Friday, 8 September 2017

Dual purpose fishing.


So far this season I have made very efficient use of my time I think. Not only do my captures reflect as much but my standing in the current fishing challenge does as well. In the latter case I find myself slipstreaming the leading group with an eye to challenge the top three over the colder months when the sport moves towards advantageous species for me. And considering I can't get out fishing nearly as much as the people ahead of me, then I think I am doing well really.

Retaining this efficient vibe I needed to do some reccy work on a section of the Warks Avon that I'd specifically joined a club to fish, and what better way of clocking out a venue than to actually lure fish it, which I was itching to get back at anyway. You see a lot of people just see lure fishing as a great way to catch predatory fish, which it is... But I like to treat it as leading around (as carp anglers do) as well as trying to catch predators. I've said this before but it's worth saying again that you can figure out loads of information about a venue by slinging out lures; by throwing jigs depth, type of bottom, weed bed location and snags are all discovered. Whilst throwing lures around I always keep my eyes open for fishy activity and this not only helps locate predators but other target fish too.

I actually went to this section of river to have a lure session very early in the summer but on that occasion the temperature was so high that it felt like I was in a sauna outside. On that occasion I abandoned my attempts to fish that section and instead sought the deep shade of a lower section where I found a few jack pike lingering amongst the summer rushes, and filled my brain with information about the section that has produced some nice barbel last month for me.

On this session the summer seemed a distant memory with heavily over cast skies and impending rain soon to arrive. The river though looked slightly coloured in the deep weir pool I began on. Looking into the margins revealed the truth though, that the Avon's waters were very clear indeed with three or four feet of visibility. I felt sure this would actually work in my favour so as any predators couldn't fail to see my lures. I began by targeting the slower parts of the weir pool using a natural coloured shad style baits on a ten gram jig heads to send it quickly down to the bottom. Quickly I was building a picture in my mind of where the gravelly areas were and location of any snags. My first bit of interest came when I bounced the lure through a large eddy on the opposite side of the weir and the rod buckled over as something snatched the falling lure. It felt like a very good fish as it kept low down in the foaming water. Unfortunately the hook let go of its hold as the fish fought away on the depths. As the line fell slack and reeled to get back control the lure the fish actually hit it again shaking its head before letting go again. An inspection of the rubber lure showed slashes along its side which more than likely meant a nice pike had just got away.

After moving above the weir I concluded to actually walk along the stretch as far as I felt I could before working my way back down fishing alternative pegs as I went. I like to do this as when I cast lures on these pegged out sections of water as I find myself casting quite far upstream and downstream, therefore large areas of water get covered from adjoining swims and because of it being a big stretch of water I can cover more water than if I was fishing every swim. Saying all this though, if there's something that perks my interest I will just go into that swim and fish anyway. Which was exactly the case with the swim I began in.

How could I resist a close to fifty foot long stretch of willows hanging right out over the water. From what it looked like the water under them was deep, dark and the perfect resting or ambush point. The lure went in and dropped easily fifteen feet on a soft bottom. I systematically worked the lure back before firing it back close to the overhanging leaves. I'd covered maybe a third of the feature when I got hit hard as the lure crossed the centre of the river. I don't know if the fish had followed the lure out of the cover or if it had crossed its path in the main flow, but whichever way, it wanted it and was now connected to my rod. It shot down stream as I reeled down on it and tried to keep it from diving straight into the pads in the margins of my bank. The fish did get into those weeds but softening autumn weed and braid aren't good bedfellows and soon the round pads were off downstream and I had a nice looking zander bundled into my net.


The colouration of the fish indicated the light was getting down to the bottom but surprisingly they were still up for a feed. Maybe the depth was a factor here and it inclines them to feed even though the water was clear. This definitely seemed the case when I got a second hit from further down in the same swim. This one though got off from either a bad hook set or maybe it just let go. A few swims later the same thing happened, I got a hard thump and a quick head shake before the fish was gone. I am sure both lost fish were zander that had grabbed the lure beyond the hook and I was also sure that all the fish were picked up as the lure crossed their path mid river where I suspect they might have been laying on the bottom.

I had to work through what seemed like a prime area as I went down stream. It had cover on both banks and lots of pads and weed in the margins to conceal any predators. Honestly I thought it was going to be pike city but it turned out to be pretty barren no matter what lures I threw at it. Things didn't change until I moved into a section with a long clean cut reed bed along the opposite bank. Here the river dropped off at the bank into ten feet of water and once again this depth seemed to be a factor as straight away I hooked another zander lingering around the middle of the river. This was smaller than the first one I landed but still fought hard and was reluctant to come up and when it did just gave up rolling into the net.


The pike though were conspicuous by their absence on this session and it wasn't until the river started to shallow up towards the weir that a tiny one shot out and grabbed my falling lure. Though very cleanly hooked, this miniature monster bit the tail off of a brand new that I'd only cast once. Having unhooked it the tail of the lure was hooked up in though band new needle-like teeth. I only tugged at it gently and the tail of the shad was gone, leaving me with useless rubber ornament on my hook.


The river and my time soon ran out and I left it alone not long after that little pike swam away. I did give the weir one last go and covered the water where I'd lost that big fish first thing but that was no avail. I had been a good session on both the fish and the reccy front. I'd figured quite decent overview of the depth of the stretch, I'd found some interesting features in which to target later in the year and also got a few hints that there could be a very good population of good averaged sized zander in the area which I will definitely be targeting once the water is up and coloured and their after an easy meal.

Friday, 1 September 2017

Desperately seeking crucians.


With a title such as that you'd be forgiven for thinking I was in serious need of landing a lovely golden crucian carp. Well, I am and I am not, if that makes any sense. Really with where I live and the waters available to me, I could without shadow of a doubt go out and catch myself a crucian pretty easily, but the truth is that I only have eyes for one sort of crucian and it just happens that those are the hardest sort to catch round these parts as they are basically few and far between.

You see all crucians are not created equal... in my eyes anyway. In his well regarded crucian bible, 'A crock of gold: seeking the crucian carp', Peter Rolfe describes two distinct shapes of crucian carp; one, long and shallow which grows up in a relatively predator free environment and thus survival is not dependant on shape; the other, a classical round shaped crucian variant, that natural selection has determined due to its depth being to great too fit in the predatory perches mouth. The narrow variant is available commonly around the Midlands in quite a few pools including Snitterfield reservoir, which boasts an old population such as the one below and a whole new generation which was stocked few years ago to cement the reservoir as a top crucian venue for years to come.


