Dace chase.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coasting into the new year.

I know we all go through lean patches now and again as anglers and I can accept that along with the best of them, but just lately I reckon the drought is quite simply down to me being a bit apathetic. As always my time is limited and being as it is limited, doing the right thing at the right time is the key to success. As I have not been on point for some reason I've found myself doing all the wrong things and reaping no reward for my effort.

The last tiny modicum of success came a couple of weeks ago when I went out to hook up with Mick on the Stratford canal after zander. Even though I had half a mind that the cut might be a bit clear, I still pressed on and did badly on the zander front as a result. The tiny bit of action I got came right at the end of the session when we fished around a lock filled with leaves.

Only by targeting the structure did I start to get a few plucks from perch sheltering in the shadows. After fine tuning a little I finally hooked up a small perch just as a boat appeared on the canal approaching the lock.

On a dire mornings fishing the little information those perch gave me was enough to hatch a final plan. I had in the bottom of my bag a box of worms I brought along just in case and I knew the fast approaching boat would churn up the canal a lot as it passed by. So I quickly switched my jig for a drop shot rig and then proceeded to mince up a good helping of worms in a pot. As predicted, the passing boat quickly turned the water to tea as it gunned past me. Once the water stopped swirling I deposited the worn on a easily recognized spot on the inside edge. After letting it stew whilst I caught up with Mick above the lock I returned and instead of fishing a lure over the bait, I dropped a worm in over the top. First drop in I felt a quick tap up the line and I struck into a nice perch.

That single tiny patch of feed saved the day for me and I nicked two smaller perch off of it in quick succession, wiggling the worm over it. Had I had the forethought or the sense to just head to this lock first thing and bait up a few spots, then the whole session could have been a different one and maybe a red letter one at that.

My next outing could have been a mirror image of the last in terms of success. Foolishly I thought was being a clever bugger heading to still water with four days of freezing weather preceding. The little lake I went to in search of huge perch was half frozen, and what wasn't frozen was so clear that you could see a willow leaf on the bottom half a way out.

For all the chopped worm and prawn I chucked I reaped little more than a few small perch and roach. For once I would have been over the moon with an interloping winter carp tearing up the swim just to break the monotony and stick bend in the rod and as one didn't, it ended up being a very cold and disappointing session.

 I have to admit that I don't feel that the last few months have been that productive for me and I feel like I am just coasting along up to Xmas, not really making the most of my time. Now though I feel change is afoot and I find myself planning for a new year of fishing. With young BB fast growing up I am becoming more accustomed to life as a parent and with this settled feeling I want to get back into the swing of fishing as I used to, with an eye for big fish rather than just lure fishing and predator fishing as time permits. The Avon rods and light quiver rods have already been dusted off and reels have been re spooled ready to do some chub and dace fishing in January. Plans are forming to use some of the information I've collected whilst lure fishing on the canals to hopefully target some big canal chub in the winter months and huge carp in the spring. Now I know I will still be doing a fair bit of lure fishing next year, but I am really hoping to have some much more varied catches next year and get my lust for all round fishing back again. 

Ungrateful days.

For a long time now I've felt that being a bit specimen inclined has left me ungrateful in the face of a simple good days fishing. When I was a young novice scratching around on the Cov cut with my 1/4 pint of maggots, a handful of deep hooked perch would have been a great day and catching a roach, perch and gudgeon in one session was a red letter day. Fast forward twenty six years and my eyes have grown bigger with my stomach. Now unless any fish caught is not over a certain size then if I am honest...I ain't that bothered. It's this ungratefulness that reared its ugly head on my last outing when I had a session of my childhood dreams that in my adult mindset was a wasted day.

I am constantly looking for new areas of canal that tick certain criteria for big fish. One spot in particular I came across a while ago has been studied and to all intents and purposes seems like a perfect big fish holding spot. It has great cover, deep and shallow areas, shelter from seasonal highs and lows, good numbers of prey fish, crayfish are present and it's a bit out-there so it probably doesn't get that much attention. As the warmer months have ticked away this special area has festered in my mind and as it's done so, it's big fish potential seems even more obvious.

After mulling how to approach this potential honey hole several hundred times, I concluded that the best way to get a good picture of the fish population was to go and bait fish it with lob worms and dendrobenas on one rod and fish dead bait on a second line. So many times in the past this combination has routed out hidden gems of all species. Though having decided to just bait fish I did pack my drop shot rod and some appropriate lures just in case. 

Finally the time came to drop by for an early morning session to try and see if this spot actually has much potential. I arrived on the tow path just as the sun came up and was soon tabbing full steam along the edge of the canal. I'd hoped that arriving early and having to walk a decent distance along the section might have meant I'd see a few rising fish, but worryingly there was zero fish evidence as far as the eye could see. Soon enough the feature I was heading for appeared way off down the canal. 

