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

Tales From The 100 - No 2 The River Thames

 This is part of a series of short stories recollecting some of my trips around the country fishing 100 rivers, some were good, some brilliant and some just bonkers, there was always something going on. So when things are quiet I'll cast the mind back in no particular order and remember a few of these adventures.

Living in London it was almost a given that you would visit the Thames at some stage early in your angling life and so it was that the Thames was the second river I was to fish. My dad had already filled me with stories of how the whole family used to travel down to Runnymede, a green open part of the river above Staines where there is a memorial to JFK and of course where the Magna Carta was signed. 

It was also where my Uncle Ron one day took it upon himself to get up from a family picnic and randomly walk across the river, It always raises a smile when dad mentions how his hat serenely floated downstream as his head slowly disappeared, I don't think he quite made it across but it makes for another story for a family who, like others saw the Thames as playground away from bustle of the city.

I remember my first fishing trip there despite just being a young lad, we didn't catch much as we were just flinging a lead out midstream without any feed, but I remember dad's heavy split cane bouncing around as a few dace were caught. I had my black and red rod from Woolworth's and I caught a dace too. It was a big river a world away from my tiny local one and a whole new world of adventure for me.

I went on to fish many different stretches of the Thames with dad and it was great to share these trips together, some were good some were average but I was out with my dad and that was what mattered.

The Thames is a funny old river as on it's day you can really catch a lot and you could also catch anything, whereas on other days you could struggle for no reason. Often winter trips saw both me and dad blank although sometimes it was worth it for the peace and quiet of a river without the summer traffic. Sometimes you'd hit upon some good fishing when least expected in winter, these days were so rewarding.

It was also serene and eerie at times being down there with no one about, wondering about all the history that had gone down on this river. I'm sure if the Thames could write a book it would be a mighty tome.

I also took trips on my own and on one day in August whilst catching roach and perch at Old Windsor I got up upon hearing a commotion from the area upstream, only to see a couple of boat owners swimming in the water with their pet duck! A mallard was having fun jumping on top of the chap's head before drifting off like Uncle Ron's hat only to repeat the process a few times, it was a strange sight indeed.

I would do some duck jokes but Eider had enough of them by now.

In time other areas of the Thames were to be fished after all there is a lot of free fishing on it and getting an EA weir permit with dad was a new avenue for us to explore. Some of the weirs were not for the faint hearted, either fishing from high walkways or off dangerous banks, many of these weirs are no longer on the ticket but it was quite a laugh using a drop net in the boily water to land bream and barbel.

On one weir at Shiplake I was catching well before a large perch attacked, the size of which I don't think I have seen since, it was massive and came out of the reed mace like a perch in one of those paintings, but unlike most works of art  it was never seen again, the big old stripey. 

A little while later that day a small boat turned up and the little captain (he was wearing one of those quirky sailors hats) gave me a friendly wave. It was Paul Daniels taking his family out for a spin, he was a big TV celeb back then and despite telling dad he still missed it, not hearing what I was saying due to the rumble of the weir. I liked it, not a lot but I liked it, as his catchphrase went. There was always something going on down the Thames on a sunny summer's day.

After getting a van and kitting it out, I traveled to the upper Thames and slept in the back, happily fishing weirs that were in the middle of nowhere. I'll always remember waking up and getting to the rush of water early doors, the morning dew coating my boots walking through the meadows, the warm sounds of birdsong and all the scents, they say the sense of smell is the one that trigger memories the most, so each time I open a tin of sweetcorn now it takes me back there without fail, every time.

Fishing the middle and lower reaches saw backdrops like Windsor Castle and Hampton Court Palace and some wonderful old bridges, Olympic rowers would go past at Marlow and Henley, finding space among the throngs of white plastic cruisers usually piloted by red, sunburnt old men. On occasion young ladies would be sunning themselves on the decks and some really didn't care about covering their modesty, much to the delight of this young angler at the time.

However it wasn't always plain sailing, on one occasion visiting the tidal Thames Dad and I turned up to see carnage following a storm. There were dead fish everywhere on the banks courtesy of the sewage works up the road, there was even dead fish in the street following the high tide, it was awful and a day I'll never forget. I wish in a way I had taken some photos to help log it but I didn't, (perhaps log is not the right word in this case) I was lost in my own sadness, it pains me to say this is still going on today and is getting worse with water companies dumping millions of tons of sewage in our rivers each year.

