Yearly Itch.

Me and the lower Itchen fishery are by now old friends. Frankly I know this bit of the Itchen better than I know many parts of my local river Avon and I now when I go find myself looking for really different targets. Initially when I first made this pilgrimage with Good old Keith 'jobbers' Jobling and old Jeff 'man' Hatt all those years ago my target fish was out and out grayling as prior to that I had only caught one. A few hundred down the line and unless they're big I ain't bothered and so I find myself more focused on trying to catch fish like dace or that giant gudgeon that haunts my dreams. Thus after an easy journey south with Mick Newey in the driving seat, I ventured off onto the feeder streams searching for dace whilst Mick went off to plunder the main river.

From the off it was obvious the grayling were for once not having it. As an example my personal best catch for the first hour on the Lower Itchen fishery was over thirty grayling, whereas on this trip I landed merely two grayling in the first hour. I fished just about every decent run over the first four hours of the day with little more to show for my efforts than a small grayling, a better fish and a chub that got away after it dived deep into a bed of rushes and I was unable to extract it.

With no luck on the feeder stream I slipped back on the main beat to check out a few holding spots where I'd spotted dace before. With dull skies overhead even my brilliant Fortis polaroids were struggling to help me pick out any fish in the clear shallow water so I concluded to trust fate and after feeding maggots for a while began trotting the runs quickly as the speed of the water seemed faster than ever. Two or three trots down the run something powerful sank my float as it raced amongst the flowing weeds beds and now I was stood atop a croy with my fifteen foot float rod hooped right over as fish used the flow, to its advantage. After the culprit ripped the swim apart and I faffed around trying to haul it up the flow Mick helpfully stepped in downstream to bundle a chunky brown trout into the net below me.

After that initial one, the trout flood gates seemed to open and in every swim I cast into the first thing the find my hook bait was another trout. The little buggers were ruining every swim I fished and on several occasions I saw grayling scattering from all the fuss. Not that it mattered because we practically had the beat to ourselves and through the morning we worked down following the twists and turns of the river fishing any likely looking swims.

One of my highlights of the trip had to be whilst playing a trout in a deep bend swim. The fish was making a bit of monkey of me in the pacey water. I repeatedly worked it upstream again and again in the gin clear water until a third party a entered the fray. Out of the depths rose a big old Itchen pike attracted by the battle and it had half a mind to have a pop at the trout on my line and I had half a mind to let it. I think on this occasion curiosity was what drew it near rather than viscous hunger as after thrashing straight past its nose the pike sank back to the depths. Luckily my net seemed a better option than the pikes teeth and the trout soon gave up and freely posed for its picture before being released in the gravelly shallows. 

All to soon the day got away from us and with barely a few hours light left before we had to away back north both myself and Mick opted to dig in with the feeders and see what the static baits could do. On the penultimate swims Mick caught a whopping bream from a deep bend swim. Fishing above him I managed three nibbles and a large snag which snapped me off.

My final swim produced a decent run of below average grayling for me but not the roach or chub I was hoping for. Mick however had disappeared and it took me a while to locate him fishing below the weir at the bottom of the fishery. I have to say what he angled after would have made any anglers eyes bulge clean out their heads. He had located a shoal of roach tight too his own bank which he pointed out to me in the half light. What I saw was wondrous...the smallest fish were pound plus fish and the biggest was easily over two and here they were just feet away holding off the flow no bother by a thing. I hung round as Mick tried his best to catch one of those amazing roach but sadly it was not to be as they were never going to feed. Once again even though I have become very blase about the Lower Itchen fishery it has pulled something amazing out of the bag and of course I will be back again.

Perchtopia.

Peering through the mist, I trudged on looking for the shape of a man on the tow path. It looked a perfect morning for a spot of perch fishing, but first I needed to locate my companion for the session. Jeff had been mysterious about his instructions and said little more than "walk down the canal". He was right in saying this spot was a bit out there, as I'd been walking for what seemed like ages along the tow path and was getting worried I may soon arrive in Oxford.

Finally, what looked like a hunched figure appeared in the mist sitting on the edge of a bend. As always the banker swim looked exactly like every other bit of canal you ever see, tow path, twenty four inches of patchy dog shit infested grass, sixteen meters of questionable water and a hawthorn covered far bank. The only difference between this spot and any other was the presence of Jeff and as he like me is a avid canal lingerer, it must mean there was a reason for him being here setting up his fishing pole.