The huge tow path side reed bed that I had thought about so much was still very green considering the time of year, but as always it looked to be the perfect fish holding spot. So with no other target areas on my mind I pitched up next to it, did a quick bit of plumbing up and settled on fishing right on the corner of the reeds in the hope that once the canal started towing under the influence of the far off locks, the chopped worm I was going to deposit would draw any fish to my end of the reed bed. 

Now I am not so deluded as to think that the first fish that comes along is going to be what I am looking for. I was fully expecting to have to give this a full mornings attention and try and catch a good sample so as I could get a decent picture of the general population. This plan really went perfectly in truth and from the off my chopped worms were doing the business drawing in fish. Considering no boats had been through and the water was initially very clear, the float never sat still for very long at all.

The perch were here and on the feed and it quickly became just a matter of keeping the spot topped up with freebies, releasing any captures off away from the area. The whole time I was working the inside line a dead bait I had cast onto the far margin lingered in the shadows waiting for something to find it. Through the course of the morning the float above that dead bait only moved once when a small jack pike found the half a roach and got itself a free meal. The float zipped off, I struck and played the little pike all the way to my own bank before seeing the fish with the bait just in the front of its mouth before it let go.

The perch though kept coming all day and I maintained my concentration the whole morning, fishing like a match angler trying to play the numbers game. I was convinced that if I kept the feed going in and the fish coming out that it would soon just be a numbers game before something bigger came along. This was not the case though and after nearly five hours of working the spot hard I had caught close to fifty perch between two and eight ounces, but nothing bigger had shown at all and no other species either.

After the session I did some rough calculations and working on a 3oz average fish weight and that I caught around fifty fish, it works out that in the morning I had put together a near ten pound bag of perch. Now any match angler fishing a match on any canal in the country would snap your hand off for a peg that could produce that off a single line. But that same match angler would also know that catching those numbers of fish from one spot should have turned up a bigger fish if it was there. For me as a canal specimen chaser that is awful results as I ideally want to be fishing areas that not just hold one big fish but multiple big fish; those areas do exist it's just that this might not be one of them.

I suppose I could put the lack of big fish down to conditions as the canal was very clear and the sun ended up being very bright all morning. But the reality is that this spot which I have built up in my mind really needed to offer me something back quite quickly for me to bother returning in the future and giving it any more of my valuable time. Sadly though with not a lot other than small perch and a single jack pike turning up when I was offering top notch fish fodder, the specimen angler in me has been left not very impressed whilst in reality I did actually have a good days fishing!

My ungrateful bugger

When life gives you lemons...

make lemonade!

Originally a pre-Christmas trip to the river Wye was planned, but by mid week it was running five and half meters higher than normal. That is something that Avon anglers can barely comprehend never mind fish. So plan B came into force and targets changed from barbel to perch. Old Father Thames remained stoical up until the day before, when that too was deemed barely fishable by local sources.

Now, like many I have found myself on the banks of an unfamiliar venue when it's out of sorts and can say with some certainty that it's miserable when you have committed time, money and effort into a trip, and have a torrid time when I should have just left it alone. This one got called before that happend though, and in truth that knocked the wind out of my sails.

Truthfully, I hadn't got round to conceiving a new plan by the time morning came. It was JB who tried to gee me up into getting out and good job she did as I had a large amount of costly bait I'd bought which would only go downhill if stored for another week. Whilst feeding BB sitting on the sofa I weighed up all my options. The Avon like most of the rivers was a bit off colour and dumping a load of worm in the canal didn't seem the best use for all that bait. So after pondering a few pools I opted to head to a commercial venue that in the past had produced some serious perch for me and others.

The one reservation I had about this venue was that it has seen a lot of pressure regarding perch fishing the last few years. As a result I wondered if it had seen its best days. So many of these commercial pools get burnt out once word gets out that a few big perch have been caught. Though why that happens I don't rightly understand. Maybe the fish die off or maybe they just become wiser, I don't know, but either way the sport declines under pressure.

So with a bit of doubt in the back of my mind I squelched my way across the sodden grass towards my chosen peg. After a bit of plumbing around I settled on a slight shelf a little out from the margin where I was sure big perch might patrol. A quarter of a kilo of dendrobena worms were minced and five small handfuls were deposited in a short line running out from the bank above, on and below the shelf so as to hopefully intersect the path of any perch.

To start with I began by using only half a lobworm on the size six hook. The rest of the worm was broken into three smaller pieces and thrown over the chopped worm as bigger freebies. I am a big fan of using Drennan chubbers or bobbers for this type of fishing as they give me multiple options on how to present the heavy baits I like to use, and shotted correctly they offer little resistance to a big perch moving off with the bait. Even with the wind still hacking across the lake, the tip of my bobber held stationary in the lea of some reeds glowing in the sun.

It didn't take long to generate some interest by way of a slew of hungry roach of around half a pound. Then not long after they stopped biting I got a proper bob and slide away bite. A powerful fish ramped around the swim putting a decent bend in my rod. Turned out it was no perch but an unseasonable December tench that come on the feed in warmer weather.

