Two days, two rivers and more pike.

I keep having to remind myself that its actually January as my brain and reality ain't quite linking up. The problem is that January is meant to be cold isn't it and to me it just don't feel that cold right now, hence the disconnect. It's at this time of year that I normally let opportunities pass me by with the rivers but this time round I am, or should say was, determined to make the most of the back end of the river season by getting in some sessions when I can.

A few weeks ago I was actually fishing two days back to back on two different rivers and I was determined to get the best out of both sessions no matter what the date and what the conditions. And so on yet another mild January morning I walked across the fields towards the quiet stretch of the Upper Avon with dreams of eager predators waiting for my lure to tempt them into attack.

I have thought long and hard about how to put this and concluded that simply is best! It was January and the fishing was hard...very hard! I worked through two huge entire sections casting in just about every spot possible, reaping very little considering the effort I put in, and landed two perch in a weir pool...

...and two jack pike from some very heavy cover in a dark back water.

Even though I caught I actually went home a bit disappointed as this section produces zander so well in the late summer and early autumn, but once winter kicks in those zander seem to just disappear. I am sure there are some really big ones hiding somewhere on this stretch.

The day after I found myself heading out with my good friend Martin Oxley to fish the diminutive River Windrush in Oxfordshire. It's both underrated and overrated if that makes any sense. It's overrated in the way that the controlling club portray the fish stocks as there's not a huge amount of fish in the river, but I know for a fact that it does throw up the odd insane capture here and there which probably makes it underrated.

Martin had Grayling in mind of which there is a small population on this river; as for me it was all about trying to locate a humongous perch from a tiny river. Through the morning we worked one section on the river hard. I was either presenting lob worms around any perchy looking features or combing the deeper areas using Z-man TRD craws to try and replicate the crayfish that the Windrush is rife with. Apart from an errant chublet which grabbed my trotted worm as it passed a overhanging blackberry bush, all I had to show for my morning was a tiny little baby jack pike which was so small it hadn't developed spots yet and was still stripy.

My afternoon fared no better and on the open runs and deep glides I failed to locate any of the Windrush monsters, even after prebaiting several swims and fishing every likely looking spot with both bait and lure even as good as the water looked.

The highlight of my trip had to be the tiny run of fish I got towards the end of the day. Between the two of us we'd fished every possible swim available to us. I ended up fishing the quiet and sheltered mill race where I caught a small dace and tiny trout trotting maggots in the shadows of the trees. Thinking I had finally found a group of fish I rolled the dice that there might be some predators around and cracked out the lure rod. After diligently fan casting the whole area I got a hit right at the end of the run as the lure dropped into deeper water. I really thought I'd found a good perch judging from the power the first showed on that first run. That was until it came flying out of the water like a rocket two or three times before performing a perfect flip on its last jump. Even once I knew it was a trout I wasn't disappointed as on this light outfit it was the perfect capture on which to end this winter foray.

Don't leave me high...

...don't leave me dry.

I was quite a fan of the maudlin lyrics of Radiohead in my early twenties and so it takes very little for me to start droning away at some of their more popular numbers in a manner that sets off dogs howling across neighboring counties. And what brought about this trip down memory lane you might ask? To which I would reply that my recent session of caterwauling was prompted by me arriving at my intended venue to literally see that I had been left high and dry.

After the savage summer we have just had and in this Indian summer we are currently experiencing it never even occurred to me that this neglected old lake may have suffered, but suffered it had. After walking over to what should have been the edge I stepped down onto the lake bottom and walked some fifty feet out into it. Barely any water remained bar the single deep area around the centre of the once lake and now pond. I would have just left were it not for the pike sending hordes of roach scattering in the pond; seeing they were feeding I thought at least one cast might be worth it.

 One cast was made and one pike was caught but for as happy as it made me the realization that I might be causing damage to this fish or other by fishing made me rethink my actions. After a quick snap I spent a good ten minutes retaining that fish in the net assuring it safely returned.

