Almost Trouble and Almost a Blank

Almost Trouble

I'm on the canal on the only day of the week where there wasn't a frost overnight, it was a balmy 2c when I got up and I figured optimistically that the fish would be mad for it, of course I was kidding myself but what's fishing without hope, the last time I fished here it was summer and having done well last winter I wanted more of the same.

As I walked down I passed spots I usually fished, not giving them a go partly as they were so filthy with litter everywhere, in one of my favourite swims the far bank was adorned with all sorts from mattresses to old chairs and burnt out fires from where someone homeless had been camping out, further down the cut there were bin bags dumped from boats, plus dog poo bags in trees and they say anglers leave litter.

The gloomy picture I am painting brightens somewhat when I reach the moor where volunteers clear up such mess, a doff of the hat to them, here I was to get down to some fishing. I knew there were fish here all shoaled up as I could see them in the clear water under a bridge. I threw some maggots in and the small roach, chublets and bleak seem to mouth them out of curiosity before letting them fall to the bottom a good couple of feet from where the shoal was stationed, up in the water almost close enough to fish out with a swipe of the landing net.

I set up opposite and cast across to the shoal and sure enough I started getting bites that seemed almost impossible not to hit, but miss I did every time, at least I had a picture of what was going on underneath the water though, slow dips of the float that left me asking how the hell I missed even though I knew I would. Eventually a victory in the form of a tiny roach was swung to hand. 

The canal started moving and I hit a chub which was too good for me and beat me up in a near side bit of wood, fortunately the canal stayed moving and I got in again and no mistake this time round even if the same snags came into play, second time lucky.

No boat came through despite the movement of the cut so maybe a lock opened up and a boat moored or perhaps one of the resident boats decided to move to the next cut like they do, either way the small window of opportunity of moving water didn't last long.

The wind was picking up and another small roach was hard earned as was a bleak whilst I was chatting to a friendly Irish chap, before trying deep for some perch for an hour or so which yielded diddly squat. I then went back shallow and managed to hook another chub, well over a pound I was surprised to see it tailed in by a rather decent pike, deep down I was thinking yeah that's too big for you Mrs Pike but I knew she well could go for it, she didn't which was just as well as the chub was in pretty good nick.

Seeing the Pike approach my landing net as I lowered it for the chub made me recall how I once caught a jack pike by getting it to follow a roach into my net, yes I tried the same this time round. However watching the pike bolt off when in front of the net was impressive, it was quite a large one for this stretch of the canal and had a mighty turn of speed. I have no doubt it was the reason for the small fish being so finicky.

Then the wind got a bit squally and bitter and things seemed to get a bit foreboding, so I decided to pack up and was just about to take a photo of the choppy canal for the blog, then I caught out of the corner of my eye two dodgy looking blokes approaching so I quickly tucked the camera away. 

These guys were doing an awful job of acting inconspicuously and after asking me what I had caught walked behind me really close before I turned and fronted up a bit without saying anything. Trying to make myself look large like a street fighting alley cat seemed to work although the dog walker appearing may have had something to do with it. They then seemed to loiter under the bridge having initially gone the opposite way. Naturally I found another route home despite having something long, sharp and pointy on standby just in case. Last thing I want to do is use it getting jumped on the way back from a day's fishing, my gear isn't worth much but it's worth a lot to me.

It kind of left me feeling a bit flat as I know my area is going downhill faster than Franz Klammer at Kitzbuhel, I was thinking that may be the last time I go down the canal for a while.

Almost a Blank

A few days later I'm back down the canal, as what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, saying that though I was at a nicer spot down the road parked up in a free car park, setting up at a winter hotspot where people feed the birds. It was cloudy like a few days ago but it felt really cold even though the temperature was supposed to be the same.

The fish didn't want to know, there was a diesel slick on the surface which is usually the kiss of death, ploughing through it was the constant activity of ducks, swans and geese. The only movement of my waggler was courtesey of the waterfowl either looking for a free meal or fighting each other with the annoying canada geese getting fiesty with the mallards, the swans were too busy seeing off younger birds which dared to land in their territory - always an impressive sight. An hour of this was enough for me to wander further down.

I went to the next cut known as the Totem Pole as it has er...a Totem pole on the opposite bank, It's not often you can say that when fishing. If ever the was a cue for one of my wise native american sayings it was that and as I walked past I thought "Wise man don't go down smelly diesel canal in flipping cold weather" I must admit it wasn't my finest effort. 

Here it was ever so still and felt slightly warmer, the perfect spot for lunch. A chap stopped for a chat and we talked about sturgeon of all things before he carried on his walk, not the prehistoric looking thing with the beady eyes, no we were talking about the fish. He also told me had to give up fishing due to failing eyesight which put the day into perspective for me. I then looked up at all the windows opposite at people in their warm homes and offices (you know you're in a nice area when there's no net curtains or blinds), despite doing a cracking job at blanking I wouldn't swap with them I thought. 

I only had an hour or so left of my free parking so tried back near the bridge to finish off, it was colder and windier here and I could sure feel it, but there seemed more cover for the fish. Then the float went under and I almost didn't believe it, then again and again, just like the other day they were impossible to hit, either small fry or fish mouthing a bait tasting of diesel and not liking it, who could blame them for that.

Before I could change to an even smaller hook the bites dried up, I thought about doing a dance round the totem for the chance of one more, just one. I rarely blank and don't like it although it is sobering when you do, I could have done better in the first spot but really gave it a good go by the bridge, maybe I should blame the diesel (I have mentioned it thrice) or the cold (likewise) as reasons. Some say making excuses is bad but those are some of the reasons for blanking and not to examine them would lead to the same scenario more often I reckon.