It's weird seeing Jeff pole fishing! I am far more used to him sitting behind rods pondering the water whilst twiddling his moustache, rather than him sitting upright staring down a pole waiting for whisp of a pole float to dip momentarily. I suppose the best comparison I can make to seeing him pole fishing is it's like seeing a donkey smoke a cigar. Saying that after watching him do it for a couple of hours I can't deny thinking he has really taken to it, so much so that I can picture him clad head to toe in matching sponsors clothing, sitting atop a fishing box not dissimilar to the Tardis wielding five grands worth of carbon fibre; then again there's probably more chance of Jeff becoming the next Doctor Who than turning into a match man.

Bar Jeff starting to put a match winning weight together and me catching a very cute little ruffe, the banker swim was not really producing any dividends. Once I got itchy feet it wasn't hard talking Jeff into a move and after a short jaunt we found a little bit of far bank cover we both fancied.

A pot of worm chopped fish heroin later and the session turned into a blur. I remember thinking Jeff was in the hot spot when he instantly hooked a skimmer followed by two big perch off the hull of a moored boat, but then the square meter I was concentrating on sparked into life.

I've fished my own secret perch squirrel hole enough to know when you've struck gold and this was gold, pure gold. I quickly realized it wasn't the odd nugget either when I hooked a really chunky near two pounder.

Then followed it with another...

This area was alive with big perch and amazingly none of them seemed to be small at all. Quickly it became a case of adding more bait, waiting a while and then another hard fighting perch came along. Then somewhere amongst the perch insanity the zander turned up to the party and the bulbous zeppler float toddled off along the canal.

We had only been in this new spot for an hour or more and we both looked like we were in shock. Probably the only thing that was more shocking that the amount of action we were getting would be what the underwater scene must have looked like, with big perch mooching everywhere and a shoal of zander marauding around. No wonder we weren't getting any small fish with that lot down there, as anything less half a pound with half a brain was far away from this predator orgy. As long as we had worm to hold them the perch just kept coming.

With barely a feed worth of worm left I got myself in a right old mess. I'd had a very fast run where the float was literally shooting across the surface of the canal. After connecting with a spirited zander and fighting it for only seconds the hook had pulled, sending my float back onto the bank along with a load of line. As I tried to make sense of the mess the trace and hook found their way into my lap. Draped in line I noticed the float on my perch line spring to life. I struck out of instinct but was still trying to clear the line from around me and as I did somehow pulled the hook right into the groin of my trousers. Still playing a fish covered in line with a hook uncomfortably close to my genitals I did my best to keep my cool. But when a huge stripy flank rolled mid water I panicked. Luckily Jeff had also seen the fish and was already grabbing for my net. After a short but careful fight a big perch skimmed over the cord of the net. It turned out to be the biggest of the day at 2.6lb and given its young appearance it won't be long before it's a three.

A couple of hours over our allotted knock off time we both ran out of worm and not long after that the capture of a sub pound fish heralded the end of this enlightening adventure. I finished with seven perch between just under two pounds and a bit over. Jeff had four by my count bringing our tally to eleven good perch. Add into that a few lost fish and it ended up a pretty special session. The only question that remains in my mind now is how big do they grow, if on my first session this was the average stamp of fish in the area. I know the thought of all those perch is etched into both mine and Jeff's minds now, but I also know the next time we go back those amazing fish might well be like ghosts.

Jedi lure fishing.

I feel like I am just about getting back into the swing of things with this here fishing game. My crushing guilt of leaving JB alone to deal with our little Jekyll and Hyde that is BB is subsiding as we grow used to his demands (of which there are currently many). The first few times out after BB came along it was near impossible to concentrate, but over three varying short sessions I reckon I have clawed back a smaller amount of concentration each time.

It does amaze me that somehow even when my mind is somewhere else, that my body has retained ingrained information that it can just carry on fishing and even catch fish whilst I probably have the outward appearance of a minion, and one of the stupid ones at that. Hence it was quite shock when I was bleeping through baby pictures on my camera and found these two pictures, which according to the date were caught and photographed in the last month, but for the life of me I can't remember catching or photographing them even though I have evidence to prove I did.