We are a third world nation when it comes to the quality of the water in our rivers.

On a positive note the tidal Thames did give me a funny incident one time when fishing Teddington weir. I hadn't fished there before so was happy to be sitting on a ledge near one of the sluices even though there was a steep drop below, dangling my float almost below my feet picking up nice dace and trying to avoid the bleak.

Concentrating hard on the float among the frothy bubbles the last thing I expected was a head to pop up right beside it. I jumped out of my skin and almost fell in, there was a seal right there looking at me. They are strange looking things close up seemingly with the face of a dog but with human expressions if that makes sense, it was like it knew what was going on, good job really as what was to follow was just as strange.

Knowing the swim would be dead for a while it was a good time to calm down and have a drink, but then a voice boomed in my ear, weirs mask the sounds of anyone approaching so this made me jump out of my skin once more, I almost fell in again! This time it was a fellow with an LWT T-shirt on (there were TV studios opposite) and he proceeded to converse in the broadest of Dutch accents....

Dutch - Did you see the seal?

Me - Yes it nearl....

Dutch - The pike eat the fish

Me - Eh, pike? what do y....

Dutch  - The seal eat the pike 

Me - I haven't seen any pi...

Dutch - The seal eat the pike, the pike eat the fish

Me- Yes I suppo....

Dutch - The seal eat the pike, the pike eat the fish

With those profound words interrupting any wise riposte I could muster, the dutch guy walked off as quickly as he appeared. I looked around and it was just me again on my own, the seal had gone too but it had all been a bit bizarre. A few years ago a Minke whale was stranded at the same weir and I do wonder what my Dutch visitor would have made of that.

One thing's for sure is anything can happen on this river, you could catch a hundred fish and have a whale of a time or easily get a duck, either way old father Thames gets the seal of approval.

A Funny Old Day On The Canal

 I hadn't been down the cut all summer so decided to take the walk down there in the late September sun still in my shorts and T shirt, I must admit it felt good despite the usual strange looks from those in the high street. I was looking forward to getting a bite a chuck and I had come armed with plenty of maggots to get through the bleak and chublets for a bit of wag n' mag, on the drop fishing.

On arrival at the waters edge I saw a brown murky coloured canal, I had forgotten it had gone this colour a few weeks back instead of murky green, also it was covered in leaves freshly blown in on the breeze which was quite strong in places but eerily sheltered in others.

I set up further down on the first leafless spot where the wind ripped across, sitting there in the shade it dawned on me that the hoodie needed to come on and shorts weren't the best idea. Summer was changing to Autumn for sure and I decided this wasn't the best place to spend the day, although I did get a couple of small perch there in the five minutes I tried.

I moved to sunnier climes out of the wind at a swim I did well in winter and settled down to get through the initial surge of small stuff, off came the hoodie once more and I was raring to go, however the fish weren't, bites in fact were hard to come by and I struggled for the first hour before eventually picking up a couple of roach.

A rustle in the undergrowth next to me kept me alert as did the endless fall of conkers from the tree behind before a lady in a full sari come running right up to me really fast, I thought oh god here we go, is it ever dull down here? She proceeded to ask in broken English what was the most common fish in the canal, at least I think that's what she wanted to know, either way she was now repeating a new word - Gudgeon, before bizarrely sprinting off in the opposite direction to which she came. I spent the next half hour working out whether gudgeon or roach were the most common, before deciding it may be neither as my float remained pretty motionless.

The sun then went in and it got a bit chilly again, so the hoodie was back on, there was a bit of noise this time from workers building something in the field behind, a young mum stopped with a toddler to collect the fresh crop of conkers and a couple of boats passed through. A nice lady asked me if I was catching before mentioning her husband was fishing too, but at a trout lake up the road.

I started getting more bites, a few nice roach turned up along with some gudgeon of course, they just had to show really. Then the rustle alongside me became a plop as a rat proceeded to swim under my rod tip bold as brass, it was clear I was between their commute between bushes but they didn't 'give a rats' so to speak, cheeky little blighters.

In a good spell of fishing the bites came frequently and I was alternating between roach and perch which had now showed up as if to point out their stake in the popularity contest, it was also due to me trying for them in a spot where I knew they sat close in, some of the perch were nice ones, not huge but these canal perch sure have some strength and I love catching them.