The more rarer and archetypal variant though is much harder to find no matter where you come from. It is this disc-like crucian that I really wanted to catch this year, as a long time quest to actually catch just one of these special fish from Napton reservoir came to fruition and I landed four in one session last year. I honestly thought having finally done the impossible I might have satiated the urge, but the reality is that catching some has only made my need to catch them even worse. This picture alone has seen me return time and time again this year just for a chance to catch one more.


I have purposely kept away from blogging about the numerous failures to catch one of those golden pixies time and time again, as frankly I would have got very boring by now. Literally, I have spent half of my fishing time sitting on the banks of Napton mornings and evenings watching and waiting. I've spent so much time on there that I can tell some of the ducks apart merely by their demeanour. I've spent so much time sitting in silence that I've noticed that not only does Napton have a very shy population of water voles, but its stony margins are also home to bullheads which dart in and out of the rocks. As I've sat quietly waiting for my float to dip or rise so much as a millimeter I've seen plenty of Napton sunsets and now have developed a very keen appreciation for a good tench roll.


One thing I can say is the pest captures over the summer have really been great. Napton has so much more to offer than I ever thought in the past. The fish I've seen these last few months have honestly blown my mind. So much so in fact that I am already planning to have few sessions back on the venue once the weather cools a bit and the summer species go off the boil. Roach will be the target and why not when I've already caught fish to 1.10lb and pound fish have become very common. The Rudd to have blossomed in here and like their cousins, might continue to feed as the winter approaches. Saying that there does seem to be a few odd hybrids kicking around as well.



The tench sport was always regular this summer, but with the clear weedy conditions it has proved to be hard fishing in daylight hours in the margins at least. Evenings on the other hand have been madness, with catches of five fish one after another being the norm once the light drops and they find my carefully laid crucian traps. The tench have been so keen on my methods that sadly I've had to step up my tackle just to not get destroyed every time one comes along, hence I've fished probably a pound or so heavier gear than I would like to on such a venue. The rewards for that small compromise has been some lovely conditioned tench.


It wasn't until the other day that I strayed away from this crucian quest and with the summer ticking away I felt that sticking one in the net for this year's challenge was quickly passing me by. So with that in mind I did a session on Snitterfield reservoir to tick that box. Though that wasn't as simple as I expected it to be, as where the tench at Napton have proved very susceptible to my method the bream at Snitters were downright mugs for it. I spent a very hot and uncomfortable afternoon working my way through a good twenty of them and a fair few hybrids to conclude to stop feeding bait to encourage them. Half an hour bite-less proved enough quiet for at least one of the original crucians to drift in over the bream polished spot and put a pound and two ounces on my score sheet.


As I sat looking at my year planner at work a few days ago I realised that this little endeavor had consumed a large portion of the year and with a holiday fast approaching I had to draw a line under this crucian quest. So with that in mind I planned a final trip to Napton in search of gold. The only difference between this session and every other one before it was the addition of some very crucian carp looking bubbles emanating from the reed bed close to where I was fishing. They though came to nothing and my vigil ended once again with a streak of hard fighting tench before the sun set on my final attempt to catch those illusive Napton crucians.


Weirdly I don't feel the slightest disappointment in not actually catching one of Napton's bars of gold. I have actually really enjoyed spending all this time trying to pick a needle from a haystack. I can say with some certainty that I saw two crucians roll in a very specific place more than forty feet out from the bank and should I have been inclined I might have set up a feeder rig or something to try and hang one up, but I was not inclined, as doing so just feels little vulgar to me. Seeing those individual bubbles rising round the float and hitting that tiny bite before nervously playing a little circling giant is what I want and should it take me another decade to get that then I am prepared to sit and happily wait amongst Napton's reeds for it to come.


Friday, 18 August 2017

Return to the river.


It seems like forever since I've paid the Avon any attention. I have had an odd look here and there since the season opened up, but frankly I've been a bit preoccupied with trying to catch a crucian out of Napton Reservoir. Anyway whilst away on holiday the idea to get my arse in gear and head back to the river really came to the forefront of my mind. It just happened that a bit of rain the few days before I got back had the river in tip top conditions for my return.

I have a new membership for a bit of the Avon which some of my angling buddies have been recommending for years, which this year I decided to get on. So with a couple of rods set up ready to go I decided to head down the A46 for a morning session. Normally I would have tried to be on the bank for first light, but my early morning bumbling roused BB and he discovered some presents which had been stashed in his room that were to big too transport on holiday, so my leaving was delayed a little whilst they were opened.

In the end I found myself pulling up in the car park around 9am and shockingly there was only two other cars evident. Where was everyone? I asked myself, as I had suspected everyone would be on the river given the conditions. The first angler I came across was on the first peg through the gate and a quick chat turned up that he'd already had three chub and two barbel from out in the faster water. This was good news and got me quickly heading off looking for a swim up river. I soon found a great looking swim where the fast water is deflected by a big bed of reeds and with the extra colour on the water it looked great for the barbel I so much wanted.  

Trying to be as careful as I could I gently cast into the crease with a PVA bag full of goodies attached to my rig. Although I did receive several taps of interest I was soon recasting again and again, working my way down the crease in subsequent casts towards some cover where I suspected the barbel might be lying in wait. After a few hours I was getting concerned I may have missed or messed up my shot at a barbel from this swim, but rather than just move off I opted to make one final cast a bit further out, away from the crease I'd been targeting into the faster water.

I'd been sitting on the cast for a good fifteen minutes before another angler from upstream dropped by to see how I was doing. We'd been whacking on for ten minutes as I kept an eye on the white rod tip out the corner of my eye. I clocked a slow nod of the tip which grabbed my attention then a quick sharp pull got my hand hovering over the rod and then bang, as predicted, the rod bent over as the fish tuned onto the weight of the lead.

In the fast shallow water I lent hard on the fish to stop it finding any of the weed beds which I knew lay hidden by the coloured water.  A long pause with both of us refusing to give an inch ended when the fish was pushed down stream by the flow... then all hell broke loose in the deeper clearer water under my own bank. This powerful fish worked me hard to keep it from getting back over the river into the fast water but everything held true and the soft action of my rod soon subdued the fish and a gaping mouth lined with barbules appeared on the surface before what looked a big fish slipped into the net.

