Dace chase.

Although I can't rightly remember the first time I fished Saxon as it was that long ago, I do remember that it was love at first sight. Anyone else who reads this and has fished there knows full well it is not the resplendent summer river I talk of, but is instead the bare naked, freezing cold winter that inspires us anglers out of bed way before dawn to secure a good pitch.

Once the temperatures begin to drop before Christmas, the fish from miles up river seem to drop down and congregate in huge numbers above the ancient weir. Any of the ten or so accessible spots above the weir are well populated throughout winter, but the last three in my opinion are some of the best winter fishing spots on the Warks Avon you will find. The only fly in the ointment of this wonderful bit of river that gives so much when the going is so hard, is how little respect is given to it by some of the anglers that frequent it. Not really wanting to point any fingers, but beer cans of all nationalities are always present littering the banks, along with all kinds of rubbish like ground bait bags, old margarine tubs that were probably makeshift bait tubs, food packaging, coffee cups, tackle packets and so much more. 

It incenses me to see all the mess left by people who come here. This bit of water has been and will be an oasis in many an anglers long fruitless winter and really should be respected by those who fish there. Seriously, how much bloody effort is it to take the rubbish away. For me it was a sad day when Leamington Angling Association passed up the opportunity to acquire this gem of the Avon. I feel sure had they taken it on they could have done wonders with this lawless bit of river.

Back to fishing though and it is one species that draws me to these muddy banks, the dace. I have real soft spot in my heart for the dace and there aren't that many opportunities to catch them round these parts. In fact the numbers of them at Saxon Mill does seem to have dropped in comparison to the amount of small roach present, but still they are here and with the plying of plenty of maggots you can work your way through the numbers to root out a few better ones here and there.

More often than not it's the float, or more specifically trotting a float, that people use on this venue. For me though the maggot feeder works best. So in the dark the other day I struggled to thread a loop of line through a tiny swivel atop a small maggot feeder ready for the light to come up enough for me to begin feeding the horde. The light finally came up and I swung out the first feeder brimming with fresh maggots to a run two thirds across the river. The feeder barely made bottom before the tip was bouncing under the attack of hundreds of hungry fish.

It took a few casts to get into the swing of things, but soon I was repeatedly dropping the feeder onto a area about the size of a pool table and with plenty of feed on the bottom, things calmed down enough for me to wait for a solid pull of the tip before striking into a fish. The roach were coming one a chuck and did so for maybe half an hour before I landed a small dace. With this place it's just a case of numbers and I worked the numbers hard all morning, fishing with the rhythm of a match angler until finally I found a few nicer sized dace. 

With this many silver fish present and this much activity concentrated in one spot it is always going to attract some attention and Saxon Mill has its fair share of fish thieving pike. A couple of splashing silvers had been torn from my line and several others had been slashed at through the morning, but these pike weren't dealing with the average dace angler were they. I've fished here so much I know exactly how they attack and I had brought along a pike rod especially for the job.

I fished a small dead roach on a free running paternoster two feet off the bottom in the flow. By mounting the dead roach with a slight bend in it, I could see it moving around in the flow, pretty much like a hooked fish. Using such a cumbersome rig it took a bit of effort a few casts to make sure it was tangle free, wiggling around in the area just below where I was lifting fish from the water and tossing them back. It didn't take long for the bite alarm to bleep a little as the rod tip bent over and the line pulled from the clip of the drop off indicator. After a fierce and frantic battle a solid jack pike was landed, had its picture taken and was released well away from where I was fishing.

The next attacker ripped into the spinning dead bait so hard I barely had chance to blink before line was whizzing off the reel. Luckily I had set the free spool very lightly on the reel or the rod may well if taken a dive into the river. I don't think that fish had the bait fully in its mouth, as after a single run it just seemed to let go.

A while later I saw some odd pike behavior. After answering the call of nature in the scrub behind me I returned and before sitting down I peered into the water. Was it not for an odd pinkish growth protruding from her mouth I would have never seen the decent sized pike lying a foot from the bank in the dead weed bed, but once I'd clocked her head I could soon pick out the other three foot of her. After a while she rose up in the water and swam up stream. Thinking I'd never see her again, I sat and got ready to fling more maggots, but as I bent over to load up the feeder I saw her drift back into the edge from downstream and settle close to where I'd seen her before. This was too good an opportunity to miss, so I slowly picked up the pike rod and carefully drew the bait back in towards her. She definitely saw it, I could tell from the way see moved a little as if to line it up, but then she turned back.