With my only free morning of the week ticking away I quick change of venue was in order and luckily I had a few different lures stashed in my car boot which I felt would enable me to drop onto the river and fish effectively. So after a slight diversion through the lanes of Warwickshire I was soon trudging alone along the deserted banks of the Avon once again. Once in an area I knew was quite reliable for a predator here and there I began launching a ten gram jig head and Fox curly tail shad tight to the far bank cover; it didn't take long to get a hard thump transmitted back along the taut braided mainline, indicating something fancied my lure and it was now in its mouth. It turned out to be my second pike of the morning and what a stunning little monster it was.

The prey fish that seem to have been constantly present in the upper layers of the water on this stretch were noticeably absent as were the predators for the rest of the way back up the stretch. Persistence paid off and what seemed like hundreds of casts later as my lure worked its way out of the dark depths of the river, another unseen predator struck hard. This time after a very dirty fight, where the culprit dived into some marginal weed growth which was subsequently severed off by my line, I slipped my net under another lovely example of an Avon zander from one of the areas I will be definitely targeting over the winter.

Well, what can I say? After my initial plan was left high and dry having a few different types of lure to hand really paid off, enabling me to change venue and turn what could have been a real disappointment into a decent session that has further confirmed where I should be fishing in the coming season.

Old gold - part two

Should I go or shouldn't I bother was the question that bounced back and forth in my mind. It had been a busy weekend so far though; swimming lessons with BB early Saturday followed by breakfast in the pub with dad club, then a couple of stops on the way home before the true madness began. Being more of a fan of grubbing round near water than of formal occasions, getting glammed up for one of my brother's weddings was always going to a stressful occasion. Add to that the high temperatures and a three year old sans nap and you've got a rare heady brew. The wedding went well but never underestimate how tiring it is chasing an over excited child and his cousins around a country house in the mid summer heat. 

The next day was no cooler and our sanity came into question as we wandered around with the hordes at Jefferson Gardens 'Art in the Park'. By three pm I was in full doubt of whether it was even worth going out. I felt sure this heat would have the rudd in a frenzy to which they've been rather prone in these conditions. So straight away I knew it would be a last hour job but was it worth it in this heat...all the insects would be having a field day and no doubt the local kids would be swimming in the ressie in this heat, trying their best to make the evening news with their belligerent stupidity...'Bollocks to it', I thought-I had to make the effort if I wanted the prize. Even if I only fished for an hour or two it might be worth it!

I couldn't believe it when I arrived; there was no-one there bar a carp angler and a chap hidden in the reeds down the other end. I had kind of thought I'd arrive to a full car park and all the best swims taken, but here I was with the choice of every swim we'd been baiting up and the only thing effecting my choice was the conditions. Choice is the worst thing in these situations! I had four swims in mind and they all looked equally great. I decided to take my time in choosing, plonked my gear down on the path between the swims and began wandering back and forth between them, wearing my new Fortis glasses hoping something might come to light. 

It turned out half an hour just watching was the best thing to do. One of the swims had noticeably less rudd swimming round in it and that alone is an advantage at this time of year. I stood under a tree watching the water for a while and as I did, something big and golden rolled at the end of the reed bed I was watching. I couldn't decide if it was a big rudd or a crucian, but it was enough to get me fetching the gear to this swim and watching a bit more. Then again I saw another flash of gold as something big rolled further out. Now every time I have seen a crucian at Napton I have caught a crucian and to me it's a sign that they are up for it and all I have to do is get a bait in the right spot. This fish, be it rudd or crucian, seemed to be moving away from the swim I was in. That was it decided; the gear was on the move again before even setting up, to the swim at the opposite end of the small reed bed, thinking they might be going that way.

Fifteen minutes later and I was set up, plumbed up, the ground bait was down and the trap was set. Then the nightmare began. Every time my corn hook bait entered the water the mass of ravenous rudd descended on it, hammering it away before it reached the bottom. My only choice was to employ the loaf of bread I had bought along to pull in the hundreds of ducks that seemed to push the rudd away momentarily, buying enough time for me to carefully drop the bait in place.

