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.

Dragons, swans and flipping flamingos.

Resplendent, that's the best word I could come up with to describe how the Avon looked on a sunny Saturday morning. We do a lot of walks now we have a child, as I suspect most people do. Anyway having exhausted just about every civilized park close to home we headed over to Warwick to have a amble around St Nicholas park which just happens to be opposite the Myton road stretch I can fish on with my Warwick angling association book.

I kind of thought there was a chance the river would still be holding a little tinge of colour after the recent rain, but I was quite far off the mark with that theory. The water was clear, sparkling and full of lovely wriggly fishes. Quite literally the weed laden margins were swarming with roach. Huge shoals drifted in and out of the streamer weed moving in perfect unison. All over the empty river, random fish topped pulling my eyes to every circular ripple. Every now and again the threat of unseen predators would send fish scattering for safety out of the water. It was one of those times when, my God, you would sell your right testicle for a fishing rod, but nut or not I was rod less standing next to what looked like a perfect river.

There was no doubt I was going back the next day as with so many tasty tit bits flitting around the pike had to be close by. So less than twenty four hours later I found myself standing on the first peg right at the bottom of the Myton road stretch. The river looked amazing and the view of the ancient Warwick castle under the old bridge wasn't too shabby either.

I was hoping to be a bit of clever git and had rigged up a Texas rig so as I could fish a weed less lure right through the streamer weed to try and tempt a few jacks out. The weed density and probably my inexperience in using this new rig meant things didn't work out too well. I was deed keen to get going and straight away punched a zander pro shad across to the edge of the weed lining the far bank. The first and subsequent twenty casts all came back laden with rotting streamer weed. Whether it was to do with me fishing the lure too far into the weed or the late summer weed being too soft and dense I couldn't fathom, but either way it got the better of me.

In the end I resorted back to bouncing a five gram jig head loaded up with a Savage gear soft 4play roach around the weed. This had its limits as I knew the pike were using that weed as cover and I wasn't fishing in the cover. I'd thrashed half the stretch into foam before I got any interest and strangely I got a hard hit mid-river from an unusual suspect. I really thought a small pike or a good perch had nobbled the lure, but when I saw a small zander in the clear water I was surprised. Avon zander can be very condition specific in my opinion and on a bright sunny day and a clear river is about the worst time to try and get one by my reckoning. This one though had really engulfed my Savage gear roach imitation.

My day wasn't going to get any easier after that, and when I got a few pegs further up and found group of box jockeys having a unofficial knock up, the rest of the stretch was off the cards for me. My only option was to drop back to the bottom of the stretch and cover all the river I had already fished a second time. Time was not on my side and just as I reached the first spot opposite the boat hire shop the first family laden swan pedalo hit the water. After that they started coming as thick and fast as I have ever seen them. Two dragons and few flamingos later and the river looked like a scene from a Dr Seuss story.

Finally it was my conscience that drove me off the river. I couldn't with any good conscience continue casting even small lures into a river filled with families enjoying the last bit of summer afloat just in case an errant cast should find a boat. Ironically I did get a bit of tug just before I left the river which makes me think that all the activity might have forced the pike out of the shallows and into the deeper channel in the centre of the river. I actually think this will be really great section of river once the weed dies back a bit and the boat rental shop shuts down for the winter, so I will definitely be back especially as I know there are zander around as well.

Jedi lure fishing.

I feel like I am just about getting back into the swing of things with this here fishing game. My crushing guilt of leaving JB alone to deal with our little Jekyll and Hyde that is BB is subsiding as we grow used to his demands (of which there are currently many). The first few times out after BB came along it was near impossible to concentrate, but over three varying short sessions I reckon I have clawed back a smaller amount of concentration each time.

It does amaze me that somehow even when my mind is somewhere else, that my body has retained ingrained information that it can just carry on fishing and even catch fish whilst I probably have the outward appearance of a minion, and one of the stupid ones at that. Hence it was quite shock when I was bleeping through baby pictures on my camera and found these two pictures, which according to the date were caught and photographed in the last month, but for the life of me I can't remember catching or photographing them even though I have evidence to prove I did.

Now although not big they do prompt the question, have I attained some kind of canal enlightenment where I can free my body from the shackles of the mind and it will just catch fish on its own without me thinking? Well possibly I have and at least I think I now have to give blindfold lure fishing a go, or if I wanted to be really cool, I could go drag Jeff Hatt out down the cut dress him like Obi wan kenobi and get myself a blast visor and recreate that scene from Star Wars where the old Jedi is whacking on about trusting my instincts.

