The return, the wow and the exit!

I reckon it's safe to say that we have actually been enjoying a bit of an Indian summer this year. The leaves cling stoically to the trees and only now as we reach October are we beginning to feel that night time nip. As for me, I've been waiting for autumn to arrive so as to begin fishing the canals again after what seems like a long summer absence. This late heat has held me off for a while, as the lack of bad weather means the canal system is still rife with boats and there are only so many smiling boaters bidding me good day as they steam through my swim I can take.

Turns out it was an unplanned session that sent me back to the tow path though. I have been trying to align the all the stars correctly so as I could fish one last time for tench at Napton on a warm day, but every time I get a chance a fly lands in my ointment. This time it was a heavy downpour of overnight rain that got me thinking today was not the day. Lying in bed questioning what four hours of heavy cool rain might have done to the fishes feeding, I concluded a change of tack was in order. That decided an inventory of available bait was taken. The casters I had purchased might well compliment the worms I always keep around just in case, and if I am plying chopped worm and caster I may as well do it for big perch, and as I know a big perch honey hole on the canal I might as well take some dead baits and fish for zander!

So off to the perch honey hole I went with a bit of bait, my 9ft Shakespeare wand and a dead bait rod for good measure. The area I was heading to does seem to attract boats to moor up there for some unknown reason, so as I walked the tow path I was hoping it would be free, as fifty foot of narrow boat can really ruin this swim. Luckily even though there were boats moored up overnight in the area, the spot was clear and free, so I located myself dead centre of the sweet area and quickly baited up just off the shelf with a couple of pots of chopped worm and caster.

As the free bait stewed, sending its oozing scent off to draw in customers I set up the dead bait rod and placed the rig down the wind from the bait. Zander I know love worms and even though the bigger ones might not be concerned with rooting out small baits like worms as they did when they were smaller, they are still attracted by the smell, and a well placed dead bait in the scent trail is always a good place to start I reckon.

The rig I began with on the worm line was very unlike the normal rig I use in these situations. This was because with the brighter than normal conditions I felt I needed even the slightest edge, so the chubber float was done away with and replaced by a sensitive pole float. Normally I fish the three pound mainline direct to the large hook, but today a fine fluro hook link and fine wire size fourteen finished off the final foot. Even my bait was scaled back on this occasion and my normal split lobworm was replaced by a much smaller dendrobena.

Without blowing my own trumpet. Paaaaaaaaarp! My scaling down was pure genius! The thin red tip sent out the tiniest of ripples followed by a hint of a dip. Then after settling a moment it sank half way and I needed no second signal to strike. The rod took on a bend instantly and the standoff between man and fish was reached with the float out of the water only halfway up its carbon stem. There was a pause, with the float just hanging still above the turbid water... then the fish whipped off banging away for freedom. The well set clutch gave line perfectly and I just held as the rod absorbed the fishes power. It was a powerful fish and judging by the swirling water its might matched its size. I was almost disappointed when no spiny fin appeared and what looked like a decent hybrid rolled over. But then in the sexiest turn ever, she came up on the surface all silver with red dazzling fins and a face of a true thoroughbred canal roach.

What can I say of such a stunning fish, other than is there any better way to return to the canal in autumn than by catching a perfect and massive roach. Even more shocking is this is my third canal roach over 1.14lb. Surely this year a two has to come my way.

I was pretty stunned after that start and had a almost involuntary smile on my face when the zander exploded onto the scene. The first tiny one took a worm as I dropped it gently back onto the baited spot. As I released that one, out the corner of my eye I watched the small float tootling off under the water as another made off with the roach head dead bait.

After that they were like buses tracking up the wind to my bait. Simply put, every time I got the bait perfectly placed at the edge of the trench another zander would locate it in minutes. The average size was nice as well, with most of them being over three pounds and a couple closer to four.

Throughout the flurry of zander runs I was barely able to keep the worm line active in the water, though somewhere in the mess of dead baits, teeth and spines I had thought to keep the bait going in on the worm spot. When the runs eventually dried up I once again deployed the pole float rig and my attention to it. First drop in and the float never cocked properly. I struck just in case and was immediately playing yet another small but rather aggressive zander that had the biggest tail I have ever seen on a zander.