Time was ticking away quickly and the rudd were doing there damned best to ruin this session. I wouldn't have minded but the majority of the rudd in my swim were around an ounce too two ounce in weight. I'd be happy with a few big ones here or there but this lot were just pike bait and were basically ruining my chance to actually fish effectively. The rudd went at it constantly the whole session but somehow I managed to get enough hook baits down to the bottom to root out a load of the small younger tench that have appeared recently, as well as a couple of very nice four pounders which had moved in under the rudd madness above.

Having spent so much time at Napton of late I have literally become a human sun dial and can pretty accurately tell at least how much more time I have left to fish. With the sun nearing the dam end of the lake I knew I had forty five minutes to an hour to fish before my gaudy float tip began to blend into the murk. Thankfully the rudd seemed to have shoved off or at least simmered down and now my float sat motionless protruding from the waters mirror-like surface. As I sat there willing either bubbles to rise or the float to slide away, I saw a disturbance just beyond my float indicating a fish had made a big movement just under the surface. It was as I pondered the culprit that a golden head appeared to the right of my float. It rose from the water in almost slow motion till half the fish was exposed to the warm night air before it did a little roll onto its side and disappeared...In no uncertain terms it was a crucian that head and shouldered by my float and instantly I knew I wasn't going home till I had one.

The moments after seeing that fish were some of the most exciting and joyful of my angling life. Bubbles now dimpled the surface and they were not those made by tench. These individual bubbles the size of peas rose and held on the surface film until three or four more rose around them, then they popped almost audibly. I knew it was going to happen; everything was perfect and then the float stuttered under like some pecking little rudd had made off with my bait. I struck expecting nothing and was surprised by resistance, and hard resistance at that. The fish zipped around just like the small tench had done before it but then began circling, holding deep. I dared not believe as I applied gentle pressure to raise it to the surface, but it did not want to come and it dived back deep sending oily swirls up to the surface. Circling again I applied pressure and somewhere in the depths I saw a huge golden shape through the clear water before it broke the surface, a huge golden slab of crucian carp...

I bent over to stare into the net and could hardly discern it from above, it's colour so well matched my net and the bottom of the lake. I could barely catch my breath after holding it so long and it seemed to be totally out of rhythm with my thumping heart beat. Thinking a moment, I stowed it safely in the margin and prepared a suitable place away from its environment for such special prize. The hook was removed in the net and then I lifted this amazing fish up and it suddenly grew bigger as it turned onto its side. On the mat it was huge, bigger than any other crucian I'd seen firsthand from Napton.

This was it! This was the fish I d had been searching for so long and there it lay in front of me nestled in my net atop my unhooking mat. For so long I have studied the previous captures by myself and other anglers. I collected images of all the caught fish and begun to see the individual traits of each. The repeat offenders have become known and with their identification the obvious signs of predation borne by their fins has saddened me. This fish though was new to my eyes and even though it bears the same wear and tear all of its generation does, it still seems sprightly. So long have I theorized that we haven't seen truly how big these fish could grow in this water and again and again I have spouted ideas that bigger fish still could remain un-captured in such a large water and now here I was with the crucian of my dreams in my hands, my heart again thumping, finding myself unable to stop smiling at the sight of such a resplendent fish.

Well this is it, the end of a crucian quest for another year. Going back after more would only serve to taint such a wonderful experience so it's best I think to let the sun set on this campaign knowing full and well that this winters dreams need to be of even bigger ones if they're to draw me back again next year. That's not to say though that I won't go back for a few sessions here and there at Napton, as I have seen a few nice tench rolling during my summer on its banks and of course there is the matter of those roach and pike which could do with addressing in colder climes.

Catch up part 3 - Searching for a speck of gold.

Summer fishing for me is all about tench and crucians. Occasionally carp take my fancy and the river calls me away, but for most it's all about warm early mornings, hot summer nights, bubbles around floats and the sticky smell of sweet corn on my hands. With my tench and crucian mojo now in full swing it was a happy coincidence that a trip south to the Marsh Farm fishery with my good friend Martin Oxley had come around. It's been a few years since I originally went and it was Martin's first time but both of us had high hopes for this little trip. 

