Showing posts with label yellow wagtail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label yellow wagtail. Show all posts

Wednesday, 17 July 2019

... AND THEN DESPERATION SET IN


There were eighty to one hundred hours of opportunity, occasionally punctuated by bursts of excited activity from our aquatic adversaries that would make a spod rod curl, and in all that time around seven or eight real indications of fishy presence plus one actual, positive, definite, undoubted bite

Fish brushing against the line is one thing but a proper bite? Well that was simply an unwelcome interruption to the interminable slumber


The target, I recalled, had been a tench. 'Consensus was The Stillwater could produce a 'double' this year, with 2017's best around 9lbs and last year's 9.8

Certainly, the water was slow to warm up this spring and, when it did, a burst of persistent easterlies injected the type of temperature drop that would resurrect Damart. The odd few fish caught in that period clammed-up with their brethren and cousins, and, to this day, have barely shown any willingness to accept the anglers bait

The crux of the problem is that the density of natural food available in the fishes own habitat is so deep and diverse that anything needing anglers bait to survive is either already close to death or too incompetent to be referred to by whatever name humankind may have imposed upon it

Baiting every two to three days, and fishing an evening and a morning pretty much every week, from March until the beginning of July became the normal routine. Running the gamut and vagaries of accommodating birders (thank you folks!) to access the swim, off-roading for about a mile in a, so-called, 4x4 and inundating the grill with grass seeds in the process, fascination turned to determination, turned to obsession and, ultimately, simply to boredom

Yes, the birding was good initially but, as summer ignites, the bird world takes a inversely proportional dousing in the adrenaline stakes

There were a few though, osprey, hobby,'Channel' wagtail, even a possible, unconfirmed, nightjar, together with an array of butterflies and dragon or damselflies to keep the unrelenting lister in currency

Recently emerged black-tailed skimmer I believe



What were we taking about?

Oh yes, tench!

So, it being Bloggers Challenge year, under new rules, I figured a 9lbs+ tubby tinca plus the odd spin-off specimen in the process would be a great start come the sound of the nationwide starting pistol on June 16th

At least it can be confirmed that the real bite came after that date. 80-100 hours, 50-odd pints of bait, 680 miles in 25 minute trips, an unhealthy ingestion of Ronald's finest sustenance at awkward hours, but a 'nice' fish at seven pounds four ounces for sure


Well, jigger my kumquat, or should I say, "Blimey", what a campaign for that reward!


A pic?

Oh go on then...









Sunday, 23 April 2017

FLOAT OR FLIGHT?



Since drawing a 'that'll do for now' line under a suitably satisfying big canal roach campaign the inspiration to write had waned with the slipping focus and lack of direction associated with the close season.

Attention has now turned, more by accident than invention, to a smaller but reliable local reservoir offering good fish across a range of species. Carp 30lbs plus, Tench over 6lbs, Rudd over 1lb, Roach to 2lbs, Perch over 2lbs, Pike to double figures and Crucians to at least high 2lbs.


There is an additional bonus of these waters and that is migrating bird life and so whether to float fish or enjoy the flight of incoming migrants before producing this flannel was the potential conundrum.

But no!

Armed with bite alarms rather than quiver tips or float rods both could be targeted; well, until a bite came of course! Mind you my concentration did lapse to a passing common sandpiper while I was playing a fish at one point.

Is he a birder who fishes or an angler who birdwatches? The crunch would come when a rarity appeared at the same time as a bite. I'm pretty confident the bite would win but, once hooked, that fish would be played on autopilot for sure.

I've fished the Res a number of times in this spell including all four mornings over the bank holiday period and have been completely mesmerised by the quality of fishing and the ever-changing birdlife at this peak migration time.

Sand and house Martins, swallows and all three breeding wagtails, including two of the most stunningly brightly coloured of british birds, the yellow wagtail, together with the aforementioned sandpiper and increasing warbler species numbers, including the (hardly common) lesser whitethroat, all made those slack spells between bites as fascinating as could be.