Like a match angler I always keep topping up the baited area, as in these commercial lakes it doesn't take long to get cleaned out when there's shoal of hungry silvers and carp rummaging round the lake bed. Literally you can tell when they have cleaned you out of bait and sometimes this is a good thing, as often I have found the big perch turn up after other fish have gone.

I'd topped up, had a bit of a lull in the action and the roach had been and gone once more before I got another positive bite. This time the float bobbed once and slid off towards the reeds and I struck into a heavy fish. The culprit went zipping down the margin before turning back towards me and bending my light rod in a very awkward angle as it bored under my feet. Luckily it went out into open water under pressure and the rest of the fight was a lot more civilised. That was until a big stripy flank rolled over into the net and the hook lost it's hold. I really wasn't sure it had gone in the net until I lifted the net to see a huge perch's back rise up in the water.

I was really happy to be proved wrong that this pool wasn't done with respect to big perch. I was even happier to see such a nice looking example from such a muddy puddle. So often they can be a bit wishy washy, but this one was quite well coloured and looked a real predator. I am willing to bet many a young carp or roach has been gulped up by that huge mouth.

After releasing that one well away from my swim I topped up with more worm. I reckon a second fish must have been lingering on the bait as not a single roach turned up for a long while before I hooked and lost what I was sure was a second good perch. It was time for a slight change in tactics. Up until now I have persisted in fishing either a half or whole lob worm on the bottom, but sometimes I've found that presenting a whole worm just off the bottom really sparks up some action. Though most of the time I split the worm into two equal sections and hook both by the split ends onto the hook. This gives the bait a very enticing fall on a tight line and does, as it did in this case, bring an instant reaction.

The float had barely settled and the weight of the worm had just sunk the tip a little bit more when it just disappeared under the water in a blink of an eye. This fish fought just as hard as the first but once in the net turned out to be a much younger looking fish around  two pounds, which although smaller and younger looks like it too will one day become a real commercial monster.

After that one no other big perch turned up before I had to go. Interestingly though I did have a run in with two perch right at the opposite end of the size spectrum and I wished I could have got a picture of these two as well. After putting away the float rod I figured it would be interesting to run a worm around the baited area on a drop shot rig by way of one final change to root out a monster Sargent. Quite quickly I felt something tugging at the end of the line and after striking into thin air I cover the same area again only to get the same tugging sensation. After striking at nothing again and again I concluded to just gently lift the rig out upon getting the little tug. This time my rig came out with the lobworm stretched nearly a foot long with a three inch perch greedily holding onto the end of the worm a good eleven inches away from the hook.

It seemed there was shoal of these tiny yearlings in the margin. Their presence certainly confirmed no big predators were around now, but also confirmed that these bigger perch have been breeding. Now given there seems to be just either big parent perch or tiny baby perch in the pool it's not hard to conclude that these little ones are the young of the monsters this pool is renowned for producing. So maybe in a few years time we might see a whole new generation of top predators occupying this commercial banquet, which would be very good to see.

The lake #24 Infectious enthusiasm.

My wings are feeling a little clipped at the moment regarding transport and thus I did not feel like travelling far. At times like these either the Sowe or lake become my go-to venues, and as the Sowe is doing a very convincing impression of that chocolate river from the 1971 Willy Wonka film, the lake won first place as my chosen venue. But! and that's a big BUT! I know that right now that the predator fishing is probably best described as... well, not good. 

Even though I fancied a little bit of piking I did not have it in me to wait all day for one run. So I thought it would be nice to take just one predator rod and my new favourite little feeder rod and go down to the brook pool to just have a bit of fun bashing bites whilst maybe fishing out a few errant pike to relocate back to the lake.

I do love an Autumn walk around the banks of Coombe pool. With such a differing mix of tree species, the season gets dragged out in a slow riot of Autumnal shades. As I kicked the leaves along the bank I must have passed at least eight pike anglers all eagerly awaiting their floats to bob or alarms to squeal. They all seemed in high spirits although I suspected when I passed back later they may not be in such good moods...

The brook I must say did as it always does and fished well. A constant stream of veracious roach, rudd and hybrids found my scaled-down feeder rig and quite quickly I found myself carrying a small pike up to the lake. The second jack came along as I was supping my cup of tea not long later.

It was as I was considering heading for home that two silhouette,s one large and one small, appeared over the top of the ancient old sluice that drains into the lake. At the time I was watching my dumpy float bobbing around close to the wall, only half concentrating when I heard my name called through the trees. It turned out that the figures above were in fact readers of this blog who have followed my adventures on Coombe with some interest. Soon after we exchanged initial greetings, a young fellow called Gabe burst through the undergrowth, rod in hand, exited to cast into the confluence pool.

