Three generations of family fished opposite the pub as we had our final drink of the day. There was dad with his overalls on looking like he was fresh from working on this,the last bank holiday Monday of the summer, grandad watching on and of course a little one full of enthusiasm and lacking attention running around like a lunatic. a few sips later we watched as the little'un held a small roach up to the camera, probably his first ever fish, a whole new adventure was opening up for that fella whereas we were at the end of ours. For the day at least.
The day had consisted of an eight mile walk along the canal, not fishing just walking, plus erm... the odd drink or five, to the next town then back, hence some predictable wordplay in the title. Nothing to do with a sequel to the film 8 Mile with the rapper Eminem (remember him) for my follow up was simply fishing the same bit of canal the very next day.
Using knowledge gained from such a long walk was crucial as we had passed really barren areas of cut that once held so many fish, areas I used to frequent nearer my home. Pollution, poaching and predation, the three problematic 'P's meant It was sad to see the canal looking so clear and lifeless, although a small shoal of perch and a few chublets offered hope, they were no match for the large chub and bream shoals of a few years back. There was only one other angler aside from that family on a area that would see at least a couple of dozen rods, three or four years ago. I did spot some good bream, be rude not to return with the gear.
My fishing trip the following day was naturally direct to the pound where I had located the bream, good ones too, many miles from anywhere, past all the piles of rubbish left behind the boat moorings, past collections of junk the Canal and Rivers Trust guys had hauled out and past a boat that was leaking diesel (reported to CRT) finally passing a sewage works, releasing clean water into the canal as those water companies never discharge anything bad do they!
I had bread and maggots and set up where the bream were previously and sure enough they ghosted into view before drifting away from me. On went the little dibber float with just the bread to cock it, hoping to mug a few on the drop like I used to do with the bream shoals in town. They were fairly cagey though, so I went deep and fished over the spot I'd fed. It didn't take long before a beautifully coloured bream (for the canal) glistened in the sun, with no belly a 5lb 6oz bream sure fills the net.
No more followed on bread, they had drifted off and I couldn't relocate them, I've had this before on other sections and they can go a long way if you can't hold them on your feed. There weren't even roach or chublets nabbing the bread so I changed to maggots picking up a few small roach and perch, before moving further along to a narrow section, concentrating on finding signs of fish, hoping to get whatever.
Even the small stuff was finicky, perhaps due to the diesel film on the surface which is never ideal although It didn't seem to bother the house martins at first as they skimmed the surface in an aerial ballet drinking it up, maybe they'll get more mpg now.
The birds understandably didn't stay long, before a lot of bubbles appeared in front of me, right down the track where I'd just had another couple of roach, the float now sitting among the fine froth that only a bigger fish could cause, just as I was contemplating switching back to bread the float dips as my single maggot is found, another bream is on, twisting and turning and fun on the light hooklength, a similar sized bream although this time a darker fish.
I was happy with a couple of really nice looking bream, it was what I had come for so target achieved, once again this season has thrown up really good fishing, although this is the first time in ages I can't moan about the heat, after all there was no way we'd be walking eight miles a few weeks back, never mind returning when there was a slim chance of it being real shady.
The last hour of this short session was spent chasing bubbles in a tactic that basically didn't work, but gave me an insight into how the fish moved up and down the cut feeding, as the bubbles moved along I could almost picture the fish under the cloudy water, for they were the reason for that colour. As I passed clear cuts on the way back I was grateful for have found a small pocket of fish and rekindled a bit of passion for a local canal which has served me well in the past.
Who knows I may see that little kid when he's older fishing the canal, which is hopefully still holding enough fish to whet the appetite of both the seasoned angler and young novices for years to come.