With baking weather predicted for the day the pair of us set off south about as early as I like to be out of bed, to make the gates of Marsh Farm for opening time. Our organized start and clear journey saw us first in the queue with half an hour to wait before the hallowed gates were opened to let us onto the well manicured banks. It was actually very quiet angler wise and after paying our day ticket fees we had the choice of most of the Harris Lake to choose from. Picking a peg on this lake is not an easy prospect with so much choice on this occasion. In the end we headed for a pair of end swims where the wind had blown most the flotsam off the lake and several tench were obviously rooting around, judging from the fizzing along the scum line.

From the off I stuck by my plan which I had pre-formulated prior to coming down; bait a tight area close to a feature, fish an over-sensitive rig on that spot and hit even the slightest movement of the float. For a proper tinca head like me, Marsh Farm is a winner even if I didn't catch my target crucian as the tench are actually the pest fish in this lake. Literally you can observe them approach your bait by watching the small patches of fizz rising intermittently ever closer to your hook bait. This was exactly what happened pretty much immediately after I cast out for the first time. Three or four different fish where quickly homing in on the bait before my Drennan antenna float rose gently up out of the water and I struck. This tench cleared the swim in two violent charges back and forth over the baited area and scattered its compadres far and wide.

It seemed as the morning ran on that the all the fish seemed reluctant to stop in the shallower water we were fishing at the end of the lake. My swim had been devoid of fish since that first tench had smashed the place up and the obvious lack of fish had me itching to move to new pastures. Martin though had had several crucians roll on his spot and was keen to press on with his swim. After a quick recce up the bank I located a swim with a large lily bed tight on the right had side of the swim. The sun was now high in the sky and baking down and this cover seemed the best option to keep the fish going.

A couple of exhausting yomps later me and all my kit were settled in the new swim and fifty inches of umbrella was erected to offer me some shade from the savage rays. The plummet revealed a decent depth just the other side of the pads and a tempting mixture of ground bait, pellets and casters were potted out to the edge of this feature. It was a perfect spot as there was little more than eighteen inches from the rod tip to the edge of the pads and this enabled me to fish as if I were using a pole while using a rod and this was something that would soon come into play.

It wasn't an easy afternoon given the steamy temperatures but there were bubbles rising intermittently from my swim and I was certain a crucian might well slip up. The bottom of this swim must have been different, that or the tench feed differently here as I wasn't getting any tench fizz at all but every forty minutes or so I would receive a very tentative bite, that every time seemed to be a crucian , but always resulted in a screaming reel and a chunky tench battling it out with me all over the swim.

I might not have been getting anywhere near the target for the day but as far as I am concerned catching tench on a float close in is about as much fun as you can have on this fair isle on a day like this in my opinion. The condition of these fish as well is a credit to Godlaming Angling society as everyone is perfect and fighting fit, which considering the popularity of Marsh farm is a real feat. The size of the fish I was catching was pretty mind boggling too, with an average of four pounds plus and some easily over six pounds. Even without any crucians involved just travelling down to Marsh Farm is certainly worth it when fish like this are on offer all over the complex.

I never did catch that crucian from Marsh farm, but a few days later I was back on the crucian hunt in my home county of Warwickshire. This time I was fishing the lunar scape crater that is Snitterfield reservoir. Traditionally Snitters, as many people call it, holds a stock of old stalwart crucians that have lingered in its depths for years. A little while ago the controlling LAA began a stocking program. At first a few native fish were extracted and a small number of young born of them were released along with their parents back into the pool, but more recently an injection of new blood was added and batch of spritely newbies were added and I was keen to go back and see what was going on with the crucian population. 

Having heard of large bags of crucians being caught I was hoping it wouldn't prove hard to tap into the golden vein. Snitters never changes much apart from the fish populations which seems to go up every year. I used to use maggots when fishing here but nowadays maggots can't even get halfway down to the bottom there's that many fish. Unusually this venue has a habit of producing small tench. These tiny bars of soap were introduced along with the most recent crucians, but unlike other venues where small tench just disappear until they are over a pound, these tiny green menaces have been caught constantly since stocking. The little buggers do great impressions of crucian carp by giving tiny lift bites and circling fights. Between the tench and the silvers I couldn't keep a bait in the water long enough for a crucian to find it.