As Gabe cast around the pool catching a mix of roach and perch I stood chatting to his father. I have to say that the young chaps enthusiasm was infectious. It was very refreshing to be reminded of how keen young anglers can be in these  modern times when children are so easily distracted . He actually bought a real smile to my face with his antics and I couldn't help but be reminded of my own formative angling years.

Gabe, with a pike we caught

It was a pleasure to meet Gabe and his dad and I hope that his enthusiasm for fishing continues in the future. I also hope he gets his wish and catches the tench he so much desires next year.

After I left the my newfound acquaintances fishing the little pool, I walked back along the leaf strewn path. I don't know whether kicking leaves as you walk is a proven to help contemplation, but it seems to help me reflect. So as I tempted the dog poo gods and kicked leaves, I began to muse a train of thought Gabe had prompted. Of late I hardly see any young anglers at all! In fact I reckon I could not recall seeing any more than ten, tops, within the last year. 

I know I don't fish too many commercial venues which I am sure have larger populations of young anglers, but even so you would expect to see a few here and there. When I was growing up there wasn't a single body of water that didn't seem to have a group of kids fishing on it. I suppose times have admittedly changed and parents can't just let young kids go roaming around as I used in my youth, and that the technology addicted generation have become a little reluctant to leave the the proximity of their WiFi connections  But I am left in no doubt that young anglers might actually be becoming a rarity, therefore what future does that hold for our sport? Will the number of anglers dwindle so much in the next thirty years that we will see big manufactures starting succumb to lack of buyers in an over-inflated tackle market. Will Danny Fairbrass be seen in some Essex dole queue,  or will Peter Drennan be seen be begging outside Starbucks?  I actually suspect not, as something else comes to mind. Unlike young anglers I have actually seen a lot of new adult anglers. By that I mean people who have taken up fishing a lot later in life. People who may of had a dabble as a youth and didn't continue fishing but have actually had another crack later in life only to find they enjoy it and go on to take it up properly. And I suppose that's even better for our tackle companies as older anglers have more money than kids. So no need to worry Danny or Peter, you might not be for the poor house just yet...

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As an afterthought I do think that we as anglers are actually doing our best to encourage youngsters interesed in the sport. Andy, my regular fishing companion, often takes groups of budding young anglers fishing through his school. I've followed Rob Thompsons passage to becoming an qualified angling coach on his blog http://www.speci-angler.co.uk/2013/10/angling-coach-nurturing-future.html and several other friends/bloggers encourage their children and friend's children to go fishing. However still I am willing to bet that there are loads of kids out there who like myself had little access to angling who would love to have a go. Unlike me they will never have the freedom to just go off on their own, as sadly our society has changed so irrevocably so that it's just not safe for them to be out alone. And that makes me very sad for those would be brothers of angle.

A shameful lack of respect

Since I was a knee high to a grasshopper, when I first came into our most beloved of pastimes, many aspects have changed. Some have changed for the better and some for the worst. One which has changed for the better as far as I am concerned is the way in which the majority of anglers treat fish once they are captured.

Not long after coming into fishing I obtained the most barbaric keep net from a car boot sale, which had obviously been hidden away in someones shed and was dried up, stiff as a board. It was the knotted construction of this iron maiden which we now know to be harmful to fish that made it such a savage device. Gladly I can say that I never really kept much in it before I snagged it in the canal and tore it to bits trying to get it back.

Nowadays, thank god, fish care has transcended into a religion. Every possible aspect of how we can care for our quarry has been invented by the fishing tackle industry. It could be said that their motivation is not just for fish safety but for profits, who cares, because every new unhooking mat and state of the art net sold means that any fish that coming into contact with them stands a better chance than it did thirty years ago.

We anglers too have come along leaps and bounds. The way in which we treat fish in most cases is nothing less than reverent. I watched two teenage lads whilst on a popular carp lake earlier this year; when they hooked and landed a small carp, the two of them broke into action of which I could not commend highly enough. One kept the fish in the water in the huge net whilst the other readied the massive cradle mat by sousing it in fresh lake water. Their treatment of  this rather small carp was truly amazing and quite honestly the people we have to partly thank for it are those munga mixing southerners from Korda. Their modern and forward thinking TV series Thinking Tackle drums into the avid audience on a daily basis that fish should be cared for above all else, and good on them for it.

It is not the specimen angler or the pleasure angler though that has sparked me up to write this. It is instead the another group of anglers and the TV shows that promote them that are about to take some flack from me!!!

I watch all angling programs no matter how bad they are. Jacky will attain to this I assure you. I am of the belief that somewhere in the monotonous drone of even the seemingly most irrelevant of angling programs, could be one shining gem of information that might be of some use to me.

So the other night I spotted two new episodes of Fishing Gurus on one of the satellite channels. At this point I must say that even for me the first series of this was hard to watch, with its less than captivating presenters. This has changed  though in this new series as the producers of the show have made the wise decision to get that eternally overenthusiastic chappy Dean Macey in to try and enthral us a bit more. This new ruse has worked and Dean now brings a little tempo to this awkward watching show.