Ascension aside there are definitely a few more fishy thoughts creeping back into my head as I become used to being a father. Luckily as well this fishing famine came at what I suspect is not a great lure fishing time of year on the canals. The few times I have ventured out I seem to remember that the boat traffic is very heavy, the water is very coloured and although they're aggressive, it seems only small fish are up for hitting the lures. By my reckoning though I could be just about back on point just at the right time, when the predators are getting their munch on ready for winter and the water ways are quietening down.

A leisurely start.

Just lately I've been a little more reserved when out fishing. Previously I would charge forth into the dark, desperate to get on a particular swim to execute my preconceived plan. Now I am in no doubt that this gung-ho attitude has paid me back in spades, but I am also sure that in doing so I have passed a million roses I should have stopped to smell, if you get what I mean. Maybe it's an impending change in my life that has done it, but I have inadvertently begun to appreciate things a little more lately.

This 16th for example was far more sedate than normal and certainly ended up being a little more satisfying than its predecessors. Though I must say that having an entire estate lake to myself might well have added to my Zen-like state as I ambled leisurely along its banks and wandered through its wood pondering a cast here or there.

I've never seen this particular lake in its full June glory and I must admit it was a total shock. Through the autumn and winter the lake itself seems practically barren against the outlandish Gothic back drop. Now though in the summer, the lily festooned pool makes the Capability Brown bridge seem almost dowdy and no angler in their right mind could focus on the stone work, when from beyond peeps siren like lily pads floating on what must be fish laden water.

Even in my relaxed state there was still bit of a fly in my ointment, by way of the poor clarity of this normally gin clear water. The previous weeks deluge had filled the stream that fed the lake full of mucky water and I had the distinct feeling that this would prove detrimental to pulling a few lures around, as the pike in this pool are definitely sight hunters. Even with enough time for the rivers and the stream that feeds this pool to clear, the main body of the lake was stained by the murk suspended in the water. Maybe a week or two later it would have cleared, but for this June 16th at least it would seem I was going to have to make do. But! Saying that it's not that hard to make do with a place like this.

Initially I did actually sit for a while under the leaves of an acorn tree and cast a worm alongside a small patch of lily pads where I'd seen what I was convinced were tench bubbles rising. Two bream and nice roach later, the early cloud had burnt away and with it any chance of hooking a virgin tench. Not long later I sat on a bench which gives an impressive vista of the water and pondered... 

I was not in a rush and not inclined to frantically chase after anything, so instead I sat and watched.  With little more than birds and trees to distract me I watched the water and quickly what was going in the muddy water became clear. Directly in front of me a small predator, either a tiny jack or angry perch was chasing fry in the shallows. Towards the centre of the lake a huge shoal of rudd or roach lipped away at the surface, scattering every time the shadow of a bird passed over. Up at the place where river entered the lake and ran clearer I could see fish scattering every now and again, indicating that pike were held up there and that was probably where I should fish. Time and time again the fish broke the surface, scattering out of the water to try and escape. I must have watched from up the lake for ages before my trance was broken by the wondrous sight of a huge forgotten golden carp leaping from the water. I knew there was carp in this pool, but never suspected them to grow quite so large given its shallow depth.

I stalked round trying to spot that carp in the muddy water, but the lack of visibility hid it very well. In the end I found myself peering into the pads at the top of the lake where loads of pike were hanging under the pads in the shade. First cast with a small silver diving plug and the water erupted as a jack swiped at the lure, missing by inches. Next cast got hit by a different fish which barely weighed more than the lure. After combing around a bit I got a savage hit just as the lure wiggled by a small weed bed. This fish though only a little bigger, went mental, clearing the entire swim of fish as it did. 

I suppose it might sound odd, but at this point I walked away, and by walked away I mean, I went home. Previously on the first day of the season I've been out before sun up and home after sun down and truthfully I have felt burnt out by lunch time. Not on this occasion though! After stopping off to have a look at the river at a few stretches on the way back I went home had a civilized meal, shower and hung out with JB until the sun got low in the sky. Refreshed mentally and physically I then spent the rest of the day catching loads perch on the Oxford canal just to fill my soul with even more first day joy. And as if to end the day on a perfect note a big old Sargent snatched my chartreuse paddler grub as it dropped back to bottom on what was to be my last cast of the first day.

