Strange fish

We both shot off our stools instantly as if we had been simultaneously jabbed in the bum by a pin. But no squeals or expletives were uttered, as it was a fleeting glance of flank that had drawn our bulging eyes magnetically over the bank and not posterior pain. For more than a moment we stared into the clear cold depths waiting for the fish to surface again and answer my hopes, and maybe even Jeff's hopes as well! 

Then it surfaced thrashing around, still hiding its true identity in the disturbed water. Again though it seemed possible that it might be as we both wished, a giant ruffe. Then in the tiniest swing from water to hand all hope drained away. It was weirdly close... but on this occasion there was no cigar going to be smoked in celebration. What had raised us up on such a uneventful day was in fact not a tiny giant in which we are both inclined towards, but was instead the second oddity of the day, a perch with no stripes...

We were meant to be zander fishing, checking out a new stretch of canal, but it turned out if there was as tipped any big zeds present, they hadn't got the memo to say that we were coming and they should eat. And thus so I had grown a little bored waiting and had begun messing around with my Mach 2 wand, which I have decided as a early new years resolution that I will take every were I go just in case and because it's brilliant.

Back to that perch - it looked normally odd if you get what I mean. Like a tiger that has no stripes. And like a tiger that has no stripes, its no less of a tiger, rather than something doesn't click to say that's what it is. I tried my best to get a good clear shot and in the bright light this was about the best of them. As you can see it wasn't washed out or anything and it's brethren, like itself, were reasonably well coloured but striped. I suppose only some in-depth genetic study of the entire Coventry canal population might determine why this one, or maybe many perch in this area, might lack the synonymous stripe of the billie, or possibly it was just that one in thousands that nature deems to be different. 

It wasn't as I hinted before the first strange thing we had seen on this foray. A few casts prior to this I had caught a not dissimilar sized sarge that although perfectly normal in every way seemed to be in a strange situation for this time of year. Upon picking it up and unhooking it I noticed a yellow glob of what I thought was fish poo on my hand. It's not to unusual for a fish to defecate in your hand when you catch them but this stuff looked weird. Then on closer inspection I found it was not fish faeces but was instead eggs. The plump little fish which was obviously female was crammed full of eggs and it would she was so heavily laden that they were venting under the pressure.

Now I've seen this before, but only in the spring when fish are filling up ready to spawn the next generation of little perch and never have I seen this prior to Christmas. Both me and Mr Hatt were quite perplexed by it truth be told. I know we have some arse about face weather round these parts but spawning fish before winter, that don't seem right if you ask me. I would be interested to know if anyone else knows of, or has seen this before in perch, or do perch actually start filling up before the winter sets in as to be one of the first to spawn, like many other predators do early in the year?

Close encounters of the furry kind.

Prior to leaving for the weekend I made the hard decision to not do any sea fishing when I visited Suffolk. I suspected it could be a decision I might rue, but truthfully I needed a rest. Like many, my work goes the floods and ebbs and the months leading up to this mini-break had not certainly been a flood. It can be hard to admit as a normally highly dedicated angler, but the idea of standing on a north wind battered beach on a late November morning really held little appeal right now. So with a heavy heart I concluded to leave the big guns at home and opt to just take the easy option filling a few hours of free time closer to warmth, chasing pike and perch in the marinas near our temporary home.

The marinas to which I refer for most of the year offer consistent sport of all kinds and the broad  which they flank has a very good reputation for pike... big pike! With this in mind I took along two outfits. One capable of handling any essox from Jack right through Jill, and the other was just a general float outfit intended to fill the moments between runs. I have in the past made absolute commitment to pike fishing and on such occasions after a few action less days have found myself considering buying cheap rod and reel combos just too break the monotony. So rather than over commit, it seemed best to edge my bets and try to keep my options open.

I never intended to push my luck after arriving by chancing a quick session, but my when other half developed a migraine after a run in with some overly bright shop lighting, all that changed. Hoping to save the first day of the break, she headed for the darkness of a curtained bedroom to try and sleep it off. So I diligently did as I was told and cleared off fishing to give JB some peace and quiet.