Anyway back on the subject. In the first episode Dean fished with a favourite presenter of mine, Ali Hamidi and they bagged a load of small carp which were treated as if they were their new born children. Mr Hamidi even landed a very nice carp, and this thing was treated as if he were lifting whatever was inside the Ark of the Covenant out. The second episode starring one Mr Steve Ringer though showed some fish treatment which I will now state is nothing less than a shocking, disrespectful and not only damaging to the fish but our sport as well.

If you have ever watched any televised fishing matches you may have noticed that when a competitor catches a large carp it is lowered onto their keep net in their landing net, and then ejected by pulling the loose net so the kipper rolls into the water. Now this is about as far as respectful to their catch as most match fisherman is prepared to go, and frankly I get the impression they only do that so as the don't lose the big one should it flip out on the way down.

Where my issue lies is when they catch any carp between 1-4lb. I have watched it again and again on loads of televised matches and programs relating to match fishing. Any fish in this size bracket are scooped up quickly in the net, grabbed out behind the fins and then dropped probably three feet or more tail first into the anglers keep net.

If dropping them three feet was not bad enough the fact that they drop them tail first quadruples this terrible habit. We all know how fish breathe, and we all know that fish are kind of evolved to move generally one way through water. So should the fishes gills be open at the moment that it hits the water then all that pressure of the fall combined with the impact of the water is more than likely going to hit those life giving and very delicate gill rakers. Which can't be good for them! I know someone who reads this might say something along the lines of, well fish jump out of the water, and they have to clean out their gill raker's from time to time. So before anyone says it I will state this firstly; like us and blinking, fish will automatically close their gills to prevent damage, and secondly even if they are doing on purpose to possibly clean out there gills, they are doing it to themselves.

Time and time again this practice can be seen on all sorts of match fishing programs. Some garner massive audiences and this makes it even worse because any aspiring young match anglers, or even old ones, will see it and think nothing of doing it themselves next time they catch a similar sized fish.

Quite honestly I can't believe how lazy this is. How much effort does it take to simply turn a fish around, and if they are so lazy as the cant be arsed to bend over a few feet, the fish will at least go into the water in way that it might not get damaged.

The other nasty bit of treatment I have seen again and again on these types of programs is when they come to the weigh-in;  fifty, sixty or even seventy pounds of fish at a time are poured from keep nets into weigh slings like they were pouring water down a drain. The only thing is water don't get hurt when that gets casually poured. But fish do! It is no wonder that when fishing commercial venues you see some of the most deformed and ragged looking fish you are likely to ever encounter.

Now I know that both of these bad habits go on at every match run across the UK week in and week out. So how much effort does it take for the high profile anglers which influence the match scene and getting paid to do so, to start trying to do something for the good of their section of our sport which could improve the way fish are treated country wide.

As for the fisheries whose commodities these ill treated fish are, well they must be mental. I work in private industry and if we treated our products as badly as they let theirs be treated we would be out of business in a matter of months. So it just makes financial sense for them to change their rules so no fish are dropped into nets, and at weigh-in's their stocks are treated with a lot more respect by the participating anglers.

There is no doubt in my mind after this little tirade, that of all the differing sectors of angling in the UK,  match fishing is ten or more years behind everyone else in the way that they care for their captures, and if they are not careful it will be them drawing more flack onto our sport by anti angling organizations.

The Lake #5 Into the woods I go.

The lake in three places is flanked by three very different woods that certainly effect the areas of water they line. The old rhododendron wood is, as it's name implies, festooned with this rampant alien. Although all of the trees that form the canopy of this wood are truly English; so many are ancient old oaks that Autumn pike fishing under it's cover on a windy day is a dangerous affair, with acorns falling from height like bullets, clonking any unaware anglers out of there essox related day dreams. When dusk comes this is a noisy place to be. The dense foliage crated by the rhododendrons harbours masses of pheasants whose eerie vibrating calls ring out echoing through the silent air. The trees too hide unseen avians that awaken at night. A large amount of little owls seem to roost eyes closed up in those three tops, only to wake at night and begin shrieking back and forth to each other with the regularity of metronome testing faculty. All in all by day it is a quiet spot, bar falling nuts. But by night it is not the place for those afraid of screeches in the night.

On the opposite bank exists the second of the three woodlands which is in a way different from the other two. Where the lake laps at the land a front line of old English trees hang out over the water, slowing reclaiming the wood at their own pace. The hand of man still dots this place with a host of trees which have little to right to exist here. Browns wood is dense and over grown, a dark place with crumbling old buildings hidden under moss deep in its depths. Once in my youth myself and some friends ventured into it's depths and found an old path lined with massive stones that looked like it wouldn't look out of place with fairies buzzing over it. We followed it as far as we could until natures growth cut us off, and retreat from the stifling air and dank was our only option. This wood hangs so far and densely over the lake you can't see out of it, never mind cast from it even in the dead of winter when the trees fall bare.