Now although not big they do prompt the question, have I attained some kind of canal enlightenment where I can free my body from the shackles of the mind and it will just catch fish on its own without me thinking? Well possibly I have and at least I think I now have to give blindfold lure fishing a go, or if I wanted to be really cool, I could go drag Jeff Hatt out down the cut dress him like Obi wan kenobi and get myself a blast visor and recreate that scene from Star Wars where the old Jedi is whacking on about trusting my instincts.

Ascension aside there are definitely a few more fishy thoughts creeping back into my head as I become used to being a father. Luckily as well this fishing famine came at what I suspect is not a great lure fishing time of year on the canals. The few times I have ventured out I seem to remember that the boat traffic is very heavy, the water is very coloured and although they're aggressive, it seems only small fish are up for hitting the lures. By my reckoning though I could be just about back on point just at the right time, when the predators are getting their munch on ready for winter and the water ways are quietening down.

Unpredictable as ever.

The image of an angry zander flaring its gills and surging away attached to my line fed my mind for a week as my body operated on auto pilot completing five days of work drudgery. I couldn't wait to get back onto the Coventry to jiggle some half worms around and try to entice some more of those over-keen silver predators, and why shouldn't I! After all, what could change in a week...

The answer to that previous statement is, a lot! A lot can change in week or more specifically how a canal is fishing can change a lot in a week. I went round to Jeff's on my way to the cut and as luck would have it he too was on his way out after zander. He though had fished the canal for two days prior and was full of bad tidings and woe, for his efforts on the previous two days he had returned exactly nothing. He had however watched a chap getting bites in one swim and that was where he was heading. 

Although others areas called me I went with Jeff's local knowledge and whilst he offered a couple of dead baits on the far bank, I baited a spot in the margin and went about repeatedly lifting my rod gently so as to send my gyrating worm into a hypnotic dance not unlike that of a miniature hula girl. Not long in I got a quick tug I suspected was down to a small perch. It took a fair old bit of work and time before I finally hit into a fish by way of a nice pound plus perch. Then not long later, a second slightly smaller shoal mate obliged me.

The zander though were conspicuous by their absence. As I made clear to Jeff on the bank I have seen definitive evidence that small roaming zander are particularly susceptible to this worm wiggling and if I haven't caught any of them it seemed quite likely that the entire zander population could be on an off day. So we moved on driven by the hope that it was just this area that wasn't fishing. After fishing another swim where I caught only a micro perch we pushed onto a banker of a spot, and on the way I did bait a couple of spots as insurance should we draw a blank at the banker.

I think we both had a gut feeling that the even the banker wouldn't pay off on this session and after a long walk and not much fishing we turned back. One of the spots I had baited previously was the area me and Rob used to fish years ago and I was keen to give it a whirl as the sun sank off the water. I worked the area over well for a while as I chatted to Jeff with nothing to show for my effort. That was until I put my rod down on the bank with the bait still on the spot whilst I looked for something in my rucksack.

More intent on trying to find something deep in the overstuffed bag I missed the first few twitches in the slack braided line. It took a real twitch for me to catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye. Luckily the rod was right beside me on the floor and before the line went tight I struck. I do remember half laughing and thinking some silly little perch had eaten this nub of worm hanging off some really stiff fluorocarbon. That was until I spotted a big silver flank in the murky water. If you’re thinking I had finally caught a zander then you would be quite wrong as I had managed to land my second decent roach on a drop shot rig. Although this one at least didn't take a moving bait like the last one.

It was by sheer persistence that Jeff managed to scratch not two runs by fishing far closer to the far bank than I am sure most pole anglers would have felt comfortable with. The first tepid movement of his float fizzled into nothing, then a definite run came to nothing before his float did a proper dally across the surface towards a snag, which did result in the one and only zander of the session.

Now I know it could've been said that it might have just been a case of us not giving the zander exactly what they wanted on the day, but in reality I don't think that was the case on this occasion. Both me and Jeff with literally thousands of hours of canal zander fishing experience could barely raise more than a couple of half-hearted moments of interest by fishing two proven methods in what weren't really bad conditions. Now if I hadn't of had any interest from the perch I would have said that the entire fish population had shut down, but that wasn't the case, it was definitely just the zeds that had gone off the feed. So now I suppose it becomes a question of what is it that zander are so sensitive to that everything else isn't? It would be only too easy to point the finger at the light levels, if it wasn't the fact light levels on the canal seem to not really apply as the water on canals is so heavily coloured year round. The temp too I suppose could be a suspect if it wasn't that air temperature changes take prolonged periods of time to effect change on water temps and we hadn't seen any prolonged periods of cold. 

