under the keepnet, stirring-up the bottom of the soft, silty, shallow near shelf etc., and still I could not pin-down the species for certain but by this time chub was probably favourite; some were caught within 20 pegs in 'the old days' and the three fish which had crashed on the surface earlier in the session between middle and far bank to the immediate left were maybe the most likely culprits...but then they do of course tend to give up the ghost somewhat resignedly after a while

Eventually a tail flicked visibly near the surface as the fish burrowed downwards away from the poised net, black and rounded, what was it?

Then that unmistakable greeny-gold frantic muscular flexibility of the fish was apparent...tench!

Now at this point the history of angling on the North Oxford, as known, flashed past and although I must confess a passer-by had volunteered that a guy had caught one 'much to his surprise, he didn't know there were any in here' in the summer - this was last time I parked at this bridge - I had immediately blanked that out as either fluke or fabrication

The fish was still not ready however and a desperate surge straight out, as they tend to, but at surface level had it behaving like a dolphin until the elastic brought it back under some form of control when the pole was lowered and it came closer within reach

So to say that catching a tench here, or anywhere on the 20-odd miles of this canal is unusual would be quite the understatement of 2013 even this early in the year. Recollection goes back to around 1975 and although there was a gap from around 1996 to 2011 I had never heard of one caught let alone seen one until the above anecdote

Care was now everything. Ol' rubber lips was not to be lost as this, in it's own way, was almost literally the fish of a lifetime, no matter how large and frankly it didn't look huge.

Soon, after a couple of last second escape bids, it was in the net and an audible chuckle accompanied it. At the very moment it was weighed at 1-11-13 and the genuine extreme rarity was gently introduced to the keepnet

As things tend to go with angling the rig was then flicked out in front, rebaited, and immediately a 6 ounce perch was hooked as the pole was pushed out. Next put-in a roach of around 8 ounces came off the hook as it came to the net

A lull followed until another bite and another similar fight to the tench, it couldn't be of course. If the first one couldn't have been how could this? It clearly wasn't as large but it was no less energetic and took some time to tame, again, but after an exciting little duel the extreme rarity count was doubled and instantly upgraded to an offishial miracle!

This one went 1-3-11 and had a faint heart-shaped mark on it's underside. Both fish also had inch-long damage stripes on their flanks, could this be cormorant evidence? I can think of no other reason for the linear grey indentations on their scales and a few were seen to fly overhead as they headed for lakes to the north

Isn't Christmas great?

Today's bird list:
Moorhen, mallard, buzzard, lesser black-backed gull, indet gulls, cormorant, blackbird, fieldfare, woodpigeon, green woodpecker, great-spotted woodpecker, kingfisher, starling, chaffinch, pied wagtail, carrion crow, raven, magpie, meadow pipit