A Reflective Surface

The fields rolling and falling though marsh to the rush-lined margins, bleached and wrung-out by winter.

A consuming stillness save for the calling raven, finches and thrushes. Artificial yet real, but isn't it all?

Three moorhen career through the pasture's edge headlong as if to fall in a chestward heap, legs in cartoon motion to the rear. How many are they, these ever-present canal rails? Thankfully more than sufficient to gladden the heart on all-but every gongoozling excursion, without doubt.

Here a major chunk of F, F & F history would be recalled. Negotiation, advertisement, commitment, engagement and satisfaction in the pursuit.

This was a stretch of the most picturesque Midlands canal snaking, as it still does, from dark tunnel to complex locks; through ancient parkland with its mature oaks and chestnuts; cutting through sheep pasture like a chisel to linocut. The result the same. A work of human art.

A change had come. Rush beds extended, reedmace beds established. A wide, now narrowed, bend and whereas, in decades past, the plate glass surface would be punctuated by the innumerable concentric rings of myriad small roach. Now- nothing.

Here, one imagined barn owl and drifting hen harrier slipping over rough grassland untouched by beast or harrow from decent to recent times.

There, a badger sett high and deep in the clay bank.

Then otter-marked brick paving. "Private, trespassers will be persecuted", it said to anything capable of interpreting it.

Today so different.

In years gone, sixty brethren would gather in the dawn-time mist. A fleece and nylon clump of pink-eyed expectation and laughter. "That's a posh shirt you're wearing there George. Are you trying to raise the standard of match angling attire?"

Of those a handful would remain to be showered as they coveted; the clump dissolved to all corners; glitter cast on the worthy.

Perhaps a shoal of bream, a 'juicy' tench or carp, a hard-won net of sparkling roach would attain the jewels, and otherwise perhaps just a handful of tiddlers as winter set in.

The crinkle-cut towpath edge, a straightened pastry cutter, still beats out those reminders with a numerical rhythm.

Twenty-three, the first; through thirties, a favourite 52 and up to 74, a narrower tiddler-filled straight.

Today though it was the teens and in pursuit of that toothiest of adversaries, pike. They had always been here. A slowly raking, shallow near shelf overhung by branches but the turbidity would prove to work against us and only the nuthatch, dunnock and siskin would keep us from sliding into tedium.

The historic stone wall, consumed by ivy yet still partly intact beside the massive oak and, more distant, fresh lamb; twins and triplets in red and blue. How closely the ewes knit their lanolin-infiltrated wool to the reins of their excitable young.

March violets quietly bloom, a modesty instilled by evolution, on woodbanks and in the lee of hawthorn hedges. Hints of green among the marginal rushes and young rabbits, all dewy-eyed twinkles and bobbing white tails, conscious of the soaring threat of these cloudy skies.

Spring, and the sweet shop is again open.

The Boy with the Gift (Small river roach and chub)

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

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

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

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

Rod christened

A picture of calmness - outwardly

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

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

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

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

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

The Leam Comes Good

Wren observes action with intent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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)

Winter struck

Today was a first, a multiple first

Having just celebrated the big five-o the family clubbed together and instructed me that, with the proceeds, I was to buy something special for myself. Very little encouragement was necessary and, after brief mulling, delivery of a J W Young BJ centrepin was inevitable, and what a beauty she is - all gunmetal, silver and gold in enviable precision

On the irrefutable basis that noteworthy things occur in threes the temptation to go small river fishing in the snow also gripped me, having long been enchanted by traditional photographs of chub against the white background

Whether the third event was to follow remained to be seen

The tackle had been pared to the absolute bare minimum, in fact had it not been for the fact that I'd need something to keep my backside out of the snow a single rod sleeve and my pockets would have sufficed!

Conscious of the potential to lose the ends of extremities under such conditions I found myself in an unimaginable sweat by the time I'd flushed a gangly heron from the winding watercourse and ambled to my starting peg but, a few zips later, the steam released and with the task settled in to, the balsa was running through quite neatly, supporting a bulk of 3AAA with a BB dropper, as the air filled with the sound of nuthatches twittering to each other in separate woods on the far bank

The reel was little short of a dream, so much so that when I struck into a surprise bite after about 20 minutes I remained so besotted by it that I entirely forgot to pressure the not inconsiderable adversary out of some nasty snags and the presumed big chub left me with rather less gear than I'd cast in
 

Another hour or so gently teasing pieces of flake and crust through the particularly comfy swim produced not a touch and the decision to try another spot further downstream took priority

Fishing in lying snow was quite different to my only other experience from the former life about 17 or 18 years ago when fishing an Angling Times winter league semi-final on the Bridgewater Canal at Sale. On that occasion I was using a 13m pole when huge lumps of snow started falling heavily and trying to see the tip of a tiny wire-bristled float through it was disorientating to the point of nausea, very odd

The second swim was considerably shallower and more snaggy than the first and a spell with the same rig, and later a link leger, gave no positive indications from fish if any were indeed present

A sign of the desperation that sets in under such climatic circumstances was played-out in the wood when a beautifully plumaged buzzard suddenly swept down to the ground in pursuit of female blackbird but, unsuited to such attacks, the raptor failed miserably in its brief attempt to stave-off hunger. The escapee exited with a shrill alarm call and the dejected chaser alighted on a high branch to contemplate the whereabouts of its next snack

Another hour or more passed and saw a return to the first swim to run through the repertoire again, but to no avail. Pheasants were flying up into small trees to my left as darkness started to fall. By this time I had been out far longer than I was either intending or expecting, such was the level of contentment, and as a pair of ravens struck-up their individually recognisable kronking in the wooded hillside to my right, before they flew along the rise in front of me to roost in a single tall tree, the feeling that I had outstayed my welcome descended, together with a hint of a probable ensuing drop in air temperature. This was not an evening to fish into dark

The snow seemed somewhat wetter on the return journey as the various footprints of mammals and birds entertained the mind. Certainly the peg from which I had wiped much of the snow with my irreproachable thermal boots had turned from dry snow to mud while I was there.

The three events I had to be content with were the snow, the reel and the lost fish this time. Soon the snow would be melted and the River back up to the top of the banks and not difficult to avoid. As I sat back in the warmth with an Ardbeg Islay 10 year-old single malt I wondered how long before I actually banked a fish under such circumstances, hopefully the reel will have by then become a natural extension of the self and present every chance of beating any bruiser audacious enough to snaffle the bait

Bird list:
Goldfinch, long-tailed tit, robin, fieldfare, blackbird, buzzard, raven, indet gull, woodpigeon, rook, heron, pied wagtail, magpie.