I watched that pike for half an hour as she observed the bait, moved off and returned to her spot. She did this three times and every time I was sure she'd hit the bait when she came back, but no nothing. Then after she moved off again a second slightly smaller fish came moving in quickly. This one was going to have the bait for sure, but then the one with the growth drifted in and the new fish bolted off. Finally thinking she just wasn't into feeding I gave up on her and moved the bait back out into the flow a bit. 

The pike distraction over I began casting the feeder again and happily the silvers were still lined up ready to go. But after a few casts fish came flying out of the water just beyond my casting zone as they were chased by a predator. Quickly I chucked the dead bait into the area and sat it on the rests. I'd not even sat down before something took the bait violently. I struck hard and was soon playing another hard fighting pike. After running me a merry old dance right through where I'd been fishing sending fish scattering clean out the water, I managed to subdue the angry fish into the net. It wasn't a huge fish but it was bigger than the first, and like that fish it too was heavily patterned and certainly well fed.

After releasing that last pike to sulk under a tree in the margins upstream I went back to the maggot feeder to finish off the session. Sadly though that last pike's antics, combined with a clearing sky, had changed the dynamic of the area I'd been feeding. For all my efforts with the last of my bait I only scraped a few more small roach to finish off the session. I wasn't disappointed though after catching literally hundreds of silvers, a few nice examples of my target species and two nice pike. I reckon that I had pretty damn good session as once again Saxon Mill came through on a cold winter morning.

The frozen and the furious.

Someone said to me the other day that it just did not feel worthwhile for him to sit out fishing in the freezing weather for probably so little, so he did not bother going out. I mulled over what he had said and wondered why I never felt like this... I concluded that firstly I always believe not matter how much everything is against me that there is always a chance I could catch the fish of my dreams, and secondly because I already know that if I could fish every day for the rest of my entire life it would still not be enough for me. I love being out fishing that much that I can't let a single opportunity pass me by for fear of regretting it on my death bed.

Even with my strong resolve I knew that the inclement conditions this weekend just passed would push me right to the very limit of endurance once again in this never ending winter. So I wasn't disappointed when I arrived at the canal Friday morning and saw this!

Quack!

I think somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it was going to be a little frozen, but I just went anyway because no ice was going to stop me fishing on the first day of my bank holiday weekend. Clearing a hole ten feet wide by as far as my landing net would reach took no time at all, but I suspected a long wait might be on the cards for a bite as the whole process of holing the ice was somewhat less than silent.

The next few hours could be described as what separates men from boys, and insane from the sane. Even wrapped up with more layers than could be recalled, the cold wind still managed to drop my body temperature enough to raise a bout of shivering. Even with the shakes I still managed to keep my vigil up staring at my neon orange float framed by the ice.

Thank the boating gods for holiday barges on frozen days that's all I can say. Normally these inexperienced one off captains drive canal anglers mad with their inability to steer a straight line. Today though I could have kissed every one that passed me by. Whether they were just unable to stay in the one boat wide pass cut by the more experienced boaters or whether they liked the sound of cracking ice I don't know and don't care, as the passing of five holiday boats had the entire ice sheet smashed into small bits and then the wind took care of the rest, sending it all off to I cared not where.

It wasn't that long after the shattered ice was dispersed that somewhere in the rhythmical ripple of the canal surface that my float broke rhythm for a split second. I suspected this hint was an early warning, and a while later it again broke the rhythm holding under when it should of been bobbing up. Then it moved across the tow and I needed no more evidence to strike.

The first fish was small by this areas standards, but this sub average fish was to herald of a flurry of activity. Five more torpid perch shyly moved off with my bait over the next half an hour and although no one bite submerged the float fully, not one enquiry was missed. The best of this determined to feed bunch was a very tubby gal a few ounces short of two pounds.

Messing around with all that ice got me thinking that any further time spent fishing this weekend would be more efficiently allotted to afternoon sessions, and as the clocks went forward I could find myself able to fish well into the dusk. So my on next session I headed to a small woodland lake which in cold temperatures goes gin clear. I knew for sure it would be totally deserted and half suspected it should be free of ice to some degree, largely due to multiple squabbling pairs of Canadian geese that turn up around this time every year and kick off at any given opportunity. The geese were present and from the look of all the smashed ice they had been at it all morning. Just over half the lake was clear and every spot was free of anglers so it was all mine for the afternoon and all the way to night fall.