I persisted though and pushed on fishing through the tiny tench and silvers until finally not long before I had to leave the float did a little lift and I struck into a lovely little crucian that was quite literally ten times smaller than the last one I caught, but certainly was the speck of gold I'd been after.

It's not only gold that glitters.

I've spent a large part of my life dreaming. I spent the majority of my school days dreaming of what I would do when I was not at school much to the chagrin of my teachers. I've spent a million hours lost in my head dreaming of fishing whilst working at some repetitive task at work and I often fall asleep thinking about what I would like to catch next in the hope I will dream of it. Most of the winter I've dreamt of lovely golden crucian carp or perfectly green red-eyed tench on summer nights, but just recently big silver roach have swum through my mind. I think it's because I made a mental note to have a go for them at Napton whilst it was still chilly enough to single them out, but warm enough to actually fish on the openness of this reservoir.

It turned out that the day I earmarked to fish up at Napton for these lovely roach was one of those times when I should have stopped at home for at least eighty percent of the session. Four hours I spent huddled under my umbrella about as far as a man of my stature can and the whole time the rain flip flopped from drizzle to piddle, teasing me that it might stop and the day might become the session I hoped for. The whole time I hunkered deep under that umbrella I waged war on the pint of maggots, which coaxed on by their new found climbing ability, were hell bent on escaping into the damp grass. Somewhere though, towards the end of the day a lighter shade of grey covered the horizon and soon turned to a pale blue, followed by a burning red as the sun finally broke through to dry me off.

All afternoon the total action added up to three slow slides of the float that I suspected were small perch but was suspicious were crayfish, even so though I had religiously fed maggot every so often over the light sprinkling of ground-bait I'd laid down at the start of the session. The last hour made all the waiting in the damp worthwhile. It was like a switch had been flicked and the entire lake population had sprung into life to feed with gay abandon. The perch were first in the queue and at between six ounces and a pound plus they very welcome.

Somewhere in a slew of sliding perch bites my float did a different dance. I'd been using what I call the micro lift rig which I have done so well with at this venue in the past. As I've said before the key to this rig a combination of the Drennan antenna float and the single number nine shot positioned close to the bottom which cocks the float down so as only the red tip shows. The advantage of using this rig is you see bites two ways, both up and down. The float first rose a little before stuttering under the waters film and my strike was met by a dogged fight very different from the perch I had been catching. My target had turned up by way of a very young looking roach well over a pound.

If all the fishing I did was like the last hour of this session I would soon grow ungrateful of such wonderful sport quickly. Bite after bite came constantly. I even gave up casting and sinking the line as the float was never still long enough to be pulled out of position by the floating line. It was only a numbers game before another roach came along, the only worry was would it come along before the light went and my float disappeared permanently. It got to the stage when you can't even see the black shape of the float against the reflection of the sky on the water and your eyes play tricks on you because even blinking makes you lose sight of your float in the dark. How I registered that final bite I'll probably never know, but I did and again the nodding fight of a roach excited me enough to take more care playing it. Unable to definitively identify the fish I waited till I could make it out laying calmly on the surface before gently scooping it up in the net. The blinding white light of my head lamp illuminated a second perfect bar of silver was the final fish that I had been hanging on right till the death for.

The window on targeting these lovely fish has passed quickly with the long overdue temperature rise and now the time for spring and summer species is on the horizon. Likely though I few accidental captures will come over the summer along with their ginger cousins the rudd, which will be more than welcome gifts in the future.

Winter can do one!

It's not been an auspicious start to the year for myself. In fact quite frankly I'd happily forget the best part of January. It's been one of those seasons that for some unknown reason I haven't clicked particularly well with and thus so whenever I have been out fishing it feels like I am pushing against the flow rather than going with it. Other years I have reveled in the cold of winter and even at the hardest of times I have made good choices and reaped the rewards. This winter though has just been generally a bit blah. Getting the bona fide flu for the first time in decade didn't really help things and this in itself took two weeks to fully recover from, keeping me away from the bank the entire time. But for the dreadful start to the year and sickness, I have actually got out here and there slopping about in the flood deposited mud on the banks of the Avon; having a jack pike filled session lure fishing an old estate lake; and a foray onto the canal to try out some new pole floats I like the look of for crucian fishing when memories of this infernal winter have faded away into oblivion.