Then some bread drifted down on the surface and rats either side of me took turns scurrying out to grab a feast. This time a man came walking quickly right up to where I was fishing, took of his headphones and said "Did you see that?" once again in broken English, after a pleasant conversation I kind of shattered his enthusiasm by pointing out it was a rat and not the water vole he first thought.

All this seemed oblivious to the rest of the towpath traffic who went by in a mix of clothing from big winter coats to bra tops and hotpants, even the women wore them too. I then caught another stripey as the sun re-emerged to warm my bare legs a bit (I had normal shorts on behave) It was a bit battle scarred and had seen better days, the perch I mean, not my legs.

Meanwhile rat No2 was now there in the open just watching, clearly fresh from the water sporting a spiky hair do, how Headphone Guy thought it was a water vole I don't know as this thing was massive, the size of a rabbit just sitting there twitching it's nose at me. I don't know why but I threw some maggots at it, one hit it flush on the head but it continued in it's motionless stance observing my every move, not caring much for reds dusted in turmeric. 

A loud clap of the hands saw the rat off as the lady from before returned from her shopping trip in town, she asked again how I had got on and it turned out her old man had a trout so happy days, she was laden with shopping bags despite saying she was only going to look around, "I've heard that one before" I joked.

Well it didn't fish too well after and another slow spell became a biteless one which signaled it was time to call it a day as the workers had finished whatever they were making. I hardly had that bite a chuck I envisaged and had to work for it, but it was rewarding with the roach and perch to a decent size and around 30 in total, with roach just edging the contest this time 16-14, there was also a few compulsory gudgeon, chublets and bleak but not as many as expected.

As I walked home I imagined a vast shoal of gudgeon stretching down the entire cut, staying deep on the bottom away from the swimming rats, joggers and shoppers, I then saw what was erected in the field, as if a reminder of the circus that is the Grand Union Canal.

Changing Tactics For Barbel Save The Day

 I got stuck behind everything on the way to fishing today, or so it seemed, bicycles, bin lorries, horses, eventually I was just one link in a snake of cars winding it's way through the Hertfordshire countryside. Whilst it looked like being 'one of those days' it was a fine morning to be doing 20mph down country lanes, now behind a tractor as we all meandered along like a slow river in the hazy low sun.

I decided on a stretch of river I hadn't fished all season and hoped to get a mix of fish on maggot with pellet and hemp as back up should I struggle, setting up in a swim that looked perfect but was far from it. Struggle I did, not for bites for I had plenty but for anything that wasn't a tiny chub, minnow or small roach. One lone dace was the only fish I had that wasn't the size of my thumb, mind you it was a cracker.

I gave it an hour that before deciding maggot wasn't going to work in the clear water with all the small fry about. I tried hemp then pellet only to get a succession of gudgeon, even on 6mm pellet, these gudgeon were good ones but I also knew there could be loads of them to get through, suffice to say this was my cue to wander downstream and try somewhere else.

It was clear I had the whole stretch to myself as in every spot where I looked for fish I seemed to scare something or other, leaping into flight whilst making an almighty racket they don't half make you jump. However it says a lot about the dangers on the British countryside when the scariest creatures you encounter are those startled pheasants.

I finally spotted some fish in a shallow, snaggy spot under some trees, here a handful of barbel could be seen, they seemed spooked by the bright conditions but quick feed of pellets bought them into play, however it was so clear and the gravel was illuminated by the sun, I could almost see every stone and I didn't fancy my chances as the fish ghosted through casting a shadow as they went back to waters dark.

I decided to change to a static bait, put on some 6lb line and a small weight that was just enough to hold bottom, with a banded pellet as any hair rigs I had on my spools are probably deemed as vintage by now as they have been there so long unused, I rarely fish the lead but I felt this was my best chance here and with it now quite warm I could sit under the tree and relax for a bit as it had been a hard morning. I balanced the rod perfectly on the rushes using nature's rod rest and started to think about lunch.

A few small clouds came over so I waited a little. Then suddenly I had the 'three foot twitch' as the rod was getting yanked around, I leapt into action and was grateful the barbel headed downstream and not into the mother of all sunken trees in front of me. After a spirited battle a sprightly barbel was in the landing net. This legering lark could catch on I reckon.