Now I could probably go through every possible effecting factor and rabbit on for pages about wind, barometric pressure, moon phases, rainfall, feeding cycles, the lot. But in truth after fishing for canal zander for well over ten years, my experienced opinion on what happened on this past week is this; as with all aspects of zander fishing and zander feeding there are literally no hard and fast rules and the damn things are the most unpredictable fish in the canal as far as I am concerned. It's quite likely that next time I go back to this spot they might well be feeding on the surface in clear water on a bright sunny day taking bloody bread. So I suppose the only thing I can do when I go back...is pack a few slices of bread.

Strange but true.

Gagging! That is a good way to describe it. I was gagging to get back to the rediscovered feature I had found previously. My mind had been working overtime in the few days that had passed since I had fished it, all the information collected both past and present had bubbled away and distilled in the cauldron that is my mind; the result as far I was concerned, was nothing less than endless possibilities.

The dark and its ability to coerce the shy to feed attracted me so I was always going to do a short night session, and what better accessory to lurk in the bank of the Coventry cut with on a weekday night than a Jeff Hatt. I mean what self respecting canal angler is seen on the Coventry without a Jeff Hatt nowadays.

It was mid-week before I was back and I'd been through the mill thinking how I wanted to fish it again. There was no doubt worms would be involved as well as dead baits, but how to fish those worms was the quandary. The reason for my confusion was the confirmation of the presence of that relative canal rarity the chub, and big ones from what I'd heard on the tribal drums. I didn't fancy fishing a light float rig at night and the thought of using an alarm to try and catch a canal chub left me feeling a little dirty. In the end it just seemed perversely logical to fish a river method on a canal. So I cracked out the Avon quiver and set up a small link ledger rig and strapped on the old tip light.

We hadn't even got to the spot in the dark before I dropped a clanger. As we left the parked car a man passed us eating a bag of chips. Walking at a brisk pace keen to get fishing we caught him up as he turned onto the canal. I kind of forgot he was walking in front of us as we tracked the wet tow path and I spotted a row of moored narrow boats. Spontaneously I broke in a serious bout of verbal diarrhoea proclaiming that I bet one of these darn boats was parked right in front of the spot. I carried on spewing  profanities all the way down the tow path working myself into a slight fervour as I did. Then when I spotted a boat in the distance I really went for it. It was about then that the now forgotten man who wasn't far in front of me turned and in a slightly annoyed tone proclaimed it was his boat! eep...

Luckily for all parties he wasn't moored exactly on the spot and after settling right at the bow of his boat he went about choking us with diesel fumes and we went about fishing. Both me and Jeff had our little moments in the dark trying to ready rigs. Soon enough though we had lit up floats bobbing around on the canal and illuminated tips floating in the air.

Put in simple terms it went mental from the off! Jeff barely had his ledger rod out before my tip got yanked round. I was flapping round playing what felt like decent fish in the dark. It wasn't battering me like I thought a chub would but I did get a glimpse of subtle gold in the dark. Jeff got it in the net in the light of his head light and we both peered into the net to see a relatively large roach bream hybrid.

More roach than bream I think.

Then on the way back from releasing my capture away from our swim Jeff informed me of my dancing dead bait float, from then on out it went mental. I landed a decent schoolie zander and by the time I'd unhooked and relocated it, Jeff's swim had erupted in a flurry of runs.

Honestly I thought this was going to be the zander session of a lifetime for us both and that it would work its way into some sort of magnificent crescendo involving at least one personal best for one of us. That was until the arse fell out of the session when the rumble of the narrow boats engines stopped and the runs evaporated. It did take a while for us to associate the two together, but after it had sunk in the strange theory that the fishes feeding was somehow intertwined with the rumble of the diesel powered combustion engine did seem correct.

The session went so bad that after an hour or two of lip flapping and chin wagging we called an end to it as we really did seem to be lurking around in the dark for nothing and I for one who had come straight from work, was starving.

My next strange encounter came a few days later. After possibly the most productive Saturday ever, where I not only completed a shopping trip with JB, visited a garden centre and traversed a large proportion of Warwickshire to complete a couple of chores from my Nan I found myself thinking that I could eek out a little more of the day and snatch a witching hour session on a nearby bit of canal.