Being away from the bank though has not been without its disadvantages. Time spent indoors has been used well to subtly wind young BB into a fishing fervor via his magnetic fishing game (which I must say he's a terrible cheat at,) That combined with him seeing me go off fishing has him ready to have his first fishing trip come the summer and catch his first fish, which he is insistent must be yellow. Which sort of yellow fish that might be I haven't decided yet, but it sure as ice is cold it ain't gonna be a carp I know

I finally found my rhythm a little while ago when all things aligned themselves once again and for the first time in a long time I made the right decision. The Avon was within its banks and it seemed just the right timed session for me to head to the upper reaches to try and tap up some old haunts for a big river perch before the season wrapped up. The upper Avon is not that well renowned for its masses of big perch, but over the years I've stumbled upon a few pockets of fish I always suspected could produce a lump or two in the near future.

Conditions looked spot on with over cast skies and wrapped up against the bitter wind I crossed the freshly ploughed field towards the line of mismatched trees marking the course of the river. Having fished this area a few times before I knew the deeper holes and torpid slacks were the best place to start and they all looked perfect with lots of flotsam hung up on the overhanging branches forming rafts of cover on the edge of the main flow.

The first spot was a deep hole right on my own bank where it's been undercut by the incessant flow when the river is in flood. Gently I cast a single lobworm into the centre of the river with little more than a single swan shot to drag it down. After paying out a little line once the bait hand reached bottom I held the rod stationary as the flow forced the bait into the bank and under the bank. Instantly the tip of the rod nodded and as it bent round I struck into nothing. A bait less hook indicated some had got a free meal off of me. Repeating the cast two or three more times brought no more bites and I concluded to move off downstream to the next swim.

This time the target spot was a slack on the opposite bank where some unseen object forced the water eddy round back upstream and any passing goodies to get deposited in the slack under a tree. With more weight added to the rig to prevent the bait getting dragged out of the slack I cast under the tree. The bait had barely settled before the tip was dragged round and the fish swung across the flow towards my own bank. The fight was dirty and after dragging it again and again out of the reeds lining my own bank I stretched to my very limit to slip the net under a nice chub.

After releasing the chub in an area I didn't intend to fish I returned and diligently scoured the swim for perch to no avail and so was off again to another slack on the inside of a bend. This normal banker swim produced not so much as a nibble and frankly I wouldn't have mentioned it, but after I left it I walked a good way down to the next spot I fancied via a field of sticky rutted mud, a water filled ditch and a hawthorn hedgerow which I had to crawl through. It wasn't until I reached my intended destination that I realised my two favourite extendible bank sticks and rod rests were in fact still in the last swim an obstacle course away. Cold and unhappy at the prospect, I grumbled my way back sans the rest of my gear through the hedgerow and ditch to venture across the fallow field like some Arctic explorer, on a mission to retrieve the rod rests.

Spot the rod rests competition.

The last swim I felt was my best shot at a perch or two. Although complex due to the several possible hiding holes all over the swim, I had always found the perch seemed to congregate on a shallowing inside bank were food gets naturally washed by the flow and also where minnows in their millions congregate in the summer months. Once again using the almost free lined worm with a single swan shot to drag it down I flicked the rig deftly into the tree in the other bank! And then had to pull for a break! This annoyingly sent the line shooting back through every ring on the rod.

After retreating to the field to set up again I again crawled into position amongst the undergrowth, hooked up a whole worm and began swinging it back and forth before letting fly with cast and cringing as the rig passed with inches of the branch that had claimed my last rig. If there were perch present it wouldn't take long for them to cotton on to the bait after it slowed into the slacker water where I hoped they would be. A ten minute wait produced no response so I went about searching some of the other perchy hiding holes in the swim all bar one seem devoid of fish. The one that produced was a snaggy spot right under my feet. The angle of the line looked comical to me coming almost back under the rod, but no sooner had the bait settled than the rod whacked round as another chub found the my bait. That fish was the last of the session and I won't say that I was disappointed being unable to find my target for the session as the perch up here aren't easy to locate and a couple of nice chub on a freezing cold winters day roving round on the upper Warks Avon will do me just fine.  