The broad was interesting to say the least. With the north east wind ripping across the broad it actually had proper white horses forming across its breadth. The marinas were not much better as the entrances, though small, are positioned on the north side, thus allowing the dissipating mini waves to coarse right in. For piking the conditions looked spot on and excitedly I shot a sprat into a gully where I was sure a pike might lurk. In the meantime I began plying some casters into the clear water hoping focus the roach I was sure that would be sheltering in the marinas.The cut and thrust of it was I could not buy a bite for love nor money. In the end as dark crept in I switched to my ever faithful perch rig to try see if any obliging perch were around. Luckily two tiny Sargent's saved the day just as dusk fell. Walking away I was shocked at my struggle to find fish when I had been lead to believe these marinas were winter hot spots for sheltering fish.

The morning after the night before I was up well before dawn. After the shocking lack of bites I knew I had to try a locate some decent populations of fish to try and eek any modicum of success on any front. The broad could not have been any more different to the previous days incarnation; the waves were gone and in the moonlight the surface was like giant mirror in the freezing cold motionless morning air.

This was perfect for my needs, as even the tiniest movement would have easily been spotted. Over night I had morphed into something like a carp angler trying to locate signs of feeding fish in order to know where to set camp. A whole hour was wasted on this fruitless endeavour, as not so much as fish fart was spotted. In the end I had no choice but to just go for it in what I hoped might be a productive area. Having the day before seen how clear the water was I totally re-rigged using what I thought might be an inconspicuous rig that incorporated a small crystal waggler and virtually visible line.

To cut a long story short I kept mobile and over the next few hours fished four different marinas trying to locate fish. And truth of it is that for my efforts I had managed to catch a single perch. Thinking these perch might be my best option should I manage a second short session around dusk, I quite literally puréed a handful of worms and pre baited two spots just in case I got back in time for another try.

With the days currently so short it was only fleeting day trip before I was back. My other half is a truly good egg and is very tolerant of my incessant need to angle. So she duly shooed me off to try and grab a few hours before the sun disappeared behind the reeds. It looked spot on conditions as I trundled towards the waters edge. The mornings blue sky had be replaced by unbroken roof of grey which now retained any warmth built up by the sun. A slight ripple constantly wobbled across the waters surface and I knew if any fish were going to feed it would be tonight as dusk came in.

I went straight to the baited spots and settled in. I had purposely baited the two areas so as I could fish them from one spot, thus removing any need for a time wasting moves. The broad had swollen up with the tide through the day and now I had an extra three feet of water on top of the mornings depth. My float fished pike rod was cast just onto the slope of the boat channel that ran along the centre of the marina in case any patrolling pike should come along. That set I went about searching out my pre baited spots. 

The first half an hour passed away quickly with no more than what I would call half a bite. I was beginning to think it was about to be a total wash out when something big swirled right at my feet. I stared intently a the fizzing patch of disturbed water expecting to see the flaring gills of a pike. That was all I needed to make moves to reel my dead bait in and reposition it right next to the bank. My pike rod was actually on my left hand side out the way of my float rod and so when I picked it up I had to pass it from one hand to the other. It was as I did this that I heard the water splash again. Instantly I stopped what  I was doing. After uncrossing my arms looked down past my feet and came face to face wiht not a pike, but an otter!

I just stared at this perplexed looking furry faced critter and it stared back. For a moment I thought if I moved it would just disappear but as I slowly lowered the rod to one side it just looked at me unconcerned. Now I took my chances and reached into my bag for my camera which was positioned just under the unzipped flap. In the time it took my damn camera to make that beboopboop sound the very relaxed otter sauntered along the tyres which prevent moored boats from hitting the concrete bank, sat down and began cleaning its paws. Still not bothered by my presence it went about its business as I manoeuvred myself to try and get a good shot.

It's surprising how hard it is to get good shots of these fidgety creatures. Being in such a flap just to catch a shot I never thought to flip my camera in multiple shot mode and instead tried to just get as many as I could manually with that irritating processing pause between each shot costing me valuable time.

After allowing me only moments to get one decent shot of it about to dive back, the otter slid almost silently into the water. With it gone I just sat in shock thinking, did that just happen. Then from behind a row boats I heard a big splash and ripple soon emanated into open water. I knew the chances of me getting any bites now was about as likely as me winning the lottery, so I concluded to retrieve my gear and go off and see if I could get any better photos before the light went.