I still enjoyed the day as I rested my rod on a nearby wall and threw in my leftover maggots first from my pouch then from my tub, the float left in the water no doubt with the mightiest of bows in the line from the downstream breeze and flow. Even the rod bag came out as I had about ten minutes to get back to the car, the irony that the surface film of diesel seemed to have gone was not lost on me, however a blank's a blank so take it on the chin I thought. 

But then..

The float was gone, you know when you can sense it's not bottom, with all my bait gone I knew this was it, I expected my strike into the bowed line to result in thin air but lo and behold there was resistance as a small perch twisted and turned, in doing so revealing the water was a lot clearer than I thought. "Don't come off" I said out loud as commuters went by from the railway station oblivious to my own little fishing world of adventure.

At one stage I bizarrely thought about landing it but the perch stayed on. I couldn't have got closer to a blank than that, I had to see the funny side. Suddenly I felt warm, I felt bouyed, most of all I felt lucky and I was. There is no substitute for luck and this was a prime example.

The little wall on which I had previously laid my rod to pack up was the perfect rest for a quick self take with the camera. 

I had to really after all, it was a mighty, mighty perch.

First Trip In A Long Time - A Clonking Dace and Chub Galore

 The last time I wet a line was Early October last year, all work and no play made Rob a dull boy when it come to fishing of late, throw in a bout of Covid over Christmas and I was more than ready for a first trip out in ages. Even though I was still feeling tired post Covid I was raring to go and go I did.

It wasn't as warm as I had hoped as on arrival at the river mid morning it was only 3c and the remnants of the overnight frost was still crunchy underfoot, although not as bad as previous nights had been. Unlocking the padlocks and gates left me a bit breathless and I wondered how long I could fish, mustering all my efforts to get to a vacant swim and not a good one at that.

Steam lingered from my breath as there was no wind at all as I threaded my line and set up a small stick float half expecting to miss a rod ring or forget something it had been so long.I wasn't expecting to catch much here and was willing to play the long game knowing I had plenty of coffee, food and warm clothing even though my toes felt cold already.

The river was shallow and clear despite all the recent rains and my chosen spot only deepened down the bottom of the swim, the top was clear gravel devoid of any fish, holding back the float hard to edge down to the deeper hole was hard work and required me to stand, so much for a relaxing morning. Work at it I did and after half an hour I had just one small chub to show for my efforts.

Just as I was thinking of moving the float seemed to dip and an instinctive strike was met with a decent bit of resistance before a bar of silver could be seen flashing as I slowly worked it up the swim, it was a fine dace worth coming out for on it's own and my persistence was rewarded.

I didn't weigh it but it wasn't too far off a pound, the photo not really showing the belly of the fish, it was from an area that had provided me with some very big dace in the past although usually from the spot below where a chap was feeding pellets as if it was still summer.

I must have had three bites in two hours with the next fish quite a while after the dace, it was a nice roach and whilst I wasn't getting much they were quality, typical winter fishing especially after a series of cold nights.

By late morning I needed to sit down so ventured downstream having only caught three fish which was three fish better than pellet guy had in the good swim, I wasn't too worried about catching loads and was still bouyed by the fine dace as I sat down in a spot where fish could be seen ghosting through and in quite some numbers, they weren't large but it would keep me occupied trying to catch a few.

I watched as the transient shoal of fish drifted in and out of the area much like the birds that took turns occupying the tree opposite. It dawned on me the last time I fished, the trees were still in full leaf, now this willow looked all stringy and bare much like the hair of a nutty professor, it reminded me of Doc from Back to the Future for some reason.

Back to the present and a few small chub and roach kept me honest before the shoal drifted off for good downstream. I sat and had lunch and watched the bird show as everything seemed to be about, Blue, Great and Long Tailed Tits fluttered through the trees whilst larger corvids did their thing, a Woodpidgeon clumsily walked over a bush trying to get at berries, the bush I was previously fishing under and a Red Kite circled above, a Robin naturally showed up for some maggots, a skitty little thing that seemed to pester me from all angles for some freebies, a welcome harassment if ever there was one. I sat there entertained thinking how much I have missed all this.

After lunch I tried a spot now vacated that was usually pretty good but after no bites a closer look into the clear water revealed no fish to be seen at all, perhaps a reason for the large nomadic shoal downstream, so I moved on once more.

Finding a spot upstream that was usually good for chub I settled down hoping to whittle out one, maybe two knowing any decent chub would top the day nicely. I bumped a fish off first cast but it was so instant and so close in I convinced myself it was bottom. However it wasn't, as another bite followed next trot through which resulted in a proper bend in the rod, my persistence was rewarded.

More chub followed and they were feeding so well and if the hard morning was typical winter fishing then the afternoon was typical winter chub fishing, as if a switch is flicked. They were feeding shallow and I almost couldn't fish shallow enough, so much so that I changed to a pole float as no distance was needed to cast. The pole float worked perfectly and just as I was wondering why we don't all use them for small river trotting a lively chub proceeded in smashing said float to smithereens in the rushes, I had a wry smile as I reverted back to a 4no4 stick set as shallow as I dare.

It was once more all chub and trying deep yielded no bites at all, a chap came up from the next swim down saying how his mate had nothing in this swim all morning on luncheon meat, maybe they were up in the water or perhaps just come on to feed, although I wouldn't dismiss a chub's love of maggot as a reason as on some winter days they just cant get enough much like the Robin earlier.

I had enough by now and packed up well before dark, the day was still eerily quiet, the only noise the sound of water dripping from my net, a good sound if ever there was one. I had fished much longer and much harder than I anticipated but enjoyed it immensely.

How I have missed fishing.

Covid - Bad 

Fishing - Good