Warwickshire Avon

Dace Mechanics.

2012-02-11T21:40:00.000Z

Apart from a trip to a commercial after perch I've mostly been working and looking after my children recently.

The perch trip was a week or so back and before the recent drop in temperature set in. I had to break the thin ice in the margin to fish the peg I wanted but the sunshine during the day was warming and the ice had almost completely receded come afternoon.

I caught one handsome perch just short of two pounds which fell to my float fished lob worm. Throughout the day I had a number of sharp dips on prawn which I put down to roach after I eventually caught one or two. This got me thinking whether small 5mm pieces of chopped prawn under a light float might not only be a good roach bait but also a way of discriminating in favour of the bigger fish. Some experimentation needed here I think.

A nice perch.

A robin, a stick, two rods, some ice and my boot.

With another trip to the famous Itchen in the offing later this month and with dace on my hit list I wanted to get some practice fishing with a maggot feeder today. Maggot feeder fishing can be a frustrating style when your tip is constantly bouncing and vibrating around but not resulting in much by way of fish. Most silver fish love a maggot bait and on the Itchen as with other rivers they offer you the chance of hooking grayling, dace, chub and roach. All worthy targets.

The first swim I picked on the Avon this afternoon was a dud. I gave it an hour but without so much as a tremble I couldn't resist a move. Further downstream and in a spot well known for it's winter dace population I lobbed out my maggot feeder and waited. The watery sun carried a little warmth but the day was still icy cold.

My intention was to get amongst some bites and then chop and change hooklength, size of hook and number of maggots in an attempt to bake a dace cake with a winning recipe.

Within twenty minutes of my move I had the first rattle. Totally unhittable. My opening gambit was a ten inch hooklength with a barbless eighteen hook and either one or two maggots. Amongst the rattles the tip would occasionally lurch round and spring back perhaps three times in quick succession. If I was quick enough I would catch the fish (mostly dace with the odd roach thrown in) but my hit rate was pretty poor.

I increased my hook size to a fourteen barbed carrying two or three maggots. Surprisingly the number of maggots on the hook didn't make much difference to the number of bites despite the hook looking conspicuous when carrying only two grubs. In amongst the trembles was the odd lurch round again but unlike with a barbless once pricked the fish were much less likely to get off. Having said that I caught less on a bigger hook.

I shortened up my hooklength to only four inches and put on a barbed eighteen. The trembles now became jags and the lurches were promoted to sharp tugs. My catch rate improved somewhat but it was the final alteration which made the most difference of all....

I used pliers to squeeze the barb down slightly in an attempt to reduce the amount of force required for it to prick the fish, but left enough of it protruding to still do it's job. This upped my catch rate again. I still had the wobbles and trembles to contend with which were caused by gudgeon and smaller dace - I know because I caught a few of these by accident when I picked the rod up to wind in - but if I sat those out there would eventually be a firm pull. Firstly the fish was likely to be on when I picked up the rod and secondly it would weigh four ounces or above.

Approximately four ounces was the lower weight limit of the fish I caught from the 'proper' bites I received and I believe their weight was their downfall as the force of them shaking their head when feeling resistance was enough for them to be pricked down to the tiny barb... and subsequently caught.

I had perhaps half a dozen dace which I weighed in at five ounces and began to think I was not going to better this.

5oz Dace.

As dusk approached fish started to top all over the river and caught a six ounce fish quickly followed by one of seven ounces.

7oz Dace.

The fish pulled my spring scales round to 200g, and because they are metric I have a conversion chart from grams into ounces sellotaped to the back of scales for reference.

It's only this evening when I double checked my conversion that I see how tight this one is:

200 g = 7.05479 oz

Oh well, at least I wasn't trying to weigh this slight fish on 50lb digitals or who knows what the answer would have been.

Cheers.

Where To Go?

2012-01-22T20:09:00.000Z

Choosing where to go fishing at this time of year can be problematic. The inevitable 'daylight hours remaining' calculation follows every look at the watch before setting out.

My family responsibilities over with for another weekend I found myself standing in my garage staring at my fishing gear - my mind in a whirl working through the various probabilities of an afternoons sport.

The long shot venues are called up, ranked into some sort of order and then placed alongside the knowns of venues involving firmer likelihoods of catching. We've had some rain round here recently so chub on the river or perch on a commercial were doing their best to come out top of the pile.

It doesn't help matters when other bloggers are writing about glimpses of monster pike or river roach which would shake most personal bests.

My new found affinity for perch saw through this time round and I was soon in my car heading for still water.

The wind was noticeably strong whilst driving but unmistakably keen on the pools. Tearing at the waters surface there were bubbles collecting in the windward margins.

I put out two light quivers on alarms in an attempt to fish beneath the howl. The nearby power lines were singing and swaying in the force of the westerly.

I hooked a perch here a couple of weeks ago which took line from the reel and when it rose to the surface had my adrenalin pumping good and proper. As I drew it towards the net I had a good view of the fish and knew it was the biggest perch I'd ever hooked. Well over three.....that could be a f........the fish rolled one last time and my float rig fluttered up into the air. I sat shaking and ruing my luck for the next half hour.

Although the sunken lines of the quiver tips and alarms did get beneath the wind I was plagued with sharp jagged bleeps and tugs which I couldn't hit. As the afternoon wore on the wind subsided a little and I swapped one of the rods for a float set up. As soon as the float rod was out I started to see the subtle touches and lifts which the quivers and alarms were previously hiding.

I caught two perch on the float as the light started to fade, the biggest 2lb 5ozs.

Not quite the monster I was hoping for but proof to myself (if any were needed) that I probably enjoy float fishing for perch so much because it's float fishing, not perch fishing.

Cheers.

Here We Go Again Then..

2012-01-17T21:36:00.000Z

The net results of our Bloggers Society AGM at a local alehouse early in the New Year were twofold.

Firstly and most importantly, we uncovered an equation which Einstein himself would have put his moniker on, namely: Jeff Hatt + Alcohol + Fresh, cold, oxygen rich outdoor air = The wobbliest legs since Bruce Grobbelaar. That said, Jeff and all of the other band of merry men provided excellent company throughout the night. I think we may have struck upon a new tradition.

Of slightly less significance was that in an attempt to narrow the field this year we would adjust the rules of the 2012 fishing challenge so only the top five fish of each competitor will count in the final reckoning. Still sticking with the percentage of record weight theme but enabling people to hone their angling targets rather than having to try for all species.

Consequently I burned the midnight oil last night and have rejigged our shared score sheet so only our top five catches will now count. How I cursed Google docs for not allowing non-consecutive cell references to form a named range.

This years score sheet looks like this:

2012 Top Five % of Record Weight Challenge.

As you can see we already have some early scores from the bank from those willing to brave the cold weather we are currently experiencing.

I've managed a couple of outings in spite of the four letter word which begins with a 'W' - and for me that's 'work' and not 'wife'! - and have had a scraper decent perch and chub to show for it.

A 1lb 12oz Perch and it's smaller relative caught on the same worm.

A 10oz Roach which took a liking to a fat lob.

4lb 1oz Chub, best of four fish from the upper Avon Sunday afternoon just gone.

Great to be back outdoors.

The funniest thing I've seen so far this year however is when Jeff and I took a trip to a local commercial in search of big perch. Not having a bait tub into which I could lend him a few maggots he started to take a look into the many bins around the lake to see if he could find a suitable receptacle. Seeing him root through the bins was amusing enough but you should have seen the stuff he was pulling out!

There was obviously a match on the day before and in no time at all he had amassed an emporium of casters, pellets, groundbait and so much other high quality fish food he was forced to become choosy about which bags to keep otherwise he'd have never carried it all.

The bait which made the cut.

Now that's what I call ready made bait!

It just so happened we weren't after carp on the day but it could all be stuck in a freezer in anticipation of a chub session don't you think?

Finally, I've consulted the charts and have determined that come February 10th I'll be able to leave work, be on the bank in the light and have three hours fishing of an evening without encroaching too heavily on dawn 'till dusk club rules. Here chubby chubby.

Cheers.

Done and Dusted. Home and Hosed.

2012-01-03T21:28:00.002Z

Our bloggers 'Percentage of Record Weight Challenge' drew to a close when Big Ben struck and the fireworks started.

I for one thoroughly enjoyed last year, so much so I think it's going to be one of those years I look back on fondly for many years to come.

I remember when as a newly wed - and before we had kids - the wife went with friends on a summer holiday abroad for a week. You'd think with the house to myself I'd settle onto the settee and reach for the remote but that just wasn't the case - I was never at home! My routine that week was to leave work as soon as humanly possible, fish until fifteen minutes before the Indian take away closed and pick up my order on the way home then repeat the following day. I've never seen as many cartons and foil trays as when I tidied the house before driving to pick the missus up from the airport. Good times.

Fast forward fifteen years and I find myself separated, with time on my hands and working for a company being wound-up and which was consequently slowing to a stop after the British government decided Forensic Science wasn't it's thing. I had the maximum holiday quota and also flexi time at my disposal and I am proud to say that three weeks before my exit I still owed my employer over a week of time! Holy shit did I go fishing last year.

'You can have too much of a good thing', is only partially true. Yes there were two weeks at the beginning of June when I'd become tired of stillwaters and had a lay off until the rivers opened, but that was when I was in the thing, amongst it, immersed in it and I needed the air. Now I've started a new job working for a company which is soaring rather than nose-diving and which requires attendance until well after sunset during these dark winter months I'm hankering after a second shot at those two weeks in June so I can fill them with hooks and line.

With all that time on my hands it's no surprise I won our competition. I warned all those who attended my garage party and meeting at the pub last year they were stuffed. Three competitions, three years, three first places [he says trying to stoke up the others].

The Final Scores.

I'm pleased with my nine personal bests across the year, but saddened by the lack of form from some of my local waters, and especially the Warwickshire Avon itself.

We have a bloggers AGM / Piss-up arranged for this Saturday night so let's see if there's a thirst for a similar type of competition next year. Perhaps, perhaps not.

One thing is for sure, I now have my feet firmly back on the ground and fear I won't be able to commit anywhere near as much time to fishing in future and at the end of the day, time is what it's all about.

Make the most of it.

Cheers.

Keith .J

Ladies And Rocking Horse Manure. Part Two.

2011-10-14T14:28:00.003+01:00

How long does it take you to get bored of Christmas when you're a kid? 'Never' is the answer.

A day out on the Lower Itchen Fishery is the coarse angling equivalent of Christmas day and this was my third annual trip to the fishery.

Our party of eleven arrived in dribs and drabs and by the time I'd pulled up Sash the organiser was already at it after roach in the mill pool.

Greetings taken care of I took up a position opposite him on the mill race and threatened to show him how it was done. I fed loose red maggots and followed them down with a 7xNo.4 dome-top stick float. Third run through and strike followed bite and the line was tight.

The fish didn't offer the writhing fight of a grayling nor the zig zag jig of a roach but held steady and deep in the turbulence. The verbal abuse from the other side was only just audible above the roar of the water. "What's he mucking about at?", "Swing it in then!".

Well I couldn't 'swing it in' as although this was no monster it was taking some shifting on light tackle. After a couple of minutes a small barbel rose to the surface and I scooped it into my net. Not only was this my first river Itchen Barbel but also my first ever on a float! Only a pound or two in weight but a good start to my day. What a place this is.

River Itchen Barbel.

Unlike previous years my plan this time was to start at the bottom of the fishery and work my way up to the top, focussing on coarse fish in the morning and then grayling in the afternoon.

After the barbel from the rapids I tried a few other likely spots as I shuffled upstream, had some bites and bite-offs but didn't put a fish on the bank.

The river changed character as I wound my way upstream. Deep pools and bends were replaced by shallow glides and gravel bottoms.

I'd had a few grayling up to a pound by now but then I was reacquainted with a dark depression. And what a beautiful depression it was! A croy placed in the middle of a long shallow straight forces water away from the near bank which in turn gouges out a depression in the river bed. With fast moving water above and below it the depression just screams fish. I've fished this spot on each preceding visit and it has never let me down.

A fine depression if ever there was one.

I put out a handful of maggots above it and they sped over the dark area of water, descending as they went. Immediately I could see a group grayling darting up from the river bed, plucking the maggots from mid water before disappearing again.

Fishing at full depth yielded a couple of small fish but it was apparent from what I could see there were some better specimens amongst the group.

I scaled down my hook length from 3.2lb to 2.6lb and replaced my size 14 hook with a size 18 Drennan super specialist. I removed all my dropper shot from the line so my bait would fall naturally and set the depth at about eighteen inches.

I could now swing out the float along with a handful of Lane's finest and all the grubs moved along as one group. This tactic was an instant hit with better grayling after grayling falling to my rod. If I put two maggots on the hook they would be left alone. If I ran the bait through without the free offerings it would be left alone, but if I baited with a single maggot and a dozen freebies I caught every time.

This proved valuable information for later on. The result of my temporary depression was a grayling of one pound four ounces.

1lb 4oz grayling.

A few conversations later and after a hurried lunch of six, yes six, sausage rolls and I was on the upper limit of the beat.

Faced with deep swift water and a short run I switched to a maggot feeder approach. I wanted to give this technique some room to breath and so got comfy in my chair as though I was staying a while.

Double maggot on the hook brought a number of small grayling and then things dried up. Remembering the behaviour of the bigger fish from the morning I scaled down to a smaller hook and single maggot.

It took a while for my next bite to arrive but it was worth the wait. A writhing tussle resulted in a new personal best grayling of one pound fifteen ounces.

I didn't mess about with fancy photography as I wanted to get the fish back into the water as son as possible. Thankfully, after a worrying few minutes with it lying belly up in the net it righted itself and kicked away.

1lb 15oz grayling.

I followed this up with a four pound one ounce chub, a troot, and a second best grayling of one pound fourteen ounces. Maggot feeder works then.

A troot, aye. (geddit?)

A chub hooked on the blind side.

Second best Grayling.

1lb 14oz Grayling.

The old enemy time was marching on and I could sense the end of the day just around the corner. Having achieved my grayling target and then some I decided to move back down river to finish off the day, hoping for either an even bigger grayling or better still a roach.

I persevered with the maggot feeder on a slow bend as it had already yielded my two best grayling ever, but the minnows were rife down this end and the light quiver tip vibrated continually.

A proper bite out of the blue saw me drawing a splashy silver fish in to the net. Closer inspection revealed a pristine dace lying in the folds. I'd long written off catching one these!

It weighed a very satisfying eleven ounces - a second personal best for the day - and buoyed my spirits and enthusiasm to new levels.

11oz Dace.

I left the fish in my net for ten minutes or so whilst I tried to contact Danny and Jeff in case they wanted to see it but as they were now on the mill pool section all I succeeded in doing was filling Danny's phone with missed calls and unanswered texts as he couldn't hear the ringing.

With the light fading I thought I'd stick my neck out and go for a hat-trick and so out came the bread feeder for roach. I had a few indications but couldn't connect with anything other than another chub.

Last light.

I met up with the others near dark where we'd started our day and stories were exchanged.

Reflecting on this trip, I've concluded that what I like most about fishing the Itchen is the way it responds so quickly to effort and guile. You soon know when something isn't working and there are so many fish in the river they readily let you know when you're doing it right.

My efforts and concentration across the day were rewarded by two new personal bests. I loves the Itchen.

Here is the challenge scorecard today:

Cheers.

Ante-Post Gambling. Part One.

2011-10-13T22:13:00.002+01:00

Our day on the Lower Itchen Fishery was booked for mid-October and so I once again immersed myself in the ritual of deep-dive internet research for prospects, strategy and tactics for the day.

The deeper I dug and the more information I consumed about this amazing river the more my ideas inevitably burst out of the constraints of a single days fishing. So, I used up the last of my holiday quota at work, made my reservations with a local B&B and found myself in Southampton a day and a half before the starting tape was raised on the Lower Itchen Fishery.

If you'd asked me a month ago about my targets for this trip I'd have stated a one pound grayling, but by the time I arrived in the south they'd ballooned to a two pound roach, an eight ounce dace and a one pound grayling.

The coarse fishing on the left bank of the river Itchen below Gaters Mill down to Woodmill lane is gratis courtesy of Southampton City Council and it was here I intended to spend my time prior to the main event.

Bitterne park was busy in the bright sunshine of a warm Sunday afternoon. A walk along the bank talking to as many local anglers as possible before collecting my gear from the car didn't succeed in dampening down my roaring optimism. "Dace!? Rare as rocking horse $£!^ round here nowadays!", said one. "Big roach!? You'll be lucky! It's a bit early for the bigun's mate", said another. etc. etc.

I set up on a bend in the river in the park and ran a stick float through with maggot on the hook. Now if I were a creational deity with a penchant for the 'pin I'd ensure one bend like this went onto every river along every mile of it's length.

The current pushed off from the near bank towards the far side pulling your float with it and then as the flow reached the apex of the bend the float skirted the far bank crease passing perfectly alongside the far side cover. Perhaps there is a god. I'll drop some Lanes gift vouchers onto the alter of the local church just to cover that base.

A trotting swim designed by a higher power.

It wasn't long before the float buried and I had a chub of about a pound in the net.

All the time salmon porpoised and often cart wheeled through the air above and below my position.

As the afternoon passed I caught two further chub, some small roach, a shed load of gudgeon and an increasingly frustrating number of minnows.

It felt right for a roach as the light started to fade so out went a small cage feeder containing liquidised bread and a pinch on the hook.

First put-in and a slight tremble was followed by the tip slamming round and me bringing in a broken hook length. Eh?! That wasn't in the plan. Could have been a game fish I suppose.

I stepped up to a 6lb bottom and this time squeezed my bread flake onto a mini-hair coming off the hook.

I'm never the most confident using small pieces of flake and this technique enabled me to give the bread a firm squash onto the hair without blinding the hook in a doughy mass.