The swim eventually went quiet and it seemed the perfect time to try and top it back up with more worm and caster. The worm was topped up with one large shot and this time I held back on the casters flicking out six or so every ten minutes, until finally the swim sparked back into action. Finally a small but well proportioned perch turned up with a mouth full of casters. That single perch heralded the arrival of the striped crew. A few more small but good looking perch snaffled my worm before an unwanted crayfish made off with my bait and got a heel to the head for its trouble. The crayfish's corpse had barely made bottom before I had checked, re-baited and recast the rig onto the spot. The next bite was very confident, with one good dip before the float sailed off and I was finally playing a decent sized perch. A huge humped back and spiky fin was seen just as the net slipped under it.

The big perch had finally arrived after the little ones had led the way. I had another one of this near two pound stamp and several smaller ones of 10oz - 1lb before disaster struck. There had been boats passing me all morning and so far I had kept cool and calm fishing on the inside away from their track. The problem occurred when I spotted two narrow boats moving towards me from both sides. It didn't take long to figure they looked as if they might cross right in front of me. All I could do was watch as they slowly plodded towards me, as if in an old disaster movie where it takes ages for the punch to arrive. When they did finally cross things went even worse than I could have expected; one the boats was a rental and the inexperienced pilot cracked just as he crossed bows with the second boat. In a panic filled moment reverse gear was engaged and the tiller was pushed hard over for some unknown reason before forward thrust was re-engaged with extreme prejudice. In the blink of an eye my carefully prepared spot was decimated back further than it was than before I started.

My silent response to the boater's apology I think was more than enough to convey my anger. As tons of metal and wood chugged away from my swim the water swirled like the Severn in full spate. Rather than scream into the sky I quickly concluded it had already been a brilliant session, and rather than stick around to try and rebuild I opted to quickly pack up and disappear like a magician whilst the cloudy water hid my exit. As I walked away I tallied up seven zander and ten plus perch with a couple of near twos among them; good for relatively short session, but add in that superb roach and it adds up to an amazing return to the canal which really has me looking forward to future canal sessions and what surprises they could bring.

Testing my new toy.

There are countless undeniable facts in fishing, two of which are; 'the anticipation of catching your first fish on a new rod is wonderful feeling', and 'perch cannot resist lob worms'. I experienced both recently! You see last week I purchased me a bargain new rod. Unlike most of my new gear this rod didn't come from either the local tackle purveyor or some discount tackle website. It actually came from Keith Jobling who after a fervent evening of clicking and bidding ended up with five of them if I recall correctly. The rod in question was a Shakespeare mach 2, 9ft wand, and after unwittingly winning most of the rods he had bid on Keith began selling them off to recoup his outlay. Some time ago but whilst chatting over a few civilised drinks one evening he mentioned to me he still had one left and thus arrangements were made for me to purchase the final remaining wand, with the idea that it would be perfect for plundering my local brook in the depths of winter when I can't be arsed to drive anywhere.

Anyway the rod deal was finally done and I found myself with a new toy. Though I am way off using it on the local trickle, the sight of it glistening in our dining room did get me thinking that I would like to give it a go to see how it handled. Previously I had planned to go down to the secret squirrel hole on the canal to do some zander fishing and it seemed a great idea to take this wand along to see if would conjure me up a few nice sergeants.

It was actually Keith who put the idea of free lining worms using its lightest quiver tip in my head, so once the zander rod was cast out I left that to do it's thing and took some time to get to know this wicked little bit of carbon a bit better.

Since seeing how fish had reacted to my baits and rigs on the Itchen a few weeks ago I have obsessed a little on how my baits look and act underwater, and although I would never in a million years be able to see my baits in this latté coloured canal, the idea of having nothing on my line at all bar a hook seemed to my minds eye the perfect low resistance rig. The length of the rod too seemed perfect for this job as well, being only 9ft long. I found that if I sat well back from the canal I could position the rod with only the last foot or so hanging over over the canal. This enabled me to either fish a few inches over depth or actually suspend my worm off the bottom a little. I was amazed to see that the super sensitive tip actually registered if the weight was off the bottom or not.

This was too perfect a scenario to go wrong and soon enough that super sensitive tip twanged once as a perch engulfed the worm, then bent the rod immediately afterwards as the fish moved off. Although the first comers were small by this stretch standards, I can hand on heart say that I did not miss a single bite for ten fish. Then soon enough some bigger billies turned up and Jesus did they pull that light tip round! It took only one bigger fish for me to reposition my rod rests into more of a river stance with the rod pointing into the air slightly to prevent the delicate tip contacting with the bank edge and damaging the tip when a big perch ate my bait.