A bit of a huzzah.

Although I will be back very soon I fancied a bit of last huzzah on the canal. It's the opening of the season which inclined me toward one. With time constricting on me quickly with a baby due in four weeks time, I really want to dedicate some of my valuable time to a few lakes and rivers which I want to fish before junior pops out. I suppose it's a bit like that saying of you don't know what you've got till it's gone in a way, but I know what I have got and also know it will be gone or at least hampered quite soon.

If someone said to me I could only fish one last time on a canal before I die, I would chose my secret squirrel hole on the grand union. The big perch seem to have dropped in numbers a bit or maybe they've become clued up or quite possibly they have just moved on. Whatever has happened it is still as far as I am concerned the best canal fishing I know round these parts and I really thought that given I was taking a load of fresh Canadian lob worms and a float rod I stood a good chance of getting into those big perch.

As this blog has pretty much been all lure fishing lately, my change of tactic might seem a little strange. First I suppose I should say that part of my inclination towards lures was born out of the impending arrival in few weeks. My theory is that should any opportunities arise to get out once junior is here, having a simply light bait free set-up ready to go might mean I could be out fishing rather than trying to figure out bait. The other main reason is that as I have discovered since really getting into it, is that it's fun! Though this still doesn't explain why I, as a newly converted lure chucker, was going fishing with a pot rammed full of massive worms.

Well in truth I am developing a distinct feeling that the canal fish aren't feeling that aggressive towards lures right now. I reckon that there's a good chance that with the glut of warm weather there's loads on the menu and unlike the colder months they can frankly eat what they want. Though this was my main angle on this angling session, there also always remains the idea that the big roach might show and they have in the past been a sucker for a lob worm or half. Saying all this that doesn't mean I didn't take a lure rod along with me to the canal just in case and I was lucky I did!

Dug in the tow path way before the boaters began moving, my float settled just over the nearside marginal shelf with the worm settling just right, two inches over depth. A few lob worms were broken up and flicked in to sink to the bottom and serve as subtle yet positive attractors to what I hoped might be patrolling the drop off.

The early part of the morning really turned out to be a real numbers game. I was getting regular attention, but with the sort ungrateful attitude that would make a canal match angler sick with anger, they were all the wrong bloody fish. Turns out my few broken lobs were enough to hold a shoal of skimmer bream for well over forty minutes, in which time I landed no less than eight of them between 10oz and 2lb along with a load of small perch.

Finally I kissed enough frogs and something a bit special showed up. My strike was met by neither inane flopping of a bream or the powering around of a perch, but instead a dogged vibration of a big roach came juddering up the line. Soon enough I slipped the net under a pristine canal roach which looked closer to two pounds than one.

Even after catching such an amazing roach I was still a little perplexed on the whereabouts of the bigger Sergeant's. I had landed quite few up to half a pound, along with the odd near pounder thrown in the mix, but as yet the big ones were certainly rather absent. The boats on the other hand were really getting going and becoming a regular little convoy. Knowing my session would soon be cut short I moved over to the trusty lure rod to see if that could spark them into action.

After trying a variety of small jigs and all of my first choice lures I surmised maybe a bold statement was needed. I often get a bit like this when no smaller lures seem to work and end up coming to the conclusion that I need be at the total opposite end of the spectrum and fish something big.

On this occasion I opted for a three inch AGM crayfish lure that when fished by bouncing back in tiny little hops looks exactly like a scared cray trying to escape. It wasn't until I ran it right alongside the spot where I had been depositing the broken worms that I got some interest. At first I thought I detected a bit of pluck and in response slowed the retrieve and increased the pause in between movements. Sure enough only moments later I never felt the jig hit bottom and instinctively struck thinking I might be in. It was definitely a perch and it was definitely going mental.

These summer perch are long, lean and fight three times harder than they do in the winter. Even living in summer canal that has the clarity of a cup of horlicks it still retained some quite vivid colours. What made this even better and a fitting last fish for this huzzah session was catching on a crayfish lure, especially as I suspect that the crayfish have a lot to do with this sudden increase of perch size on the Midlands canals.

The things you see on the towpath.