A couple more casts and the tip slammed round again. Whatever was on the end was weighty and not at all happy with the meeting arrangements I was trying to put in place. It made powerful run after powerful run, trying to get under the trees on the far bank (forcing me to plunge my rod tip underwater) and then heading upstream at a zinging nip.

My money would have been on a salmon had it not been for the brains involved on the fishes part. Salmon rarely have the wherewithal to try and snag you deliberately. Nitro-charged aerial gymnastics are their weapon of choice for snapping a line.

When a carp broke the surface my outstanding questions were answered. I didn't weigh the fish but estimated it at between twelve and fourteen pounds.

I carried out the unhooking on the grass at the back of the swim and only rested it on the hard surface for a quick snap before returning. I know, a fish on a hard path is not a good look so apologies are due.

Itchen carp.

After dark the tip went round again and this time I was prepared for the powerful carpy fight which followed.

A lady walking her two spaniels which were both wearing flashing LED collars approached me and the inquisitive dogs went mental; barking at the fish in the water and jumping up and down with excitement at the fish being drawn slowly closer to them. They also found time to take it in turns scoffing my bucket of bread crumbs whilst I wasn't looking.

One of the dogs jumped off the bank into the shallow water and had to be sternly called back out. I might be anthropomorphising here but I'm sure the jumping dog was grinning as it flew through the air, ears-a-flapping.

The second carp was a fat one and I weighed it as the lady showed more than a passing interest, but nowhere near as much interest as the now ecstatic dogs. The fish weighed thirteen pounds eight ounces.

13lb 8oz Itchen Carp.

My final bite of the evening resulted in a totally straightened hook and so I retired to the pub for a last orders pint and then to the B&B for a couple more and then bed.

After a full English the next morning I was on the bank by eight o'clock a little further upstream than before. The wind had picked up something rotten meaning I very soon wound in my float and had the maggot feeder rod out.

My maggots were being chobbled by minnows every cast, coming back like granny's tights more often than not.

[I look forward to seeing the website hits from the keywords, 'granny's tights' - weirdos! 'Ryton dogging' still gets me about ten visitors a month believe it or not! They don't stick around long though.]

I persisted with maggots and had a chub, three pounds one ounce, and a small roach.

3lbs 1oz chub.

Itchen roach.

I then moved around a lot for very little gain during the remainder of the day, finally fishing a lovely pool below the old bridge for a few more roach, perch and minnows.

Free fishing at its finest.

I retired earlier on the second day as I knew from experience that the following day would be demanding both in terms of concentration and staying power.

I walked the bank at dusk chatting at length to other anglers - making sure they properly realised the quality of the fishing they had in front of them - and observing fish on gravel glides. The people I met were friendly and the river astounded a midlander like myself, but I'd nothing points-wise to show for my efforts so far, so a whole lot rested on tomorrow............

Cheers.

Bonus Babe.

2011-10-06T21:11:00.000+01:00

As you've hopefully gathered by now there are fifteen of us bloggers involved in a 'Percentage of Record Weight Challenge' this year.

Although last Christmas now seems a long time ago, it was back then - whilst loudly finessing the rules and species list for this years efforts in the pub - that we agreed to award a bonus 50% to anyone who caught a fish which exactly matched the arrival weight of Roger's then unborn baby.

On 2nd of March this year Roger and his wife were introduced to the beautiful baby Cerys and since then Roger has not revealed her birth weight to any of us.

[This next bit sounds a bit weird]

There are already a few barbel, bream, carp, catfish(!), pike, tench and zander on the board that could be in the frame for these points, and only Roger knows!

I wonder whether these 'Bonus Babe' points might come into play come December!?

Cheers.

A First For The Force.

2011-10-05T00:13:00.000+01:00

After I'd dropped the children back on Sunday evening I paid a short visit to the Warks. Avon after Dace.

Before I knew it it was dusk and I was struggling to see my float. I went through stick float, then stret-peg and finally touch-ledgering variants with my 14ft float rod and centrepin before it dawned on me I'd taken all the wrong gear to the wrong place with too little time. That's Autumn evenings for you.

Last night - and before Leamington Angling's committee meeting - I tried to catch the single biggest grass carp in Snitterfield reservoir off the top. I think I've caught the second biggest twice now already this year.

Failure was cemented when after two hours of catapulting out floaters seemingly all the carp in the lake started taking them six inches off the bank about thirty yards downwind. I stealthily moved down the bank a little and they obviously backed off a little more. I moved again (now with the light fading badly) and they 'did one' en masse. A blank then.

Tonight I should have been doing other things but I ended up going fishing for a few hours on a Leamington stretch of the Avon. I think Sunday evenings taster had got under my skin.

I'd intended to dabble for Dace again and put out a barbel rod as a second chance but the peg I'd earmarked was occupied. My second choice peg was also taken by none other than Tony Miles who let on it was his buddy in my first choice peg. Bloody angling legends! Seems you can't move for them round these parts sometimes.

Oh well, I only had my short handled landing net with me so the peg essentially chose itself.

With the light already starting to fade I dropped the notion of dace and put out two rods in the hope of a barbel.

At dusk I had four solid ratatats on the tip, none of which hooked up. I've had such a dire season for barbel I started to question whether there was something wrong with my hooks or terminal tackle.

Dark arrived around seven thirty and the ratatats ceased. I set set myself the end point of eight thirty unless there were further indications.

At eight thirty I wound in my left hand rod after weed once again caught the line and dislodged the feeder. This had been happening all night as seriously large clumps of summer growth broke loose and moved down river.

At eight forty I'd packed away everything I could have apart from my second rod: folding landing net, bait, etc.

I looked at my watch and thought, "I'll give it till eight forty five".

At eight forty five I stared at my one remaining tip and thought, "Go on you bugger. Go! PLEASE!".

And do you know what? It did!!

It went round and stayed round in a thumping curve which has become something a recollection for me this year.

I picked up the rod and everything was solid. The fish, whatever it was, was buried in streamer weed. I leaned the rod to the left for downstream purchase and the fish broke loose, powering upstream. Now I know you're thinking what I'm thinking when a fish powers upstream.

Now solid again, but this time level with me in the streamer weed on the far bank. On the move again, upstream.

Weeded once again but now it's above me so I have the upper hand. Dipping the rod down and left I soon feel the thud thud of direct contact.

Rod is high now. I need this fish up in the water if I'm to land it. It skates, still upright, towards me as I both slide down gravel the bank and unfold the landing net in a single motion. It's in!

You know it's a good fish when you lift the net out of the water and this one exceeded my expectations.

So I make no apologies for showing you all of the photo's I took of my12lb 9oz Warwickshire Avon barbel. My second largest to date and only my second barbel of the season....and it's a minter!

12lbs 9oz Warks Avon Barbel.

I finally got a self-take right.

Still buzzing.

12lb 9ozs.

The other side.

Resting in the edge.

Swam off upstream.

I was shaking a bit and shouting "Get in!" alot. More so than a teenage raver in Ibiza, and so much so in fact I actually did 'get in' when I slipped off the bank after returning the fish and got a booty-full.

Nothing lifts the soul like the capture of a good fish.

With a full four days exciting fishing ahead of me in the upcoming week I hope I can now maintain the momentum. I'll let you know.

Here are the current challenge scores:

Cheers.

Birthday at Blenheim.

2011-09-27T22:19:00.002+01:00

It was my 40th birthday last Friday and I'd organised a small flotilla of boats on Blenheim Palace lake.

David, Jeff, Lee, Martin, Pete and I were in attendance and Messrs. pike, perch and tench were all invited along via our baited hooks.

There were some notable aspects to the preparation for this trip. Local specimen angler Merv' Wilkinson had been producing hand-made floats whilst convalescence prevented him from the strains of hauling in big fish. I'd arranged to meet with him prior to our trip and as well as topping up on leads which he makes I acquired some floats suitable for Blenheim. I handed these floats out (and a generous slice of birthday cake) to each guest before we started fishing in the hope that they might vicariously play a part in the downfall of a decent fish.

Whilst readying my tackle the night before and enjoying a beer, revelling in the anticipation of a whole day afloat, I thought it would be a good idea to add a slug of brandy to my canteen of orange squash. This would later prove to be an unwise move as I'll explain in due course.

To the day then, and let's not beat about the bush, we were all late arriving for one reason or another. Pete was driving me down and we'd planned to call in at Banbury for a MacDonald's breakfast but we missed the motorway turn off in the gloom of dawn. We then tried to gain access to the Palace grounds via various exits as he'd put the wrong postcode into his sat nav. Not to worry, it was barely light once the others arrived just after six.

Fishing reports from Blenheim are thin on the ground and so unsurprisingly we all headed in the direction of the grand bridge to kick off.

View from the bridge at dawn.

I picked off a couple of pike to my deadbait rod early on which weighed 9lb 9ozs and 7lb 10ozs respectively.

A Blenheim pike.

The first fish managed to dart around the anchor chain at the back of the boat whilst my attention was diverted, hysterically barking orders at Pete who was trying to assemble the landing net. Luckily I had 18lb line on the reel and managed to pass the whole kit and caboodle around the chain to get back in direct contact. Indirect contact with any fish is an unsettling state of affairs.

Around the chain goes the whole kit and caboodle.

After the first pike and whilst fishing a skimmer deadbait I had a run which I missed. I rebaited with a roach and cast roughly to the same spot and half an hour later had the run which lead to the second pike. Whilst this second fish was resting in the landing net at the side of the boat it coughed up my skimmer bait from the previous cast! Now partially bleached from stomach juices, I never did get round to using it on the hook again. I was using a big barbless single hook on my trace which made unhooking very easy indeed.

Regurgitated skimmer.

Despite these two pike our other float rods sat without a bite and at around nine o'clock we made off up the lake to try and seek out perch and tench.

What followed was six hours of trying here there and everywhere attempting and failing to buy a bite from something other than a crustacean.

Whilst by the lily beds opposite the boathouse we saw a shoal of rudd being hammered a number of times from beneath by an unseen predator. Wobbling a deadbait through the area didn't get any attention.

We saw a shoal of bream rolling out towards the centre of the lake in front of the boathouse in about 14ft of water and so stealthily rowed upwind then let the boat drift down to the edge of the area before gently lowering the mud weights and fishing for them. You guessed it, we didn't see another sign.

By now, with nothing more than cake for breakfast, a very early start to the day and a steady stream of brandy and orange for drink the atmosphere aboard our boat was becoming more ramshackle by the minute. It was only when Lee radioed in reports of bites back up by the bridge that our enthusiasm returned and we cast-off at top speed to try and conjure some action.

That evening spent with three boats moored within hailing distance of each other against the backdrop of the grand bridge went on to provide the most persistent memories of the day. Lee'd had a pike and Jeff a perch by the time we arrived.

Lee's pike aint too happy.

Pete had a nice tench and I landed a third pike of fifteen pounds exactly. My pike fought extremely hard and at one point powered off into bright silvery water as the sun sank low in the sky, tail-walked on the surface throwing the dead bait from it's mouth and assumed a perfect 'S' shape in the spray. Amazing.

Nearly there......

15lb Blenheim pike.

We witnessed Lee catch a tench on a sardine and once again saw a huge shoal of rudd which were sipping at the surface being attacked repeatedly from all directions.

Our float rods were now indicating bites every so often and I hooked a tench on a worm which went on an epic sixty yard first run before I could slowly coax it back to the boat. It was a good fish and when I lifted it out I exclaimed to Pete, "If I'm a lucky boy this is going to be over six". On the tared scales it weighed 7lbs 2ozs which offered an unexpected challenge points return on the day for me.

7lb 2oz Blenheim tench.

Pete and I inexplicably missed a few more bites on the float. I resorted to drinking Kronenberg as it was now the liquid with the lowest alcohol content in the entire boat and then at last light we had a rowing race back to the boathouse. It would appear my middle name is 'Redgrave'.

At eleven pm and after twelve hours afloat the floor of my bath felt like it was moving beneath my feet as I showered away the dregs of the day.

A trip to Blenheim is a long day and not something you'd want to do every week but although I've been only twice it has never failed to provide good memories which linger much longer than the sea legs and back ache.

Blenheim delivers. Better late than never.

Here are the challenge scores this evening:

Cheers.

I Loves Perch.

2011-09-15T22:19:00.000+01:00

Whilst the Warwickshire Avon continues to give me a sound kicking on the barbel front the bright sun that is Autumn perch fishing has risen and is pulling me inexorably in.

One less blank I gotta worry about.

I just can't help but love perch fishing. Fishing with a float and a big worm on the hook, trickling in maggots over the top and waiting for the whole thing to waddle off sideways or under if you're lucky when a perch finds the bait. I find the bite rate of around one every hour is just enough to keep my interest up, especially when a four pounder might be at stake.

Last Friday I accompanied Jeff on a trip to Weston Lawns and despite fishing adjacent pegs we had different fortunes. If truth be told I would have fished where he was given the choice. The owner was working his way around with a strimmer in preparation for a match the following day (to remove some silver fish) and just happened to cut Jeff the perfect peg in a reed-lined bay as we were contemplating where to settle.

As it transpired I hooked three perch across the evening and landed two, with the best being two pounds fourteen ounces whilst Jeff just couldn't get amongst the bigger fish. Trust me - he was doing absolutely nothing wrong.

2.14 Perch.

I returned after work on the off-chance earlier this week to try again and had an unusual Autumn brace: a two pound three ounce perch and a sturgeon!

The Perch is 2lb 3ozs.

This was part of three perch and two sturgeon caught on the night.

Thinking about perch I had a brief visit to Ryton Pools this week to finish off some unused maggots. The first thing to report is the number of rudd in there after their stocking last year. They've exploded in number with hundreds of yearlings topping across the surface at dusk. This is good news for a number of reasons. Firstly the Pike will benefit, secondly the perch will benefit and thirdly and not least the whole pool will benefit from this quality stock in years to come. Where else can you find good rudd fishing in the Midlands I ask? Keep your eye on Ryton Pools.

A Ryton Pool Skimmer - Very Welcome.

I ventured out to an uncharted perch water the other day but found there was a match on the whole pool when I arrived. I walked around and had a chat with a few of the anglers, slightly disappointed at not being able to fish myself. One of them said he'd had a good perch and me being me I asked if I could see it. Pulling up his keepnet revealed a fin perfect and chunky perch of well over three pounds. I'll let you know how I get on.

Cheers.

Keith .J

About Time Too.

2011-09-08T22:49:00.001+01:00

So here it is, my quarterly blog update. At this rate you will soon be seeing my biannual posts at best.

I can't put my finger on any single reason for the above, I've still been out fishing, and quite a lot at times. In fact in June I think I nearly overdosed and had to take a two week break to recover. An accumulation of little reasons is the best I can conjure as a reason for absence.

I hate to reaffirm a cliche but you actually can 'have too much of a good thing', and when that good thing is trying relentlessly to catch even a single barbel at my usual haunts and repeatedly failing a timeout was required.

You see here's the thing - I used to be able to catch barbel at the places I fished on the Avon. Down at Lucy's Mill I'd say I'd expect one every three trips, and on the upper Avon I'd expect one every two trips etc. etc. In fact as I drove home from Stratford with Jeff Hatt last March after the capture of his splendid twelve pounder I recall him saying, "I know a double figure barbel's not going to trouble you". And do you know what? I smiled wryly as if to say, "a double is no problem mate". Little did I know then that it would take me until 21st August to even catch my first barbel of the season, and never mind a double it weighed in at 3lb 12ozs!

Welcome relief.

Talking to others on the bank this is certainly not going to be a vintage year for barbel however the likes of Phil, Lee, and others who write on here have had their share so they do still exist.

Minus four challenge competitors in one charge.....

Our bloggers outing to the Avon sticks in my mind as a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. I'd been out in London the night before and so didn't arrive until late afternoon and then took it upon myself to start on the beers again forthwith. The fishing wasn't amazing but it was hot, low and clear at the time and so to land a pike at dusk was a good enough reward for three casts. Not half as entertaining as harassing Danny by setting up within a beards breadth of him and casting dangerously close to his lines though. Not to worry, I was soon tucked up in bed under the rotating stars and leaving him in peace.

On the same evening as my first barbel I also had a decent zander of 5lbs 3oz on the other rod. Before this I'd been cycling down to Coombe Abbey at least once a week in the hope of a zed from there. All I had was jack pike though. I met renowned Coombe angler Bob Moreton a couple of times and as a regular he regaled stories and tips I hope to put to good use in the future.

I had a fun evening after the big stillwater chub at Jubilee pools too, waggler fishing shallow with a mixture of soft and hard pellet and maggots. Although I didn't hook a chub I had plenty of quality roach up in the water and also landed a few bream and a carp.

On the upper Avon maggots ruled for chub in the clear water.

A 4lb 8oz Avon tench, my first ever river tench.

At least 50lb of bream to a feeder angler at Lucy's Mill.

As the seasons turn I'm already thinking about big perch. I enjoyed fishing for them so much at the start of this year I'm looking forward to engaging with them once again. I have a few untapped places in mind which I think may hold a magical four.

Some good fish continue to be posted on our bloggers challenge board, here are the scores this evening:

Cheers.

Please Repeat That.

2011-06-19T13:13:00.000+01:00

Before and after I set about single-handedly disposing of my my company's assets I'd been doing a spot of fishing.

The story of each trip has been lost to time as it's been a while since I've posted on here (must try harder).

As such I'm going to throw out a few photos and themes maybe you could just 'imagine in' the gaps for me. If I just focus on the positive bits and you intersperse a few blanks and hours of staring at motionless bite indicators that will sum things up nicely.

Trotting the Canal.
I went back to the Grand Union for a few hours before Leamington Angling's AGM. The water was constantly on the move and I soon became frustrated trying to get my sensitive float to hold bottom in the tow without it being dragged under.

After a short while I had the revelation of taking off the bottom shot completely and letting the float move along in the current, sometimes left to right, other times right to left. I carried on trickling in maggots onto the central area and soon started to get bites. I ended up with three skimmers and a couple of perch. Going with the flow was far less frustrating than fighting it.