Sometimes I think to actually catch the species you want its easier to target another species instead. Whenever fishing for perch I general have a few carpy run ins and as I fancied catching a carp I thought I would fish for perch then. At first it did not work as the perch actually did oblige me and gobbled up my worm as it fluttered down through the clear water.

With the adjusted time I soon realised it was getting on for quarter past seven and the sky was still very light and around then what can only think were roach started fiddling with my bait. This went on for ages as I imagined what was going on under the surface. Then out of nowhere all attentions ceased momentarily before my light float disappeared in the blink of an eye.

My strike just bent my rod over against a solid weight which did nothing at first. Then as the information was processed the solid force powered off, this was no perch! It was not one of those dramatic fights where I and the fish vie for line, but instead the culprit plodded around only half awake on the cold evening. Eventually it did succumb to my careful resistance and when I first caught sight of it my eyes lit up.

Could my first carp of the year be any better looking! I do not think so. It was nowhere near the biggest carp I have caught but deep gold flanks and chestnut head made it by far one of the best looking carp I have landed, ever.

This was one of those occasions when I did not need to hang round and cast again. I was satisfied and wanted nothing to sully this perfect moment. So I packed up straight after I watched that splendid clear water carp drift back into the depths.

It was the canal which called me back for my third and final session of the holiday weekend. I know the perch here are up for it, and with the temperature rising to a heady four degrees Celsius I fancied they might come hard on the feed. So mid Monday afternoon, after a jaunt over to Stratford to watch the Earlsdon morris men getting rat arsed down the road from old Bill's house, I headed back to the canal.

Happily not a single ice crystal was anywhere to be seen and the canal looked to be in tip top condition for a spot of perch fishing. So after settling down and baiting up just off my rod tip on the near side shelf  with a mixture of worm infused goodies I waited.

It's worth saying at this point that I have stopped using chopped worms on this and all my perch waters, as frankly its getting very expensive chopping up wholesale amounts of worm and chucking them into the void. So I am now instead using what can only be described as a grotty mix of puréed prawns, chopped prawn, the odd lobworm and a few squirts of Van den eynde liquid worm. It might sound just as expensive but I can assure you it is not. I buy the cheapest prawns I can at £1.50 for 500g, the lobworms I throw into the mix are generally ones I have used as hook baits or odd half's and small ones. The Van den eynde liquid worm is the only real cost at around four pounds but that lasts for ages. So the attraction for a trip only costs me a around £2.50 for a half day or £4 for a whole as compared to £12 per half a kilo of worms plus hook baits.

The perch took ages to turn up to the party but when they did they came slowly but regularly. All in all I had ten bites and nine fish. Bar one they were all pretty average fish at around a puond and half to a pound and three quarters  So when I sat down a did a bit of rough maths I reckon I ended up with nine fish for around 12-13lb which is a respectable canal catch on any day, never mind after the canals only been thawed for a half a day.

Saying that though its not the weight that matters to me but the fish themselves  Every strike was met with a surging run and close quarter fights of sheer violence. Once in the net it did not stop there - these perch were indignant at being caught. Furious and bristling head to tail. Their spines were never down, they flared the gills and even arched there backs in shear anger. They were the pure personification of what a perch should look like and a joy absolute to catch.

Three miles downstream of small stream adventures by Jeff Hatt.

Snow brings out a hardly seen part of my personality. The sight of falling flakes settling all around brings on first twitchy excitement. Then as it piles up I begin to feel like a belligerent Scot of the Antarctic bar drunk type. It's like mother nature has just given me the classic shove to the chest  and beckoned me on like "c'mon then what you gonna do about that" to which I always react in the same way thinking 'yep I will have me some of that'. Conversely though I am rather un-inclined to drive around in the snow! 

I think my general disdain for insurance companies and my natural stinginess subconsciously stops me risking my car. Walking round in it though, well now that's totally a different matter. Having DNA made up partly of northern, welsh and polish blood goes some way to making me rather durable in cold weather. Add to that the oversize nature of my feet and I find myself only a talcum powder covered chewbacca the wookie costume off of the best impression of a yeti ever seen.

I suppose other than my natural comfort in the snow, the fact that where I reside has local to it a useful little stream, that when I am not inclined to drive acts as a back up fishing spot, does help me get out when the weather is bad. 