What I thought I would see when I turned my head I could not possibly think. Only moments ago the quiet tranquility had been shattered by the single loudest splash I have heard on a canal. Part of me wanted to turn and witness a possible second jump from a wild giant golden carp. Another part of me didn't want to turn my head at all as the splash sounded big enough to be human and as I didn't fancy wading into the canal to try fish anyone out. Knowing my luck as well it was more likely the latter and given there were no walkers or boats around god only knows what had happened.

In the end I forced myself to look just in case I had to do my good Samaritan bit, but all I could see was waves emanating from the opposite bank a few hundred feet away, where it looked like someone had just chucked in a paving slab. Scanning the water I finally spotted a wake of something moving across the canal, what caused it though wasn't clear. Then after pinpointing the beginning of the wake I saw a brown head and instantly I concluded some stupid dog had dived in for some reason only known to stupid dogs. Now I could see me having to go down and try and help some soaking wet writhing dog up over the metal pilings that line this section of canal, as I have seen Jeff have to do every time Moll goes diving in after a coconut or something.

Walking closer my wet dog theory got blown out of the water as the wake turned towards me and I sighted what looked like female Muntjac deer powering along the canal. Any ideas of helping this thing out of the canal were shelved as I didn't fancy getting my teeth kicked in trying to be a Good Samaritan. 

 Instead I kept my eye on it as it swam down the canal till it came to a spot where the piling ended and the soaking doe could scramble up the muddy bank. Where the little deer came from was a bit of a mystery as this new bit of the Coventry canal I was fishing is right on the edge of an urban area. Given that the deer had jumped in on the side it had only meant it had actually come out of the housing estate. Mind you saying that I know the housing estate in question and given a choice between being stuck in there or jumping in the canal I know which I'd choose.

As I mentioned before it was a new or should I say newish bit of canal I was fishing. The last couple of weeks I've been checking out some new areas which as far as I can see are a bit under the radar. The section that for me will forever be known as the deer jump section is an odd one. It is quite a long walk away from any access point and for my part I have walked in from both directions and never quite got on either occasion to this bit. The fishing when I arrived was OK. Not knowing anything I was just trying to locate fish and after finding only two micro zander after fishing a large chunk of it I was thinking I wouldn't be coming back. That was until I fished under a couple of acorn trees hanging over my own bank. The first one I got absolutely turned over by a pike which grabbed an orange koypto in the edge and proceeded to shoot across the canal and bite through the leader. The shadows of the second tree were in feasted with small perch which were a sucker for a two inch curly tail grub being dobbed along the marginal shelf.

A few nights earlier I had done a short evening session on the Oxford on a new spot with some interesting results. With the temps high the surface was buzzing with insects and looking down the stretch I soon spotted lots of small fish lipping and topping. It wasn't hard to surmise the predators wouldn't be far away, which they weren't. A few small zander and perch is enough to give me confidence in the stretch and get me to return again.

Towards the end of the session I found the ever present mega snag with claimed lure leader and hook. I nearly went home at this point but I couldn't waste even ten minutes of light so I rigged up again just in case. Most of the water I had fished had been unusually deep but just as I came into a shallower bit something really smashed into the big wave curly tail I was retrieving. It turned out to be a really nice perch of well over a pound that was hunting in the half light.

Now I feel I have to eat my words, as only the other week I saying how bad I thought the fishing was on the Oxford and now here I am saying that actually there does seem to be a few nice fish about. My only defence is that I think the temperature has played a key role round these parts. Up until now it has seemed quite lifeless, but now I am seeing more and more activity as the temperature rises. Hopefully this might mean that the Oxford round here is more a summer and autumn target rather than a winter or spring one.

The highlight of my session was surprisingly not a fish or anything to do with a fish! On the day when I caught a huge zander a few months ago I got a momentary view of a rare little creature. I'd forgotten all about it in the fuss of the big zed, but what I saw on the Oxford reminded me of it.

Not long into the session I thought I saw something swimming across the canal. The first one I couldn't get a clear view of and the second wasn't much better. The third though seemed quite comfortable with me watching it. Turns out the more time you spend on the canals the more you see and on this occasion I spotted four different water voles busily working along several large reed beds along this new section.

Before anyone says it they were definitely water voles and not rats, as rats swim quicker through the water and have a pointy snout, whereas as the buoyant water vole has no need to swim quickly to prevent itself from sinking as it floats like a cork high in the water and has a blunt snout.