Trotted canal Skimmer.

Can't Catch Tench.

I've visited Hardwick / Smith's at Linear fisheries twice now to try for a decent tench.

The first trip I caught four carp to just over nineteen pounds. Lovely fish in lovely surroundings but not the intended target. Meanwhile Dai Gribble was on another part of the lake and he had a dozen tench in a morning with four nines amongst them. Talk about localised though, his mate was fishing the next peg was struggling as much as me.

Second trip out I couldn't get anywhere near the swims I wanted as the place was rammed and so settled into Dai's swim fishing replica Dai's methods. Not a sniff all night. I was up at four thirty in the morning and undertook a dawn bivvy move to try and get closer to where I thought the fish were but royally blanked.

Joe makes it look so easy!

Here There Be Monsters.
I did a night at a midlands gravel pit in search of monster cats but they didn't come out to play. Exciting fishing though, casting out half a tin of meat coated in various stinking glugs and powders and watching the rods.

During the daylight hours I had fun catching a bag or roach on the wand. Lots of fish but none over eleven ounces.

One Fifteen Snitterfield Crucian.
I caught a one fifteen Snitterfield crucian.

One Fifteen Snitterfield Crucian.

Floater Fishing at Snitterfield.

Whilst floater fishing at Snitterfield reservoir a fifteen ounce roach took my bait, bizarrely increasing my challenge score for the species.

Floater Caught 15oz Roach.

Later on in that session I recaptured the grass carp I'd had last month but this time weighing twenty one pounds ten ounces. A new pb and another bizarre improvement of score.

21lb 10oz Snitterfield Grass Carp.

Insert Fish Here.

Another Repeat, This Time a Bream.
On the Grand Union again and greedily hoping for an even bigger silver bream, I only went and caught the same fish as before. This time at one pound fifteen ounces. I now refer to this fish as Berlusconi when I'm talking to myself or shouting and throwing things at passers by out of my bedroom window.

Seen it all before.

I Like Mowing Grass

I didn't fish for a week before the new season. I'd become tired of stillwaters and half my mind was already on the river.

To quench this thirst I borrowed one of the club's petrol strimmers and took to cutting out as many pegs on the Avon as humanly possible in the time available. It was a good excuse to spend a few evenings by the river without the mental burden a rod sometimes brings.

Very satisfying.

A Cat At Last.

I fished on the opening night of the season and caught a twenty five pound ten ounce catfish.

I was fishing for a bite rather than specifically for them and it picked up a trimmed down single boilie on a two ounce running lead on my barbel rod. It gave me a very good fight!

I'll gum you to death.

25.10 Catfish.

I Haven't Caught a Barbel Yet.
I've had a couple of tries to date but am yet to open my barbel account on the Avon. I've had plenty of chub and bream and so am confident in what I'm doing, I'm simply waiting for a barbel to come along and make a mistake.

The best chub so far is this four pound thirteen ouncer from Wasperton.

4.13 Wasperton Chub.

Catching these two chub in quick succession on a centrepin whilst standing in the water were the most enjoyable fish thus far.

A Pair of Avon Chub (biggest 3.12).

Elron's Quest.

The idea of catching a big eel is intriguing me this year. Big eels appear to be mysterious creatures, both few and far between and inhabiting some strange places. Big eel anglers appear to be clinically insane, devoting ridiculous amounts of time to finding / catching them with apparently scant reward. We'll see how I get on.

This baby eel was one of two caught recently during my first ever session devoted to the slimy things.

1lb 5oz Eel.

That's it for now. Here are the current scores:

Cheers.

Ultra Vivid Scene.

2011-05-25T12:55:00.000+01:00

My alarm woke me at six thirty yesterday morning. A group of us from work were to visit the Sanger Institute just outside Cambridge. They'd come up to visit us earlier in the year and I had presented to them on that day and so had been invited onto the return leg. I was looking forward to it.

Do you ever have songs jump into your head not long after you've woken up? I do. As I showered and shaved I listened to 'Lust for Life - Iggy Pop' and 'Teenage Dirtbag - Wheatus'. The latter made me smile out loud as it describes every teenagers perfect switch-around.

I had a works car at home and set off at seven thirty, southbound on the M6.

Although there are works currently underway at the Catthorpe Interchange they are not part of the junction saftey improvement scheme. The government identified the safety improvements as a 'future scheme' in last October's spending review and these were postponed until some time after 2015.

I entered the average speed camera stretch slowing to fifty miles an hour. I moved into lane one as I was taking the A14. All three columns of traffic were moving at roughly the same speed.

I could see the traffic ahead of me slowing down and so braked gently. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw a truck bearing down on me with a significant closing speed.

I remember saying out loud, "He's not going to stop". The next five seconds are a fractured memory.

There were more trucks in front of me and so once my brain had worked out that a collision was imminent it became about not going under one of them.

I veered towards the hard shoulder to try and get out of the trucks path but it hit the rear of my car shattering the back window instantly.

I remember the force of the shunt, catapulting me off the road towards the verge. I remember branches lashing the windscreen and trying to steer the car out into the open. I remember hearing tearing noises from the underside of the car. I remember thinking "How is this going to end?". I remember the shuddering deafening impact with the trees, airbags deploying, expolding, filling the cabin with dust and smoke, body, arms and head lurching forwards with the deceleration.

The engine had died and in the muffled silence I sat still for a minute or two, the endless roar of rubber on tarmac in the background. My blood pressure felt low from the shock. Adrenalin continued to pump into my blood and after realising I was still in one piece I stepped out of the car and spoke to a witness who had pulled over.

Today my body feels like lead. My neck and shoulders are sore, my forearms are tight.

The grass however is greener than it was yesterday, and the sky is more blue. The hugs from my children last night were savoured. I was lucky.

Tread carefully.

Marsh Farm Crucian Carp and Tench, And A Big Bream. (PB's)

2011-05-13T23:18:00.000+01:00

I've visited Marsh Farm near Godalming a few times recently - predominantly after the crucians which live in Harrison's lake. Across those visits I have learned a little about the lake. It has some idiosyncrasies.

A couple of trips have been with specimen angler Phil Smith whose company I've enjoyed on the long journeys with early starts from the Midlands. With my persistent irreverence and questioning mind I'm certain he too has endured my company.

Phil's approach to piscatorial information security would put our intelligence services to shame and although at the outset we seemed to be coming from different directions in relation to openness, I've now thoroughly digested what he said.

Subsequent to our first trip to Marsh Farm and in a light-hearted and good-humoured attempt to illustrate the point of our discussions (and using nothing more than blog clues), Phil set out on foot to find and then catch a silver bream from the exact spot in my last post. Although he must have walked an eight mile round trip on the towpath I'd been vague enough for him to miss the spot by mere yards. If he had succeeded then that would have been a photo with a sting in the tail.

Our first trip down South was met by an Easterly wind which had the trees swaying like galleons on the waves. The cold gusts regularly blew my antenna float flat to the surface and made delicate presentation a nightmare. Fishing in the margins was the recommended method and in the early afternoon as the day warmed slightly I received my reward for staring intently at a float doing a good impression of a seismograph needle, a two pounds three ounce crucian carp.

2lbs 3oz Marsh Farm Crucian (PB at the time).

The sport 'down the edge' for the crucians in the cool blustery conditions was proving slow to say the least and by mid afternoon I found myself catapulting out some pellets and following them out with a straight lead on the wand.

The bites from the tench were all reel-churners. I had a eleven in total, the biggest went five pounds twelve ounces much to the chagrin of Phil's mate John who's most memorable line of the day was, "Marsh Farm is NOT famous for it's effing Tench!".

5lb 12oz Marsh Farm Tench.

The wind switched to a moderate Southerly the day prior to my next trip and stayed there whilst I fished in the sunshine. Now this was more like it. I had four crucians on soft pellet from close in: 1lb 15oz, 2lb 3oz, 2lb 6oz (a PB at the time) and 3lb 2oz (current PB), and a tench for good measure.

2lb 3oz Crucian.

2lb 6oz Crucian.

3lb 2oz Crucian (PB).

Off by dusk. Now that was a good day.

Our final outing saw me struggling for crucians once again however Jeff took good advantage and got amongst a few of them.

The weather on this final trip seemed perfect to me for an all-day crucian bonanza. Moderate South Westerly winds and a warm sunny day. By all accounts the fish showed in certain areas early on but then dwindled in terms of bites by late morning. By early afternoon the whole lake seemed a dead loss, noone was getting any action. I'm sorry to say the guttural draw of the bomb rod won out again and I caught and lost a few moderate tench on a pellet.

Last Saturday afternoon I nipped to a local gravel pit to try my hand for a tench or bream. Within thirty minutes of spodding out some 'munga' I had my first indication on the right hand rod. Within forty five minutes I had an eleven pound one ounce bream in the net!

PB 11lb 1oz Bream.

Snot-Ball Heaven.

After this fish I had no end of liners - some of which were so pronounced I struck at - but could put nothing more on the bank. An early evening tench of about four pounds finished the session and I once again went home happy.

Here are the scores this evening:

I'm gunning for a decent tench now to finish May off in style. Looking back over the year to date I've had eight PB's from the thirteen species I've caught so far. Can't be bad!?

Cheers.

A Big Silver Bream.

2011-04-27T12:19:00.001+01:00

I went to the Grand Union canal the other evening to try for an eel once the light went.

The towpaths and canal were exceptionally busy with people and boaters enjoying the bank holiday sunshine.

To kill time whilst the sun was high in the sky I set up a light float outfit and fished the near shelf with red maggot as bait. When the locks opened the water would move at a rapid pace from left to right. This happened about every ten minutes so I just trickled maggots over the top of my float whilst the water was still.

I caught hybrids and bronze bream and then had a silver bream of six ounces. A very welcome visitor and a fish which got me off the mark for the species in our blogger's fishing challenge.

6oz Silver Bream.

Next put in I had another silver of thirteen ounces. Bonus!

13oz Silver Bream.

I had to wait about half an hour for my next bite as the watery world and my baited area all went right at about five miles an hour as more boats came through.

The next fish I caught had me trembling with excitement and making numerous texts and phone calls for silver bream identification criteria.

I sent copious photos and close ups to the good Dr Hatt (our very own silver bream aficionado) for an objective decision as soon as I was home that night. We talked on the phone the following morning as he did anal fin to tail root scale counts, lateral line scale counts, eye width to head measurements and dorsal fin to lateral line scale counts.

After these deliberations he concluded it was a silver bream.

So here it is, all two pounds one ounce of it:

A great goggle-eyed fish which is worth a whopping seventy percent of the record.

I didn't catch an eel.

Cheers.

Keep Off The Grass.

2011-04-24T10:28:00.000+01:00

The warm weather we've had in the last couple of weeks is heating the still waters and bringing the summer species into play. Carp are moving on the top and crucians are coming round the edges. My big coat has been washed and hung on the hook and will hopefully stay there until Autumn.

I did my first night session at Hopsford Hall the other week with my near neighbour and friend Dan Bevan. It was a loosener to remind myself how the shelter fits together and to get back into the rhythm of a night.

I left the screw-on handles to my barrow at home and so had to cart my gear to the swim bent forwards whilst holding onto the barrow frame. I looked ridiculous and my back was aching by the time I settled on a swim. This ensures I will never forget those handles again.

I was still suffering quite badly with the perch bug at the time and so spent until dark fishing for them down the edge. I've caught perch from Hopsford to over two pounds before and was hoping it would offer another venue for later in the year.

I just caught the one, but at two pounds four ounces it was very encouraging.

2lbs 4oz Hopsford Hall Perch.

The carp fishing with alarms isn't worth mentioning. No slight on the fishery you understand, just my inability to get to the point of real confidence with this style of fishing.

A second night last Friday with Pete at Weston Lawns after catfish also found me getting a good nights sleep. I fished a couple of gob-stopper pellets on one rod over a bed of smaller ones, and a suspended bunch of worms on the second.

The worm rig was kindly given to me by Les Lerigo and can only be described as 'hardware'. It is fished on a running lead and once cast out you let out line until you can see the poly ball on the surface, then wind back down to the desired dangle depth. I found at Weston that if I wound the rig down so it was tight to the lead the worms got battered by bream, and if I left them just under the surface they got battered by roach and rudd. I'm thinking of trying it out with a small deadbait in future.

Suspended Worm Rig.

The contrast between loading this rig with ten lobworms and staring at the meniscus of a pole float for a crucian bite has become the norm of late.

Whereas a recent similarity is sitting under a shelter at night almost anywhere and picking up the scent on the wind of weapons-grade skunk.

Once dawn arrived at Weston I had the strong feeling that the best time for a catfish had passed, and that I needed to work at it if I was going to catch anything decent. I did what I do best and went stalking before the day anglers arrived.

Within two minutes I'd found some carp clouding up a margin where the previous evening a guy had chucked in his unused pellets . I dropped a massive lump of breadflake into the coloured water and within a minute the pole float slid away. Stop the clock. This just re-enforced my mindset that I should stick to what I'm best at for catching carp.

After a good scrap a mirror carp of seventeen pounds five ounces was in the net.

17lb 5oz Weston Lawns Mirror.

I broke down the cat rods and went wandering round the edge for the rest of the day.

Before I knew it I was perch fishing again, and caught a two pound fish which was totally spawned out. Pete had another spawned out perch of two pounds eleven during the day and the change in shape of these fish within a month is remarkable. They both still had massive heads but were bream thin and flabby stomached.

A perch post-spawning. Time to give the sergeants a rest.

I'll conclude with another grass-related incident.

I met up with Andy last Thursday at Snitterfield. He arrived before me and I found him chatting to Jan Porter and his film crew who were making a tackle video whilst fishing the reservoir. Jan's real tree van has to be seen to be believed. Although he must get bothered by plebs like us wherever he goes we found him really friendly and open. In fact after they'd finished filming I saw Jan sit on Andy's pallet and chat to him for a couple of hours whilst Andy stared deeply into Jan's blue eyes.

I was sporting a concrete colour-palette outfit as I was intent on some surface fishing. I did three laps of the lake looking for fish on the top in the hot afternoon sun but couldn't see any close in. I got on the back of the wind and catapulted out some bread to try and force the issue. Once towards the middle of the lake the cruising carp started to take it.

My casting range wasn't sufficient to reach them so I moved round to the windward bank hoping they would be more accessible from there.

After an hour or so of fish occasionally moving through the bread and taking some - and a couple of missed takes - I hooked into a fish.

It came towards me easily and after two sideways half-hearted runs came to the top. I saw it was a grass carp and was on with the net in a flash. I took it onto the long grass at the back and it kicked the crap out of me. I had both arms cradling it beneath and leant over it with my chest on top, my face being slapped by it's tail.

It calmed down within a minute. Andy, Jan and another Keith came round and we weighed it in at twenty one pounds five ounces, a new PB.

Chuffed.

Long.

Like a massive chub.

Did I tell you I caught a grass carp?

Recovering.

Swam off strongly.

Over the moon, I thought about packing up there and then but as there were carp still taking bread off the top I couldn't resist fishing on. I had one further fish, a common of about ten pounds and that was it for the evening.

Here are the current blogger challenge scores:

Cheers.

Karma Angling.

2011-03-28T23:11:00.003+01:00

I'm writing this on the back of three PB's in three days, a purple patch of Hatt-ian proportions.

I'm not yet prepared to accept the nose-dive in form I'm certain I'll soon be dealt however, and intend to surf this wave until the bugger crashes ashore.

Last week started slowly. I arranged to meet up with David at Leamington Angling's College Pool after Sean had caught a decent perch there the weekend before. Talking to a few guys revealed perch of 2lb 11oz and 2lb 15oz had also come out recently and so our hopes were high.

I fished opposite David [no more url's] at the far end of the pool with one rod on an alarm for bream and my pole down the edge for perch. David was fishing similar tactics and to cut a long story short I watched him reel in a procession of bream and then cap it off with an amazing perch of 3lbs 10ozs.

That was, and still is, the biggest perch I've seen on the bank and although admitting I'd like to have caught it I was honestly pleased just to have seen it, and seen it caught by a pal.

I went back later in the week to try again for perch but succeeded in only catching carp. The biggest went 12lb 6oz.

12lbs 6oz College Pool Carp.

Now that's not a big fish, but when you consider these carp were only stocked into the pool a couple of years ago at between three and five pounds you get the impression they're growing on. A second hand report of a sixteen pounder from the venue now seems more likely than not.

[More url's follow! But it seems rude not to.]

On Saturday I met up with Les Lerigo, Pete and by happy coincidence Gaz' at Weston Lawns. I was after perch and settled into a corner which was due to be out of the wind for the day according to the forecast. Previous days had been bright, sunny and warm but Saturday brought a cold, foggy start. A day which never really got going with low cloud hanging overhead all day. Perfect for Perch!

I fished my centrepin reel with four pound line straight through with a fourteen foot float rod, and fed red maggots and prawns and fished a worm on the hook. I've taken to injecting the head of my lobworm bait with a bit of air so it sits just off the bottom, gyrating like a worm-woman belly dancer.

I had two perch of 1lbs 9ozs early doors, each of which made me smile with irony because they both exceeded Jeff's apparent glass-ceiling perch weight by exactly one ounce.

In between bites it was quiet, no knocks and sways like you expect when carp fishing the margins in summer, just a dead still float.

At midday the float wobbled and retreated beneath and my strike connected with weight. Although not a long-winded tussle the fish took line from the reel three times before I could get it up onto the surface.

This fish looked different, bigger than the others I'd had. I'd taken a phone call from Pete as he had parked up his car and between hanging up and him yomping into view I'd caught a 3lbs 3oz perch, a new pb.

3lbs 3oz Perch.

Buzzing, I caught up with Pete and Les and then sat down again to focus on the job in hand.

The next cast resulted in a bite, but this time I couldn't identify the fish from the fight, it was rapid, zooming about all over.