After letting the fish recover in the water I lifted the net out and put it onto he mat. I lifted back the folds of the net to reveal a perfect long lean summer fish. I can truly say I was beaming with the sight of this perfect first barbel off of a new stretch of river, and my companion who had stood silent the whole fight seemed very impressed too. We both agreed it looked to be a good one though on the scales my suspicion that it was in lean condition proved true and even given its long length the fish was only 7.14lb. 


Maybe in the winter this fish could have been at least nine pounds or more. The weight though hardly mattered at all to me as I was over the moon that I should catch such an amazing fish for my first barbel off a new stretch of river.


The rain came in quickly after that and I opted to make a tactical retreat, but I was back a few days later to fish another swim aways downstream. This time the river had cleared and with that in mind I had brought a second lighter rod along to fish the maggot feeder upstream of the barbel rod, with the hope that the maggots going downstream, combined with the activity from other fish might draw up any wary barbel to have a look see what was going on. The plan actually worked, but not quite exactly as I wanted it to. The maggot line was alive with fish chasing the freebies as I dropped the feeder again and again onto the same spot at the head of the swim. Roach, dace, gudgeon and perch were queuing up waiting for the feeder to release more free maggots into the flow.


As the session went on the interest in my downstream rod increased slowly but surely. It took a while but random jags on the rod tip indicated something was afoot. Soon enough the rod bent over hard as something took the bait. After those initial moments when you lean into a fish feeling something powerful abated, the fish power dwindled and I realised the chub had turned up, attracted by all the activity. The first fish was a greedy two pounder but the second was a much longer fish just under four pounds, which like that first barbel would be much larger come winter.



The bug had really bit and another evening session was penned into my diary for a week or so later, after seeing that the long range forecast predicted another deluge of rain to bring the river into peak condition.

I arrived as quick as I could get there after work to find only one car in the car park, and after rushing over the fields to the river I scouted the whole section, baiting up a few spots as I went. The other angler was nowhere near where I wanted to fish and after a quick chat and finding out that although he was really after the silvers he had been skinned out a couple of time by big fish. This was perfect, no other anglers and feeding fish, how could I fail..?

The scene of my first barbel capture seemed the logical starting point and I was soon set-up and watching the river, trying to figure out the water in front of me as the added water and flow had seemingly changed the whole dynamic of the swim. It didn't take long to figure I'd chosen the most complicated swim to start with. There must have been seven or more areas in front of me screaming for a bait to go on them. In the end I began close in targeting a small crease right under my own bank. This produced nothing at all so I went about casting into each area I thought might hold barbel one after another for the next three hours. In the end I spent far too much time trying to logically cover the whole swim, in which time Mick had turned up and headed off upstream to fish for predators.

Having kind of shot myself in the foot time-wise, I decided to move downstream to fish one of the swims I had pre baited. With only enough time to fish one last swim I missed out a couple I had dropped bait into and went for the one I thought most likely to produce in the conditions. It was quite a simple swim I went to, with a large bed of bulrushes at the head that was creating a crease right down the centre of the river between the fast and slow water.

My first cast sent a tasty bag of morsels quickly down to the river bed just in the fast water, attached to a two ounce lead. The reaction was instant as my pre baiting already had fish nosing around on the gravel. Convinced the rod was going to bang over I had to sit on my hands as the small fish attacked the hook bait. I waited patiently and as I did, the rod soon indicated the presence of a bigger fish. A couple of nods later and the rod was nearly ripped of the rest and I was into a barbel. The initial savagery subsided and an interesting battle ensued in the slow water. It was only about four pound but this solid and fresh barbel took no prisoners as it dived into every possible place it could get snagged. In the end though the fact I was fishing gear capable of landing even the biggest fish won the fight and I netted an immaculate barbel that saved my session. 


The next cast produced the same response but this time I thought I'd hooked a small chub or something until I went to lift it out and a tiny sub pound barbel managed to shake itself off the hook, vibrating mid-lift, and dived straight back into the river. They were only small but two barbel in two casts were good numbers for me. I really wanted to get my bait right onto the bait I had put down earlier so I tried my very best to land the rig and new bag of freebies on the very centre of the crease. In doing so though I tightened up and it was more than obvious my bait was on the inside of the crease in the slow water. I decided to give it a chance and wait, letting it sit there for fifteen minutes at least, but I didn't feel in was the best place for it at all. 

The bite came out of nowhere with no warning which made it all that more shocking. One moment the rod was stationary the next it was bending double, lifting the butt out of the rests. Straight away I could feel this was a fish in another league. It powered all over the swim through both the fast and slow water with me just holding on tight and trying my best to steer it away from any hazards. After covering every bit of water in front of me, the fish dived straight into some lillies in the slow water, but its power and my power linked by the line just cut straight though the stems leaving the pad floating away downstream. A few dives later and I had what I knew was a good barbel in the net. As it rested in the water I made the call to Mick to ask for a spot of help taking a photo or two which turned out to be a brilliant decision as my camera phone, although great in day light, was useless in the half light. Luckily Mick brought his camera and I was soon proudly holding up my first double from this new stretch and beaming from behind all ten pounds and seven ounces of it.


In three close sessions this new bit of river has proved exactly how honest it is. By that I mean; it looks like it should contain barbel and chub and it does, it looks healthy and it seems it is and in the right conditions the fish should feed and they do. Which for the Warwickshire Avon, isn't that common from what I've seen in the past. A lot of the time I fished sections of the Avon and thought, this has to be a good area for this or that, and been let down. This place though seems different and I hope my theories about other different sections come to fruition over the autumn and winter. If they do, well, a few more red letter days for other species could be on the horizon.


Thursday, 10 August 2017

A holiday tipple.


I don't mind admitting that the sea surrounding the Isle of Wight came as a bit of a shock to me. You see my impressions of the water surrounding our nation are founded on the muddy waters of Great Yarmouth, Weston Super Mare, Skegvegas or Blackpool. From the moment the ferry which carried us to the island left Southampton water and entered the Solent it became quickly clear that the waters surrounding the island are pretty much gin clear. Really, from most places on the island overlooking the sea you could easily surmise you were in the Mediterranean if it weren't for the multitudes of regional British accents you hear and the general lack of consistency in the weather.


I have learnt my lesson with trying to fish as much as I have in the past on holiday since BB has come along and for now with a raging toddler filling both mine and JB's time, I conceded to not over commit and just take a couple of lure rods along just in case I got the chance to have a dabble in the rocky clear waters around Colwell Bay and Totland where we were staying.