After resting the fish I left the rod propped up against the bushes and had my lunch in the sun, around a dozen long tailed tits fluttered through the tree opposite in their own unique style and I could hear another pheasant cackling away in the distance as I tucked into my sarnies. At times the road in the distance went quiet and all I could hear was birdsong and the gentle rustle of the rushes in breeze. It's amazing how one good fish can make the day when you are struggling, suddenly everything was perfect. 

I carried on with the lead after lunch although now I remember why I do it so rarely as I was already getting fidgety. I carefully peered into the shallows over the rushes with the polaroids on try to see what was going on down there. I watched for a while motionless like a heron seeing only chublets and the odd roach before another lone barbel finally came into view, however it seemed to be the only one left and wasn't feeding. Nonetheless I was pleased with my heron like stealth and patience.

Up and down it went, still on it's own, I couldn't resist carefully throwing some feed down in front of it and it took two pellets on the drop, it's mouth puffing out twice and sucking away, it was clearly feeding. I fully expected it to get it's nose down on the deck for the rest of the feed but it didn't, with the next handful of feed going in the same thing happened again. I had only one thought - Float.

Off came the lead and on went the float, sliding the float rubbers over the hook was the hardest part but it must have taken less than a minute to completely change set up, keeping the same hook I was ready to go. Often barbel get cagey this time of year and do prefer to take on the drop and this was a prime example, but I was well aware the float could still spook this fish especially if I get a liner. First cast out and the barbel seemed to make a beeline for the noise of the float hitting the water  but didn't take the bait, however this action despite the sun being out made me really confident.

Next cast, a handful of pellets with the float cast right in the middle, timed to fall as one, with a banded pellet on the hook that was slightly larger than the feed, perfect, bang! The float has shot under a good foot whilst at the same time the barbel can be seen twisting, turning and heading upstream. In the clear water I could see everything but I had more control with the float, it's still chaos though in such a narrow swim and I was glad the tree didn't come into play again.

As there was only around four barbel originally in the swim catching two was a right result especially with the weather offering only occasional cloud cover, getting one in the seemingly low afternoon sun was a delight as was my first fish in ages on the lead. Changing tactics really worked and sure beat trying to get through the small stuff that were hammering the maggot.

I packed up soon after as the swim was now completely empty of anything other than those chublets and a few gudgeon, no doubt mopping up those pellets, I didn't fancy another move and it was a good way to end. As I walked back I remembered I hadn't seen anyone all day, I had the river to myself as a heron took to the air in front of me, I doubt if it was impressed with my heron stealth mode but it made a change from all the clucking pheasants.

Now you try saying that whilst eating a sandwich.

Child's Play On The Avon

 Following the successful short trip to the River Alne the previous day we were off to the Warks Avon on a sunny hot early September, Sunday afternoon. I started in a weir where I had loads of chub last time I was there earlier in the season, but today was different and I knew it would be harder, much harder. So it was I couldn't buy a bite on pellet running the float though and if I trotted maggot it turned out to be all dace and bleak.

Moving on we found a nice spot in the shade but with many walkers and dogs going by it was far from quiet being so close to the path. It was also full of more tiny dace and I didn't have enough bait to even try to get through them so off we moved once more to the next meadow downstream.

The final spot was in a wheat field, thankfully it was more peaceful although I could hear people swimming near the car park and the occasional resulting ripple would make it's way to our position. There was however less small dace here and less bites in general and I managed a few nice roach and perch.

Being in among the rushes with no wind about meant it was mighty hot and I'm not sure either me or the missus were used to it given August was so cool. The heat actually got to us a bit and we left mid afternoon after both agreeing the shade of a pub garden and an ice cold drink were much more appealing.

As the cold drink(which tasted so good) and a nice meal were consumed in a pub garden overlooking the river in Tewkesbury, the hot daytime fishing was in the back of the mind although at the time I think we both wanted to jump in the water. Summer will soon be over and days like this will be fond memories even if the fishing in hard.

The following day was the return journey from our short stay away, it was to another part of the Avon we went even though I knew it would be hard again. So did everyone else it seemed as we were the only car in the car park which meant I could actually get on the weirpool for the first time ever. The water was like an aquarium and I could see down a good few metres, although only dace could be seen, I hoped for some nice roach trotting pellet but had to make do with a less than massive chub.

