Daffodils, pike and more pike.

Although my time of late has been largely dedicated to the canals I have to say some of that has not been my choice. I had planned to spend quite a bit of my winter fishing on a few selected seasonal spots on both running and still water, but the weather being what it has the last few months, most of my targets have been out of sorts. Really I have felt like I have been waiting for some item of fruit to ripen before I pick it with these venues. Should I be currently into barbel or chub fishing then with the warm coloured conditions I would have been out waiting for a rod tip to wrap over making the most of the conditions. But I am not, and waiting for any kind of winter clarity to appear has been nothing more than torture. Having got to the stage where free fishing time and good conditions seem as likely to coincide as my winning the lottery, I took a chance and booked a day off in the week on what seemed to be a quiet bit of upcoming weather.

Well bugger me if the gamble didn't pay off and little by little the rivers dropped and cleared. Now the only problem was not trying to cram to much into one session with all the options I had. In the end I headed over to Warwick to fish the Myton road stretch of the Avon. In short it was pure week day winter fishing heaven with a distinct lack of boat wankers and impromptu matches cluttering up the river. The water was clear and I leisurely worked my way along the stretch casting savage gear 3D bleak and fox zander shads on 10gram jigs across the flow and bouncing them back slowly to try and entice a strike.

My first hit came relatively soon on, and the hard fight deceived me into thinking it was a much bigger pike than it turned out to be and surprisingly was also the only one of the entire outing. 

The only other taker on this enjoyable return to running water was the greediest perch in Warwickshire, who at the end of a retrieve when I was fastidiously bringing the lure right up tight to the bank, shot out and engulfed my 12cm red head zander shad like it was little more than a tiny minnow.

Now although I found my return to the river most enjoyable, my next session was to the old estate lake which also finds itself at the mercy of the bad weather. Being a classical stream fed sort of lake and given that much of the small stream which feeds life into it runs through farm land, it swells easily with any mucky run off from the fields. Only once over the winter have I dared to make the efforts to walk its banks and then I caught it half way clear and still very shrouded by winter.

This time when I stepped onto the estate it was a riot of yellow with every tree, wall and road framed by yellow daffodils in bloom.

The pike were hungry and very aggressive in the now clear water and after establishing that they were spread out all over the lake waiting in ambush amongst the submerged lilies which were beginning to sprout the new year's growth, it was just a case of figuring how best to provoke them. On this occasion it seemed working a floating jerk bait half depth in the shallows proved stimulating enough to bring a slew of aggressive jack pike thrashing at my lure.

Catching two or three small pike in each swim quickly covered half the lake and I soon found myself looking towards the deeper stream entrance to target fish. For this I reverted back to the ever faithful jig and zander shad combo which instantly got a reaction.

Even the strength of my gear and knots was validated when I snagged up on a serious lily rhizome. The new 0.18mm power pro super 8 slick braid I am using along with a 30lb wire trance and a Palomar knot all held fast as I yanked a large chunk of rhizome off the bottom in the stream entrance.

On this occasion every area I seemed to fish held loads of little pike which were very keen to attack. I can't imagine any fish in this lake ever feels secure given the amount of predators swimming around under the water. In the end I caught so many the savage little critters were beginning to look quite cute to me. 

Towards the end of the session I got a very different hit! Whilst covering a slightly deeper area where I suspect the streams flow scours away the silt, I was bouncing the zander shad slowly into the trench by lifting the rods slowly and then leaving a longish pause as the lure rested on the bottom. As the lure dropped once again I saw the yellow braid tighten and I struck. The line instantly changed direction as something shot off to my right. The fight was much different to the all the pike I had already caught, so I suspected a big perch may have crashed the party. The still unseen fish was really hammering me and when I saw a deep dark flank roll deep down in the clear water my heart began pounding and the thought of a massive estate lake Sargent looked to be a reality. 

To say I was shocked when a bream surfaced would be an understatement. Obviously this bream had never heard that it was meant to fight like a wet sack or that bream don't take lures either. Really I can't quite figure out what happened here. Was this bream attracted to investigate the strange lure moving past and take it in its mouth, or was it simply docilely sucking at the bottom when my lure smashed it full in the mouth.

Rightly I can't decide, so in the loosest possible way I am going to mark it down as a genuine hit. But saying all that, what a perch that would have made!

I nearly kissed it.

I don't think many people currently living in the UK would disagree if I said we were having at bit of an odd winter this time round and frankly it's a bit confusing. Nature to seems a bit off balance due to this cockamamie weather. Outside my work shop there is a filbert nut tree which dropped its last catkin way before Christmas and all around its base there are wild garlic shoots three inches high. On my journey to work there is a cherry tree sheltered in a corner of a building which I am sure has blossomed twice already, and in the churchyard down the road from my house there is a pair of daffodils in full bloom. With it being sunny one day, wet the next, then freezing and snowy in random turns, I don't think we or nature knows if it's autumn or winter or possibly even spring.

With the snow having melted what seemed a lifetime ago, the weather had gone full circle and the temperature was now back in double figures. It's because of this I really thought the fish would be in the mood for a good old feed, so I wasn't at all concerned about only having a very short window of opportunity to get out. Really I thought I'd just rock up a few hours before night fell and start smashing them out.

Wrong! After two hours of walking casting and changing lures, I literally had not had a sniff and it seemed like I would have had just as much chance of catching a fish casting into one of the many puddles that lined the tow path as I would casting in the canal itself.