Not long in I got the chance to have a little explore and chose to go and check out a intriguing reef which jutted out from the land between Colwell and Totland. Literally with no experience fishing these clear rocky marks I choose to fish a 4" curly tailed grub on a Texas rig after research revealed this to be a good method to target wrasse and maybe even bass along the edges of the reef. I realized as soon as I arrived that the tide was on its way up and this meant my fishing of this area was of a single dimension. Really I would have loved to gone out onto the rocks but good sense prevailed and lucky it did as the tide, once level with top of the rock, ripped over them with the power of the Atlantic behind it. I raised a single hit on this session which I was convinced was from a wrasse lurking close the edge of the reef. My failure to strike may go some way to explain why I never connected with the fish, but hey ho they'll be another chance I thought....but there wasn't!

On my first outing I did notice through my polarized glasses that the entire sea wall in the area I was fishing was paved with massive random boulders along its base. So when the next opportunity came along I went out armed only with a drop shot rod to fish worm style baits amongst the rocks and target some of the mini species I figured should be lurking in the nooks and crannies.

This turned out to be my best decision and just happened to coincide with the best evening's weather we had the entire time we were away. First drop in and I felt the familiar rattle as some micro monster took umbrage with my wiggling worm gyrating in its front garden. Paradoxically to how quickly I got some interest, it took me ages to settle on a productive hooking arrangement and to actually hit one of the aggressive little fish which were assaulting my lure. After several missed strikes I finally hooked a powerful little fish which once pulled from the rocks circled like a mad head before revealing itself to be a stunning and my first ever corkwing wrasse. 


Turns out every gap in the rocks bigger than half a foot seemed to contain at least one which would come flying out its hidey hole once my lure touched bottom and began to gyrate around in front of them. Whether it was hunger or aggression motivating attacks one thing was evident, these colourful critters did not stop biting that tiny worm lure until they ripped it off, I removed it, or they got hooked. 


Through the few hours until the sunset I caught loads of these amazing little fish that lived in quite a savage place amongst the rocks with the pulsating waves constantly smashing upon them. Some were only a few inches long and others as big as my hand. But they all had the same things in common; they were all the most amazing myriad of colours, and they all were super aggressive.


The conditions proved to be my greatest problem whilst we were on the island. The incessant west south west wind battering up the Solent made light lure fishing seem rather futile. On more than one occasion an opportunity to get out for a quick session was made pointless by the wind. In the end I was tempted to go and spend a late afternoon on Yarmouth pier to try and winkle something from amongst the pilings.

Once again the wind didn't help me out and that, in combination with a racing tide firing along, it made for an interesting session. A lot of the locals were chucking out mackerel feathers with big leads to drag them down in the savage tide. Me on the other hand had nothing more than a 30 gram drop shot weight to try and get my lures near the bottom. This endeavor did not prove fruitful at all! Even with low diameter braided line and my heaviest weight, the whole rig was sinking only momentarily before the tide tore it away and lifted it off the bottom.

I wasn't about to give up though and after a good look round I found a couple of shoals of small bass loitering under the end of the pier, attacking tiny fry as they attempted to seek shelter around the pilings. Instead of fighting the flow I used it to my advantage and with a black and silver Fox micro fry on the hook I cast the weighted rig up tide and retrieved it mid depth along the pilings past the shoals of hungry bass in the shade of the pier.

First cast...BOOM! and even a one pound bass sticks a proper bend in a light lure rod in the powerful tide of the Solent, trust me. The little bass were so preoccupied by attacking the smaller fish they never gave the lure so much as a second look before smashing it. These silver spiny predators were stuffed full of tiny little fish which were unidentifiable once the little bass had grabbed hold of them. In a manic hour I was casting constantly and retrieving the lure through several lines around the piling; doing so resulted in me catching several nice bass and losing quite a few as they shook off the hook just as I tried to lift them up. As quickly as they appeared, those little Bass sank back under the pier, but finding them in the first place made the trip up the coast and the day ticket fee well worth it.


That trip to Yarmouth pier turned out to be the last session of the holiday as the conditions towards the end of the week got a bit worse and before we knew it it was time to board the ferry again to cross the Solent back to the mainland.

I find myself thinking back to these few short sessions with fondness and I realize now that in perfect conditions and with the addition of a maybe a beach outfit, the Isle of Wight could really be sea fishing heaven. The combination of being able to go after the micro species and bigger fish could produce some amazing captures as long as you can actually get out fishing and cope with the strong tides. Maybe in the future I might get a chance to put my theory into practice, possibly when young BB is a bit older and might want to come along for a go himself should we go back.



Thursday, 20 July 2017

I name thee George of Jubilee.


Hi my names Daniel and it's been over eleven days since my last cast...
(Pause for applause)
...and I am clucking!!!

clucking

To be in a state of Drug/Heroin withdrawal. From the phrase cold turkey.

I was desperate to get out fishing after life and work seemed to conspire to prevent me getting out and I was in the need for something savage. The wonderful art of trotting, to sedately, delicately float fish for a crucian couldn't scratch this itch, nor would chasing illusive Rudd in clear water salve me. I needed something savage to satiate me; I needed rods being torn from rests, bite alarms screaming and battles that would make your arms ache. It's all right people wanting to be at one with nature and appreciating being out, but I needed the precious silence of the country to be shattered by vicious runs...I needed to be hit by something hard coursing through my veins.
Really, the surprise of the three foot barbel twitch would have been best, but with only a few hours to spare and the Avon being in about as good form as the England international side, carp it seemed would have to do. Searching out rarities was a gamble I was unwilling to take, so the familiar reliability of horseshoe pool nestled away at the back of jubilee pools seemed the perfect place to get me hit
I actually love carp fishing and in another life I could make a proper commitment to it if I didn't also love a variety of other fish. I get bored campaigning and am easily distracted from grey backed monsters. These short sessions margin carping are just up my street. As always the margins were my targets and the polished clear gravel where sneaky grubbers mop up dumped bait are my target areas. As always on this session I actually try to mimic these patches of chucked out bait and what always gets lobbed away at the end of a session?..corn. It's cheap and no one can be arsed to bag it for next time, so in it goes. That yellow signal draws them in every time, mix in a bit of something smelly with a few more tasty nutritional morsels and that rod has to bend round.
With one spot to my left baited up and three others primed in other swims, I sat on the ground ten feet from my rod in the shade of a tree. Dark shapes already moved over the bait and although they were tench it was only a matter of time before something bigger was alerted to the feast that lay on the gravel.
I'd barely whistled three bars of the latest CBeebies ear worm stuck in my head when the rod tip bent round and the alarm screamed blue murder. Good thing I had the fore thought to screw some snag ears on under the alarm the rod off the alarm before I dashed the short distance and grabbed the rod. The initial violence subsided quickly as a small, wildish looking common repeatedly rolled in the margin, and with one roll and twang of a fin it was free.
After checking the rig I peered onto the spot again to check it was clear before quietly placing the rig tight to the bank under an overhanging branch. A few more boilies, a dash of pellet-filled ground bait and a fist load of corn and I was back under the tree cross legged listening to the birds BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!!!!  And the same performance was under away again. The rod tip was in the water this time as fish bolted after being nailed by the hook. An unusually spirited fight from a fish, it's size revealed a real bastard koi ghost common cross thing, which was probably the biggest gold fish I have caught to date. 
After posting the picture up on a whatsapp chat the first person to mock my mighty goldfish was George Burton off of float flight and flannel so in keeping with that popular carp angling tradition of naming fish, I name this oversized gold fish George of Jubilee. Hopefully everyone will take that one on and just to make sure, I will get it sent in for the next newsletter from the club ;)

