Catch Up

It's been a while, I've finally recovered from the rather damp Redmire jolly and it's about time I was back on parade.

I'm happy to say that I have nearly completed Christmas shopping, the very thought of fighting the crowds nearer the time fills me with dread so I make a habit of completing the deed early, thus enabling me to sit back and watch the slackers with a smug knowing grin.

 I've been given a couple of interesting photos to share with you all.

 The first is evidence of just how harsh the velcro-like pads in the jaws of the Wels Catfish can be to flesh, even on humans. This picture is the aftermath of a friends capture of a 50lb'er.

 

This week I also saw a photo of a sizeable carp with pad damage on both sides. It's quite amazing really, the size of fish these giants will consider as food.

 On the subject of carp, take a look at the following picture (apologies for the quality). This fish was taken fairly recently from the famous Willow Lake at Billing Aquadrome. Could it be one of the old Leney's? It's weight was over 30lb and although doesn't have the good looks of the Redmire stock, it does look similar to the Leney's of Savay. What do you reckon?

 Another item that has recently come my way is a Kingfisher Guild certificate, apparently awarded (before my time) by the Angling Times to juniors for noteable catches. Does anyone else have one framed up in the toilet or suchlike ?

What about my fishing then? Well I have been out a bit. The trip was supposed to be a venture in pursuit of fine roach on the Grand Union canal. I have this hunch you see about a stretch of the canal and it's likelihood to give up a decent roach or two.

 My Dad was invited along, it's nice to catch up and chat fishing. It has to be said that although we have many similarities we do differ in one area. When I fish I like the quiet solidarity and shy away from the crowds. Not Dad, he invited two of his mates and my Mum along, bless him.

 Unfortunately, we were unable to fish the intended area,beaten by two minutes by a Preston Innovations laden trio, blimey I thought that carpers carried some kit!

Having finally found a spot for three anglers (one mate stayed in bed, Mum arrived later) we set about tackling up. I had brought along my Lucky Strike, Speedia combo with roach in mind but with warm weather and an unlikely swim...it could only mean one species....bream.
 They loved my float fished punched bread....

Fishing was hard. It seems to be the order of the last couple of weeks from what I hear in the shop. It was nice to be out though and I wasn't unsociable all day. I did share my cake, McVities Carrot with sultanas, not bad. I think it was all gone by the time Mum turned up though.



IP Cake Rating ****

A Special Fish

I haven't fished for a while. I've enjoyed spending a bit of free time with my family.
 Today was different though. It was my day off and when I awoke from slumber, one thought dominated. I just knew that a special fish needed to be my quarry today. I knew where it lived, I just had to have a try.
 The weather was grim, great rolling clouds of dark grey, rain, thunder forecast, I waited. Occupying myself with the tackle set up near the doorway, I gazed at the blurred view at the trickling window. Waiting for a break, just enough to walk to where I needed to be. I waited until late afternoon.
 Setting off over the river footbridge and through the sodden water meadow, I was soon on the towpath of the Grand Union Canal, it's a journey I take most days on my way to work. As I navigated safe passage across the cattle grid it occurred to me that I couldn't remember the last time I angled 'the cut'.
 Walking past floating homes and holiday boats full of strange dialects and anglers with tales of woe, I trudged towards a quieter stretch.
 On arrival I was pleased that only one other angler was near, a father with a couple of kids. They hadn't caught much...I set up anyway.

Having attached a 'Canal Grey' and size 22 hook I carefully plumbed the swim, set the float at the required depth, attached a couple of pinkies and cast out...I received a bite immediately.
 As the clouds rolled by a small hybrid came to hand, next cast another and so on for around seven casts. The father fishing further along gave me that look.
 I was joined by a rather friendly Moorhen, which took a liking to my bait and stayed to watch me catch some rather nice perch.