Even some little zander got in on the action, especially when my bait was off the bottom, though their bites were so different from the perch; they came with zero warning and just hooped the tip round just like a barbel bite scaled down.

Speaking of zander, I had totally neglected my zander rod which had strangely been rather inactive for most of the morning; even watching the float from the corner of my eye it had registered zero interest. When I recast though it went off within five minutes. Zander sometimes flummox me outright. My rig when cast out again had landed literally four feet from where I had originally cast and I know this area is a bit of  a zed hotspot. So I suspect the culprit was certainly in the area of the bait originally and for what ever reason would not go for the little dead roach in its first position.

The first one that took my dead bait was little more than two pounds and came in very quickly. The second one really gave it the big one, shooting all over the canal shaking it's head in fury trying to rid it's mouth of my biting hooks. I did think at first it was a more serious canal zed but once in the net it shrank a little. The savage fight was explained though easily by the size of its tail. 

I don't think I have ever seen such a massive tail on such a small zander. That thing could make a marlin feel inadequate about the size of its rudder. After that though the zander-like perch became rather cagey in their feeding. I did scrape a few more perch here and there, but like most canal sessions for me they last as long as my patience does with the boat traffic and that is not that long.

As for the new rod I have to say that I am over the moon with this little carbon wonder. Not only is it just the right length for near side shelf fishing on the canal but the super sensitive tips are great in close quarters and it also doesn't lack in power for a rod rated to only four pound line.  I suppose in naming it a wand Shakespeare were spot on as it really does fell magic at times and I can't wait to try it out on the sow come winter.

The Lake # 21 one in a million cast

I paid an unusual visit to Coombe pool one night the other week. Though me going to Coombe for an evening session is not actually that unusual, what I went to do was! You see on my last few visits there has been some different goings on afoot.

To fully explain this I must go back in time a few years. As I have said before, the lake that is Coombe pool has loomed large in my life ever since I was in my early teens and I first cast into it's difficult water. Back then it was a different place entirely. Just fishing a simple float rig in the edge twenty years ago would bring a veritable cornucopia of fish. As I grew older and found myself in my late teens and early twenty's my angling had evolved as had my tackle and around 1997 (I remember that year specifically as on the way there one day I heard on the radio that Princess Diana had died) fishing a waggler at the end of the lily beds over a good bed of ground bait you could fill a net with skimmers, bream, big perch, tench and roach that went from 'ugh' right through 'oh my god'. I don't remember when it happened for sure, but some time after this the sport seemed to just evaporate. I do remember a year when skimmers became so prevalent that the water boiled with them. From then on the things just got harder and the once great bream water of yesteryear seemed to decline away from its former glory.
On and off from then till last year I and many others dipped their toes into Coombe's water and again and again we all walked away vowing never to return. After many years of fishing away from Coombe I began to gain some perspective on how hard other waters can be and I think it was that idea that got me pondering Coombe again. Then last year by fishing 'bait and wait' tactics I realised for myself that the were still in Coombe, it's just their habits and environment had changed. Before in the wonder years Coombe always had a distinct tinge of colour, the sort of colour that has self respecting barbel anglers speeding towards rivers like tramps towards chips, whereas now most of the time it resembles more of a gravel pit style water, with gin clear water and excessive weed growth. But this might have come full circle now, as on one occasion last year the water coloured up and suddenly the fishing went mad and now this year, for the second time it seems on the same path.

The indicators of change started bleeping a few weeks ago when I fished two eel session on back-to-back weekends. On the first one I never got harassed that much, but Dave the chap fishing next to me got a lot of attention fishing maggot rigs. It was the next session that drove me insane as my worm baits got smashed up very quickly by small fish. Then again when fishing Coombe on few days later, the amount of small fish topping seemed rather excessive.

It was the intrigue to find out what was going on that drove me to go down to the bank only armed with a light feeder outfit, to try and see what sort of silver sods were harassing my bait. Oh and to have a crack at one of the most hair-brained things I have ever attempted on the lake and which I will only discuss if it ever works...