Fifteen minutes later I was pulling into a secluded canal car park hoping not to have to interact with any doggers that might be out for a bit of Saturday night amusement. Truly I don't know why  had gone back to this section of cut as it has about as good a reputation for predator fishing as the average puddle in the street. Why it should be so bad is beyond me as it's got loads of prey fish, plenty of cover and a growing population of crayfish as well. 

Anyway I keep trying here now and again in a vain hope it might come good and this short session seemed the perfect trip to waste on such an endeavour. I only had my drop shot rod, net and back pack with me so as I could keep on the move. My plan, if I had one, was to keep myself in good vantage points of the canal as dusk crept in and that if I saw any topping prey fish I would home in on them thinking that any predator might also do so.

Sure enough it worked, in a way... Quite early on I spotted three fish top in one area, then as I approached, two more flickered above the water sending ripples across the flat surface. I concentrated flicking some new micro glow in the dark lures all around the canal working the area systemically as all the books say you should. 

Soon enough the dark was not far off and I made a snap decision to switch over to walking the worm. I thought the added scent of the broken worm might become key as the visibility dwindled. So I slowly began creeping a large worm around the trench of the canal. I must of been at it for half an hour before I got any reaction. By now it was totally dark, and I mean countryside dark not that close to the city dark, so I could barely see a thing. I was trying to pinpoint the location of a warbling pheasant in the trees over the canal when I felt a definite tap come back up the braided line. I slowed the retrieve down and kept the bait moving and sure enough I got a second tap. But nothing took the bait after that so I swung the rig along the approximate line of the last cast and began again. I felt another tap and was itching to strike when I hit the forth.

The fish shot around in the dark and naturally I attributed this keen fight to a small zander. I even saw a flash of silver when I flicked my head torch on to land it. When I finally stooped to net the fish I got the shock of my life as I was confronted not by a juvenile zander but instead by a big old roach with my huge drop shot hook undoubtedly hooked through its top lip.

I couldn't quite believe what I was seeing as I laid what looked like a possibly a pound of roach down on the long damp grass. It wasn't a youngster either as far as I could tell from the general wear and tear on its body, so naivety was no explanation for it grabbing my moving worm. This dog of an old roach had in no uncertain term attacked my drop shot fished lob worm.

Ever since catching that fish I've tried to reason and explain what happened there, and about the best I can come up with was that it was a one off where me fishing what is favourite roach bait on a snail pace retrieve, combined with the dark related over confidence and hunger, caused that fish to think 'I ain't letting that big old juicy worm get away!'. I have to think this or I will feel that all those hours I've spent reading about the delicate feeding roach were a total waste of my time.

Strange fish

We both shot off our stools instantly as if we had been simultaneously jabbed in the bum by a pin. But no squeals or expletives were uttered, as it was a fleeting glance of flank that had drawn our bulging eyes magnetically over the bank and not posterior pain. For more than a moment we stared into the clear cold depths waiting for the fish to surface again and answer my hopes, and maybe even Jeff's hopes as well! 

Then it surfaced thrashing around, still hiding its true identity in the disturbed water. Again though it seemed possible that it might be as we both wished, a giant ruffe. Then in the tiniest swing from water to hand all hope drained away. It was weirdly close... but on this occasion there was no cigar going to be smoked in celebration. What had raised us up on such a uneventful day was in fact not a tiny giant in which we are both inclined towards, but was instead the second oddity of the day, a perch with no stripes...

We were meant to be zander fishing, checking out a new stretch of canal, but it turned out if there was as tipped any big zeds present, they hadn't got the memo to say that we were coming and they should eat. And thus so I had grown a little bored waiting and had begun messing around with my Mach 2 wand, which I have decided as a early new years resolution that I will take every were I go just in case and because it's brilliant.

Back to that perch - it looked normally odd if you get what I mean. Like a tiger that has no stripes. And like a tiger that has no stripes, its no less of a tiger, rather than something doesn't click to say that's what it is. I tried my best to get a good clear shot and in the bright light this was about the best of them. As you can see it wasn't washed out or anything and it's brethren, like itself, were reasonably well coloured but striped. I suppose only some in-depth genetic study of the entire Coventry canal population might determine why this one, or maybe many perch in this area, might lack the synonymous stripe of the billie, or possibly it was just that one in thousands that nature deems to be different. 