You can see that by this time the other angler had hastily departed lest he be shown up in front of his kids by the man with the wooden rod.
 Bites came fast and furious as I drew in a shoal of bream and even the sun poked it's head from behind the clouds.

A narrow boat chugged by, I left the float in as I was only fishing close and had a bite just as it came by, resulting in a quality perch.
 A short while later the water started to move, I guessed the narrowboat had reached the lock. I was glad of the old Speedia, it allowed me to trot the canal....this is when it happened.
 The float shot under and I struck to solid resistance and a spirited battle. Without much delay though, the fish was beaten. Here he is then, a most special capture..........

......my first gudgeon of the season. I love them so much.

 With mission accomplished and joy in my heart, I immediately packed up and headed off home.

Still Waiting

It looked serene, it smelt of summer. To my mind summer is now here, I've heard the Beach Boys on the radio, I've seen a dog hanging out of a car window with its tongue out and Lady Sarah is partaking of the Pimms......it's summer.
 I am entranced by this water and up till now it has spurned my advances, but Lady Sarah and I were there and we were to do the night. We had one side of the lake to ourselves and as I set up for the night I imagined ol' Dick and Fred sitting there on a night such as this smoking, cooking and chatting. This lake does that, it takes you somewhere else. Escapism in its purist form. It's what I like, what I crave.
 Working on a weekend limits my fishing to grabbed moments. I take it when I can. I find myself fishing in less than ideal conditions. The carp seem to have finished spawning but the resident catfish were hard at it, some of them were huge. I managed to get some footage of the smaller ones.

Once set up, we ate and drank in the fading light. The good Lady gave a patient smile, my mind distracted from her temporarily, fishy thoughts dominating.

 I was fishing two rods, same bait on each, to a clearish area not too far from the bank. The rigs ? Simple, but effective, no need to overcomplicate on this lake.

 One of the Neville alarms gave a bleep, then again. I looked up to find that a log, about twenty feet long had drifted into my swim, taking out both lines. It was just a case of wind in and wait until it had drifted through. This took around half an hour, by which time it was dark. It was about this time that the good Lady though it might be a good time to bed down on MY new Nash Indulgence bedchair, she gave it the thumbs up. I was consigned to my old Terry Hearne X-lite.

 I soon started to get line bites, I knew they were from feeding fish because I was fishing a slack line and fish passing through wouldn't register. I soon found out that the cause was Bream. I actually like them. Many don't, but I've found over the years that they are a good way of judging the effectiveness of a rig and whether carp will feed on a particular spot, they will usually muscle the bream out and feed on their patch. When I hooked the first one I viewed it with optimism.

 The night progressed and after a few more up to around eight pounds my optimism began to wain. I hardly slept a wink. Some have told me that nights on this lake have spooked them so much that they will no longer fish there. To me, the moonlight, the nocturnal sounds and the anticipation give me a natural high. I really love it.  Alas the morning came all too fast. The water in front of me covered in weed, thrown up from the bream shoals night-time troughing and the catfish's courtship.

 It's my theory that the bream were taking advantage of the semi-spawny carps disinterest in food at the moment. Gorging themselves on the bait while the bully boys were away. I will persist will the chosen method on the next session and see what happens...until then I'm still waiting to connect with one of those carp.
 I enjoyed the overnighter, I don't really show how much I enjoy the company of Lady Sarah, I'm in the zone you see, I'm a different animal on the bank. It's not easy to explain.
 Her views on this idyll are somewhat different,"I read my book, ate burgers and slept a lot."..Haha

A Couple of Snatched Hours

Good organisation is not something this 'sometime' traditional angler is noted for, however, having purchased and wrapped presents with time to spare, and having a few extra early days off from the shop, I decided to snatch a few hours on the small river that is just a few minutes walk from my house.

 The day has been glorious, weather wise, maybe a bit too bright, but what a lovely way to idle a few hours..I'd dearly love to catch a 3lb Perch from this streamy little river, alas, today would not be the day.