I know I treat this little river like a common whore and only venture there when I can't get to the money rivers. I know full well that I should explore it more, as the things I hear about this tiny trickle every time I am on its banks really do warrant more investigation. But its just one of those situations that falls into the 'there is not enough time in my life to fish everywhere I want to' catagory.

But anyway, with Jacky determined to hunker down for the weekend with a sustenance plan more detailed than the Normandy landings, I decided both Saturday and Sunday mornings seemed viable for sessions on my fall back venue.

It's an odd feeling walking through streets fishing gear in tow. Normally it's, pack up your car and head off to some secret place away from society, but doing this you feel like an alien. If I pass anyone on the street carrying fishing kit you always get the same look. Like you're wearing a Kermit costume or have suddenly turned into John Merrick.

When ever I got out suburban fishing I never dally walking through the houses. It's always a constant fast pace until I pass through natures archway away from people and into this little fishing oasis hidden in plain sight.

So often am I used to fishing rivers that are ten or more times as big as this, that I forget how delicate my tackle must be on these small streams. A packet of cumbersome fat 3xssg shots that I had been handling all the way here seemed far too bulky once opened and were quickly substituted for a single swan shot as weight for casting. Once I swung a tiny feeder into this little stream, and the moment it hit the water I regretted it. The plop it made sounded like a bomb going off in the silence. 

Now a pair of walnut sized balls of liquidised bread tossed up stream is more than adequate enough way to feed a small swim quietly. They float for maybe a metre before beginning to dissolve and spread salty sweet hints of food through the shallow swims.

It was roach I hoped that would be stimulated into biting and the first fish hooked was a sliver of a silver roach. It was however a small chub whose spirited fight smashed my four foot wide swim to bits in only a few zig zagging runs moment later.

The next spot which had water that seemed deep and green enough to contain fish was on the outside of a seemingly innocuous bend where I doubt anyone had walked since I was last there over a year ago.

Again the initial rattles seemed rather roachish, then it went very quiet until I was just about to pull my hook to apply a new pinch of bread and then the tip lurched round.

I never expected a real fight from anything in this little stream but the unseen culprit was really bending my light tip rod and the thudding fight had me very confused. The site of something big and silver had me praying to old Isaac for a roach. The bright light and silvery flanks had tricked my eager mind one way, but the identity was far more obvious.

Although not the holy grail we all seek of this small river. It is however a great sign!The chub have up until now seemed to have a ceiling weight of a pound and a half, then I catch one of 2.10lb proving my theory totally wrong This fish will certainly be a three next year and how long then till it's four I wonder.

After such a close quarter scrap I never thought I would get another bite from this swim, let alone another fish. But with limited deep areas for the next half a mile I chanced another cast and landed another chub of  maybe a pound and then only went and landed a third on my third cast.

Its amazing how much mud three small chub can stir up in two feet of water. The arrival of four ducks who were very excited by the turgid water, got me moving off downstream a good ways to a bend in the river where the flow had scoured deep under a tree on my own bank. I would have never have know of this hidden feature should a fish not have zoomed under there after I hooked it mid flow a few years ago.

It is always a one trick pony this swim. Casting a bit short then paying off line allows the the flow to catch hold of my rig and skips it in under the tree so sweetly it's beautiful. Then it's just a case of wait...wait... wait for it and knock knock bang! another small stream chub does its very best to stay in its hidey hole.

Five chub in as many casts from a stream long forgotten by most anglers. Saturday could not have been any more satisfying I am sure. Sunday on the other hand was another day indeed.

Six inches the stream had risen overnight and the water that now swelled it was not rain but melted snow. New riffles and swirls had appeared where none had been twenty four hours before, and now nothing seemed as keen as the day before.

The moment my first cast hit the water, flakes began to fill the air and by my fist bite visibility had fallen by half. I was lovely and warm but my warmth soon worked against me as the snow landing on my legs melted instantly soaking into my trousers.
Covering my legs with my small hooking mat enabled me to stay long enough to land one measly chublet, the smallest of the entire weekend I should say. Lack of attention kept me moving from swim to swim but little was interested in feeding. So by the end of the stretch I was ready to leave.

It is amazing what a difference a little bit of cold water can do to a small river, because the two sessions could not have been more different and the only reasonable reason was the change in water. I can only hope that this snow does not all melt at once before I next get out, as every river in the country would be back over its banks should that happen. So fingers crossed it melts away slowly.