Once in the net it was obvious that it was a record gudgeon which had burned his pension payout on cosmetic surgery:

Massive Cosmetically Altered Gudgeon.

I had another of these celebrity gudgeon about the same size later on.

It took until five o'clock for the next bite on the float. There had been the odd wobble beforehand indicating fish in the swim but when it went, it went.

Once again the fish took line from the reel as I tried to keep it out of the bankside reeds. This one stayed lower in the water than the last. Have you noticed that it's only when you see the fish on the surface that your brain does the maths and scares the pants off you? Whilst they remain hooked but deep and out of sight you have only your imagination to contend with. I believe this is why so many lost fish are monsters.

Once in the net I exclaimed to myself, "[expletive, expletive]... I think it's another three!".

Pete came over to witness and photo and it turned out it was my second perch pb of the day: 3lbs 6ozs.

3lbs 6oz perch.

Honestly? I sat out the last two hours in a daze, reflecting on a great day and wondering what the reputed big girls in there might go to at this time of year. It was a good drive home.

And so to tonight. Do you remember in the post before last I reported stocking Leamington Angling's Jubilee Pools with some nice fish resulting from a netting party of a Warwickshire stillwater?

I worked like a common dog that day, ferrying fish to and fro', wet and cold, and driving a transit in chesties. I'm proud to say however that every fish made it in once piece into their new home.

Do you remember this rudd? I lifted it out of the container for a photo as it went into the lake as it was such a memorable fish.

A big rudd stocked into Jubilee Horeshoe Pool.

Wanna see it again?

2lbs 1oz Rudd - Jubilee Pools.

I mean come on, check out the tail. A big split in the centre with a minor split above. It has to be the same fish!?

Now if that's not karma angling I don't know what is.

Here are the scores tonight:

Cheers,

Keith .J

A PB Perch Times Three And One Last Cast.

2011-03-15T20:17:00.000Z

I've been devoting a few evenings to perch fishing on commercials recently, and I've fallen for it big time. So much so that despite the imminent approach of the close season last week I chose perch fishing right up until the last minute and when I couldn't ignore the Avon any longer.

Spurred on by the amazing three pounders caught by Steve and Lee in our bloggers challenge I just had to give it a go. Good perch are now firmly on the list of species which put a massive smile on my face when I get one.

I went back to the commercial near Bedworth which Merv' Wilkinson commended for my first outing but blanked spectacularly, only hooking a carp which came off after a short struggle. I bumped into none other than Stef Horak whilst I was there and he came over to chat for a while. Nice bloke, what else should I have expected?

On my second outing to the pool I'd had nothing in the first couple of hours - it's a strictly dawn 'til dusk fishery. I kept looking at my watch and quickly back at my pair of pole floats.... 5:30, 5:45, bloody hell I reckon I can squeeze out another ten minutes.

Stay up there Sun, don't sink!

Right at the last, one of my floats dived under - the bites you get when fishing worms are simply amazing, so positive - and I struck. After a few short tugs up to the surface came a perch and I was on it with the net like a flash, reminded of my recent loss.

At 2lbs 7ozs it was a new PB for me and I was over the (ever brightening) moon. I rushed to take pictures and pack down so as not to incur the wrath of the owner. I was in such a rush that only once I was in my car and out of the fishery gate did I let go a few yelps and air punches. Thankfully I missed all the air bags and dashboard and made it home in one piece, high.

2lb 7oz Perch.

For my next outing I took my now irrepressible skills for catching big perch (all one of them) on a trip to pool two at Weston lawns. Once again I fished the mighty worm on the hook and fed prawns and red maggots sparingly. Izaak looked down from between the clouds and said unto me, and in no uncertain terms, 'Keith my son, you're a ****'. I had nothing but carp.

Five in fact and up to 13lbs 8ozs, all of which stretched the knicker elastic on my pole to incredible lengths but frankly not what I was after.

13lbs 8oz carp, pool two, Weston Lawns.

Last Friday I had the day off work and despite the rapidly approaching close on the rivers convinced Jeff we should have a day at at Weston Lawns. He seemed a little uncertain about the proposal but I was like a red-eyed rat at another opportunity to go perch fishing.

We spent the morning catching roach to 12ozs on light tackle and late-morning I put a worm down the edge on a second rod. After a bright start the skies had clouded over and the light levels dropped, and in the early afternoon I had a bite on my worm. The result was a 2lb 4oz perch, result!

2lb 4oz Perch

Given the change in the weather (for the better) we moved pools and went all out for perch for the remaining few hours.

I succeeded in catching four more fish: two at a PB equalling 2lbs 7ozs and two more about a pound and a half (not weighed).

2lb 7oz Perch No. 1.

2lb 7oz Perch No. 2.

In both cases the the fish came in pairs. An hour or so would pass without so much as a touch and then float would start to dither and a bite would follow. On each occasion I had two perch in successive casts. I could imagine the shoal 'mugging' round the lake on the prowl and coming into my swim occasionally. I believe the key to catching these fish regularly is to determine a place they pass through frequently and put your bait there. Well chuffed with my day we retired to the ale.

My mate Pete's back from his far flung nuptuals and we had an afternoon at Waspo' after barbel on Sunday. Apart from enjoying the warm spring sun, I had only a chub of about two pounds and some tiddlers on the maggot and wand.

The Hawthorn Bush peg, Upper Waspo'.

For my 'one last cast' into running water I met up with Pete again last night on the upper Avon with just the hope of not blanking at the forefront of my mind. It was a bright late afternoon and the best chance was always going to come a last light.

Once the minnows had stopped chobbling I put out a bunch of five maggots on my left had rod and with my last cast bagged a 4lb 6oz chub on this to finish off my season.

4lb 6oz Chub.

It'll be roach and perch for me now until March is out and the cyprinids get on the move.

Here are the Blogger's Challenge scores this evening:

Cheers.

The Fish I Lost The Night Before I Hooked It.

2011-03-02T00:02:00.000Z

As I type I have a fleeting banded image branded onto my retina which is burning a hole into my every thought process. A glimpse of something stupendous that will only serve to fuel the fire until I next return. I might have trouble dropping off to sleep tonight.

It's naturally a lost fish that's the source of my turmoil, but I'll get around to recounting that painful moment shortly.

I've been busy since last writing here. Sometimes fishing, sometimes not, but always amongst the great outdoors of our amazing English countryside. On the cusp of spring.

Last Sunday saw the Leamington Angling Association work party attempt a Herculean bog-lifting exercise at Jubilee pools. Sodden ground and ton weight out-houses made even the off road Land Rover slip and slide.

A fair amount of brute force coupled with a dash of logistical nouse did the trick however and soon the lady and gentlemen patrons of Jubilee pools will be enjoying the plumbed-in toilets on a hard standing with an en suite wash basin. Oooh la la.

Note to reader: My kids never lifted a finger to help.

On Monday night I played benign spectator to Jeff Hatt's Barbel exploits on the Avon at Lucy's Mill. I've done my fair share of Barbel fishing on the Avon and so once his new PB fish was safely returned I suggested we decamp to the pub to toast it rather than stay out any longer. One fish a trip is all that most can hope for from here.

An evening outing on the upper Warwickshire Avon saw me bank yet another four pound chub - this one was four pounds three ounces. If next years challenge is to bank as many chub between four pounds and four pounds four ounces then I'm a nailed on victor. So far I've had a four, a four-one, two four-threes and a four-four.

4lbs 3oz Chub.

On Thursday I spent the day with Andy back at Lucy's Mill. We were both hoping for a late season barbel and the conditions looked spot on. The river was up and coloured but not in flood. I needed a large four ounce feeder to hold bottom in the flow of the main weir and apart from an hour perch fishing in the slack water mid-afternoon I hung it out there in the flow all day, but only had a bream to show for it.

Load the rod Andy.

Jeff, I call this piece 'Sticks and Cork Amongst the Grass'. I thought about climbing a tree to take a photo of a dog turd but I'm just not avant garde enough! :) FYI your photos are something to aim for.

I think the big guy in the sky (Patrick Moore) was pointing us to Sausage Island.

On Saturday Danny and I had the pleasure of a day afloat on a rowing boat at Blenheim Palace Lake after perch, and although neither of us connected with our target species we both properly avoided the blank in style, something which from research is commonplace amongst anglers at Blenheim.

The grounds of the palace were sculptured by the safe hands of one Lancelot Brown aka 'Capability' to his mates, and boy does he do a good back garden (yard).

I had to photograph the directions to the car park as neither of us could remember them.

Although strong shouldered, Danny's rowing capabilities at times fell short on accuracy.

This was Danny's (many) attempts to position us close to a reed bed. At one point we did spear the boat onto the shore.

Between us we had a pike and a tench each. Anticipating a tough day, and after hearing of Jeff's purple patch Danny had the genius idea of fooling the fish into thinking Hatt was amongst them and created a pair of masks for us each to wear when times became hard.

Here I am with my five pound one ounce tench which succumbed to the illusion:

Danny comes up trumps with our new specimen-fooling disguises.

I'm not the best predator angler as those who know me will vouch for and my deadbait rod had been still all day. Rather than cast tight to the margin for my last cast I decided to remove my float and lob a straight legered deadbait out into the deeper water. I'd like to claim some well thought out strategy to this move but to be honest it was just a change from what hadn't previously been working. I set the bait runner onto it's lightest setting and carried on pole fishing, facing the other direction.

The boat was naturally swaying gently against the mud weights and whilst the line settled we could both hear a few Jaws-like clicks of the reel. After a couple of minutes in the deeps the reel began to click, very slowly. We discussed whether this was a fishy phenomenon and after a few seconds of steady clicking I picked up the rod, wound down and struck. My deadbait came in with deep lacerations down it's side, something we had both been experiencing on and off all day and which was certainly caused by signal crayfish in the lake. In fact Danny had pulled one out earlier on his worm.

I put on a new bait and lobbed it out into the depths once again. We were now well into last knockings. The sun was setting and a Kite quartered the lake.

Again, after a few minutes my reel began to click: tick...tick...tick.....tick, but this time the rod tip was definitely pointing down towards the water and the ticks were closer together. Once again I wound down and struck and to my surprise felt a fish on the end.

Within seconds of being hooked the fish was at the boat and I said to Danny, "I dont' think it's that big". Upon me uttering this the fish powered off, away from the boat and taking line from a tight clutch. I soon had it up on the surface and in no time Danny had it aboard. The big barbless single was neatly in the scissors.

It was once it was in the boat I could see the size of the fish. On the scales it went seventeen pounds seven ounces. A new personal best which turned an already great day into an exceptional one.

17lbs 7ozs Blenheim pike.

On Sunday I had few hours at a local commercial and had a perch of 1lb 5oz. Seasoned local big fish angler Merv' Wilkinson commended the venue to me. Unlike other sports where people are forced into retirement in their mid thirties, anglers just seem to mature like good wine. So just a hint from Merv' was enough to inspire me.

1lb 5oz perch.

Yesterday Leamington Angling Association committee, accompanied by the students of Warwickshire College swung into action once again to undertake a netting of a Warwickshire trout pool with an excess of coarse fish.

The net result (geddit) was a large number of quality bream, roach and a few rudd which went into Horseshoe pool at Jubilee.

Bream.

Rudd.

And so finally to tonight's trip. After getting home from a tiring day on yesterdays netting party, damp, muddy and knackered, I wearily readied my gear for this evening's fishing. I was going back to the local commercial after perch and so packed my margin pole. At the last minute I thought about taking a second rod but rather than break down one which was set up I chose to try out my latest eBay bargain; a Shakespeare ten foot Avon style affair - it will be perfect for the upper Avon in summer - stout yet stumpy. I had a reel already loaded with braided line and so coupled it with that and a leader of mono.

To cut an already long post short I had three carp at the commercial. The biggest was thirteen pounds fifteen ounces. 'Wang' went the elastic, 'Bugger!' went the angler, I was not after carp this night.

13lbs 15oz Carp.

As the light started to fade the float on my Avon rod plunged beneath and I swiftly picked it up and felt a fish. A large perch rose to the surface and hung there for a split second. My left hand reached for my landing net and I was bodily moving towards it. The Avon rod had little give in it's tip and the braid was taught between me and the fish. A quick shake of the head whilst still on the surface and the perch threw the hook, and sunk very slowly out of sight. I plunged the landing net into the water hoping to trap it against the near bank but it was too late. The fish was gone.

I've not caught many big perch but it was definitely two pounds plus. I am preventing myself from greater estimates in order to preserve my sanity. If only I'd have put up a rod with a more flexible tip rather than go for the lazy option of the 'free' rod last night, that perch might have been mine.

All I know is that the image of that lost fish is already beckoning me to try again.

You know the score mate:

Earlier this evening someone else was in the lead.

Cheers.

Choosing Your Moment.

2011-02-20T21:11:00.000Z

Thursday 17th February, the Avon at Wasperton. 16:00 - 19:00. 8C, light E.

A blindingly obvious aspect of this years bloggers fishing challenge has become clear to me: it's about catching big fish.

[Our competition is one of percentage of record weight, so convert the weight of your biggest fish for each species into a percentage of the record and add 'em all up at the end to see who wins.]

Although catching a wide variety of species is enough to build a par score there aren't enough gold dust species - ones others just might not catch - e.g. catfish, grass carp, silver bream, grayling, to rely upon to win the day. Sheer diversity is in my opinion not enough. To win this thing there will have to be a few special fish on your score card.

There is of course the bonus fifty percent up for grabs at the end of the year but to count on that is just Russian roulette. In good time we can disclose the criteria for these bonus points but for now we must remain tight-lipped and clenched.

This revelation is forcing me to adopt a two tier approach to my fishing. Tier one is just to catch something of everything and that is by far the most enjoyable task. I've become quite partial to a day on a commercial, wading through mid-double carp in recent years, and am looking forward to that day again this year but I suspect catching mid-double carp is well within the capability of all of the excellent anglers this year.

Tier two is to try and catch something truly special for at least a handful of the species, and this one is starting to get to me. You see it's almost March and although I've been on the water quite a bit of late I've yet to catch anything I'd consider truly special. If I cast my mind back to last year I'd say I had two special fish. The first was an eighteen pound grass carp from the ressy and the second was a catfish from a midlands gravel pit. The year before was different - two six pound chub and a fifteen pound barbel are highlights in my memory.

The big fish mentality is getting to me because I know how quickly time flies when you're chasing the biggies. You could spend a whole year after a thirty pound carp, a three pound crucian, a one pound dace, a six pound chub and not come close. There is often a lot of waiting and not a lot of action when chasing monsters.

To this end I've resolved to focus my big fish activities on the species I'm good at - and which are worth the most! - and to enjoy the par building days for what they are. If you can deliberately lower your expectations for a trip then you will be far more likely to enjoy things and not be disappointed. Going out expecting the magnificent on each session is a recipe for despondency.

So this is where venue selection comes in. In midweek and whilst dusk is still coming early I'm starting to choose venues where on one rod I can cement par whilst on the second I can play the lottery. If I played the lottery on both rods all week every week my numbers might never have been drawn this time next year.

On high days and holidays however I will put my big fish head on and be prepared to wait for something special to come along.

Last Thursday evening I was at Wasperton. I started with maggots on one feeder rod and persisted with pellets on a lasso on the second. Both fished and baited a line two thirds across.

The maggot rod didn't stop jiggling until sunset, but all I could connect with was a small roach. There were hundreds of small fish topping across the river and I saw two predator strikes on them on the surface.

I had a pike of two pounds seven ounces (fair and square in the chops) on a pellet.

And then as the sun sank I had an incrementally weighty bream of five pounds eight ounces.

Once the sun had sank I moved the maggot rod across to a different bait......

Can you tell what it is yet...?

Warums my loverly.

These two fish poked my nose ahead once again on the score card.

Cheers.

Summer Comes Early.

2011-02-12T22:14:00.000Z

Saturday 12th February, 09:00 - 18:00. Stratford town then Stockton reservoir. Sunny with the odd cloud. Moderate SW. 8>11>6C.

It didn't take me long to fall asleep last night. A combination of the working week with its early starts, uneventful evening fishing trips, and Friday evening chasing monster perch all took their toll.

I had a plan for Saturday at Stratford. I would spend the morning roach fishing on the pole by the theatre and then by way of a diversion would join Pete on the weirs for an afternoon, roach fishing .

I was on the scene by nine but wasn't the first on the bank, three other anglers were already fishing. I put out a red maggot under my pole and whilst the sun was low I caught some roach. Nothing much of note though.

I droppered in liquidised bread and some maggots to avoid catching the swans attention.

By ten the sun was well up and with it my sport slowed almost to a stop in the clear water. The gents fishing upstream of me were faring considerably better fishing out mid river with a waggler into deeper water, presumably it was darker and safer for the fish out there.

As the tourist crowds continued to build I started to get 'the feeling'. It's a feeling which my mate Pete (who was now fishing down on the weirs) has trouble comprehending. It happens when I can see a fishing day going downhill and can't think of a way of turning it around...... without upping sticks and changing venue.

Pete had reported four other anglers down on the weir section, leaving little room, and so even though I fancied a move I couldn't muster enough enthusiasm for the remaining free spots. Push came to shove when the guy upstream had his roach taken by a pike and a watching crowd started to gather instantaneously. For the first time in a while Stratford was getting on my nerves.

I walked down to see Pete and have a catch up but by one o'clock I'd decamped and was fishing again at Stockton. The number of fish and size of roach I'd had here on my last visit was enough to pull me back.

I put out a cage feeder and red maggot and added some ground pellet to my bread groundbait mix. I tend not to use pellet in my bait for uneducated roach but I reasoned the fish in Stockton would have seen enough fishmeal to acquire the taste.

Bites were slow to start off with but I had a few roach in the first hour. I changed my hook a couple of times, trying to find a pattern thin enough of gauge and sharp of point to prick well when used in conjunction with the soft tip.

Amongst the roach I caught two chub (biggest ~2lbs), more than Pete was to have all day on the river.