Knowing that the weed is romping up in the water I decided to fish a clearish area I know and to use dead maggots in both my ground bait and on the hook. The area was conveniently at the very limit of my light feeder rod so no clipping up or line markers were needed to hit the spot. It was just a case of firing the feeder as far as it would go.

I was very happy that my first cast resulted in a nice six ounce rudd but then I was not so happy when I cracked off my feeder second cast due to the line wrapping round the tip ring. Once set up again the next cast another rudd then that was followed by another then another then a roach. It went on like that all night and by dark I had put together a very respectable catch whilst confirming that yes the silvers were back in force or that they had never gone away. If they had always been around the current feeding frenzy must purely be down to the colour in the water as at the moment visibility is at around six inches tops.

It was towards the end of the session that the most amazing thing happened and I hit that one in a million cast. After missing a sitter of a bite I began reeling in and felt a dull resistance on my line. On several casts I had picked up some random bits of weed so that what I thought I had done. Turned out I had hooked something but not a fish or weed. I saw the three metres of line trailing from it first as it surfaced then it clicked I had picked up someones lost rig. No I couldn't be mine I hear you say. Well it was! I had managed to actually hook my own feeder off the bottom and the hook was in the feeder not on the line.

Since that session I have mulled over this upsurge in fish activity and concluded that the colour in the water correlates to the recent rains we had. Much like the rivers, Coombe colours up when extra water enters the lake via the brook in the park. As with many bits of river the fish come on the feed hard in these turbid conditions. Which is purely a confidence thing, as the fish in Coombe have more predators on their doorstep than most of the other fish in Warwickshire combined.

It was an interesting enquiry to say the least and after coming to my own conclusions I have to offer this bit of advice to anyone who might want to take advantage of this micro up turn in sport and relive the wonder years of Coombe "wait for it to hammer it down for a week then get on it!"

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.

mighty buttheads.

Standing looking at a mass of tackle on Wednesday night I was blank on what I should pick out for a decisive strike on an unknown river after the mighty bullhead. After perusing several rods varying from 3lb to 1.75lb test curve I shook myself back to reality and searched out my 6lb test curve beach caster. Sorry I mean my huckleberry Finn signature bamboo cane which should be more than adequate for the job in hand.

The next issue re this unusual trip was what bait to take. After deciding to wait and see what they had at Lanes on the day I found myself confusing the poor chap who served me by asking for half a pint of mainly natural pinkies with a few large maggots, a few fluro pinkies, a pinch of red squats and the same of white squats. The look I got back was priceless to say the least but after a simpering smile he went off and returned with only could be described as a half pint mini mix.

With Jacky out for the night at the works quiz I had the car to myself for a spot of adventuring. It did turn out to be a real adventure trying to find my secret spot as I had never seen it before. I found out about this spot from Andy, who every time I said the word bullhead insisted I should go here instead of following someone else's lead. And yes Andy you were spot on mate.

Upon arriving three kids were throwing stones into the little river but a scowl from an rough looking angler had them back on there bikes and off up the lane. My first view of the babbling water did not really inspire me but after a little wading around I spotted a deep rocky hole near the bridge and low and behold it was full of minnows, but underneath in between the rocks I could see the odd little fish pop out.

It was on...

With only the top metre of the Huck s and three feet of 1lb line attached, a size 22 hook and a BB shot to get the bait down I crawled a tiny path worn bare by a million kids carrying a million nets. Only problem was that not one of those million kids were over three feet tall or any wider than breeze block, whereas I am both so it was a bit of a squeeze. It was just like being a kid again hiding in the bushes poking my rod out.(Mm that does not read as well as it sounded in my head as I typed it..!) After throwing in a few freebies, half the minnow population of  the western hemisphere shot out from under a bush next to me. But as they followed the wrigglers off down stream I was given a free shot at the fellas below and bagged one first cast.

Here's a tip for any budding bullhead hunters. I noticed that they seem to be very territorial sticking to their own little area and defending it venomously. So you have to locate one catch it then move your bait to his neighbours territory and so and so forth.

After previous unsuccessful attempts I really thought it could take all night. But after fifty minutes I had caught twelve bullheads for between 2-3oz. Including two whoppers which added up to over one ounce between them, making them definite specimens.

                                                         Goliath and Hercules

Turns out trying to take a picture of twelve writhing bull heads is al lot harder to do than taking a picture of any other fish I have ever caught. It took me nine attempts to get this one decent picture and it aint that good.