The brook wood is the final of the three and of all of them this one looks probably as England did thousands of years ago. In the winter it is open and the cold wind courses through it onto your back, chilling you to the bone. Come spring, passage through it becomes difficult, the myriad of brambles that offer cover to all the usual characters serve to keep out humans. It faces Browns wood, only separated from each other by the lake. On the right day the wind deflects off either wood leaving the shallow water still and warm. If the sight of ancient aloof carp cruising through lily pads stimulates, you then an hour spent up a tree in this wood would have you salivating and possibly being tricked into commitment to a fruitless cause. 

The latter of the three was where I fancied might be good for a cast. The pad lined base of Browns wood on the other bank is both secure and safe for fish. The shadows of anglers have not been cast over this water in a hundred years. A hefty chuck it is to that far bank, and it is only normally the dedicated carpers who fish this water.

At four in the morning the water was still shrouded in mist and barley visible. The banks were quiet and deserted. I could hear the sudden calls of moorhens along the reed beds as I slipped unseen around the edge of the lake. Not one angler was under the cover of the trees, which was very surprising. Normally hard worn carpers doze in this area with bags under their eyes and nets caked thick in bream slime. To them one proper bite in five days is good, and double figure bream moping up their carefully placed boilies is bad. They are always a font of up to date information; Dave who's on the other bank got done over by the bream last night, or Kev over in the wood is getting plagued by tench. They always hand over that stuff freely. But ask about carp and they close up quicker than a bivalve at a clam bake. If ever I see a jumping carp or cruising zeppelin I always pass on the info to the first interactive carper I see at the lake, as frankly they need any help they can get as one fish per season is considered good by the lake's standards.

My normal casual lead around confirmed the shallow bay in front was peppered with random patches of differing types of weed. The last third of the cast to the far bank seemed clear enough so a few balls of left over ground bait was sent around the marker, followed by a single feeder on this spot. The second was put tight into a weed bed just beginning to break the surface and the third was nailed full tilt onto the far bank lily line at the edge of the wood.

I saw my first fish roll after only half an hour and it was definitely the brown back of a bream. All along the far bank they rolled for a good hour. Then a big common breached full out of the water before making two less spectacular jumps amongst the pads. As the day grew lighter and the mist cleared the lake looked different somehow. It was the water! It was heavily coloured. Like many old lakes this one is feed by an inlet stream and according to other resident anglers it had been spewing dirty sediment laden water in for the latter half of last week. This though had seemingly pushed the majority of the fish population down into the end of the lake I was actually fishing.

A while after the rolling fish disappeared and the liners started. Even with my line pinned down as best I could the active fish seemed to catch them as they passed. As far as I could figure there was weed bed half way between my spots and me and as the lines slumped down over it that was where they kept contacting them.

As I was embroiled in a conversation with another angler heading deep into another wood when the rod I had tight to the far bank first bleeped once then moved off steadily. Much to mine and my companions delight. Immediately I knew this was no bream as my three pound test rod did a very good impression of a hula hoop. Keeping slow and deep it kited left then back right before surging towards me. Desperately trying to keep up I wound down as quick as possible only to feel the numb thump a fish makes when it's head is deep in a weed bed.

After applying as much I thought safe, my only option was to hand the rod around a tree and wade through the chest high foliage into the next swim to try and change the angle. And it worked! the fish was free and the clutch sang one long note as it dived deeper into the weed bed. Tracing back to my swim I again changed angle but this time the thumping was gone and line again was spooled onto to my reel. The pile of weed I landed was massive; an estimate of five pounds of bloodworm riddled weed may be a conservative.

It has been a long time since I felt the loss of a fish so badly and also a long time since I have felt the raw force of something truly massive and uncontrollable. Bream or tench it was not. A carp or cat was definitely responsible for that overpowering fight. Even if I knew it was a massive cat I know I would not feel the pain of loss so badly as what I honestly suspect it was. For those carp are just so special that even when you hook one by pure luck it feels like you have wasted your only chance ever...

By mid morning I had calmed somewhat and the mist was gone. Now the unseasonal sun baked down on the water. The liners had slowed and water grew calmer. A single bleep drew my attention to my bobbins in the hope one might just rise against all odds. Just beyond the bank a sight no angler could ignore suddenly appeared. With no doubt in my mind I knew exactly what it was. Then again tiny fizzing bubbles rose all at once.

One or more tench browsed right under my rods and I could not resist. My spare rod was blindly grabbed . Float, rubber, weight and hook where all attached by feel alone as my eyes would not move away. They were feeding exactly where I tossed any old bait or hookers. I do not think I have ever so gently lowered a bait into place. For the next two hours I watched that float like a hawk willing it to first rise a little before sliding away

It never did slide away attached to a lovely summer tench, but eventually I did slide away to watch someone else on TV waste the wonderful chance he probably won't ever get again.