With George set free I turned my attention back to this already productive spot, re-baited once again with more goodies and positioned my rig on the closest part of the baited area to the bank so as any feeding fish wouldn't find my line. With the line positioned carefully along the bank I retreated to wait for more action. It took a while but eventually the buzzer wailed but before I got to the rod the fish managed to shake the rig off some ten feet away from the spot where it had been hooked.

This time when I peered back over the bushes to see if the coast was clear to drop the rig in again, two carp were heads down having a munch. They didn't stick around long and soon enough I was tightening the line on my trap. More bait attracted more fish and a group of small tench soon drifted around over the bait, but once they cleared off the swim seemed abandoned. After waiting a good forty five minutes, I was getting ready to head off home via the chippy. I'd just picked up my little rod bag when all hell broke loose. The alarms shrill tone sounded and the rod arched round and a huge boil erupted in the edge.

I hadn't expected to get another one before I left, but it seems turning my back for that moment was long enough for a beautiful mirror to sneak in and snaffle some freebies and with them my hook bait. This fight and subsequent selfies added fifteen minutes to my leaving time. It was worth it though as this fish and its fight were exactly what I needed on this short session and it really satisfied my cravings for a good old bit of angling excitement and vigour.




Friday, 30 June 2017

A bit of obsession, preoccupation, mania and addiction.


A little over a year has passed since I found myself in the right place at the right time and fished exactly the right way to realise a dream and bag myself a quartet of Napton's rarest residents. I can recall the memory of that day perfectly in my mind, from the moment I saw the first golden flank roll close to my float and through the frustration of catching tench when I knew the crucians were so close by, then ultimately the panicky joy of netting that first one. Now though I have had a year to ruminate over that day and weirdly, although I should be satisfied by catching four ancient fish in one go, I actually find myself even more eager to catch more. 

Frankly, although outwardly it might seem to even the most informed passerby that I looked as if I were fishing for tench at Napton, the reality is that if I have a float rod out I am always fishing for crucians. You see I believe that unlike the few accidental captures that occur through the year, most possible captures are missed by the shear ridiculous shyness of their bite combined with normally difficult conditions. Because of this I opt to use a sensitive method combined with a selection of identical floats in various sizes. By doing this I believe I can cope with the testing conditions that you can experience at Napton whilst still registering the slightest of bites and thus am satisfied that I will see even the tiniest of bites.

Being able to see their bites aside the reality of actually trying to catch a crucian, or should I say one of the tiny group of old crucians from Napton, falls simply into a category that could be entitled with any of the following; obsession, preoccupation, mania, addiction. Its madness really as it simply is like looking for a needle in a hay stack and Napton is one huge haystack. Now although this is the first time I have written of it this year, the fact is that I can't even recall how many times in the last few weeks I've made that trip across the county and back. What I do know is now when I walk out our front door and JB asks me where I am going and I reply Napton she says "again" and the chap in our local petrol station seems to like me more than ever and greets me with a big smile and a, "back so soon", every time I go in to top up.

Without going to much into to my current obsession, it began on the 16th when the tench were feeling fruity and all I caught was a hundred weight of perch averaging eight ounces and one old carp, which happens to be the first of its type that I have hooked and tamed on my light gear in Napton.


God, if it weren't for the fact that I love catching tench I would be in a bad place right now. Literally I have caught loads of them in every conceivable shape, sex and temperament. I've had them close in and far out. I've caught them when they were biting so shy that the float only rose half a centimeter out of the water and when they were having it so much the float shot up like a rocket.


I've tried to be practical and pragmatic about this, targeting three key swims and more specifically a key area in each of those swims for them, but in absolute honesty I have not seen hide nor hair of a crucian in a sea of tench. I have seen a few eye opening things being up there so much; like a massive fully scaled mirror carp which swam right under my feet, what I think may have been a sterlet swimming around in the clear water and some very nice rudd and roach to boot. The latter of which were the first on the scene when I made the change to bread hook baits a few nights ago.


Other species aside, the tench keep coming and now that their nuptials seem to be done with, they have stepped up a gear of the feeding stakes. The case in point being one of the three swims I am targeting is in some very clear water and is festooned with weed which myself and another chap have been diligently clearing out with weed rakes. Its a perfect ambush spot for a late evening crucian just as dark creeps in. But the tench are so into feeding that they will come right into the clear spot only a few feet from the bank at any time of the day and let me tell you, playing even the smallest tench in a pool-table sized gap in the thick weed is a nightmare.


The one thing I can say for the tench is that I do finally seem to be seeing a few better examples appearing after a spring full of sub five pounders. 


It almost sounds like am being ungrateful for catching all these beautiful fish and in a way I suppose I am, as none of them are the ghosts of Napton that I seek. But then again if I am going commit to trying to catch another one of the deep bodied golden treasures then I'd rather the in between time is filled with lovely tench which are after all one of my favourite species, and catching them on the float whilst whiling away my time is so much more rewarding than being parked behind buzzers waiting for runs.

Although other summer targets need some attention and if I want to achieve those targets I know I will have to drag myself away from the bank of this epic water and this insane quest. But I don't think I will be totally abandoning this venture any time soon and as I got a sniff of a lead on a possible target area where they may have been spotted very recently and it's certainly worth following up.

Friday, 23 June 2017

Burnham holiday village a carp session broken up.