I was happy enough to wile away a few hours dangling a worm, listening to shrieking Green Woodpeckers and tapping Spotted ones, watching the squirrels bounding around and Great Tits eating the dried seed heads of the riverside plants. A spider came out to say 'hello' and sought sanctuary with me away from the birds.

In the distance could be heard holidaying school children shrieking and singing with pre-Christmas excitement, and inadequate dog owners bellowing at disobedient canines. I minded not, happy to be idle for while, fish or no fish the beauty of the winter sunshine not lost on me.

Ten minutes here, ten minutes there a world away from the seething masses of shopping centres.

 Amazingly I did catch a fish or two, no record breakers, but seemingly adequate for a couple of hours 'dangling'....a wee little 'footballer'......

I told him to go fetch his Dad, but his parent must've refused the request.
 He was followed by a Bream, a fit fish apart from a piece missing from its gill cover, the second fish I've caught from the particular swim with this injury or defect...

My stomach started to rumble and I put my coat on to walk home, just so I didn't have to carry it, I'd sat on it for the duration of this session and hadn't missed it at all.

A Tonkin' Fish

As cars go by I cast my mind's eye

Over back packs on roof racks

Beyond the horizon

Where dream makers

Working white plastic processors

Invite the unwary

To reach for the pie in the sky

Go fishing my boy !

Today, I had pretentions of catching myself a fine Perch from my local river with cane and pin..I didn't., but, I did have a splendid couple of nostalgic hours.

My Chapmans 500 lissom wand of cane does not have the correct rings on it. My old Speedia centrepin, rescued from someones shed when seized up and neglected, now runs free and long. It does, however, have a wonky handle. I find these imperfections endearing and they have far more character than my modern gear.

 What better tools then for a couple of snatched hours on the river ?

 Not today, the mackerel'd skies of yesterday after the wind had blown, instead, blue and clear, though the winds had left their mark.

I hoped that the Crack Willows had completed all the cracking they had to do this week!

 The walk to the river from my front door took exactly seven minutes, it acts as a boundary between town and country, on one side a factory with noisy fork-lifts and lorries, on the other a protected water meadow.

  Having tackled up with a small drilled bullet and large Lobworm I nestled myself amongst the invasive and alien Himalayan Balsam, it's a plant that the rangers around here have an ongoing battle against, I actually quite like it, and so do the Bees.....and I like Bees, a lot.

The first marginal cast is usually a hint to the way things pan out on this little haven...nothing happened.

 I was soon distracted by a Treecreeper searching out grubs and insects from a tree on the opposite bank, then, a Great Tit gave a 'Tweet Tweet' from a higher limb...Still the rod stayed static.

 On a short river session I will stay in an unproductive swim no longer than fifteen minutes., so I was soon on my way.

The next little pool I visited had me sitting a little too precarious for my liking, on the opposite bank I could clearly see pram-faced teenagers pushing their offspring and elderly couples on matching disability scooters, but they didn't spot me.

 A knock, yes, a definite knock, then again....strike....a perfect Chublet, so small that the worm really was longer. The river does need at least another foot on it for decent Perch action, only, I just couldn't wait any longer.

 Moving on then, the bridge, surely a stripey marauder lurks here.

In the fifteen fishless minutes I sat in this swim,ten people crossed its span, only one stopped to look and stare, a small child hanging from her Mother's hand waved at me as her parent hurried on thinking about food shopping and the electricity bill. It would seem that many have lost that youthful awe at ones natural surroundings, I'm happy to not count myself amongst them, how else would I have noticed my friend the Kingfisher as he shot past at speed along the winding flow.

As the sun shone through the willows, I saw my final swim in a different light, it had previously seemed unassuming, but now became an interesting place to sit, even though I was now on the factory side by the the path and had received a least one glance from a passer-by that seemed to say, 'What's that weirdy beardy up to ? There's no fish in there.'