Then out of the blue (lias) came a small rudd of 6ozs.

The wind had now dropped and I folded back the hood on my coat and could feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I started furtively looking at the margins and wondering whether the carp would be moving into them yet. A sure sign things are warming.

To add to the unseasonal fishing feel a plump one pound seven ounce crucian carp followed the rudd.

1lb 7oz Stockton Crucian.

And then to finish off my February summer species trio I had a small mirror carp of 2lb.

Weird.

Others have been catching well in our % of Record Weight Challenge this year. Here are the scores:

Now where to go tomorrow?

Cheers.

River Sowe Chub.

2011-02-05T09:00:00.000Z

Sunday 30th January, 14:15 - 17:00. River Sowe Ernesford Grange. Sunny, 5C.

After a busy weekend away visiting my mate in St. Evenage [that's Stevenage to you and me] and prior to an evening out at The Stanton, Coventry's finest social club which has Cobra on tap and great Indian food, I squeezed a small amount of time onto a small river hoping for a big roach.

I'd recce'd this stretch the week before whilst my son swam at the nearby school and was keen to give it a try.

The first spot was a pool on a bend.

I fed mashed bread and red maggots very lightly and after twenty minutes had a couple of bites, the second of which resulted in a small chub.

Now I know it's tiny but I'm well chuffed with this fish, it put a big smile on my face.

I tried a couple more spots and caught another slightly bigger chub on a piece of bread.

I started getting bites immediately after casting into one such spot. Unfortunately without a roach expert on hand I was left wondering whether the plucks I was receiving and missing were from small chub or finicky roach.

Whatever they were they'll keep.

Cheers.

Dace And Roach On The Waggler.

2011-02-04T10:00:00.001Z

Friday 28th January, 08:30 - 14:00. Warks Avon at Warwick. 1C > 3C. N breeze.

The omens were against me at the start of this bright cold day.

I somehow snapped the tip off my originally 14ft, more recently 13ft 8", and now subsequently 13ft float rod. Oaf!

I clipped off the bit of blank with my pliers which was protruding beyond the last eye and set up a 2AA waggler.

Out went a pouchful of reds and a small ball of liquidised bread with stewed hemp.

Second cast, I caught the tree above the peg and lost my hooklength. Calm.

My float set up was simple, just two bulk shot with three no.8's six inches apart by the hook but the fishing was surprisingly technical.

Firstly there was the cast. An overhanging branch on the peg meant it had to be punched out with minimal elevation to avoid being caught up. [FAO the bailiff: It would be a 45 min job with my chainsaw to remove all trace of said branch.]

Secondly the flow. I was fishing two thirds over into about eight feet depth and the nearside was the faster water. This meant that frequent line mends were required to avoid a belly of line building up and the bait being dragged unnaturally speedily downstream.

Thirdly the wind. A Northerly downstream breeze meant even more mending as soon as the float hit the water.

Finally ice in the rod rings. This required clearing with my warm fingers about every five casts until eleven a.m. when the air temperature rose sufficiently to alleviate the problem. Left in place on the rings it grabs hold of the mono and turns the mainline into a pigtail.

The fishing however was worth the effort. I had my first bite on the second cast and became worried if I had two runs down thereafter without a bite.

I caught seventy seven fish in this session, a mixture of dace and roach, say 70:30.

Hoping to improve on my dace weight I was only a little disappointed when the largest fish of the day went five and a half ounces.

I've invested in some new scales to weight the smaller species accurately but that's another story.

Time to go home:

Cheers.

Napton Gamble.

2011-02-03T11:00:00.000Z

Thursday 27th January, 16:15 - 18:45. Napton Reservoir with Jeff Hatt. Stiff NE wind 2C - v. cold.

I realise that the length my posts on here have become shorter of late. I'll explain why.

The primary reason is I'm doing so much fishing it's becoming a struggle to cast my mind back into the fog of previous outings. Things which made me laugh or think hard on sorties past are now long forgotten and I'm relying mainly on photos as prompts. I may have to start taking a notebook with me if I maintain this fishing frequency so that I can record some diversionary passages, otherwise I fear I might actually bore one of you to actual death. Let's hope Blogger's public liability insurance covers such an event.

The increased fishing frequency has endowed another revelation: If the fishing's crap, go home, you'll no doubt get another chance tomorrow night.

Before when I was out only once a week I'd stay to the bitter end of every session determined to make the most of my time. Now time is less of an issue for me staying till the bitter end is far less.....compelling.

On the plus side of this is I spend less time in the freezing cold in January. On the minus side, if plan A isn't working I might call it a day rather than putting plan B into action and trying to turn things around.

There will have been only ten days in January on which I didn't fish. I doubt that number will be greater than five come June.

As a diversion from Chub and Roach on the river Jeff and I went to Napton chasing the dream of a three pounder or maybe even an early season tench.

Neither.

J.Hatt esq. joins the 20th Century.

Cheers.

A Pleasant Evening Chubbing.

2011-02-02T12:00:00.001Z

Tuesday 25th January, 15:30 - 17:30. The Plough AS. 6C, NE wind and showers.

I'm currently seeking a dog-headed log of a chub from the Warks Avon and even though I'm now catching regularly I can't seem to find the larger fish to contribute further to my score in this years % of record weight challenge with fellow fishing writers.

This evening is a case in point. Three chub on the bank for just a couple of hours fishing but they went ~2lb, 2lb 14oz and 4lb 3oz.

If recollection serves then the time between now and the end of the river season holds an ever increasing chance of a big one as the world warms its way towards spring.

Must try harder.

4lb 3oz

Cheers.

Stratford's Elusive Roach.

2011-02-01T19:46:00.000Z

Monday 24th Jan, 16:00 - 19:00. Stratford Upon Avon town water peg one. River at normal level.

A guy was packing his gear into his car and changing clothes at the end of his fishing day just as I was unloading.

We chatted for a few minutes and he said he'd done well with good roach on peg one by the boat club. Not far out. Stret-pegging bread. He mentioned a large predator which had swiped at his fish a few times during the afternoon.

I happened to have a bucket of mashed bread and a deadbait rod with me and so quickly settled onto the concrete bank next to a small pile of bread crumbs which gave away his position.

I cast a light feeder gently out, approximating the range he'd mentioned.

The deadbait rod I cast to mid river and pointed the tip up in the air so my dead bait was suspended off the bottom.

A couple of trembles to bread and a three pound chub were the only reward this evening.

I engaged with a swan at one point but thankfully the line eventually came free.

One benefit of fishing up here by the theatre is that you can pick a street light on the far side and cast to it, ensuring accurate baiting.

I use a rear pole roller tripod as a rod rest on the concrete banks up here.

Cheers.

Make Tracks.

2011-01-21T11:00:00.000Z

Thursday 20th January, LAA Wasperton. 15:30 - 18:30. 6C > 1C > -1C > 3C.

It was bright and sunny when I left work. Driving West away from Birmingham and then South down the M40 it was 6C outside and I had to use the sun visor to keep the bright rays out of my eyes. Despite a cold start this morning the day had warmed. I was looking forward to facing into the dying sun on the river bank and perhaps even feeling it's lingering warmth on my face.

As the motorway started to descend into the glorious Warwickshire Avon valley I could see a solid blue haze clinging to the horizon in the distance. At the motorway exit I drove into a wall of fog and the temperature quickly dropped to 1C.

Wasperton village and the river was a totally different scene from the rest of the county. The mornings frost still clung icy white to the grass in the meadow and the visibility in the fog which cloaked the entire river was 50yds at best.

Upstream

Downstream.

It's behind me!

I fished a pair of rods and feeders with meat on the hook into the still powerful winter flow.

Apart from a couple of sharp pulls which I suspect were from small chub I had no sport. The fog soon became freezing and ice built up on my rods, gear and clothes. Once my feet started to hurt with cold I called it a day.

It was -1C when I departed but as I rose out of the Avon valley the dense fog cleared and temperature rose. Back home in Coventry it was 3C.

A large winter moon - which has been setting so beautifully on my commute into work recently - greeted me home.

I have a piece of software on my phone which enables me to record the tracks I make whilst fishing. I intend to turn it on whenever I remember this year and overlay the tracks onto a single map with the intention of building up a nice spider diagram of my whereabouts on fishing sorties.

Here's how it looks tonight:

I've already forgotten to turn it on a few times.

Cheers.

An Incremental Chub.

2011-01-20T20:43:00.000Z

Monday 17th January, 15:30 - 17:30. The Plough AS. 9C - 6C.

With my work now as uncertain as everything else in my world I left early on the back of a, "Sod it", moment.

I called in at home, was changed and had my fishing gear in the car within ten minutes of arriving.

I took the remainder of Sundays groundbait and small meat cubes to the closest peg to the layby parking and was soon fishing.

I took a single rod and cast just off the main flow to a slacker glide on other side. I could see where the river had subsided in recent days.

At 4:20 I had my first bite and first fish, an incrementally larger chub than this years current biggest at 4lb 4oz. The fish fought well, taking line from the reel more than once, and when I saw it's head thought it could go five.

On the bank I could see it had the head of a five pounder and the tail of a three pounder, so four pounds plus seemed a good compromise weight.

Big up top.

On the next cast I had a three pounder and so soon retired home pleased with my efforts.

Cheers.

There's A Funny Smell Around Here.

2011-01-19T09:00:00.000Z

Sunday 16th January, 15:00 - 19:00. Stratford Town waters with Pete. 13C - 11C. Strong SW. River coming down from a flood.

This morning I set fire to my head.

Whilst tending a bonfire on a Leamington Angling work party a cruel gust of wind pushed the roaring flames in my direction. The frazzling sound was accompanied by the distinct smell of burning hair. As soon as I could look in a mirror I could see the afro style burned bits all down the left hand side of my head. A kindly lady passer-by took a look for me and commented that my face was very red and was I sure I wasn't burned? I hadn't the heart to tell her that that was my complexion on a good day.

Not easily dissuaded from fishing I met up with Pete at Stratford to fish the tail end of the mild conditions in the slim hope of a barbel. I'll be damned if at least one doesn't show up amongst catch reports in the blogosphere from the English weekend just gone, everything felt just right for them.

With all the warm rain entering the river and with the flood subsiding I reckoned there was a chance.

The wind was strong and the river still high.

First cast in I had a bream of 4lb 14oz on a small cube of spicy meat below my feeder.

Here I am, sitting on a park bench nonchalantly holding my bream. Are you sure you've not been burned in a horrible bonfire accident?

Thinking I might be into an afternoons work I kept the feeders going in in earnest. Apart from two other suspected plucks that was it for action for the rest of the evening.

The tips remained still thereafter.

It was great to be out in the mild weather. It felt like late March rather than January. I love each month from now until September with increasing intensity.

Here are the scores on the doors tonight:

Time on my hands boys, time on my hands.

Cheers.

Stockton Roach.

2011-01-18T12:00:00.001Z

Saturday 15th January, 13:00 - 17:00. Stockton reservoir. 11C - 9C. Strong SW.

Needing a break from my unsuccessful predator exploits I planned a trip to Hopsford Hall with light feeder tactics after whatever swam. After placing a call to the fishery and them confirming it was closed until 14th February I thought I'd take a trip to Jubilee pools. Once I'd remembered that too was closed until 12th March I headed to Stockton (Blue Lias).

The wind was strong again but I set up in the lee of an island near the car park and fished towards using liquidized bread and maggots in a feeder and red maggot on the hook.

Football on Radio 5 live and fishing go hand in hand on a Saturday afternoon.

Second cast in I started getting indications.

A wrap-around bite on the lightweight quiver resulted in an 8oz roach.

8oz roach.

I had a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon catching a dozen and a half roach up to 13oz. In fact I had two fish at exactly that weight.

1st 13oz roach.

2nd 13oz roach.

It was lovely to see the tip going round again. My hooklength wasn't geared up for carp and so I was glad to stick with the silvers, in fact I only caught roach all afternoon.

Cheers.

Chub, Blank, Blank, Blank, Tiny Zed.

2011-01-17T21:41:00.001Z

I've not posted on here for a while and there's a bloody good reason for that.... When I've not been at work I've been out fishing!

As I eluded to in an earlier post my domestic circumstances have changed somewhat recently. I'm not for one minute denying the negatives of my situation but on the angling front it feels like I have found the golden ticket amongst my maggots.

On most week nights and every other weekend I find myself with time on my hands, an unprecedented situation. Given it's January and money's tight then what better way to fill an evening than with a trip to the waterside. It's like I'm over-revving at the moment, like the governor's gone - in more ways than one, and it's only mid January!

Not all of my outings have been productive but that seems to be par for the course at the moment with the wildly swinging weather conditions. The title of this post sums up last week succinctly.

I had a 3lb 10oz chub upstream of a large wet tree on a short trip to the Plough AS one day last week (seriously, I'm struggling to remember even which day it was it's that far back). It was my first try with cheese paste so it gives me confidence to try it again.

Wet Tree.

3lb 10oz Chub.

I've already had one chub at 4lb dead this year so this one didn't increase my score in our bloggers fishing competition.

I then went on to blank on another night back on the Avon, but the sky looked nice at dusk.

The sky is nice.

I then blanked again on the Avon and didn't take any photos.

On Thursday night I met up with Jeff on the canal and had a go for roach using worm on one rod and either bread or prawn on a second. I fished these baits on light ledger gear and bite alarms so we could natter without me missing a thing. Apart from a liner first cast the early part of the evening was blank for both of us so we moved down to the mouth of the marina where Jeff's been doing so well for predators recently. Here I watched him catch three of the smallest zander I've ever seen. Although I blanked in part two as well as part one, ridiculing the size of his fish was much fun.

On Friday I had the day off work and so (once again with Hatt Senior) took a trip to Coombe after predators.

Blank.

Coombe was tough, neither of us caught, but I could tell Jeff was totally caught up with the potential of the place. Hinted recollections of double figure zander and bream, big crucians and king carp had him lying on the path frothing and twitching. In fact the harder the water sounded the more interested he became. I heated up a home made chile con carne on the bank at lunch time which buoyed the spirits and restored order.

After lunch I broke out the waggler rod and had a go with maggots. Even though this never bought me a bite I at least felt happy again having broken out of the predator angler's all or nothing constraints. I'm no expert when it comes to predators and quickly become disinterested unless results are forthcoming.

We cut and run before dusk and once again headed for the marina swim on the canal after a blank-saver.

Here I had a 12oz zander for my efforts.

Looking at the small slit in the side of this fishes mouth I believe Jeff caught it the night before, as this was where all of his hook-holds were. My hook is in the top lip.

If you're going to dive in for them I'll lend you my gnashers.

Just before packing up at the marina I resolved never again to devote a whole day to predator fishing, I'm just not cut out for it. Instead I will use a sleeper rod to fish for predators whilst doing something far more entertaining on the other rod, like seeing if I can stick it in my own eye.

Cheers.

A Grueller on Various Sections of The Avon.

2011-01-08T19:59:00.002Z

Tuesday 4th January, 09:30 - 18:30. LAA Top meadow at Wasperton, Lower Wasperton and Stratford town with Jeff. Strong cold wind ~5C.

After bites and fish the previous evening at Saxon Mill I expected a fruitful morning dace fishing on float and maggot on the top meadow at Wasperton. During the warmer months there are plenty of dace in the stretch and I broke out my centrepin and fourteen foot rod to enjoy the experience.

I was wrong about finding sport in the pacy water and I toiled for an hour on the stick float without a touch. I enjoyed sending the float down midstream and steering it along the crease to the bankside vegetation. I fed maggots sparingly.

I caught up with Jeff at the end of the run of willows which the barbel favour in summer and watched him try for a chub under a nearside tree. I had a brief go with a maggot feeder in a glide by the dried reeds on the far bank but the current was so strong it dislodged the maggot feeder continuously.

We moved down to the lower Leamington section of Waspo around midday but despite the slower water couldn't buy a bit down here either. In addition to not catching a life force sapping wind had sprang up in our faces turning Jeff an ashen white.

Sitting it out and waiting for the big bream and chub to turn on down here was falling out of favour with us both.

We cut and run and headed for respite in the warmth of the car and the last few hours at Stratford. Here I fished two feeder rods to the middle of the river for no reward. What a grueller!?

Jeff conjured two roach out of nothing and registered the far bank mark for future reference.

I sloped off with blocks of ice for feet, blank.

Here are the scores at the end of the opening week of our bloggers % of record weight competition:

Cheers.

Saxon Mill Dace and Chub.

2011-01-08T19:12:00.000Z

Monday 3rd January, 13:00 - 18:00. Warks Avon at Saxon Mill with Jeff. 6C and dry.

The Saxons (Latin: Saxones, Old English: Seaxe, Old Saxon: Sahson) were a confederation of Old Germanic tribes. Their modern-day descendants are generally considered ethnic Germans, Dutch, or English. They are primarily found in Lower Saxony, Schleswig-Holstein, Saxony-Anhalt, Westphalia, Drenthe, Overijssel, and England. The modern German state of Saxony is not inhabited by Saxon descendants, and was so-named because it came to be ruled by the medieval Saxon dynasty.

Whilst on a last minute two week package deal in Warwick in the twelfth century the Saxons built a splendid mill which was luckily situated right next to the river. Both mill and river are still looking good today in the twenty first century. I wonder if some of our modern creations will stand such a test of time?

Photo courtesy of Snowmanradio

Whilst still setting up my fine quiver tip dace rod we met fellow 2011 challenger Bazal Peck. Despite our best efforts Jeff and I had failed to any procure maggots for today, both of us had only bread for bait. Whilst we chatted, Bazal generously gave us half a pint of reds each. Top man.

I had a deadbait out on one rod for Pike and a cage feeder stuffed with bread mash and hemp on the the second. We'd settled upstream of the weir within hailing distance of each other.

I was surprised by the walking pace of the water up here. Faster than expected.