It mattered not as it was lovely in the shade on such a day, a good place for the first coffee of the day. With my caffeine levels topped up I tried maggot again and once more it was all tiny dace and bleak, the weir pool was very scenic though and it was nice sitting by the rumbling water before any thoughts of heading home entered our minds.

With the whole stretch to ourselves I decided to try the only other shady spot downstream to get rid of the maggots, hoping there would be less small dace but once more they were everywhere in the main current. I had never seen the Avon this low and clear and In my new spot I saw a perch right below the platform swimming around, in a small bit of sunlit gravel about four feet below me. I had to try for this 'non dace' and as my maggot approached the giant stripey (it was about 2oz) one perch turned in to half a dozen as they appeared like little soldiers from their bunker, they were hardly sergeants more like cadets and I too felt like a kid fishing for them under my rod tip.

The missus actually said I looked like a child, squatting astride my stool which was sideways to avoid the legs going through the gaps in the platform, well that was my excuse anyway as I watched perch after perch take my single red maggot near the bottom.

It soon turned into a fish watching exercise as the way the perch sucked each maggot into their huge puffed up mouths was a sight, every now and then a slightly larger one would follow a hooked fish and I hoped to see something really big and striped, a real sergeant, emerge from the shadows but it never did. 

After half dozen fish even the small perch got slightly cagey which I found interesting, I watched my bait get followed on several occasions, the perch just drifting with the current almost alongside the maggot, then once in the shade of the tree my float would go under, this happened quite a lot whilst all the time I was also feeding midstream to keep the dace away. The perch would also take the bait from all different directions although by now I was only getting them in the dark shady water under the tree.

It was fun fishing like a kid, despite being not the sort of fishing I'd travel hours to fish it was a laugh for a short while before a hot drive home. By now my cap was on back to front to shade the sun from my neck as it breached the canopy, I cared not for looking cool as feeling cool was better even if I did look like a kid once more. I caught 28 perch plus a couple of roach and better dace with the rest of my leftover maggots going in to feed what was left, lurking in the dark depths under my platform. 

A simple morning's fishing on the Avon that was just child's play.

River Alne Warwickshire

En route to weekend break with the missus we stopped off to do a bit of fishing on The River Alne near the wonderfully named Wootton Wawen. I really liked it the one and only time I fished here a few years ago so a return was long overdue. All twist, turns, overhanging trees and pools it was my sort of river, the sort you could jump across in some places with the odd deep hole in others, I had a nice mix of trout and coarse fish the last time so would be happy with more of the same this time.

After parking up I spoke to another angler who was roving like I was to do, however he was dismayed that it was all minnow, he said couldn't get through to anything so I feared the worst. The water was low and clear so I set up in a spot where I could see some dace. I caught one first run through but then the minnow took over but at least it was a start.

Moving on I tried another hole, the sort where a little too far upstream I got minnow and if I let the float run too far down I got... yeah you guessed it, however in between there was a sweet spot requiring a demon cast under the trees, here I caught a few more beautiful dace before bang...

It was small stream fishing at it's best as a battle with all the snags, trees and nettles was won resulting in a nice chub, I thought it was a trout at first so it was a welcome bonus and probably the reason for the gap in the minnowtropolis.

Then the trout showed up but I quite like them, I don't get many round my way and they always impress me with their scrappy speed and power plus the variations in colour. For a while it was a mix of trout and dace, nothing huge but they were all netters.

I even managed a small perch among the dace and trout, then I had a quick dabble upstream before we had to leave. I briefly left the missus with the sheep, reading her book (why they were all reading it i'll never know) and headed off to a small pool upstream where I had 7 dace in as many casts, all really nice ones too, of course there was still time for another spotty marauder, released to fight another day.

It was a lovely couple of hours spent deep in the English countryside sitting on the sloping banks of a gently meandering stream, what could be better? I ended up with 28 fish and managed to avoid all the trees although I could have done with a shorter rod at times but that was half the fun, that and avoiding all those pesky minnow.

As we packed up it was evident the weather was turning and it was getting much hotter, with the rivers also low this may be the best fishing of the weekend I said out loud, but deep down I thought to myself I'd take that all day long.

I did spend the rest of the journey in the car thinking of sheep based literature puns but in the end I just thought I'd just leave it to ewe.