 Then, just when I thought it wouldn't, the tip juddered around, I struck to solid resistance, and a fight ensued that led me to believe I'd hooked that elusive three pound Perch, for they do live here.

 It was not a Perch though, it was a right old character of a Bream, battle scarred, it had clearly been in a few scrapes in its time, a few chunks missing from its tail, maybe a narrow escape from an Otter.

He certainly fought like a fish that knew how to survive, and as I returned him I felt happy to end the day right there, not wanting to cast again, so I strolled the short way home and back to present day life, happy with my lot.

Things Are Hotting Up

With the recent warm spell a stroll out with the good Lady Sarah was in order. Cunningly we ended up walking hand in hand around the reservoir complex at Tring. These lakes are renowned in the angling world for producing massive specimens of all species. I believe that they have held British records for at least three species, and their banks are still home to a dedicated band of fishermen willing to brave the windswept and steep banks in search of that special fish.

I'm drawn to Startops Reservoir personally and will one day take on the challenge to bank it's marvellous booty of monstrous fish.

Strolling around this vast expanse it soon became clear that Lady Sarah and I were not the only ones coupling up. In the crystal clear water, large Carp could clearly be seen grouping up in anticipation of the yearly spawning ritual; Ducks chased Drakes, Dragon and Damselflies flew together and Swans cemented their lifetime relationship. It's that time of year.A time of courtship and joy. Something's definitely in the air down Tring way.

Opportunity Knocks

"Luck is being ready for the chance."



I have travelled many meandering pathways in this fishing life, some have lead to disaster and pain, but most have taken me to places and situations that will be forever etched in my memory as times of joy,elation...almost on a spiritual level. Only those of you that live this piscatorial life, will ever really understand this. Here follows a tale of chance & opportunism culminating in one of those truly sublime moments.


The weather has taken a turn for the better and on Saturday I'd offered to take the lad from the shop, Dan, to a local lake on Monday night. He would fish for Catfish, myself for Tench.


The couple of days rolled round quickly and on Monday morning I phoned a friend who was fishing the lake.."There's a few on here mate", he said. I thought for a while, then decided to switch to my regular (quieter) venue which also contains both species.


Having notified Dan of the change of plans I received a message saying he was unable to make it, apparently he had an exam the next morning, so a good nights sleep was in order. For a moment, with me being flu'ed up, I wondered wether to go anyway or stay in a warm bed.

Just an hour after leaving work I found myself by the lake in a swim that had been neglected for a while. I knew it had a marginal shelf and it was an area I'd been baiting since Winter time. "Ripe for a big Tench", I thought.

The only other fisher was one Carp angler who goes by the legendary name of "Shakey" Lee.


I set both my 1.75 test rods with method fished mini-boilies over a concoction of Green groundbait, red maggot, betaine pellet and various particles down the marginal shelf.


Sitting back, I enjoyed the entertainment of an Artic Tern dropping and re-catching a fish that was clearly too heavy to fly with.

I thought to myself that on Saturday I'd agreed to be sitting somewhere completely different at this time but felt happy with the choice; especially when across the lake a large Carp boshed clean out of the water.

The light faded and air became cool,quiet in that transient world between day and night, I zipped myself into my sleeping bag and soon drifted into sleep, peace...tranquility.

'Da dat daaa da dat', wide awake I stared at the bobbin of my left rod, bouncing, like a luminous yo-yo...I struck...no real resistance...7lb Bream. I rebaited, re-cast. An hour later 'Da dat daaaa da dat' from the other rod...I struck...no real resistance...7lb Bream. I decided to re-cast but not to introduce more free offerings. Sleep, peace...tranquility.

At about 4am...'Da dat daaa da dat' I struck...MASSIVE resistance...snap...see you later...Carp? I'd made the error of expecting the expected, that isn't what happens in angling though, I should've known better..However,this was a valuable lesson.