I will certainly be returning to both deer jump and vole city as both of them seem to have oodles of potential for pretty much all species and given enough time over different conditions I reckon one or both might well throw up nice fishy surprises.

Those maddening darn Roach

Those who have cast a line for a big Roach will already know of the fickle nature by which they can possibly feed, and do not need me to remind them of the maddening ability to pluck a Roach develops around the age of 10oz. With a barbel, carp or pike and their developed methods of capture, angling them has become simple in a way. Simple in that once the finned culprit has the intent of your bait upon it's mind it comes down to a simple choice of yes I am going to eat it or no I am not. Whereas in the case of the not so humble big Roach it becomes a case of sucking, plucking, blowing, spitting and possibly maybe even eating. Add into this infuriating equation a flowing river and a recipe for madness is complete. Oppositely there are those days when like all fishes the big Roach can be as stupid and gullible as an angler in a tackle shop; to be on that bank on that sacred day is the provision of a lucky man, one whom in the past may have stumbled over a pile of rocking horse droppings and landed face first in a patch of four leafed clovers. But for most of us even if we know the location of a sacred shoal and we enjoy angling for a pound of silver in our net, we will have to endure a little madness as payment for the honour.

Having decided that Roach were to be my quarry of the day, I wondered as I drove south in the dark whether if by magic today was to be my day again, as I have had only one other real roach red letter day in the past.

Though before feeders filled with bread crumbs arc across the Warwickshire sky, another darker date stood before me. I do find it hard these days to visit the Avon without a a Zander rod in my quiver. Even if like on this trip I only have a short while to await for that single nod of my rod that might indicate the subtle intentions of a Zander. I still do it.

Early on as dark became light I had two enquiries in quick succession. I wouldn't say I missed them, just that the Zander responsible for both bites had a change of heart at the last moment, and put down my dead Rudd bait for reason only known to them. Although I suspect my pack of frozen glassy eyed fish may have been in and out of the freezer one to many times to be considered fresh.

Done with distractions of the predatory kind I shoved off upstream to the spot I knew I would fish. Ever since my arrival I had been watching it out of the corner my eye hoping no wasteful lure angler would pass through and ruin the whole area searching for a pickerel of a pike, which would probably not look twice at there gaudy rattling lure. 

Winters and floods change the dynamics of swims easily, and this one was changed since I last cast here. The flow is now channelled awkwardly across the centre of the swim and worse the soft biting fish lie just beyond the entire pressure of the  Warwickshire Avon on a small gravel run. The swim will again change when the next flood rips away the barriers accumulated on the far back which on this occasion hinder me. But for today it is just a case of making do.

It takes me a while to figure where my bait ends up on my first cast. Unlike a feeder full of wetted ground bait which sinks fast, a feeder stuffed with fluffy liquidised bread sinks slowly allowing the river to catch it and deposit it much further downstream than a wet crumb feeder. 

It's making bottom at least two metres further down stream than I want it to, so I compensate by flicking it further into the flow and my calculations are rewarded with a bite. Albeit a very subtle one. 

A few more loads of bread clouding through the water gets them in the mood and the tip now dances feverishly as fish pluck at the bread. Then finally a tiny sliver blade wriggles in after the feeder. The hooked fish drives off the shoal and I have to wait a while for the next bite. But once that comes they once again begin to compete.

A proper bite results in resistance on my light rod and a beautiful 13oz roach is landed and my hopes that the red letter day could begin get higher.

After this the madness begins! The shoal is disrupted and for all I can figure are moving round the swim. As the bites seem totally random, I focus as we are told, on one area, and try to hit the same spot again and again which does seem to get them in line a little. They have no confidence but infuriatingly are still interested in eating.
How many bites I strike at and miss grows quickly and my-patience to deal with this dwindles. In the end I find myself hitting good fast roach bites as the tip comes back, and no fish can be hooked when your bait has been spat out.
Luckily for my sanity they push off and the bites stop and now my tip sits still. The thought that a big straggler may still move over the baited area makes me stick around for sometime just in case. Soon enough I move off again down stream to a another choice spot. Here again the bites come quickly and a small chub which is novel in this section for the river gets away in a snag under my feet.

All too soon it is time to go as other engagements press my time. Even though those infuriating fish have pushed me close to the edge, I still wonder when I will be back as I walk to the car.