Even with the heavy cloud cover I was well aware that the sun was setting quickly and my chances of putting a bend in my rod were dwindling. But somewhere in the half light I finally scratched myself a very tepid hit on a curly tail grub and swung in a small perch. Normally I don't get too excited by small perch, but this, this one I nearly kissed. Literally after thanking the chilly little fella I nearly kissed it, I was that grateful for it taking my lure. 

If it wasn't for that little perch that I came so near to snogging I would have never had bothered to carry on casting. But I got the strange feeling that there was certainly fish around and that even though they had spent the afternoon fasting, now the light was going they might just come on the feed. Casting right into dark using a very white cannibal shad I finally connected with something better which after smashing the lure, battered around the canal like a demon, and when it came to the net through the murk it looked a bit odd. The thing must have been four or more inches thick and looked like it had swallowed a ball. 

The picture barely shows how thick it was, but as far as feeding was concerned this fish wasn't going without. This fish certainly had been gorging on something to keep itself in this sort of condition at this time of year. Maybe these unseasonal conditions are keeping prey active and the perch well fed, which might give some answer to why on this occasion they only seemed to feed at that optimum hunting time around dusk. Whatever the reason for its great condition I am glad I never kissed that first one as this one was a much more attractive prospect at the end of the session.

Quiet and simple punishment till spring.

I think I am often guilty of forgetting that fishing is not just about chasing specific species or bigger fish. The element of relaxation involved or simply just being alone in the quiet of the country side somehow is forgotten. Mind you familiarity does bred contempt, hence the more time you spend fishing the less likely you are to appreciate the simplest things.

Having just spent the last two weeks firstly preparing for, then exhibiting at one of Europe's largest trade fairs, I find find myself  rather overdosed on humanity. Quite simply should I have to speak the same tired sales shite to another prospective customer well... I may go mad! In a very spectacular falling down moment might I just add.

Through this twelve day angling absence the things that have kept me going were the notions that it can't go on forever, and that once it was over I would seek solace outdoors away from work, fishing. Following this I would spend the rest of my weekend possibly watching a movie or dining out. Then weather permitting I might even not go to work on the Monday and instead, like some skiving kid on the wag, head off fishing whilst most went to work.

I wrote the previous two paragraphs before the weekend and before I went fishing. Since then I did exactly as I planned fishing a full day on Saturday and bumming off work Monday as well hoping both would be relaxing and enjoyable. Which nether session really lived up to!

Saturday we opted for a last minute stretch change and in a moment of shear madness decided to fish the recreation ground over the lido. Big mistake! The as usual inconsiderate Stratford rowing club were out in force and although over eighty percent of there boats were coxed, they all seemed unable or simply did not care to give any of the many anglers fishing this stretch so much a millimetre of space.

Their reluctance to share the river with us got my blood boiling very quickly indeed, as time and time again oars smashed up our swims making fishing barely possible. But on the bright side the Avon looked a fine colour and the roach which we sought did seem to be interested. If only we could keep a line in long enough to hook one.

Boat foam!

The roach though enquiring around my bread baits regularly, seemed very non committal.  I can't even think of a single occasion in the past when I have had so many bites and never connected a a single fish. By dinner time I had had enough. The rowers were driving me crazy and the roach were pushing me over the edge so I was very ready to move.

Spending the afternoon on a second usually reliable zander stretch, we did find peace and quiet. The fishing here though was much like the mood of the area, quiet! The river conditions had me convinced of some daytime zander action but the cold water seemed to be again hampering that.

The single and only bite came just after dark fell when a solitary twang of a rod fished into a deep slack on the opposite side of the river hinted that something did actually swim in the Avon. I had been waiting all day for some real action so every effort was made to try and convert this tepid gesture into a fish. But not a Jimmy bean came from it and that ended what could only be described as a torrid days fishing.

Monday I fared no better ether. Once again for about the hundredth time this winter the Avon was out of action as it lapped roads instead of banks. The back end of the season is one of my favourite times to fish the rivers and this winter that has no been an easy pastime. I get the impression just about every angler feels the same and would confirm that this has been a terrible end to the 2012- 2013 river season.

With the whole day at my disposal I planned to visit a canal to again fish for zander. After a night of snow flurries I stuck with my idea and made my way to the grand union to find it in a far worse condition than the Avon was.

Quite literally it looked like I could have walked across it there was so much dirt suspended in the water. The picture I took did no justice to how off-putting the water looked. I knew even if I did fish I wouldn't have much confidence given its current state, and  so moved on.

My last option was to head off to a friend's fishery and spend the day as men have done for hundreds of years; staring at a float as a worm wriggled below. The only poop in my plan was that it was February and quite honestly I do not find February to be my favourite of months.

Why should I dislike a month so much you will probably ask. Well here it is! February like September is a change over month. Unlike September though were fish suddenly begin to realise winter is coming and they must feed hard to prepare for the soon impending chill. February hints at Spring arriving although the temperature as we currently see fluctuates rapidly from cold to a little less cold. Yes, nature shows signs of life here and there...

Fields show signs of green

Daffodils begin to pop up

Snow drops bloom

Winter aconite suddenly colours the winter wood

But like this little flower, every living thing still finds the weather a bit too cold and would rather stay wrapped up asleep for a few more weeks until winter finally shows us its back.

Just like the shy blooms littering the woodland floor, the fish residing in my friend's lake refused to come out and play in the cold, and I soon resorted to scratching for bites. And I hate scratching for bites especially when I am half freezing to death waiting for spring to arrive.