At about 6.30am in half slumber 'Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa' the proverbial single toner, left hand rod tip waving like a tank aerial. I'd re-set the clutches and struck very softly, this was returned with solid resistance and the clutch sang as line flew from the spool. The fish just tore into open water and I was happy to just let it carry on, very quickly I realised that this was no Bream or Tench and I feared for my relatively light Rods and line. Around ten minutes later , this unseen beasty kited left along the margins and I had to lean out over the waters edge with rod at arms length. I had to try to stop it. I winced as I tightened slightly and gave it a small amount of pressure..it turned..and headed at full tilt straight towards me. Reeling in the slack as quickly as possible I gained line and the fish was in front about three rod lengths out. Great boils came to the surface as much water was displaced," Catfish?" I pondered.

Off it went again to the left and again I had to exert pressure. The fish turned and then something happened which both scared and excited me. The fish came rapidly along the clear margins and for the first time, I sighted her. "Bloody Hell, thats a 30+ Carp" chugging off now to the right. Around twenty minutes into the fight I finally began to think that 1) My size 10 hook wasn't coming out...and 2) I had a modicom of control and I might just land it.

I was worried that I may spook the fish with the net so got on my knees amongst the rushes. After a few more minutes of spirited scrapping she came around in an arc up the marginal shelf and swam straight into the waiting net..I fell in a heap on the floor trembling with adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Looking down at this majestic creature I saw something I recognised. This was a fish I knew well. It is unfortunately missing the lower lobe of its tail due to neglect from an idiot angler some five years ago (he is now banned for life from many of the countries top waters). It has been given the unoriginal name (I hate names for fish) of "Cut Tail" and is the biggest Carp in the lake. I phoned "Shakey" who arrived in my swim in double-quick time and duly took care of all weighing and photographic duties as I gazed in awe at the mass before me. A truly wonderful fish that despite its injury is thriving and healthy. It was an honour to hold her in my arms for a few fleeting seconds..It was an even greater feeling after resting her a while to see her swim strongly away, a bit wiser and forever to be there in my memory...The weight....40lb 3oz.

As I think back now about this capture two things strike me..The first is the chain of events, decisions and enthusiasm that lead me to be at the lake at that time. They were a mixture of chance and knowledge. The two things all anglers need.
The second thing that strikes me is just how responsible we all are for the welfare of these fantastic creatures that give us so much pleasure .

A Night in "Deadman's" and the Green Reward

I have written before about the tricks ones mind can play upon oneself when angling alone at night. Personally,it takes a lot to spook me and I generally enjoy nocturnal solitude. However,there is a pitch that I have avoided night fishing for many years. Let me set the scene...
I was fishing for Carp over ten years ago,when from a neighbouring lake a single gunshot rang out. Obviously,at the time I was oblivious, but that shot was a friend tragically ending his own life in his bivvy on a neighbouring lake. To this day,I am baffled by the incident and for many years I didn't fish the lake. When I finally did, I found that the pitch has been disrespectfully christened "Deadman's".
With trepidation I have fished in the said swim during daylight hours a couple of times but never at night,however, when I turned up at the lake on Monday evening to find it deserted, I dared myself to fish there.
The wind howled and the trees rustled (of course it rained a while..again) and with the thought of what had happened all those years ago fresh in my mind you may have excused me for being a tad unnerved. A visit from my old mate Brian and a couple of large Bream diverted my attention but Brian was soon gone and I was alone again as darkness fell.

Something strange happened...the wind dropped and the lake fell flat calm,stars appeared;animals,birds and even road traffic fell silent. Although the night air was cold I felt comfortable and at ease. This night session I'd put off in my mind through a mix of respect and dread had actually become a tranquil,enjoyable time....I soon drifted asleep.

No fish in the night meant I was awake with the dawn chorus.I reset my traps of method feeder with mini boilies, and rebaited the areas in the knowledge that the next couple of hours were primetime for my intended quarry..Tench.