Crafty grassies.

I am currently at a real loss of where to try and get the grass carp point for the challenge from. The only venue I fish that contains them is Snitterfeild reservoir and like any other Leamington members know there is a very small number of these fish in a rather decent size lake. So with this tiny number of grassies in a large lake the chances of putting forty odd pounds of fish on the bank seems almost impossible. The only saving grace is that when the weather hots up they begin to move round on the surface. Conveniently they make a much different bow wave to the king carp varieties which also inhabit this lake, probably due to there longer flatter profile. 

I had been waiting for what seems like weeks for a bit of warm sunny weather to get down to Snit for a crack at them and whilst waiting I had stored up enough dog biscuits to feed battersea dogs home for at least one day.

Sunday the weather looked great but I was in no rush as the morning was cool and misty. By 10am the sun  was out and I was on the bank with three 5 litre buckets of pellets and dog kibbles ready to go. The only draw back was that the work party were at snit clearing the banks. I won't moan about them as they do a vital job for the club of keeping our many banks fishable, of which I am very grateful for and probably should give them a bit of my free time as I become more attached to the club. But sadly the throbbing of the two stroke strimmers engine was doing little for the fishing on Sunday morning and I did not see a single fish on the top till they finished for the day.

Putting my plan into action I set up one rod with a bottom bait and cast it over a bed of pellets. Then began my grand plan to use a zig rig with one of the new zig floats to get my bait within a few feet of the surface and regularly fire mixers over the top to attract the hoards of ducks which would hopefully in turn attract the patrolling carp. Problem was that I could not get my zig rig to work at all. Every time it was cast into the very deep water half way across the lake the rig tangled or never came up. After ten casts and four modifications I had little choice but to give up and go over to a surface controller and run the avian gauntlet.

With all the crappy weather we have had it was a proper task to get any carp at all on the top and feeding. But after three hours of persistence I began to see some good swirls and the occasional lips. But every time a fish came up they would take two out of ten freebies then sink back to the depths. The wind was no help ether as it blew in ever changing directions on and off for the whole session.

With nothing more than a 1lb skimmer who'd taken a shining to my 20mm boilie to show for the four hours of fishing I was getting despondent. Until I noticed three definite grass carp moving far off to my left. After one almighty hoyk of a cast I managed to drop my bait right in front of them. I thought I was in when one immediately came to investigate. Instigate it did, take the bait it did not. This went on for a good hour as I went through every possible floating bait I had at my disposal. The wind was getting up and causing a ripple that prevented me from seeing my controller at distance, so I never saw the bait go, but Soon enough I got the message as the line zipped tight and the rod buckled over. With line ripping of the reel as the fish tore off I was convinced I had finally nailed one. This fish had some real power and at one point I got that feeling I haven't felt in years, the one that makes you think this rod ain't gonna take this. But it did and after a while I got a glimpse of a golden flank in the water. I tried not to curse to loud as a common carp slipped into the net. My disappointment only lasted for a minute before the joy of  landing what I will say it the most powerful pound for pound carp I have ever caught in my life came over me. To say it was mint would be the understatement of the year as it was fin perfect with not a single mark in it's mouth.

 

After this the ducks became rather aware of where my bait was landing and every time it hit the water they quite literally took off and landed to try and get the bait. With time ticking till I had to pick up Jacky the grassies would have to wait till another day.

Beep Beep I love it.

When the chance of a few hours off work on Wednesday afternoon arose this week I snapped up the opportunity to get out for a session. Being without the car I organised a drop off in the works van from my boss and for Jacky to pick me up later in the evening. This seriously limited my range for the session so I decided to head to ryton pool to see what was going on there since my last visit  two months ago.

I could have pursued the perch point for the challenge but instead I went for a bit of self indulgence and went after the carp and tench using modern carp tactics. I don't know why but alot of anglers I have spoken to seem to think that fishing with bite alarms is in some way less skill full than other methods and frown on it. But me I love it! they are like vibrators for the adrenaline gland. Having the ability to fish two or more rods whilst either making up PVA bags or fish spotting, then being snapped away from what you're doing by an odd bleep that may be the precursor of a run, or screaming one toner, really gets your blood pumping. Admittedly I am not one of those anglers who just wangs out kilos of bait and hunkers down for a 48 hour session waiting for a carp to come along, instead I try to locate fish and by keeping light move to them if needs be. The other thing is that this type of fishing is so often just associated with carp fishing. But by scaling down rigs and using different set ups nearly all species can be fished for and caught using the much loved and much maligned buzzer.

The other technique I intended to use on this session. which I personally believe to be one of the greatest assets to angling of modern times is the humble PVA bag, combining this with another great product the korda krusha to make small bags full of chopped white boilie and liquidised bread.