I write this in some respects to put the record straight, as when I was researching this lake before going on holiday I found very little decent information and what I did find was misleading in many ways. So I hope that this true report regarding the fishing at Burnham holiday village lake (Haven) may help other anglers in the future if they are holidaying at this park.

When I first saw the Lake at Burnham holiday village I thought it looked nothing as I had expected it to. Firstly what the internet had lead believe was two lakes; a match lake and specimen lake, was actually now one lake since the owner had dug through the causeway the previous winter. The old match lake half looked pretty much as most commercial fisheries look with manicured banks, stages and oxygenating pumps. The old specimen lake though was intriguing with copious islands lined with rushes and reeds, open swathes of water and hidden bays. This could have been some quiet corner of a syndicate lake rather than a holiday park pool. Through several hours of searching I had learnt that the main target for most people and myself would be carp, which were touted to grow up to nearly thirty pounds. As for the other species present none of them seemed to exist in any numbers apart from eels which did offer me a second target.

Hour 1
After one of the most horrendous journeys down from the middle where the car window screen wipers could barley cope and after hastily unpacking I ventured out to have a mooch round the lakes to see if I could add any info to my already blurred picture of the place. Really I was hoping with it being June and all that I could spot a few fish moving round to give me some areas to target. The wind though had other ideas and ideas that would be around for most of the week. Two laps of the lake and a liberal soaking was nearly all I could take. After seeing naff all I was about to leave until I spotted a still slice of water in one corner of the lake. Watching it for a while in the rain got me totally soaked, but it was worth it to see what looked like a few bubblers mooching along the edge. Seeing this tiny snippet of a sign was all I needed to deposit thirty crab and krill baits loosely all along the bramble lined margin, with the intention of returning for a early foray in the morning.


Hour 2-4
The weather over night went from bad to worse. Ten hours in a caravan bouncing back and forth listening to the wind doing its best to tear up the copse of trees behind our tin holiday home was a test for the whole family, apart from young BB who slept quite well all things considered. After slipping on my slightly damp clothes I grabbed my kit and ventured out into the still howling wind. 

The lake was basically covered in large inland waves. The wind had swung ninety degrees and was now pushing onto the area I had baited the night before. Luckily a bit of bank side bramble at least afforded me a minimal amount of cover for the rods. Trying to keep things simple I threw out another thirty baits onto a slightly tighter area and swung out a PVA bag filled with chopped boilie and boilie crumb into the centre of the baited area. The second for this session was aimed towards eels rather than carp and was rigged up with a free running ledger boom and foot long armour braid hook link, size two hook and baited with two broken lob worms.

The wind was merciless and the only way I could fish in any way effectively was to dip the rod tips under the water, with my bobbins jammed tight up against the indicators. Quite soon the left hand rod which was the eel line kept sounding on the buzzer, but every strike was met by no resistance. This actually kept me busy for the whole session as I tried various baiting arrangements to try and connect with whatever was pulling my chain as the case may be. It wasn't until I threaded a half a lob on sea fishing style that I connected with a tiny eel... Already the reality of the situation was a lake paved with small eels. Not long after this realization the right hand rod which had been stewing away suddenly sprang to life with a subdued yet steady run. I don't think the fish realized that it was hooked in the churning waters until I lifted into it and drove the hook further home. I saw a golden flank roll in the murky water early on the fight which lead me to believe I wasn't playing anything more than a small carp. But the fight seemed to go on for ages in the shallow corner. After several runs and swimming straight through my second line I finally coaxed the fish towards the net and when it rolled over that one last time I spotted a huge mouth gaping back at me. In the net it seemed bigger as well and it turned out to be a really solid mid double that in another water could have been much bigger.


Hour 5-6
After a day of family fun I nabbed a few hours at dusk. Having re baited the same area with more freebies I went back to try my luck and have a proper go at the eels. In short it pissed it down again, my theory that the lake is rammed with small eels was confirmed, I used all my worms catching about twenty small eels, and the second rod was dead as a dodo. I did however spot several shows in a gap between two reed beds that indicated there was more than one carp in the lake.

Hour 7-8
After yet another rough night I went out to try and track down some fish. If the night before had showed me where the fish were, this morning was when the cat and mouse began. I went into a swim where I could see into a bay behind the reed bed where I'd seen the fish the night before. Early on three fish jumped tight to the far reed bed furthest away from me. The problem was with the wind and my under gunned 2.5lb Nash dwarf rods I had no chance of accurately casting to them. Hence the session descended into me watching fish out of range whilst hoping something unseen might find my PVA bag cast to closer reed beds.


Hours 9-10
A day later not a single fish was seen at all. The silver fish were now moving around and all over the lake I could see small roach and skimmers flipping out of the water. Having nothing to go on I targeted the end of the lake where I'd seen the carp jumping, but this time I fished tight to a very tight to a group of close in islands hoping something might move in between them and find one of baits surrounded by powdered boilies and pellets.


Hours 11-12
My final day on the lake and finally the weather had changed. The sun was now out and as my rods sat silently fishing into the big bay I watched a group of three or four carp rooting round under some snags in an out of bounds area behind the spit I was fishing from. At first I was fishing out to the reedy islands again, but after spotting these carp I theorised that the entrance to the out of bounds bay might be a better place to intercept any fish moving in and out of the area.


A quick move later and I had cast dangerously far into the out of bounds area from the only possible point to a margin with deep snags all along it. The other rod was position on the other side of the entrance in a shallow spot at the end of the wind. Time proved my enemy here and with only a small space of time available I don't think I had baits either in the water long enough or specifically on fish on this occasion. My time ran out all too soon, but on the way home for breakfast I did find a group of carp right tight to my own bank in a marginal reed bed. It seemed the combination of the wind and the warmth had pulled them into this reed bed. Thinking I might be able to get one last crack of the whip later that night I split the remaining bait I had left 70/30 and scattered the larger amount along the shallow corner.

Hour 13-14
What a blow out! I knew those fish would be in that area all day as I went about my business with the family and I was sure as hell I could get one or more of that spot. Now it's worth saying that all week there had been three or four anglers chasing carp around the lake who had all got quite friendly and a couple of guys targeting silvers on the stages on the smaller civilized half of the lake as well. But on my return a new group of chaps had turned up. I walked past their battery of rod pods and sprays of rods pointing to the sky as if they were defending their well worn peg from invasion. I was as I always am, polite, and bid them good afternoon as I walked past, only to get a grunt which I assume is hello in welsh as they seemed to be of that part of the world. Three pegs further round I tiptoed behind the weed bed and slipped into the only safe spot to fish the pre baited spot from. After dropping my gear next to a tree I took what was left of my bait and went to trickle it along the reeds. I'd gone no more than two steps when I saw a lead and leader drop lazily through the air and splodosh right into the reeds. Obviously unhappy with the cast three more attempts were made before the rod was settled into the rod battery and the line tightened so much any passing dragon flies were in danger of dismemberment. 