Jeff had indications on his tip before me but when mine started I hooked up with two dace in succession. The first was four ounces and the second six. I was using maggots on the hook below the feeder.

6oz Dace.

After these first two fish sport slowed somewhat and it took until the light started to fade to get back amongst the bites. Before dusk I had perhaps half a dozen more smaller dace and then as soon as I needed my headtorch to see my tip the chub moved in. The average size of these was about the pound mark but I had one bigger bonus fish of three pound plus.

Nothing troubled my deadbait on the pike rod.

Cheers.

One, Two, Three, Four, Go!

2011-01-04T21:34:00.000Z

Sunday 2nd January, 13:00 - 17:00. The Plough AS. Cold but dry.

One. I was the only car in the car park at Coombe Abbey fishery when I arrived. 'Lake to myself', I thought. I unloaded my roving pike gear and soon discovered the whole of Coombe still had an icy lid on it. Plan B.

Two. I made swift preparations at home and made my way to the Plough stretch of the Avon. I chose the bathing pool peg as there was enough room for a pair of rods. I fished both rods on cage feeders with liquidised bread and ground grilled hemp with hair-rigged bread on the hook. The hair for the bread allows me to squeeze it on hard enough so I'm confident it stays on without fear of blinding the hook.

Three. I sat for three hours without so much as a tap. I kept the small feeders and bait going in regularly.

See how I wait.

Four. At four o'clock on the dot I had my first bite and connected with a chub which weighed exactly fours pounds.

I then sought to teach Hatt a few things when it came to self-take photography.

B'stard makes it look so easy....

I had a few more bites between four and five but couldn't connect with them. The problem was I fishing just off the crease in the slacker water and that made the bites very delicate rather than being strong hittable tugs.

Off the blocks in our bloggers competition with a chub but I'm hoping to better the weight significantly before the season ends.

Cheers.

On To The Next One.

2010-12-31T13:41:00.001Z

It is not for the host to judge the success of a party, but I know I certainly enjoyed myself at the gathering in my garage the other night.

Music, beer, roast potatoes on cocktail sticks and a few friends was a simple formula.

For the first time in a while all of the 2010 challengers were in a room at the same time. That's Danny, Jeff, Pete and I. The icy conditions before Christmas had curtailed Danny's predator aspirations and with it his late points surge. Brummy Pete doesn't fish unless it's 6C outside and so had already totted up his card. Jeff, of course, has had his roach head on for some time now. All of which meant last gasp points were looking very unlikely.

So with only a few hours of 2010 remaining I was awarded the majestic trophy and crowned winner of this years Record Weight Challenge.

Majestic majesty lined with luxurious luxury.

Here are the final scores.

A record weight equalling bag for sixteen of the twenty two target species for me. I did catch grass carp, eels, pike, zander, even a 27lb wels catfish (which I'm not allowed to tell you about) but not enough of them to score a point. One species which eluded me all year was (bloody) ruffe. I estimate I must have spent about forty quid on bait and petrol chasing those little brown jobs, for nowt!

Next years nonsense is the self-explanatory titled '2011 % of Record weight Challenge'.

Our central scoresheet converts the weight of the best fish for each species into a percentage of record weight and he with the largest total at the end of the year wins. We have a dozen anglers competing this year, all bloggers, so hopefully you can look forward to reading about the various adventures.

This is how the score sheet will look.

Example scores only - as if I'd settle for only a 99% barbel.

I can't wait to make a start catching something to fill it in with.

I've been out fishing once this week with Jeff after roach on the Sowe and enjoyed it immensely. Until you catch one of these stunners you'd never believe such a small river could hold fish of that size (1lb+).

Jeff's done a better than average job of writing it up so I'll not waste keyboard paint here.

Finally then I'll wish you all a Happy New Year and Tight Lines for the next twelve months.

Cheers,

Keith .J

Tomorrow Is A Big Day For Me.

2010-12-20T19:19:00.000Z

Every year from about the end of August onwards my fishing becomes gripped by a sense of urgency brought about by shortening day lengths. When the evenings start to shorten I'm always amazed at how quickly they close in. Short sleeves quickly turn to fleeces and in turn big coats.

After tomorrow however, it's up up up all the way through to a day designed by Izaak himself as the best day for fishing in England, the 21st June. On this perfect and longest day of the year the sun will rise at around four in the morning and set at around nine forty. That's over nineteen hours of Piscean (or should that be Geminian) potential in a single day. If I shut my eyes I've thirty odd years of superimposed images which burn white bright in my head of those summer dawns. These images keep me warm during the winter.

Tomorrow however is the summer solstice's nemesis, the shortest day of the year (please all boo in unison as you would at a pantomime at this point). Tomorrow the sun will rise at eight and after skirting the horizon on it's low winter zenith will have set again before four.

Piscator to Venator: "Study to be grumpy" (Izaak Walton 1653).

Tonight the Avon has frozen over at Evesham.....

http://www.farsondigital.co.uk/england_webcams.php

Icicles hang from my garage roof.....

And our Leamington Angling Association work party at Jubilee Pools last weekend was set against a stupendous backdrop.....

But as of tomorrow friends, the sun fights back.

Never mind Harder Better Faster Stronger , just look at the Longer. From tomorrow onwards things turn a corner, and I for one can't wait.

Cheers.

Joke: I went to a pantomime with the kids last night and was alarmed when the lead actor playing Aladdin was anally raped in front of our eyes on stage. In fairness, the audience did try to warn him beforehand.

Wheel-ruts Frost-fixed.

2010-12-07T22:40:00.000Z

There's an icy blue haze hanging over Warwickshire just now.

Cold, still, and beginning to make a nuisance of itself to most of the anglers I know.

This morning I was late to work as I was inexplicably drawn to the grand tree-lined driveway up to Coombe Abbey. The avenue of mature trees along the quarter mile straight to the twelfth century Abbey were totally white from the frozen fog which has been depositing tiny ice particles onto everything around here. Totally spectacular and well worth the diversion. It made me want to remain outdoors in the countryside all day.

Warwickshire's cold blue stillness is in total contrast to the severe domestic turbulence which has immersed me recently. Suffice to say I've had bigger fish to fry of late and have done nothing more than strap myself in for the ride. The dust is now settling and I find myself in a new reality in which despite the season, green shoots are appearing almost everywhere I turn.

I've still been fishing, but it's been the angling equivalent of a comfy chair rather than an edgy Swedish designed aspiration. A day catching carp on the tip, after bream on the Avon and more recently turning to the winter stalwart the chub on the pluff. My drive to fish out of my comfort zone towards this years challenge has been extinguished.

Twice in the last two weeks I've had to call it a day when the line has frozen in the rings preventing me from winding in.

In this cold weather I've really cut back on the amount of bait I'm putting out when fishing the upper Avon. I'm still using liquidised bread in my cage feeder but am mixing garlic granules and grated blue cheese into it in an attempt to give a strong downstream scent without it being too foody. Results are very promising.

I've also discovered the Albright knot which I now use to join my braided mainline to a three foot length of 10lb mono when feeder fishing. I'd had trouble previously with my hooklength wrapping round the braided mainline on the cast, rendering the hook bound-up and useless. The short length of stout mono upon which the feeder runs has eradicated this problem whilst still offering the sensitivity and flow cutting properties of the braid mainline when fishing a quiver tip.

Last Saturday a low double-figure number of bloggers amassed in Coventry for a get together. Unsurprisingly most of us hadn't properly met before apart from on here. The conversation just seemed to roll and roll into the night. Highly entertaining. Not least because Jeff's almost nano-celebrity status meant he had so many pints bought for him he actually stopped talking towards the end. Something I've never witnessed before. Jeff's always the last man talking.

We discussed next years 'Percentage of Record Weight Challenge' with some vigour with the outcome being that everything below a dace will be be excluded from our targets due to the difficulty in obtaining an accurate weight. Other than that, and apart from brown goldfish, the other species made the cut.

Amusingly there was an overwhelming enthusiasm for a bonus point (or rather bonus 50%), the details of which which we can only disclose at a later date.

For completeness then, here are the scores on the 2010 doors tonight.

I've still not caught a (bloody) ruffe!

Cheers.

Sleeping Ruffe.

2010-10-04T23:52:00.000+01:00

Sunday 3rd October, 07:20 - 09:00. Oxford canal at Brinklow / Cathiron. Heavy rain. 15C.

This morning was the sort of early morning entertainment that only fishing can provide.

I awoke at 6:30 and could hear the rain before I even made it downstairs.

I boiled the kettle and pulled on my clothes and immediately started to question my sanity as I looked out of the kitchen window into the gloom. Although it was still dark I could clearly see the reflections of raindrops in the puddles in the back garden.

The garage was warm and there was still some heat left in the stove from last night. My gear was already in the car. I took my pre-chopped worm and compost mix and tub of maggots from the fridge.

With the car backed-out I stood in the garage doorway and pulled up my hood. The rain drummed hard against the steel roof. I turned off the lights and took a long look at the sheets of rain falling in front of the headlights. It was a 'go, no go' decision. If memory serves, I've never yet arrived at a 'no go' conclusion.

Still half asleep I turned the wrong way out of the drive onto the road.

Once again play at the Ryder cup had been suspended due to heavy overnight and continuing rain. Now committed to the fishing I could happily smile at the absurdity of the task in hand.

Andy had mentioned he'd caught a ruffe from the nearby canal and so I had a short time before a Leamington Angling work party catch five ounces of them towards this years fishing competition which I have on with my pals.

As soon as I got out of the car I put up my umbrella before shouldering my tackle. Still almost dark I needed a headlight to connect my pole rig. (You must be getting bored of this next bit....) I droppered in six lots of worm chop and compost and two of maggots.

First put-in and the float sailed under. 'Ye of little faith', I thought. It was a hybrid of about half a pound. I didn't get a photo as it flipped the hook as I swung it in, dropped onto the grass and squirmed back into the cut. Plop.

It took a while for the next bite which was from a bootstrap zander. This too fell off as I was swinging it in.

The boats started at eight and with them the water movement increased. I felt a little self conscious as the first few chugged by - sat in the heavy rain holding onto my brolly and smiling through a grimace (or was that grimacing through a smile). It was noticeable the effect the first boat had on the water colour. After all night settling, the churn created sub-surface clouds of silt emanating from the track.

Two hours, two bites, no ruffe. Manic giggling as I loaded my wet gear back into the car.

I got a new watch for my birthday.

We worked hard on the pegs at Jubilee but don't worry, it'll soon grow back. I amused my fellow workers by expressing a real love for working outdoors in the pouring rain. "Why?", they wondered without finding the need to swear at all. Well I knew had a gammon joint and potatoes for lunch and the golf and/or football on the telly in the afternoon. I also had a four pack in the fridge and so hard labour in the rain provided the perfect prelude to a wet Sunday afternoon in the warm and dry. I would also have ample opportunity to wrestle my children into the carpet. I'm convinced Leamington could market and brand this outdoor activity as corporate 'Team Bonding' or 'Colleague Cohesion', make a tidy packet and get our pegs cleared at the same time. It takes a lot of synergy and solutionising to chop down trees without getting killed and getting holes burned into your shirt without twatting the guy 'managing' the bonfire.
I digress. No shower is as good as the one after you've come in from working outdoors all morning. Nor can any meal following that shower ever taste so good. No beer can ever quite taste like the one after the meal after the shower after working like a common dog outside in the rain all morning.

As for (bloody!) ruffe? After tonight's fishing club meeting and putting an epoch's fishing experience to work I have a new nailed-on, you cannot bend it venue...... but I first need to wait for the waters to subside.
Here are the scores tonight.

Cheers.

River Anker After (Bloody!) Ruffe.

2010-10-03T17:42:00.002+01:00

Friday 1st October, 14:00 - 16:30. River Anker at Tamworth. Heavy rain.

The Ryder Cup was forced to halt proceedings this morning because of heavy rain at Celtic Manor in Wales. By mid morning the deluge had reached the Midlands and the skies were dark overhead when I left work. The wind was also gusting strongly and neither relented whilst I was on the bank.

This was the first time I've fished the river Anker. I was following yet another ruffe tip this afternoon in my marathon attempt to catch the little fish in this years record weight challenge.

The Anker flows out of Nuneaton tracking the Coventry canal along most of its length before its confluence with the Tame in Tamworth about half a mile downstream from where I was fishing. And what a lovely looking river it is. Here, almost at its terminus, the water was clear, purposefully flowing and quite deep.

I started by stret-pegging a couple of maggots over some droppered chopped worm and earth.

It was quite a slow start in this first swim, I only caught a couple of small roach.

The river was metamorphosing in front of my eyes. When I started fishing I was swinging out into slow gliding water down the near edge, just off the crease of the main flow. Within an hour the force of the current had increased and with it my crease had all but disappeared. I thought this might now be a little too fast for the little ruffe and so moved downstream a peg to a big slowly rotating back eddy.

I started with my bait on the deck again but second cast a perch grabbed the maggots on the way down.

My stret-pegging approach no longer felt right for this slacker water so I made a few adjustments and quickly transformed my set up into a regular float outfit. Bites were more frequent after the change and I bagged a few more perch and roach letting the bait drift round the eddy. I tried a small worm but all the fish came to maggot.

With only half an hour left before home time I moved downstream one peg further. I figured my gear couldn't get any more wet than it was and I was really enjoying myself picking up a fish here and there in the moving water without really baiting up the swim.

In the third swim, which had a strong flow on the far bank with a very slow current on the near side, I droppered in one of 'chops and earth' and one of maggots. Here I caught mainly chublets and one gudgeon.

Contrast the water colour with previous photo.

By now the river was visibly swelling after the rain of the day. It was changing colour from clear to dusty too.

I called it a day and made my way home in the pouring rain via the midlands motorway network and listened to Ryder Cup commentary on the radio in which the commentators described the bright sun the players were now bathed in.

Cheers.

They're not 'avin' it mate....

2010-09-28T21:48:00.000+01:00

I'm never happy attributing a poor days fishing to the fish not 'having it' or to them 'being off' on the day. It can't be their fault I didn't catch them, they're only fish.

Provided they were there, which I know they were, there must have been something I could have done to induce a bite - it's just that that thing wasn't in my armoury on the day. I liken it to someone putting a roast dinner in front of you after you've just eaten. You're not likely to go out of your way to get at it. However if someone were to offer you a wafer thin mint you might just reach out for it.

The days succeeding a blank are when I am at my most vulnerable to the shiny lights of the tackle trade. Indeed the tackle trade's shiny lights are based almost entirely on persuading you that dog days like those could be things of the past, times you could look back on and laugh at your own ineptitude, if only you were to buy their 'thing'. Perhaps if I had had that thing then my day might have been different?

Enter stage left...... this pair of beauties (2 of 3) from The Range. Not really tackle trade I know but still twinkling at me. Glow in the dark jelly lures with spangly bits on the side and real life hook point protectors. How the hell can I ever fail to catch predators again with these boys at my side?

From a physiological perspective, sometimes the fish just aren't 'aving it.

Cheers.

Avro Vulcan XH558 at Coventry Fly In 2010.

2010-09-26T17:50:00.001+01:00

We took our boy to the Help for Heroes Fly In at Coventry airport today for his seventh birthday.

Just like when I was kid watching the air shows, the Vulcan bomber's thunderous appearance stole the show.

Any anglers out at around eleven a.m. in Warwickshire might be wondering what the noise was! I suspect those at Jubilee pools might have noticed it.

Cheers.

Never Stop Gambolling.

2010-09-25T17:14:00.000+01:00

I've been out a few times since last posting but on each occasion the fishing was less tome and more tomb inspiring.

Last Sunday morning my daughter and I had a three hour slot before lunch to try and catch ruffe on the canal at Ansty. We both fished with poles into the boat track and fed earth and pinkie groundbait. After a biteless half hour she went back to the car to listen to the radio. Within a further thirty biteless minutes I'd joined her. The endless boats and water movement without so much as a dither of the float weren't conducive to pleasurable fishing. We called in at a supermarket on the way home and bought a big fruit pie and a tub of ice cream. We ate the pie after an autumnal dinner of sausage, mash, peas and gravy. The only positive from this is trip was that the morning outdoors made the food taste great.

On Tuesday evening I went to the Avon at Wasperton after eels. I fished feeders opposite the fallen tree above the swans neck where I'd caught eels last year and this time used either maggot or worm on the hook.

In the field on other side of the river a herd of beef cattle made their way slowly in an upstream direction. There were calves amongst the group and in between eating grass they would sporadically start running and chasing each other around. Joyously mucking about. Jumping, jostling and barging into one another. The parents looked up now and then but didn't look like they were going to join in at any point. The calves reminded me of my children who are forever making video-game-themed courses in the back garden which they race around. I get dizzy just looking at them. It made me wonder at what age cows - and humans for that matter - stop gambolling? I couldn't answer my own question on behalf of the cows but I reasoned that us humans never really stop. I certainly haven't. Fair enough I can't remember the last time I did a cartwheel but find yourself in front of me in a race up the stairs and be prepared to have you ankles grabbed. Totally contrary to my 'don't play on the stairs!' ruling.

I had two bream about three pounds each as the sun went down.

Chase me.

After sunset the clouds broke up and moon shone through illuminating the landscape in a blue light. It was bright enough to cast shadows and for me to walk back to the car without the aid of a light.

Yesterday I had the day off work to fish for predators on the Avon. I was weighed down with a heavy cold which had serious motivation sapping powers. I didn't catch any predators. My excuse is water tight. The water was so clear even the fish eaters were taking shelter, from fish eaters of the same species bigger than themselves. To provide evidence of the water clarity: I could see the stony river bed all the way between the top weir at Lucy's mill and the larger bottom weir. That's a first.

Two blokes were up from Banbury bream fishing and optimistically had two keepnets in the water as both times in previous years they'd filled them. When I walked past them as I was calling it a day they'd had four between them. Abnormal.

Cheers.

Undivided.