Any way with a challenge point I never expected to get in the bag I hopped back in the car rather smug and with a few hours till I needed to go and pick up Jacky I headed off to do some barbel watching on a bit of river I fished many moons ago to waste some time.

Sunday morning quicky.

As a avid angler I sometimes forget that weekends are not just for fishing and that my beloved other half might like to do something on Sunday other than wait at home for me to return stinking like a fish wives apron.

So rather than spending Sunday morning into afternoon selfishly disappearing I offered to spend the day with Jacky, though an early morning should give me enough time to nip to the closest bit of river for a couple of hours fishing and still be back before 10am. That's what I said to her before she gave me that look we all know so well. You know the one that says I'll believe that when I see it!

When I arrived as always before entering a field I always have a good check to see what cloven footed beast may be residing in it before I enter. If anyone is interested in my reasons why message me and if enough are interested I may do a blog on my reasons why. With the coast clear I made my way across the field towards what I suspected would be a rather weedy upper Avon.

To say there was a lot of weed would be and understatement of the century, as it was practically bulging out of the water in places. I don't know whether its due to the cold winter but the weed seems worse than ever on the Avon. I did find one reasonably clear hole that I know usually holds a few chub. But throwing a ledger bait into the unknown would ultimately find a weedy bottom, so I instead opted to set up a chubber float and run a small bit of flake around and in between the patches of weed.

It worked a treat and second run through the float sinks and the rod bends. A fish almost first cast from a clear summer river and it made it to the net without any major hassle. It was all going a bit too well...

With the well behaved chub unhooked and put back in the net lying in a small pool of water water behind the reeds I got the camera ready for a little bloggy piccy. Taking pictures of myself is still a skill I am working on and as I am sure we all know it aint an easy task. With the camera on a higher bit of bank on my trusted mini tripod I was ready to pick up the calm occupant of the net. It turned out to be rather comical as every time I picked up the slippery chub it would stay perfectly still until my camera began to bleep as the auto timer counted down where upon Mr chavin would flip just as the camera went off. Giving me a funny film reel leading up to the one one decent shot I got.

I knew full and well that this would be a one fish deal and it turned out exactly that way, any chub that were shoaled with that one would have slunk under the weed never to be seen until the evening after seeing it's pal fall foul to that crude trick. A change of bait to a lob worm found me a couple of small perch but nothing dared venture out after a pike swirled after the last perch.

I have to say that sometimes I find it more satisfying to go and catch one fish in almost improbable situations rather than baggin loads in perfectly plausible situations. 

When I arrived home with five minutes to spare the front door was opened by a shocked Jacky who I honestly believed never thought I'd be back on time.

Chances taken always pay off.

Never being one to miss an opportunity to get out for a last minute session my ears pricked up like an elf when Jacky told me she was going out for drinks in Leamington with some work colleagues on Wednesday night. Being the absolute gent I am I kindly offered to drop her off and pick her up albeit with a short fishing trip down the river in between.

It seemed the perfect chance to investigate a long held theory of mine that the bottom field at wasperton should hold some big perch. My original plan was to fish opposite the weir right at the very end of the stretch but upon arriving found it was bank to bank cabbages across the bottom of the river so instead settled next to an large overhanging willow upstream.

I didn't wet a line till eight and the first hour proved fruitless. But trying to be positive I slowly trickled in small balls of riddled mole hill and chopped worm interspersed with tiny Asda smart price peeled prawns.

With only one 2oz perch to show for my efforts I suspected it may not get any better. That was until the sun dropped below the hill on the far bank, and then it went berserk. From nine till ten the rod tip wasn't still for a moment. The next perch that took my lob worm was a pretty ten ounce minter.

After this as correctly predicted by Keith the text clairvoyant, a thick set near 6lb bream snaffled my bait.

I did manage to winkle out a few more perch as the evening drew in and the best of the bunch was this 1lb fish that lead me a merry dance under the willow.

Before I had to go the perch disapeared and some small chub moved in. Two heavily prawn filled one pound examples both decided that a tasty lobworm would be the perfect way to top off their supper of shellfish which both regurgitated once on the bank.

Every fish I caught in this impromptu session was in absolutely perfect condition and after the little success with the perch I feel sure there has to be a few two pound fish or even three's and dare I even say it four's...