Shrews argued in their shrill almost inaudible way beneath the rocks and anglers, birders and dog owners passed every few minutes, many of whom kindly shared the time of day for an engaging minute or two.

Feeding the swim each trip made sure of early bites the next day as the fish got used to food being there.

The quality of fish for a venue that is not widely known outside the local area is very surprising and over that ten day period or so, with the The Boy Wonder also on the case on two occasions, we managed the following little list of maximum species sizes:
Perch 1.2.5
Rudd 12ozs
RoachXrudd hybrid 1.4.8
Tench 5.2.0
RoachXbream hybrid 1.6.0

The highlight however was a roach of 1.10.13 which, with gargantuan incredulossity, was caught again the next day at 1.10.3! Followed a week later by one of 1.8.10 amid news of a two pounder a few days ago.


TBW would disagree however....for him a tench would do nicely thank you, to add to his winter first of the species of 2lbs or so.

Naturally, in keeping with his 'anything you can do' nature, he breaks that p.b. with a fish of 2.14 only to follow it with one of 4.9 a few minutes later. I'm really beginning think I should not encourage him further and perhaps buy him a subscription for Macrame Online. (Why would ANYBODY do macrame? It doesn't even look good).


So the Res is serving a purpose and giving us a few clues for the rapidly upcoming Bloggers' Challenge 2017/18 at the same time.

Speaking of which...

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Dear old over-pressured Russell (new blog, new job and all) has created the self-calculating spreadsheet to include the three new smaller species. A WhatsApp group for more immediate sharing in the excitement of captures is under preparation and thus we are requesting last orders for a place in the stalls on the start line come 00.01hrs on May 1st. Don't be shy, it's just a bit of fun.

Please see the previous f,f&f post for further details, which will also take you to Russ's blog to register. Bear in mind you don't need to be a blogger as long as you know one!

All entrants will be contacted with necessary detail this week.

It stands to be an epic campaign!

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Chance encounter...
Bumped into Eric Weight author of "Artificial Lite" blog and talented photographer, and his angling mate Pete, this week. Chewing the fat bankside we covered various unfathomable subjects including the fact that the vast online angling video library that is YouTube does nothing to help those who don't get a bite within 'X' minutes. As Eric put it, "None of the films show you that do then". "Because no one would watch them", was added.

Watch this space.

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Meanwhile the bankside grapevine brings news of a new possible biggest ever canal roach in the form of a 2lbs 6ozs bejewelled beast from the zander-improved Grand Union very close to where much of the FF&F winter challenge was undertaken. The captor is sending me some information and so I will update this news in the next post.

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Chance encounter two/too:
Same Res., same result.

I bump into a fellow Warks blogger. This time Daniel Everitt, "The Lure of Angling", who was his usual deep-theoried, impeccably-enthused self, in pursuit of float-fished tench...until he relented and the feeder rods came out of the car. Anyway, the rest is a tale for him to tell in his own time.

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Some unbelievable migrants to another local reservoir these past few days also...


Black-winged stilts. A bird in the flamingo class for the impossibly evolved...and severely beautiful, elegant creatures they are too. Let's hope they stay


Saturday, 23 March 2013

The Combined End of the Beginning

A weekend struck-through by a third bout of man'flu this winter set me thinking more widely than the usual particularly narrow field of view...

So many memories from the old days. So many days when luck was on my side and yet plenty when it wasn't, memories that mysteriously emerge heavily rioting from a fog like a ponderous bream from murky water as I attempt to draw them out for recollection

There have been days when one's fortune seemed overwhelmingly unjust to others and others that are simply forgotten, and for justifiable reason

I have been lucky to have found the outdoors, or maybe it is the other way round, but then that is no doubt the mantra of anyone who enjoys thoroughly an enthralling pursuit away from their work which is more than just sport or a hobby but a way of life, a state of mind

This for me is how I view being anywhere in fresh air but particularly imbibing the sights and being stimulated of the senses in the countryside, even though there is nothing natural about it if one takes the view that man's influence renders things 'unnatural'. There is not a single plant or organism outside the influence of man, without doubt, and the great outdoors is only great within those limits and set against that context. The range of our everyday lives is wholly subject to the influence of ourselves and our ancestors