Before I got within site of the pool I knew where I would start and upon arriving found the information desk swim to be free. Both rods were set up ready to go the night before and it was just a case of baiting them up and getting the baits out.

On one rod I went with my standard in line rig but for the carp rod I went for a helicopter rig as I wanted to achieve a instant hook up once the fish picked up the bait.

The first slow run came from a small tench on the carp line, of which I never got a picture. This was followed by a run on the other rod which resulted in a better sized male of about four pounds.

The tench kept feeding intermittently all afternoon and I landed another nice 3-4lb female and lost another as it found a weed bed, but strangely around 6pm all the fizzing stopped and it would seem they went to bed.

After an hour of total inactivity I was standing next to the rods having a squizz around the lake looking for a possible move when my right hand rod went mental, hooping round before I even picked it up as the fish tore off. The bait had been sitting in some shallow water so when I lent into the fish the water erupted as a bow wave shot out into open water. After a interesting fight where I tried to keep the fish out of just about every weed bed in the lake, I landed a stunning little common of 12.6lb.

After this I was sure I was in for a few more fish, but the next time the buzzer went a rather odd thing happened . I had got three individual bleeps as the already slack line had dropped back more then tightened up. After watching the line go up and down for at least five minutes thinking sooner or later it will go off I picked up the rod to check and see if something was just mouthing the bait. Upon reeling in I could not make contact with the lead for ages and when I finally did low and behold there was a gentle thumping on the rod tip. Only for seconds was the fish connected before it came off. When I got the rig in with a huge heap of weed tangled in it I found a six foot loop knotted behind the rig. Now I know for sure that I landed the rig in line in shallow water, so as far as I can figure some cunning little fish picked up the bait and was swimming round with it in it's gob so delicately that it never even registered on the slack line. Judging from the slime on the line a tench may well have been the culprit.

The only other bite came just a darkness fell and another tentative run produced what I now suspect to be a decent Rudd or roach which also found freedom before it found the bottom of my landing net.

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.

Be strong Danny and ignore the tench

Thursday Afternoon I arranged to meet up with Andy at Napton for an into-the-evening session. I was solely intent on perch and Andy was more interested in crucians and tench; the latter he was sure to encounter.After admitting by text to Keith that I was returning for a third session on the trot I discovered he too was returning, and like me he was hell bent on some fluviatilis action.

I am convinced that Napton holds some very good perch and even more convinced that the large dividing stone jetty between the two lakes is a perfect place to taget these fish. Initally I set up on the rocks facing into the small sqaure half of the lake but after plunbing around the swim found a mixture of several types of weed up to two feet deep in places. I made the quick decision to move over onto the other side of the bridge opposite the swim where I bagged all those tench four days ago, which was now occupied by Keith. Andy was a little down the bank where he had been since earlier in the day which left a neat rack of bloggers to assault the reservoir.

Determined to resist and ignore the tench I set up a highly buoyant pole float to enable me to present a lob worm well off the bottom above the feeding tench. Once entrenched a constant stream of red maggots would attract the attention of any tench, which in turn should attract some nice perch in with their intent grubbing around.

For the first few hours my plan seemed to be working as my float remained as still as the bridge that shadowed it, but persistence paid off when I began to get a few knocks. When the float did bury I was convinced the savage head shaking would be from a big perch. then it woke up and powered off in a very tench like way. With a nice female of 3-4lb out the way I went back to business, flicking out a massive lob worm this time surely to be for a delicate feeding tench to bother with...

Another bite surged off but this time it felt very different. Just before it snapped me off I caught a glimpse of a pike as it made off back to the depths. Two more lost tench later it all went very quiet and stayed that way for another hour or so, though the constant chatter regarding Andy's secret sausage bait and all the possible double entendrees that could possibly relate to such a subject kept us amused.

Over the channel Keith was suffering a similar run as I was with slight bites here and there a few tench and even a run in with a suspected pike, though he had managed to nab a couple of small perch as well as one bigger example.

My next bite I was convinced that a good perch was attached but once again a small tench rolling on the surface put pay to that theory.

As the light went I did bag my only perch of the session of 8oz which I sadly neglected to photograph before returning. Our quid each bet on the biggest perch of the night I believe went to Keith though I still owe him my nugget, I am sure he'll take a double or nothing offer next time we both target the same species.

With the light all but gone we all packed up then eagerly convened to see Andy's bulging net pulled from the water. Twenty nine tench and a decent sprinkling of perch proved to heavy a weight to be pulled up onto the rocky bank, so instead a considerate Andy perched on the edge of the water in the darkness counting back the tench as the they were returned whilst myself and Keith took a few photos.

Piscatorus Andyus and Tinica tinica

Though it had been a bit of a let down regarding the perch fishing, as we left mother nature treated us with a cracking sunset complete with huge amount of fish topping all over the part of the lake we weren't fishing on.