2010-09-18T22:46:00.001+01:00

Friday 17th September, 16:30 - 21:00. The weirs at Lucy's Mill (Leamington Angling). 16>12C.

Sadly Danny couldn't join us this evening as he had other commitments but three of the ramshackle four: Pete, Jeff and I had an evening on the Warks Avon after zander and bream respectively.

Jeff and I arrived first and we found sport was slow whilst the sun was high in the sky despite Jeff wearing his new jumper. I targeted zander with deabaits, launching both rods across to the shade of the sluice hole. Pete arrived around six and we were set up three in a row opposite the flats.

Perched like a hippo on a map pin I recast my baits to a variety of spots to try and find the predators.

There was guy fishing upstream of us when we arrived and every time he cast his groundbait feeder out into the slack water just off the flow of the weir a gang of bleak would rush to the surface to pick off the bits. The gang were frequently seen leaping clear of the water as something hit into them. As the evening wore on Jeff had the same performance in front of him. After casting out a feeder the bleak would come up to the surface only to scatter as they were attacked from below. Good perch maybe.

I brought my lines in close and had my first customer of the evening, a pug nosed pike of 10lbs 8oz.

No lower front teeth.

My single treble was just inside the lip.

Whilst I was returning the fish my other tip registered a bite. A small 12oz zander was on the end of the strike.

I have just eaten a dead bait half my size.

As dusk descended I had a run of subtle bites which I couldn't convert into fish. I changed the hooking arrangement on my traces over to a large single at the top with a treble midships of the dead bait and pretty soon had a 7lb 3oz pike then a 4lb 5oz zander take hold.

I got my eyes on you!

I trust you are NHS.

After all this time Jeff was approaching a successful outing. Pete and I stared at his tips so hard I wouldn't have been surprised if they simply caught fire in front of our eyes such was the mental intensity focused upon them.

Once the metaphorical cork had been popped it was hard to stay focused on the fishing, more-so when there are a few friends on the bank. Once we had something to celebrate thoughts quickly turned to the pub.

Before we got anywhere near the pub however the subject of next years competition took centre stage.

If you fancy joining us next year then please contact me on email via my profile link. The only entry criteria we have are honesty, coupled with a commitment to write up your exploits on here somewhere.

Our meandering conversation was earnest. Within the scope of this years challenge we enjoyed the fact that we are not direct adversaries. No one can take a point away from anyone else. We are all pitting our wits and fishing skills against a sheet of paper - notional targets. We walked back to the cars along the banks of the Avon, past the floodlit medieval church, Shakespeare's theatre and the chain ferry. There was an intense discussion about the ethos of next years challenge. Pete openly admits that fishing for the smaller species is not 'his thing'. I confess to loving having a strategic plan for the year and the driven diversity of fishing for species which would not normally receive my attention. We all agreed that complexity was our enemy and that we should keep things as simple as possible.

The overwhelming consensus was that we did not want to find ourselves wasting our precious leisure time chasing the million to one shots which are massive specimens. But more importantly, that none of us want the isolation of direct opposition to the cohort. We crave a shared interest over a point scoring fight to the death any day.

Make no mistake, the result of this years competition is still in the balance. If Danny brings back the expected eel and ruffe point from his upcoming holiday to the broads I think he'll have it in the bag. But do you know what? Right now I'm not that bothered if he takes it. Last nights outing was everything I want from a bloggers competition. Like-minded souls finding endless enjoyment and discussion which are otherwise nowhere to be found amongst those you spend most of your time with.

Just for the record:

Reckon you can beat us!?

Cheers.

Friday Fun - Check This Out!

2010-09-17T11:00:00.004+01:00

Goldfish!

Trident Tested.

2010-09-15T18:44:00.000+01:00

Tuesday 14th September, 17:00 - 21:00. Stratford Lido (Leamington Angling). Heavy rain during the afternoon with skies clearing at five. 16>14C.

This evening session was a three pronged ruffe, eel, and zander mash-up at the lido. A little research lead me to an online interview with with match angler Clint Elliott where he mentions getting 'bitted out' by ruffe whilst fishing worm down the edge on the Warks Avon. The main thrust of this evening then was to get bitted out myself.

As I was fishing worm I thought I'd also stand a chance of an eel if they were around, and to ensure I stayed busy I put out a dead bait rod for zander.

Before I could start fishing I had to sit out a torrential downpour in my car. As soon as it let up for a second I had my wellies on and was out.

I chose a peg just down from the lido bay where the flow was on the near side and there was a steady flow with some depth at my feet. Owen the bailiff says the water level up here (directly above Stratford) has dropped since a row of bricks were knocked off the weirs in town a few years ago.

Rather than use a quivertip whilst targeting ruffe I set up a stret-pegged waggler in four feet of water. It took a little time to get the setup right - adjusting the depth of the rubbered float and the angle of the rod tip to the water - but once right it worked like a dream. The bites were indicated at first by the float trembling and sending out small ripples across the surface and were followed up by the it slowly cocking and disappearing. A really pleasurable way to fish.

I challenge you to fish for ruffe without smiling.

I had a 2XSSG shot on a loop of line running on the reel line to keep everything static.

I bait-droppered in chopped worm in compost with a few pinkies thrown in. The bites were instant but it was mostly beautifully marked perch which nabbed the red worm bait.

Not a ruffe.

One stret-pegging efficiency tip I have for you is that I used a clip swivel to attach my hook length to my reel line. This meant I could unclip my hook length and clip on the bait dropper quickly.

I ended up with sixteen perch, three dace, two gudgeon and a bream on the float.

I had a jack pike about four pounds on the dead bait.

So no ruffe, no eels, and no zander. Laser guided species targeting don't you think?

Cheers.

After Ruffe On The Grand Union Canal.

2010-09-12T20:45:00.000+01:00

Sunday 12th September, 06:15 - 08:45. Grand Union canal at Long Itchington.

I saw another dawn this morning and enjoyed it just as much as last Tuesdays. This time I was on the grand union canal trying to catch a ruffe in the fishing challenge I have on with my pals.

The canal looked good, steaming at first light:

I fished a pole with maggot and fed maggots and compost into the milky water.

I could see fish feeding and bubbling on the silt up by the lock and wondered whether they were bream. At seven o'clock a carp came clear out of the water and made significant ripples which spread out towards me.

Carp to over 30lb have been caught from this stretch.

I also saw a good number of roach and bream rolling on the surface throughout the morning.

About half an hour in and I started to get a few bites. I caught a steady stream of perch, all in mint nick. Half a dozen in all.

My last fish of the day before the boats started moving at eight o'clock was a roach bream hybrid.

All in all a jolly good start to the day.

By nine o'clock I was cutting back trees and brush at Jubilee with the Leamington work party.

No ruffe.

Cheers.

A Most Glorious Dawn.

2010-09-09T19:06:00.000+01:00

Tuesday 7th September, 05:30 - 14:00. River Avon at Wasperton then College Pool. Warm and dry after very heavy rain the night before, rain setting in mid afternoon.

After an early morning airport run for the inlaws I now stood looking out of my kitchen window into the gloom, drinking coffee and eating a breakfast of buttered muffins. The rain from the front which had battered the country the previous night had now subsided to a misty rain but I'd seen some serious puddles at the road side during my drive. The world has an enigmatic charm at four a.m. The roads are almost completely empty and there's a post-apocalyptic atmosphere.

I drove to Wasperton village in the dark and wondered in what state I'd find the river. My plan for the day was to tough out the dace point on Leamington Angling's top meadow and then make use of my BAA day ticket and fish for pike downstream with whatever time remained. I'd not slept properly and had been up since three and so expected a mental crash at some point during the day. But by god it felt good to have a whole days fishing in front of me.

I got my first sight of the river by head torch after walking across the soaked grass of the meadow. It was up, yes, only a foot though, and the clarity was good. I intended to wade in a little and trot down the Hawthorn bush swim just upstream from the run of willow tress but the added water ruled out that idea. Instead I made my way downstream without tackle assessing by torchlight where else might offer the opportunity to fish with a float.

The height was not dissimilar to my last visit which prompted me to graph the effectiveness of various methods against flow speed.

I set up whilst the light was too dim to fish.

I put up a stick float in a top secret swim with no identifying features:

As the sun rose the countryside exploded into colour.

I made my first cast just before the sun broke above the receding rain clouds. I had broken blue sky ahead of me and the the river looked amazing. Wave after wave of elation hit me as I was treated to the most beautiful sunrise in my favourite fishing month on my home river.

Almost there. Mist clung to the grass.

The light of the sun was contained by the low cloud.

The river steams and the first shafts of light hit the fields.

Now risen, the sunlight was intense.

I spent as much time looking over my right shoulder as I did looking at my float.

The wooden electricity pole made a good shield against the direct sunlight.

Morning has bro-ken, like the first mor-ning.....

Thankfully the dace were obliging and after playing about with the depth of the float I found I caught pretty regularly on double maggot.

My stick float set up.

I was paranoid about a pike attack as my ever increasing net lay in the rivers edge. As Pete arrived at eight o'clock I'd just weighed in at 11ozs. I weighed in again at 1lb 3ozs and then finally called it a day when I weighed in at 1lb 7ozs.

1lb 7ozs of Warks Avon dace.

By ten o'clock I'd packed up my dace gear, driven down to the BAA water to catch up with Pete and set up a deadbait twitching outfit. We leap-frogged our way down the BAA stretch for an hour without so much as a pull. At eleven o'clock I could feel any chance of the pike point slipping through my fingers and had a tactical chat. Pete went on to focus on barbel and I made another move up to college pool to try for perch.

Both rods were in college pool by midday - an inflated lobworm four inches off the bottom and a light float outfit fishing maggots.

The lobworm rod received a bite within a couple of minutes of being cast and a jagged fight with a fish which felt like a couple of pound in weight ensued. I was sure I'd hooked a good perch. To my surprise it was a chub which came up from the depths. I'd heard about the chub in college but had never caught one myself so was chuffed with this fish.

It didn't take long for the perch to home in on the maggots and I weighed in 3lb 10ozs of them after one hour of fishing. They were a lovely size to be catching to build a weight, averaging 3oz I'd say.

During the second hour I made some subtle rig adjustments and really tuned into the fishing. I became a perch catching machine. Spurned on by lack of sleep I bagged 5lb 14ozs of them in my second hour on the pool, just one ounce short of the perch point in that second net alone.

Plus the first net of 3lb 10oz the perch point was bagged.

Totally satisfied with my two point outing I wearily packed up just after two o'clock and went back to the river to sit with Pete.

You can park behind your peg on the BAA stretch and as the rain had once again returned I indulged in some proper brummy barbel fishing, sitting in my car eating my sarnies watching Pete's tips!

Properly wired now and with the insulin hit of two rounds of sarnies in my blood I drove home.

Cheers.

Leamington Angling Association Committee Match 2010.

2010-09-08T21:43:00.001+01:00

Monday 6th September, 10:00 - 16:00. Jubilee Pools. Strong SE wind during the day with heavy overnight rain setting in at 7pm.

Once a year, all those who lend a voluntary hand towards the smooth running of Leamington Angling Association are invited to take part in its Committee Match.

As you might expect from a fishing match organised by a fishing committee there is much to-ing and fro-ing beforehand on the date, venue, rules, allowed species, baits, methods, allowed colour of hat, correct parting of hair etc. etc.

This year was a rod, line and float only affair held on the Horseshoe lake at Jubilee Pools. The only outstanding matter arising from previous debates was what to do about carp. Our three options departed from the extreme station of 'carp (spit) don't count at all', called at 'all carp count as 5lb irregardless of weight and hence avoid the need for weighing' and terminated at 'weigh the carp as we went and count them at face value'. Good sense and weighing them in as we went won out. Imagine playing a carp for ten minutes on match gear only for it not to count!

My suggestion that a spod could be counted as a float fell in well with the pre-match banter in the car park.

Pegs drawn, we took up our positions and prepared tackle with that serious air that only a match can afford. When Anthony Simmons came round and said it was fivers in, well, the hair on his head stood up.

All anglers expected fish and a few expected quite a few carp or bream. When the whistle blew we cast in with great expectations.

I'd rigged up two rods and ran line through the rings on a third in case I needed an option later on. I balled in some groundbait and fished a heavy waggler with lassoed pellet at distance over the top to start. I was fishing into 14ft of water and was after bream.

My second rod was a pellet waggler and although I didn't turn to it until exactly two hours into the match I started to feed carp pellets in ones and twos every twenty seconds or so at the same range as the grounbait. The groundbait was an active mix and so I knew floating bits would be coming up off it from the bottom.

After an hour I'd seen only one small roach swung in and I'd not had a touch. After two hours the knuckles on my hand were battered from constantly catapulting out pellets and so still biteless I gave the pellet waggler an hour. Nothing. Hmmm.

In the early afternoon I fed a margin line and tried that. Then in desperation tried to buy some bits fishing light with maggots but remained dry netted.

By two thirty and with an hour and a half remaining I was beginning to think I would never catch a fish again, never mind during the match. Scratching around had got me nowhere so I resolved to stick with my original plan and go back out over the groundbait at distance which had gone in steadily over the day.

At just before three o'clock I had a bite and landed a 3lb 12oz bream. At a quarter to four and with fifteen minutes of the match left I hooked a carp and played it like it was life or death. It took ten minutes to get in and weighed 4lbs 4ozs.

To my amazement those two fish were enough to win the match for me. The majority had blanked and the minority had a few roach.

Regulars of Jubilee will know just how many fish there are in the Horseshoe pool and how spectacular the fishing can be, but if we were newcomers to the water you'd have thought it was empty after the day we'd endured. There was well over five hundred years of fishing experience on the banks and most bases were covered. It was as if someone had flicked a switch turned the fish off. I saw very few carp moving.

My Prize.

The day finished on a high for everyone however when over a century of Leamington Angling records were passed on (in a ceremonial cardboard box) from one official to another for safe keeping.

The photo below is from the inaugural Association meeting on 11th June 1890, over one hundred and twenty years ago. I think Ernie Archer was in attendance that day......

Cheers.

Round Up.

2010-09-04T17:14:00.001+01:00

Saturday 28th, Monday 30th and Thursday 2nd September. Clear days and cool nights.

Last Saturday evening I went to fish the Coventry canal by Jeff and generally have a catch up. He entertained me with tales of being thrown about like a cork on the sea during his recent boat fishing trip whilst I grimaced at the thought of the described predicaments. He's not right in the head you know, laughing like a madman as he recounted how his cheery whistling during the worst of the weather brought merciful looks from his fellow suffering passengers. He's made my mind up for me, sea fishing afloat is not for me. I'm going to buy him some sack cloth and a scythe for his next outing so he can properly scare his shipmates by standing at the prow whistling looking like the grim reaper as the sea swells around him.

Applying my tick box assessment of happiness it was a three out of five evening. I was fishing, Jeff bought along a couple of beers to lubricate the conversation and later on warm sausage rolls from Gregg's materialised from a worker at his house.

I caught some perch on the pole during the evening and we then both tried for zander to no avail.

On Monday evening I took my daughter Abbey to Brandon Marsh for an exploratory eel session. She's been wanting to fish into dark for some time and with no school the next day it was opportune. We fished worms over some fishy chum and resoundingly blanked. It was great to star gaze together though and was a good introduction to the countryside at night, something which takes even grown men some time get comfortable with.

On Thursday I had an evening at Ryton after perch but beforehand made up some very light bobbins for the resistance sensitive species.

I used short lengths of white plastic radiator cover attached to lengths of nylon string. I tested them in the back garden before use and found I had to add a small amount of plasticine to the string in order to get them to show a drop back they were so light. I anchor them to the ground using tent pegs and on the strike the line simply pulls out of the plastic cylinder.

Best of all they fit - along with a couple of tent pegs - into an old car radio case I had knocking about.

I fished air inflated lobworms popped up a few inches off a light running lead and regularly sprayed red maggots lightly over the top. Apart from a few short sharp upward movements of the bobbins - presumably caused by the myriad of tiny fish in Ryton this year - I didn't get a proper bite. Entertainment was had listening to the bloke fishing on the point repeatedly scald the family of swans who now ten-strong are off the nest and making nuisances of themselves with anglers.

Here are some quotes I think we might all use when the time is right:

"Iiiiiiiiiii HATE you, you, you......arrrrrggggghh!"

"Gertcha! you horrible, horrible, thin necked, tiny brained MORONS!"

"You're getting WORSE! DO, YOU, NOT, UNDERSTAND!? 'BUGGER' OFF!!!"

Time to go home:

Cheers.

Photos From The Other Night. On The Avon.

2010-08-29T21:58:00.001+01:00

Dusk is arriving more quickly each week.

I fished two quiver tips.

The river had been over the top but was now back in it's banks.

Dead maggots, prawns, pellets and fishmeal groundbait. Eel chum.

Not an Eel.

Look at the gnashers on that..... that's Danny's hand by the way.

No Eels!

Cheers.

Go With The Flow.

2010-08-25T22:49:00.001+01:00

It's not been happening for me on my last few fishing trips. A trip to the Leam last week after eels yielded just a small one, a few hours on Sunday morning after dace saw me miss more bites than I hit, and last nights attempt at eels on the Warks Avon produced a 7lb 4oz pike. As our fishing challenge continues into the autumnal weather I am bumped further out of my angling comfort zone and find myself chasing ruffe, catfish and eels.

The recent couple of hours after dace was on the top meadow at Wasperton (LAA) before our work party. I used my super-sensitive Shakespeare wand with the finest quiver tip attached hoping the dace would produce wrap around bites and hang themselves in the process. The river was up after recent rain however and that ruled out fishing all but the more sedate nearside water with this rod.

Fishing a smooth channel of water with a light lead down the near edge it was soon apparent that the weight of water on the line from the flow was wiping out valuable sensitivity in the last third of the tip. The tip eye was at forty five degrees to the butt of the rod.

I'm certain this observation - that the flow of a river pulls a quiver tip round - does not provide new insight to all the experienced anglers out there but I'll see the thinking through as it took me to an interesting place.