50 years I have wandered where the feeling took me and at every turn there is regret, occasionally at my own stupidity, but more often over the actions of others

As a teenager, and maybe before, it was fundamentally obvious that unendingly and obsessionally tampering with what I will call 'life' was a means to a gloomy end. Even at that formative time of life it was beyond being unquestionable that there was no need for any car to be capable of less than even 40mpg; there was no logic in straightening watercourses and literally destroying the food chain and webs supported by them to such an extent that, even when the error is identifed, it can never be corrected as the true loss is just a faded memory; there was a noticeable decline in what is now termed biodiversity (yes, give it a name and we can all live with it, "My child is out of control!, He has attention problems", well have you considered that feeding him a diet of blue smarties, coke and electronic games might not be natural?); development goes ahead paying lip service to biodiversity because national planning guidance says it must, and for that reason alone; agriculture rapes every last inch of land and can only be diverted from its destructive combine by subsidy

It is no risk as far as I am concerned to state here that it is possible that in ours or our childrens' lifetimes the world as we know it may come to an end. I do not consider this the miserable rambling of one obsessed by 'doom and gloom' but just a calculated statement of fact

To my mind it has long since been questionable that the earth behaves as a single organism and that it can't be that long, in terms of the time-line of life on earth, that it is about to change, as far as we are concerned, for the unfathomable worse

Highly likely is the possibility that the extinction of one too many organisms will act as a fairly sudden catalyst for massive change as we head for the inevitable restructuring of Gaia to the exclusion of life as we know and enjoy it

Today was a strange one, two of the family were ill with heavy colds and yet we needed to vacate the house as building work was underway which we wouldn't be able to live with. The day therefore became one of wanderings and, in that now somewhat old-fashioned way, we drove. We drove partly so that we didn't visit friends or relations and spread the bug to them and partly to revisit areas of countryside we hadn't seen for a while south of home and into the north of Oxfordshire

We drove about forty miles and, in all that way, through drift-crisped verges and scenes of wild desperation; through stiff easterly winds biting on exposed arable fields; under snow-laden branches of apparently lifeless trees we saw just four mammals, two pair of roe deer, and I remarked how odd it seemed to see them wandering the fields and yet not being owned by the landowners but, of course, we should be used to the presence of wild animals we should expect them to be there and not have to search for them with a metaphorical nit-comb in the flea-bitten wig of the outdoors

Yes, so many memories. Memories of water voles pushing tiny flared nostril-speared bow waves and diving at the last minute sight of my presence through their tiny glistening pin-head eyes pursued to the edge by released mink and hanging like a milk tooth on its last eye-wateringly painful thread of flesh; of myriad multi-coloured butterfly species now seemingly lost for ever in any number and maybe soon for good; of vast shoals of tiny gudgeon now quite simply devoured by the dim-witted alien attack of the zander; on catching the diminutive native freshwater crayfish in a minnow-trap, inspecting it with wonder, and returning it with care to the stony sun-sparkled and commensurately tiny River Swift; of hundreds of yellow wagtails falling in fields from migration brighter than custard such that it seemed the whole population of the country was descending on us at that very moment; of hoardes of chirping house sparrows attacking the breadcrumbs in the back yard of youth; and imagined memories that can only be gleaned of a balance of existence never fully experienced from an era, indeed another world, when otters and bitterns, water meadows and working mills, red-backed shrikes and adders, lush growth and a vast and wide array of lifeforms washed around in a delicately poised environment such as we will never see again nor appreciate to even the most infinitely miniscule degree as common-sense fades away hand-in-hand with the advancement of the modern world

How I wish that, just occasionally, time spent by the water might be punctuated by the 'plop' of the water vole, how fulfilled life would again be

"But we're alright, we're nice and warm here,
No one to hurt us except our friends"

References:
Gaia - James Lovelock/Oxford University Press 1979
The Combine - Paul Weller/Universal Music Publishing Group 1977