I really wanted to try and catch a fish rather than kick off. So with no other option I went off to spend my last session trying to track down the illusive carp, which I never did.

Conclusion
I find it hard to make a truthfully honest conclusion about the fishing at Burnham on sea holiday village as the time I spent on it was in exceptional weather conditions and that my time was split into very small pockets which is probably not the best way to get the feel for a water. But! My time and the other anglers fishing the lake combined helps see a better picture though. Of four of us actively fishing for carp only three fish were landed and two of those were under six pounds. I suppose the reality is that if there was even half the supposed fish the bailiff insists there are, between us we should have caught or at least seen more fish. Now I would never go as far as to comment on how big the carp grow in this pool as all I have seen is the one fish I caught, the few I watched in the margin, some jumpers and the few on the fishing shop slide show. And that would indicate low twenties in the lake possibly. There did seem to be a lot of small silver fish kicking around even though I never fished for them they were everywhere. Eels there were lots of though! After hearing from a caravan owner on the lake that the lake has some kind of connection to the river close by it explains the large population but would also indicate that once they want to shove of and breed that any sizeable ones probably head of to the Sargasso. So if I had to give a short conclusion to help other anglers it's this. Burnham Holiday Village Lake is not a runs water, it does contain some carp which could go up to twenty pounds, but there's not massive numbers of them. So if you're prepared to sit there all day everyday you have a chance you might get one, but be prepared to work hard for it. I am willing to bet you could catch a few small silvers float fishing and that sooner or later you will catch and eel. If eels are your thing then don't go there thinking you're going to catch a monster as there's tons of little ones that can get back out to see when they mature.

I hope any of this helps.


Thursday, 15 June 2017

Pushing my luck.


It didn't really occur to me that I was pushing my luck a bit going out fishing until I was already ensconced in staring at a sliver of glowing fiberglass a few feet of a reed bed. It was as my mind came out of visualising the events I hoped were going on under the waters glassy surface that I remembered we were going on holiday the following morning and maybe I should be packing or something rather than pursing ghosts on the reservoir. As I had already crossed a good proportion of the county to get here and spent half an hour tearing every sprig of weed out of the area I was fishing using my new weed rake, it seemed foolish to leave straight away. With an early exit firmly in mind, I set about concentrating on the orange tip of my Drennan antenna float close to the reeds and waited for it to make the slightest movement up or down.

Although the bottom of the area I had raked off was liberally covered in very expensive ground bait and a few speckles of corn, I was supplementing that with regular sprinkles of fresh casters. It was this regular feeding which I felt sure attracted the initial slew of nice perch which in this deep clear water give a magnificent account of themselves, fighting hard and deep at first then slowing as the reach the surface. Five or six of these colourful little predators took my triple caster bait as it fluttered onto the deck.


Once the perch capture petered off I knew something a bit feistier was soon on the cards. The first over exaggerated lift was somehow missed but the second more subtle lift of the float was subsequently struck and connected with a savage fish which tore the swim apart. Only a little male tench went this mad and as predicted the culprit did turn out to be a young male full of vim and vigor.


The swim took a good while to settle down after the first fish had made such a fuss. It was nearly an hour before the fish to drifted back in again. The signs were very slight at first, with the float rising a little here and dipping a little there. It seemed most of what I was seeing was probably accidental contact as the fish moved around the swim with tails and fins knocking the line. But being as I was hoping for a crucian carp I did strike at a couple of delicate lifts just in case, but that just resulted in nothing. Trying to hit those early signs of movement on the float proved thankless, so I began waiting a bit longer until both of the yellow lines below the orange tip of the float rose out of the water. The next positive rise was struck and made contact with a very angry tench which really pushed my outfit to the limit and as per normal turned out to be another male.


As the clock ticked down on my session another small tench was landed before I struck into what had to of been a rare carp. One moment I was watching the float wobble a bit, the next line was stripping off my reel far too quickly for my liking. I am not sure how wide this water is, but given that I only had a hundred meters of line on my reel I really didn't fancy seeing if it was more than a hundred meters to the other side. With little to no choice I applied the brakes a bit more and wound down on the clutch. Not long after that the line went at the hook link knot. The suspected carp had cleared the swim upon exiting it and with no time to wait for it to rejuvenate, I packed away whilst it was still light and headed back home to apologize for going fishing rather than getting packing.


Friday, 2 June 2017

The short truth about the cut.


Are canals really as badly populated with fish as most anglers would have you think? The simple answer to that is, no. From what the majority of angling clubs and occasional canal anglers say you'd think certainly the midland canal system was bloody well devoid of life. Honestly I couldn't count on my entire families fingers and toes the amount of times I've heard that all the fish in here have been eaten by the zander, and it's just not true. In fact every time I hear that sentence or the likes I have to stop myself physically throttling whoever said it whilst screaming 'what the effing hell do you think they're eating then you t*$t'.

Undoubtedly the biomass has undergone a change since the introduction of a new apex predator, but the fact remains that zander are thriving and they are eating something to thrive. Gone are the days of bit bashing for 3lb of fish and here are the bag up days where the canals are abound with big fish, as my old friend Phil Mattock here seems to prove every other week by bagging up with quality fish all over the canal network.


What brought me to this micro rant was a session I fished a few nights ago on the cut. Spring/early summer it would seem is one of the best times for silver bream from the canals. It's not that I am an expert or anything on the subject of silver bream, it's just I've seen a lot getting caught recently on other blogs. So I thought this was as good a time as any to try and fill that silver bream box.

So off to the local canal I go with minimal tackle, to pitch up in an area where I have always seen loads of topping fish whilst rubber chucking. I aint the biggest fan of the Oxford but this bit is close to home and is terribly convenient for short evening sessions. After tapping a few mates for info on how they catch these forgotten fish I opted to fish down the track of the canal using 13ft rod almost like a pole. I also set up a Drennan antenna float to fish for lift bites as well as dips. Apart from the super sensitive float set up, everything else was very crude; size fourteen hook, 3lb hook link, and double red maggot fished over a few balls of ground bait.