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.

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.

Christmas catch up.

I always find myself trying to catch up in the New year with my blog. What with working in an industry that relies on the holiday season and having a large family, my time becomes rather constrained over the holidays. As I am a true angling addict and cannot not go fishing it's all other non necessary time consuming actives that pay the price and blogging is in there with them. 

Anyway the holiday season has finally passed away into the memories along with 2016. Looking back through last year's posts I quickly concluded that I had a decent year all things considered and judging from the photos I caught a lot more pike, zander and perch than I can remember doing. In catching all those predators my affinity and love of lure fishing has grown along with my knowledge and ability. Literally ten years ago I would have never conceived becoming such an avid fake flinger. A year of repetitive casting though has been peppered by a few memorable sessions using other techniques that have paid dividends in years gone by, inspiring me for the coming year. Carp of both the crucian and king varieties weigh heavy on my mind in these young cold months when so many plans are conceived and so ideas that have been shelved away for too long will get dusted off later in the year.

Back to catching up and I did actually do some fishing over the holidays. From what I remember the first was a relatively successful micro-fishing session on the Coventry canal. It was successful as all I caught were micro fish and quite a lot of them. The whole idea of using these tiny lures to search out every nook and cranny on a canal is novel enough, but seeing how deadly the method is proves exactly why this is such a fast growing fun area of fishing in the UK.

I absolutely love these tiny Allure creature baits by Crazy fish. Through the session I fished both drop shot and on jig heads all around any structure I could find and they always seem to find small pods of fish and persuade them into attacking.

My next outing I went chub fishing... Yes you heard that right I went chub fishing, quiver tip rod, bread and all chub fishing. With only a few hours of daylight left one spare afternoon I grabbed my newly assembled short session kit and nipped to an old stomping ground high up the Warks Avon where literally you could jump the river should you be brave enough to try.

It was great to be back creeping around in the under growth, well I thought I was creeping anyway. The reality is that with spending so much time on the civilised banks of canals I had forgotten how much harder it is to move round through banks lined with old reeds and six foot high nettles blown down by the wind. My techniques for traversing barbed wire fences could do with some polishing given that I nearly  hung my family jewels up like washing on a line on a couple of crossings. It was all worth it though when you get a view of sections of river that is hidden from view for most of the year and only reveals itself for a few short months at the point when the year's growth has died away and is still waiting to renew again.

My fish location proved a bit rusty as well, and it took me a couple of clumsily wasted swims to finally get that quiver tip to rattle round, before a small but very clean chub grabbed my nugget of bread as it skipped under a raft of rubbish collected round the branch of a tree.

Both previous sessions had been relatively short and sweet as they were mere stolen hours here or there. It wasn't until right at the end of the holidays when I finally got my act together enough as to spend an entire morning out fishing. Getting out on this morning wasn't the only problem though. The night before the sky had cleared and the temperature dropped drastically. With a heavy frost and frozen puddles lining the city roads I felt it was a safe bet that both the canals and the commercial pool where I wanted to try my luck for a new perch PB would topped with a thin layer of cat ice. So I switched kits, grabbed a lure rucksack and a light/medium weight lure rod and nipped of over to Leamington to target the sluggish waters of the river Leam.

I'd heard from a friend of mine, Dave Cook, that there was quite a few prey fish shoaled up in the sheltered stretches around Victoria park, and if I know anything it's that the resident pike will not be far away from those smaller fish.

My tactics were quite simple in truth. On previous visits I had formed a mental map of the depths and summer time features of the stretch. Using that knowledge and a few select lures I felt were suitable, I worked my way up through the park targeting the shallow margins where the dead lily pads were, using shallow diving hard baits like the storm ghost minnow and the deeper centre of the river using medium sized fox spiky shads on 10 gram jig heads.