Around an hour and a half later the bobbin of the right rod rose and my alarm sung,I struck and immediately knew that this was a tinca. What a clever fish it was,diving into every weedbed and set of lily pads it could, it was no match for my newly customised rod though. As it sat in the net,I looked down at this most beautiful of gifts, I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back...and not just for catching my first Tench of the year.

Dedicated to M.L...Rest In Peace my friend.

Night Of The Julians & The Curse of Izaac Walton

After a mad Saturday evening dash after a day in the shop,I found myself beside the lake I'd fished throughout the Winter. This time of year, of course, there are a few more anglers present and I was one of eleven, not my ideal scenario but they are good guys and I settled in for the night.
My quarry for the next couple of months is to be the beautiful Tench. I find them to be most beautiful creatures,their scales tiny and smooth,the variation of colour from bright gold to almost black and those mysterious red/orange eyes along with it's alleged healing properties all add to its mystique.Even the latin name tinca tinca conjures up an image in the minds eye.
Now,although the lake is not famed for its Tench, and has, to my knowledge never produced one of double figures, there remains a viable population that occassionally grace the nets of Carp anglers.
I set my stall out with method feeder and mini boilies fished on the hair,fishing both rods in the margins. Soon the traquility was interrupted by the sound of an alarm opposite.My mate Birdy,also angling for Tench was in to what turned out to be a fair sized Julian (Bream). This turned out to be the order of the night with Julians caught in abundance from his side of the lake as they began to congregate for spawning. I myself managed to scratch out three,one being particularly big,but alas no Tench,or Carp all round.

This was the smallest one of my trio,but all Bream caught around the lake,forty in total, ranged from 6 to 10 lb.

One thing has been bothering me for some time now.It is now getting so serious that I received two phone calls from fellow anglers regarding it during the session.It would seem that I am cursed, the curse being that around 95% of the times I fish,it rains.Now let me show you a couple of photos from this session.When I arrived the lake looked like this... Lovely blue sky,insects buzzing,anglers in shorts enjoying eating and drinking al fresco and enjoying the balminess of a Spring evening.

Sometime later.....
Greying skies,heavy rain and anglers running for cover.I blame the whole thing on Izaak himself.

Readers of Chris Yates' ramblings will know that all things related to angling,be it fair or foul are in the lap of Mr.Walton and I fear I have offended his spirit so much that I have been cursed with a plague of rain.

Whilst on Redmire last year (in a small gap between downpours) I asked Izaak for a sign...the instant reply was the only clap of thunder of the weekend.Yes,yes I know all this is irrational,but so is spending masses of time,effort and money trying to catch fish that are promptly returned back to the depths soon after.

All comments on how to appease Izaak will be welcomed.

Cold Cut

Well my friends,this "Chooseday" I only managed a couple of snatched hours on the Grand Union Canal in Buckinghamshire.
To be honest I fancied myself as a bit of a Gudgeon-Meister,however the canal had frozen at night and although it had thawed the little fellas evaded me.I know that they become localised in these conditions and I will go back in the summer when,hopefully they will throw themselves at me with abandon.
When I arrived,I was pleased to see that some traditional hedge management had been enforced and the entire hedgerow had been "layed".The job in this area was once employ of my Great Grandfather so it was nice to see some continuation.

It was the first time this year that I used one of my trusty Speedia reels,bought in delapidated condition and lovingly brought back to life.I have decided to make use of my three centrepins more this year.

The fishing wasn't great and having had no luck on the pinkie,size 20 hook combination,I decided to use a rogue single bronze maggot that had somehow managed to find it's way into my bait tin.This resulted in a small Bream(which probably felt sorry for me);of course I had no more bronzes so couldn't capitalise.

I did manage a small Perch before I went home and as I crossed that old bridge I recalled a cold day ,some thirty years previous at this very spot and an incident that still makes me smile...........(to be continued)