Much against the common belief I found this section of the Oxford to be brimming with fish of some very interesting sizes. From the off I was into small roach of up to six ounces, which sharply jagged the float under when they attacked the maggots. Interspersed with the roach were a nice helping of skimmers and perch. It was only a matter of numbers before I hooked a better fish and the first one was a nice perch of around a pound,  followed by its mate who was a few ounces bigger. I kept the maggots going in and the fish carried on biting all the way through till dusk.

The silver bream I had gone for never materialized but just as the sun dipped below the horizon my float indicated the first positive lift bite of the session. It turned out to be a very powerful fish that led me a merry dance all around the canal before succumbing to gentle pressure. After seeing a big silver flank I so wanted it to be a massive roach, but the reality was that I had hooked a big roach bream hybrid that had got rolled up in the line. On the scales I registered over three pounds which added a few needed points for the challenge though.


I didn't carry on after that fish as my bed was calling me home after a long day at work. Although it only turned out to be a very short one and I didn't find my target fish, it was a very interesting session. I really had no idea how many fish were in this section of canal, and it proves how wrong the naysayers are when they say there is no small fish in the canals. This session reaffirmed to me exactly how healthy my local canals are. Maybe if the common garden angler spent a bit more of his time fishing the canal rather than commercial fishery then they might start to catch a few more fish out of the canals and then this misnomer that the zander have eaten all the fish might just fade away... what am I saying, of course it won't, because it's always easier to blame someone or something else for us not catching rather than admitting it's our fault.


Friday, 26 May 2017

Ryton's on the change.


I read somewhere once that lakes go through cycles in relation to the dominant species within. It said that lakes are either dominated by bream or tench and that even if both are present it is normally a case that there will be one species that is dominant with the other only present in small numbers. At the time of reading this I never thought that much about it, but now thinking back and applying this theory to some of the lakes I fish, it makes sense. My old adversary Coombe pool was in the past renowned for being a bream Mecca, and although there is still a giant shoal of bream swimming round in it, there is no doubt that the bream numbers are dropping and more tench seem to be showing up. Napton reservoir in all its bleak resplendence is predominantly a tench water with apparently a handful of big bream. Personally I think the dominance of a species in an environment is simply down to environmental factors and who they benefit, and my belief was further reinforced when the other week I returned to a favourite lake of mine, Ryton pool. Ryton has changed a lot since I began fishing years ago. I remember the first year I fished it when the water was gin clear and the weed grew so much that by midsummer I reckon with a spot of luck and light feet you could have run across the top of it. Others years after that there was differing amounts of weeds and clarity but one thing remained the same; tench were what you caught and bream were just rumors. Fast forward ten or so years and I once again stared into the water exactly where I did when I first came to this lake and one difference was that I quite simply could not see the bottom as I could on that first visit. Over the years this sandpit lake has become more and more coloured during the warmer months and possibly as a result things might be changing.

When I arrived on my first session a while ago the water was coloured but the lake looked pretty much as it had when I last walked away four years ago. The few stages still dotted the woodland bank, people were still feeding the water fowl copious amounts of food from the duck feeding station and the long concrete road bank was still infested with rats all the way down to the very last swim on the side of the road point where I decided to fish.


Much to my amusement I was lectured quite arrogantly by a pair of young carp anglers after I asked how it was fishing. The pair of Noddys must have thought they were auditioning for a role on Thinking Tackle the way they were talking. Everything was casting out tight to this or using that and honestly, they sounded a proper pair of idiots. Worst of all was that I reckon when I first started fishing Ryton one of them might not have been that long out of nappies.

The faces sitting around the pool may have changed since back in the day, but the fishing it seemed hadn't. After pitching up on the end of the concrete I began fishing exactly as I used to, by casting method feeders at range. This tactic always worked well here as the disturbance caused by putting down a bed of bait seemed to put the fish off too long to be of benefit. By roaming the feeders round I always seemed to pick up a fair few fish, then once an area came to life repeated casting usually found more fish.

It didn't take much more than fifteen minutes for the line I had cast onto the plateau in front of the island to scream off. Much to my annoyance this fish snapped the five pound hook link I was using and straight away two new heavier links were tied and cast out baited with 10mm boilies, which proved to be the down fall of a slew of nice tench.



The best of the session was not much over four pounds but still I was very happy to see that the tench were still about in Ryton. Much to my amusement the arrogant young carpers down the bank were being driven crazy by my buzzers going off all afternoon and I wasn't helping the situation by increasing the volume with every fish to make sure they heard the shrill tones. They might not have been carp I was catching, but every time a buzzer sounded I could see their little faces looking over to see what I was reeling in.


What came along next though would herald a change which I think could well be the end of the tenchs domination of Ryton pool. After a single bleep the bobbin dropped back and for Ryton that's unusual. Every tench you catch generally pulls the bobbin up be it gently or violently and when I lifted into the fish I was met with a dead weight. In all the years previously fished on this pool I have caught two bream. The first was a random four pound silver thing and the other was an old bugger that was knobbly, black and blind in both eyes. What rolled into my net was young, a few pounds and just turning from skimmer too bream.


The tench were gone after this fish and no matter where I moved my feeders they seemed to be found by another little bream. Four more homed in on my ground bait topped method feeders and sent my bobbins back as they moved off with the baits.

Where these young bream had come from was a mystery, everyone who fished this pool knows of the shoal of big old bream which rarely got caught and everyone was of the opinion that they were well past breeding age. Turns out that might not be the case and that possibly some bream Viagra might have found its way into Ryton about three years ago from the look of these healthy young buggers.

A few days later I went back to have a second crack at Ryton under the belief that these bream might have just been a freak occurrence, but exactly the same thing happened. Two tench were landed not long after arriving...


Then the rest of the session was dominated by the veracious horde of young bream which quite literally followed my feeders back to my own bank after I began fishing at range and ultimately ended up margin fishing in an attempt to avoid them. 


It is with disappointment in my heart that I say I reckon Ryton is on the change. Yes the tench are still present, but undoubtedly after a couple of sessions it is obvious that there is a hell of a lot of these 2-4lb bream present at this time. Looking at them they look really young and strong, they almost seem pre programmed to eat boilies, which is no suprise as loads get fed into this water. It's a sad time for the tench fishing at Ryton which I used to love so much, as these bream will ultimately have a huge effect on the water and probably push the tench out over time. Although there could be a silver lining to this change! If they can avoid the predators and keep growing as they seem to have, maybe in a few years Ryton might be filled with really big bream which could make for some interesting fishing in the future.