It wasn't as I hinted before the first strange thing we had seen on this foray. A few casts prior to this I had caught a not dissimilar sized sarge that although perfectly normal in every way seemed to be in a strange situation for this time of year. Upon picking it up and unhooking it I noticed a yellow glob of what I thought was fish poo on my hand. It's not to unusual for a fish to defecate in your hand when you catch them but this stuff looked weird. Then on closer inspection I found it was not fish faeces but was instead eggs. The plump little fish which was obviously female was crammed full of eggs and it would she was so heavily laden that they were venting under the pressure.

Now I've seen this before, but only in the spring when fish are filling up ready to spawn the next generation of little perch and never have I seen this prior to Christmas. Both me and Mr Hatt were quite perplexed by it truth be told. I know we have some arse about face weather round these parts but spawning fish before winter, that don't seem right if you ask me. I would be interested to know if anyone else knows of, or has seen this before in perch, or do perch actually start filling up before the winter sets in as to be one of the first to spawn, like many other predators do early in the year?

The man from Del Monte he say No!

I would like to say before going onto the main topic of this blog that my impromptu mid week session at a tranquil and deserted commercial fishery after a big sarge was a sobering experience! 

About an hour into the fishing on this immaculate pool that is reputed to hold some staggering perch, I hooked and played a good fish which from the one glimpse I got of it, was somewhere in the big category. Just as I got to the 'grab the net' point in the fight, it made a twist which sent my hook and float flying out the water like a missile from a submarine and made me feel rather sick.

So, onto the main topic of this tale. I continued chasing after another giant perch from the same swim even though what was supposed to be a hazy spring day soon became a bright sunny one. 

With the horrible thought that my one chance was wasted ringing in my head I persevered. When my float bobbed again just like a perch, then slipped off, I thought my luck was again in. This turned out to be a small skimmer, which was followed by another, then another, then another. It would seem my chopped worm had today not attracted carp but a shoal of slimy immature bream. The next one I caught seemed different to the rest for some reason, so rather than tossing it back I took a closer look.

Bigger than normal eyes and peachy pectoral fins. Could it be...?

Did this pool contain an unknown population of silver bream? When the bailiff came round for his money I asked all the right questions and confirmed that yes, they stocked some silver bream as well as bronze bream. I did check that we were on the same page, and he again confirmed that he meant silver bream not skimmer bream.

But rather than get myself all het up thinking I had just landed a silver bar of rocking horse doo dee, I took some suitable photos weighed it at 10oz and let it go. Then caught another of 1.10 oz and nearly pissed my pants.

It was hard not to get excited about a possible 55% of the record fish. But again I took the close up shots and released it.

The rest of the session passed without a any more possible silver bream and without anymore big perch encounters. I did however catch several smallish perch and noticed some of the male fish exuding milt all over my hands, meaning that they must be just about to spawn which will scupper the perch fishing soon. Also I was amazed at how small of a size perch seem to be able to breed at. One of the milting fish was under an ounce, which did seem rather odd.

The next step was to get the possible silver bream checked out by the man who knows. Some call him the man from Del Monte, others call him Gongoozler extraordinaire. I call him Jeff Hatt off of idlersquest  

Yes folks, you can always trust a man who wears a carrier bag on his head and points at trees.

Whatever you care to call him his number one hobby is fishing and his number two hobby is silver bream identification confirmation.

So the morning after I sent Jeff a full picture of each fish and a head shot as well and awaited his experienced verdict. For my own part I had gone back to the pictures repeatedly since taking them and once on my computer I had myself compared them to previous captures documented on line and had myself sown the seeds of doubt. Truthfully to me they looked like nether silver bream or skimmer bream.

The man from Del Montes email confirmed my already growing suspicions. They were not silver bream but some form of bastard hybrid of god only knows what.
The lake in question does contain roach, rudd, bream, supposedly silver bream as well as all possible connotations of hybrids within those true species. This is were the problem lies. Not only are we talking about telling the difference of a silver bream from a skimmer bream but also the possibly that it could be a hybrid of two thorough bred parents or even possibly  the product of twenty years of cross breeding and contamination of gene pools. So I reckon trying to catch a pure fish from this pool would be an absolute waste of time.

Although I kind of knew in my heart they did not seem quite right I was still a little disappointed by the verdict. It would have been very nice to bag a PB silver bream twice in one session, but on the other hand I am happy I offered it up for confirmation, as I at least know for sure they were not silver bream rather than living with my own doubts should I have not.