It took most of the morning and a lot of casting before I located the prey fish holding just in the deeper water behind a shallow area at the top of the park. After arriving and making only a few casts, I spotted fish topping and new this would be the area to concentrate on. After eventually dropping the weight of jig head to 5 grams to slow the lure movement down, I cracked the code and got a couple of slashed takes before hooking a micro jack pike. From then I just concentrated on the area; repeated casting and a few lure changes routed out two more tiny pike and one slightly better one which I was very happy to finish with.

Poor relations #1

I've always thought the Leam to be the poor relation of the Warks Avon. This isn't a theory I have formulated out of thin air, it's based on hard evidence collected by myself and others. Literally there has always seemed to be smaller quantities of smaller fish in it than the Avon. I know all rivers aren't equal in fish populations and that there is probably a million ecological and geographic reasons why this should be so. Any reasons aside though, the fact is that you just don't ever hear anything to tempt you to fish the Leam and I think the lack of angling attention itself doesn't help its reputation.

Saying all that the other day I drove over the river in my van, looked out the window and my fishing senses went wild, it looked that good. As far as the eye could see the sloth-like Leam was lined with Lily pads and it looked just up my street for a spot of summer lure fishing. So early in the morning I headed down with a bag full of lures and my new Diawa crazy cranker lure rod to see for myself if there might be any good sport to be had amongst those beautiful dense beds of lily pads.

I parked in the free car park above Princes Drive weir, grabbed my kit and headed straight for the weir itself. It was quite an odd experience walking out along the stepped wall of the weir to the centre of the river with the entire mass of the Leam sluggishly crawling towards you. Sadly though there were signs that not only was this popular spot frequented by the local colour, but also by possibly our eastern European friends. Along with the empty packets of cheap spinner lures discarded in the bushes were innumerable empty cans of Tyskie and the like.

The weir didn't produce Jack and really I wasn't surprised at all given its location and obvious popularity, so I crossed the road and began searching the snaggy waters in the park itself. Initially I was using shallow running roach like plugs and slow sinking weed free lures. The hope was that the predators might be hanging out under the pads lining the banks and that I could entice a strike as the lure either sank close to or passed by the cover.

My initial approach though wasn't working so I changed over to a light jig head with a large hook so as to fish some rubber lures slowly in the near still water. It proved to be the right move and a couple of tiny jack pike later it seemed the fish were a lot closer to the bottom than I assumed they were.

Weirdly, the water of the Leam in this area had quite a bit more colour than I expected it to, but with my polaroids on I could see small groups of roach just under the surface as well as my lure as it came closer to my own bank. I persisted with the jig tactics as I moved through the park and managed to search out a nice perch from the shadows of some over hanging trees which came as a nice surprise and might indicate the presence of some decent perch sport.

After fishing several more openings in the bank side bushes, I was thinking that most of the fish populations were held up in the lower area which I had already passed through, as I couldn't find or see any fish anywhere. The river here seemed to shallow up as I could make out a few ancient snags protruding off the bottom covered in debris. It was after casting beyond one of the snags and attempting to steer my lure around it that everything went solid. I thought I'd found a trailing branch and my lure was done for, until the snag began moving upstream and it clicked that I'd hooked a better fish that was probably unaware of its predicament. Needless to say when it did realize something wasn't right, it went insane and attempted to get into every weed bed it passed by.

In the end though I did keep it under control long enough to slip the net under a very nice example of a Leam pike in its full summer finery. It wasn't until I lifted the fish out of the water and put it on the mat that I saw half the kids in the park had been attracted over by the sight of an angler actually catching something. Certainly they had never seen anything bigger than a roach caught out of the river and they were over the moon when I opened up its mouth to show them all its teeth.

I called it quits shortly after releasing the pike as I could see a number of canoes moving down the river. I have to say I was pleasantly surprised by the mornings fishing and by what I had seen of the Leams fish populations. Now I find myself wondering if I may have sold the Leam short thinking it the poor relation of the Avon; certainly as a predator venue it looks like it might have some mileage for a session here and there later in the year.