Because the sensitivity of the tip had been diminished by the flow the bites I was receiving from the dace were sharp, jaggy, over very quickly and difficult to hit. The flow had the effect of making it seem like I was using a much heavier tip and because I was fishing so close in there was no elasticity in the rig. When fishing at even a moderate distance on running water there will be some latent 'give' from the length of nylon line between tip and lead, or slight bow in the line.

Essentially the set up was ineffective for the conditions.

Contrast this scenario with the tips performance in still water where it's only the weight of the line between eye and lead which pulls the tip round. Once the lead is cast it is possible to reduce the line tension to such a degree that the tip is almost straight and I'm sure most of the line is laying on the lake bed. All of the tips sensitivity is then available for bite registration.

The flow on the top meadow at Wasperton is pretty fast compared to slower deeper stretches of the Avon. That's presumably why the Barbel are attracted to it. It's faster still when there's new water in the river like there was on Sunday.

Reflecting on the ineffectiveness of my set up I tried to pick a method which would have been better on the day and found I couldn't positively settle on a favourite.

I ruled the waggler out on grounds of flow speed but thought it might be too turbulent even for a stick float. In hindsight I would go with an 11ft quiver with a slightly beefier tip and fish across and down into one of the far bank glides, keeping the tip high.

I propose the reason why I have such trouble picking between stick and quiver is because the water was roughly suitable for both. In an attempt to describe this intersection of methods and conditions I came up with the graph below.

This interests me inasmuch that it's probably something most of you already know and do in your sleep but I bet you've never seen it drawn up like that before! Of course it would be almost impossible to put numbers on the axes or to quantify these things further.

One line I thought about adding was to represent the tip movement or viciousness of a bite. I would start that line low in the left hand corner rising up in a straight line as the flow increased. The viciousness of a bite is just another way of saying how likely the fish is to hook itself as when your tip is bouncing round or being pulled off the rest that's not a bite it's the first charges of a hooked fish. I think the faster the flow the more likely the fish is to hook itself when it turns with the bait in it's mouth.

What's the upshot of all this cogitation? In fishing you can often learn as much from an unsuccessful session as you can from a successful one.

Cheers.

After Eels On The Leam.

2010-08-20T11:00:00.002+01:00

Tuesday 17th August, 16:00 - 21:00. River Leam, Radford Road stretch. Warm with heavy rain to start.

Apparently there are some good eels in the Leam. This was an exploratory session really to see if anything happens here as the sun goes down.

It started spitting as I was choosing where to fish and by the time I'd put my chair down in my chosen spot upstream of a large willow tree on the near bank large globs of water started to fall from the blackened sky.

I stared at the underside of my brolly for the first half hour whilst I let the compact storm pass over. I hadn't even set up.

After the rain and thunder I set up two simple quiver tip rigs and alternated between worms, prawns and dead baits on the hook. Before rigging up I pulled a lead across the bottom to work out where the tree roots came in and learn a little about the bottom contours. The sun was now out and the air felt fresh. I fished at the bottom of the near marginal slope.

I had made up a fishy chum of dead maggots, casters and prawns and fed that along with some reds sparingly into the swim at first. I held back the lions share for twilight.

It only took fifteen minutes for the tip to register some interest but I was using medium sized baits and so some bites were snatchy and unconvincing. The bites continued for only an hour after the rain during which I had an eel of eleven ounces and was bitten off by something.

After this hour the bites simply dried up. I thought a predator might have moved in so had an hour on dead baits but nothing. I scaled down to maggots on the hook but still nothing. I rotated through prawns and worm but nothing I tried bought me a bite.

The tips were motionless until just before nine o'clock when I had two more rattly bites on worms.

I've seen such an intense feeding burst after a storm a couple of times before - whilst after carp - but when so close to the evening my recollection is they usually continue. This one ended as abruptly as it started.

As the evening closed in I found myself becoming concerned about the safety of my car in the car park. I could hear the odd noisy gathering knocking about and so didn't stick around for full darkness.

Cheers.

Slip Streaming.

2010-08-18T23:11:00.001+01:00

Monday 16th August. 09:30 - 15:00. Warm and Dry.

I had no idea this day would turn out like it did.

We returned from our family holiday on Sunday evening and my car was booked in for a service and MOT at the garage in Berkswell first thing Monday morning. Naturally I rustled up some tackle, called in at Lanes on the way over and after booking the car in walked around the corner to Lavender Hall premier mixed coarse fishery.

Amazingly the tub of worms I'd left amongst compost in my fridge were still alive and kicking after a fortnight of neglect. I opened the lid with some trepidation - raise your hand if you've ever had a 'bait tub surprise' at some point in your angling life. I removed the layer of fungus from the top of the compost to find the wrigglers huddled together in a corner for warmth. Armed with these, a bag of prawns and a pint of reds I intended to grind out a perch point from the commercial. Fifty two-ouncers should do it.

I bought a ticket at the cafe, asked the lady which pool was most likely and set up a short pole.

Maggots brought bites straight away and I caught rudd, roach and a couple of small perch. A worm wasn't taken so readily but did seem to differentiate the perch as I had a couple more. The only thing I caught on prawns were good sized roach - worth remembering for the inevitable winter trips to the Coventry canal.

A Golden Rudd.

At eleven thirty the day had warmed and I wasn't catching at anywhere near the desired rate so a change of pool was in order. Also, feeding maggots now had the water boiling with rudd and skimmers. I caught a few to check out whether there were any perch amongst them.

I weighed in my perch for only four ounces.

Heavy duty 'perch' carrier bag.

At the second nearby pool I fed only a few prawns into the margin and fished a worm on the hook to start with. First put in and a sail away bite saw me connected with a carp which had me adding sections and then holding the pole aloft for ten minutes whilst it tired itself out. Waiter! This is not what I ordered.

The culprit:

I caught two more small perch for about two ounces, two other carp, a gudgeon and two more decent roach (on prawn again) and looked at my watch. Twelve thirty. Things were not going to plan.....not going to plan at all.

In a fit of pique I made a snap decision. I reckoned I had four hours before my car would be ready and so packed up my tackle and headed back to the cafe. I'd read about Danny's bullhead point with interest and he was gentlemanly enough to share the location of his glorious capture with the rest of us challengers. I mean, Berkswell, Hampton in Arden, Barston, Solihull, Wolverhampton: they're all in this general direction aren't they. I would march to bullhead paradise under my own steam!

The lady at the cafe gave me a sideways look when I stood with rod quiver, tackle bag and bait bucket and asked for directions to the tiny stream. Not three hours ago I'd handed over seven quid to fish her premier mixed coarse fishery and now I was carping about the lack of perch and asking for hiking directions to a nearby ditch.

I'd forgotten my phone in the melee to get out of the house and so set off in the glorious weather on hoof and uncontactable. Totally untethered for half a day.

I walked with a spring in my step and saw some things.

The cafe lady reckoned my destination was two miles away. I've since googled the route and it's exactly four! I asked a number of people for directions along the way and just outside Barston village a farmer eventually stopped laughing and gave me a lift for the last leg in his pick-up.

The downstream Police Anglers trout stocked stretch.

Upon arrival at the hallowed water I lumbered out of the truck shouldered my gear and realised it was the school holidays in August. Not only did I look like Gulliver compared to the stream but also too with the 'little people' dashing hither and thither with fishing nets, grand parents, dogs, picnics, wellies etc. More strange looks.

Tommy logge Nirvana

There are two known hot pegs on this beat. I fished the one opposite 'Danny's'. If you look closely in the photo above you might be able to make out some rock gabions on the far bank. That's where Danny fished I think. I sat on the footpath and used only the top section of my pole as if I put a second on either the tip touched the far bank or the butt stuck out into the road where tractors were passing by.

Amazingly with the gear laid out on the concrete around me, every time a little person approached granny would tell them to, "Shush Barroi", or "Shush Spudulika, that man's fishing there". Who's mad now!? That's like seeing someone lining up a putt in the middle of town and shouting for shoppers to be quiet so he can concentrate on his shot. When granny went back to her car however I was overrun with the little ones wanting to see the endless minnows I was pulling out. There were plenty to go around. "Minnows for everyone!" was my cry.

It took me a while to suss out how to avoid the minnows (pin the bait to the deck by a rock) but once I had I got amongst the bullheads. I believe some of these fish could be repeat captures and so in true specimen hunter style have christened the biggest ones I caught.

Notice the 'Featherlight A5' weigh sling (carrier bag) which is reserved for occasions such as these.

I'd completely forgotten what these fish do when you try to get the hook out of their mouth. They flatten their head and jut out the tiny spikes on the ends of their gill plates in a kind of piscean 'brace position'. They clamp their mouths so tightly shut a disgorger was needed for every single one, just to open the jaw.

I had six bullheads for one ounce.

Given Danny had a dozen for between two and three ounces it looks like half a dozen to the ounce is about the going rate.

I packed up just after three o'clock and hiked back to the garage. I was back by four thirty.

There's a definite pang of guilt about pouncing so quickly on someone else's information and ground work. But what I'm not sure about is whether there is any redemption to be had in the eight mile hike in order to get this point? Does this effort tip the scales back in my favour or does it just plonk another kilo of bonkers on the other pan?

The others have been busy whilst I was away and so here are the challenge scores today:

Cheers.

After Napton's Perch Again.

2010-07-31T22:13:00.000+01:00

Thursday 29th July, 15:00 - 22:00. Napton with Danny and Andy. Moderate NW, 19>12C. Dry.

Danny and I exchanged a few texts earlier in the week, the distillation of which was that neither of us were leaving Napton reservoir on Thursday until 6lbs of perch was under our belt. Recent trips had buoyed confidence and I was also expectant that a decent fish was on the cards.

I took my kids out to a nearby horse field midweek digging for worms in preparation for the trip. They loved it, filling a tub with twenty odd worms and getting filthy in the meantime. I need to get hold of a fork rather than doing the digging with a spade though.

Upon arrival at Napton I gave the overflow on the small ressy forty five minutes with a worm under a float at various depths. If anywhere looked like it would hold a perch it was the overflow.

14ft deep but no perch to be found.

It is ripe for a float fished dead bait for pike in winter.

I moved back round to the rocky causeway which runs between the two reservoirs where I'd left my gear when Danny arrived. He introduced me to Andy who was already fishing and we settled into swims within hailing distance.

Andy was to my Left, Danny to my right.

Trying to bias the perch from the marauding tench I fished a worm off the end of my rod tip just off bottom. I often saw my float slowly lifting and dipping as the worm gyrated and pushed off against the rocks. If I came up the slope too much the worm would get a tail hold amongst the gaps in the rock and could pull the float down.

I caught a couple of small perch quickly but then had to wait an age for another proper bite. When it came the float was pulled sharply under and I struck into a solid resistance. I saw the fish near the surface after a short but jaggy fight and it was clearly too green to be a tench. Ping. The line fell slack. Perch? Jack? I wasn't certain. I inspected my fluorocarbon hook length and it had been burred and scuffed about four inches from the hook. I renewed it and settled back to fishing with higher hopes than ever.

A sthe light started to fade the float plunged again and I landed my first proper perch of 15ozs. Not a monster but validation of the approach. I also had a single tench.

The sun dipped below the clouds as it set and lit up the lake from an acute angle. A much improved weather scene to this time last week.

Whilst we fished we saw hundreds of perch fry amongst the rocks in the margins.

We scooped a few up in our nets and gave them a go on the hook hoping to attract a bigger perch.

Danny on the left of photo.

Within ten seconds of my tiny perch fry hitting the water my float disappeared and I was attached to something which took line from the reel despite my thumb being pressed as hard as I dare against the drum. I had 8lb main line on the reel and a 5lb hook length so this must have been a pike to take such liberty. After a straight line sprint the hook pinged out and my gear fluttered back towards me falling like limp spaghetti on the water.

That was it for me. No more action followed.

Andy did well with the tench:

Unlike last week the perch never really turned up close in.

Here are the latest challenge scores:

Cheers.

Fishing As A Narrative.

2010-07-26T21:26:00.002+01:00

Sunday 25th July, 18:00 - 22:00. Plough AS. 23C Muggy. The tree line on the far bank sheltered me from the wind.

To mix things up a bit, I took a notebook with me on this trip and recorded my thoughts as I fished. Reading this post back now - after I've written it - it strikes me that I'm trying to be someone I'm not i.e. Chris Yates. Trust me when I say this was never the intention. It says as much to me about the pervasive nature of his writing that he should spring to mind so readily as soon as you read anything in the same galaxy of the style which has become his signature. I've spent an hour writing it up now though so......

_________________________________________________________________

It was just over an hour ago since I faced my dilemma. I'd arranged to fish this evening with fellow angler Steve Phillips in a joint attempt to catch a barbel on the Plough AS. Returning home from an afternoon at Ryton Pool with the family I picked up his email saying he couldn't make it. Now, do I let on to the wife that my arrangement has fallen through......?

It's now six o'clock and I'm set up on the upper Warks Avon. I'm in a swim I call the 'tree tunnel'. I think others name swims to encode their whereabouts, I do so because I can never remember the numbers. It's an understandable practice if you've found some place where the fish have gathered away from pointed hooks; the aquarium, TV, red ball, the nail, washing machine, white tyre, angle.

Not all names are for covert purposes though and with some swims the name just sticks because it describes the river perfectly. Take the 'Washing Machine' pool: the river narrows and becomes focused above the pool and is then deflected almost forty five degrees to the left by bedrock where it enters. The result is a whirling mass of water which when the river is in flood circulates with vigour.

I saw one chub depart my swim downstream when I arrived. Since then I've fed a few balls of groundbait just off the main current and sprinkled some uncompressed mix into the water to get a scent trail going down beneath the overhanging cover. I expect the chub to move onto the bait shortly.

The day has been hot if not bright. It's been thirty minutes since I settled and quietened down and there's not a fin in sight. The water is clear and the river is low.

I put a couple more balls of grounbait and sprinkles in then went upstream for some fish spotting. I left my rod behind but took a fist full of groundbait with me. I wanted to satisfy myself that other swims were behaving in the same way as the one I'd chosen. I've been here in the first month of the season and had all species hungrily eating in open water within minutes of putting some bait in. I'm worried a club match here earlier today may have driven the fish to cover.

I broke the bait into four small balls and put it into the upstream swim. After five minutes two chub nosed up from the snags and willow. They never made it as far as the bait though, turning tail and returning to sanctuary as if they'd done a double take on themselves when out in the open. It's always the chub out first.

Next to nose up from the dense cover was a barbel. It pushed up over the baited area then as if it too realised what it had done powered off upstream into thick streamer weed.

Apart from the odd nose poking out the only other fish I saw was a murderous pike which silently glided its way up the swim off the main flow. I felt a little sorry for that pike - it might have been on it's Sunday evening stroll for all I know but every movement looked deathly and malevolent. I had typecast it in the roll of villain.

Back at the tree tunnel and the fish are showing remarkable self restraint. Still nothing is visible. What must it be like for them hunkered down in the clear-water gloom not daring to break cover whilst an endless stream of tiny particles drift towards them like the aroma of a curry at the end of a hot day and after couple of pints. I'm not going to make this easy for them.

I've had to change my fishing night in recent weeks for one thing and another and this has disrupted the rhythm which I'd inadvertently developed. Sunday night whilst dropping off to sleep I would hatch a plan. Monday night I would buy bait and ready my gear. Tuesday I would execute the plan (normally badly).

My weekly pattern was just part of a seasonal pattern which in turn formed the annual pattern. Each fishing day even has a pattern of it's own. Stowing the gear for travel, arriving at the venue full of hope, the juxtaposition of realism and dreams and the eventual outcome determined by how you adapt.

Most good anglers have a few seasons under their belts. That's because you need time to accumulate the scenarios you'll unquestionably be faced with. Wind, rain, heat and cold. They all require a decision. Sometimes it all goes well, the purple patch, when a run of trips all pay out the jackpot. Other times your fishing can splutter and misfire and seem like it will never again be the tuned engine it once was.

Robotic programmers have a name for this - Iterative Learning Control - and a formula to boot:

up + 1 = up + K * ep

Essentially iterative learning through repeated action. If any mathematician solves the equation of angling they'll be a very rich man.

The ground Elder which drew me so strongly to the river in the spring is now spent. Brown seeds have replaced the heavy scented white flowers. Bindweed is now rampant amongst the nettles.

It's now seven thirty. The sky has darkened and the air is still. Fly life above the water surface has increased and the shoal of gudgeon at my feet are repeatedly flipping on the surface. Three bi-planes fly overhead no doubt returning from some local airshow to land at Coventry airport. A distant train can be heard, so much part of fishing in the midlands - the heart of so many transport networks.

It's now half past eight and a trip downstream to the TV swim to try and force the issue lead to the same results as here - no fish coming out to play.

Nine o'clock. The mosquitoes are becoming unbearable. For some unknown reason I came out wearing trainer socks and my ankles have been on the receiving end of some serious bites. I've resorted to trying to tuck my trouser legs into my boots for salvation. God damn my waist line, it keeps pulling the legs up.

Half nine now and I can't write any more. If I do the mozzies bite my hands. I am having to shove them deep into my jacket pockets to stop them being bitten. I have my hood up and drawstring pulled tight too.

Ten o'clock and it's taken for the water in front of me to turn absolutely black through lack of light before I've had any indication that fish are in the swim. I've had three tugs on successive casts - all of which I've missed - most likely because my hands were deep in my pockets at the time. It's a dawn 'till dusk rule here and I'm already pushing my luck.

Ten fifteen. Now that's quite enough of that. An unknown animal has just ran along the path directly behind me screaming a blood-curdling scream. I nearly shat myself. I let out an "Aaaaarrrggggh!!!". Deconstructing my outburst I'd say it was fifty percent, "come any closer and I'll bludgeon you to death", and the other half, "WTF is that!?"

I retreated home, blank.

Cheers.