For the next forty minutes I followed the otter all around the marina as it dived again and again working its way methodically under the boats. Once I had it targeted I actually found it very easy to track, as when they are under water otters seem to send a constant foot wide stream of fizzing bubble up to the surface. Every now and again a head would pop up and I'd try to snap a shot which ultimately ended up with me having some twenty or more shots of where the otter once was. However I was surprised to see how little the fellow actually caught. Assuming I am correct in thinking that otters have to surface to eat, this one caught a single roach of maybe two ounces and found what I can only assume was a small bunch of zebra mussels in the entire time I was watching it.

It was boredom or lack of quarry that seemed to inspire it to move on and this resulted in my second really close encounter. Quite relaxed and really not bothered by this camo clad beast that was staring, it wandered straight up a boat ramp to within feet of me, before turning tail and wandering off down the path.

It looked like it was about to dive back in on the opposite side of the marina but then suddenly veered off . After rolling around under a speed boat drying its self off on the concrete it just got up and tootled off into the buses close to the marina.

After my excitement had died away later in the evening I pondered the encounter. I know that on small/medium big fish rivers it seems likely that otters have undoubtedly had an effect, and that on unprotected carp fisheries it's like an all you can eat buffet for them. But on these massive open water ways I suspect life is not going to be as easy as grabbing an overfed carp from an over stocked fishery. The otter I had seen was having to do a lot of work for very little return and I truthfully think that it and others present will make little difference on such a massive waterway. In no way did I actually ever think that this otter might be responsible for the poor fishing. In fact quite the opposite! It actually showed me there were fish hiding away in the marinas, just that my tactics seemed unable to catch me any of them.

With one last chance I seriously went hardcore to catch some fish. Float boxes were turfed out and the lightest float I had was threaded onto my line. Scratching around I located the smallest size hooks I had and the bread bin was raided. Then at first light I gently plumbed up the very area where I had seen the otter close to the boats, before half throwing and half spooning two handfuls of bread slop in. I had no choice but to actually fish bread punch. Yes, me, the one of the agricultural rig, fishing slop and punch in a desperate attempt to catch fish. Anyone who has knows me knows that me fishing punch is like a gorilla riding a really tiny little bike! But what the hell, needs must eh?

Lo and behold it damn well worked. After only moments of that tiny speck of bread sinking, the float dithered before half dipping and bang, a little roach.

I have never been so happy to catch a little roach as that one, and it didn't stop there either. The next three hours saw me doing a rather convincing impression of a match angler. Constantly trickling in small amounts of bread slop to cloud the water with shower of tiny particles kept the roach moving. The float was barely still and even with me hitting only one in five bites I managed to build up a respectable amount of precious silvers.

Thinking back now I was exactly right about me regretting not doing some sea fishing, but I did manage to relax whilst still catching some fish in the end. As an angler I know I am are meant to be a venomous hater of the now demonised otter. But I have to say that  my close encounter where I could practically smell the fish on ones breath actually has to have been the highlight of my trip away. Even more controversially I have to be thankful for it turning up, as had it not I would have never had known there was actually was some fish present.

Rough ruffe fishing.

Looking forward to something is a dangerous game! By putting a particular thing on a pedestal if it doesn't quite live up to your expectations then you're only ever going to be let down. Conversely if you don't raise something up in your mind then normally you stand a fifty-fifty chance of it exceeding your expectations and you're happy.

Since my last ruffe safari a year ago I have been really looking forward to having another go, as I ripped them up and landed a new PB in the process. I was thinking that my return this year with methods already devised and swims pinpointed, I once again stood a good if not great chance of cutting them up. Arriving early after a trouble free journey and after bundling my clothes into a wardrobe as only a man can unpack, I slipped off for a quick reckie session to try and see how the land may lay.

Bait the hook, cast the rig, float dips under, strike and land the fish. For two non-stop hours this was my mantra as a stream of hungry perch and roach time and time again took my bait. The only other thing to go through my mind was 'it's only a matter of time till my target species comes along'. Another hour later and my hopes were waning. Half an hour on top of that and I was walking away with a rather perplexed look on my face. How in gods name could I catch so many fish, even have at least one repeater and not catch possibly the most gullible herbert down there? Worst of all that was my number one banker swim.

The next few sessions over the next few days went much along the same lines only with less fish. The broad was not fishing well by all accounts, and everyone fishing was suffering due to the bright conditions and the strangely low tides. Fishing tidal venues is awkward when you're not used to it; you keep having to remind yourself to either increase or decrease the depths of your rig accordingly. Its even more demoralising on the ebb as you can just see the fishing getting worse as the level of water over your quarry's head reduces.

It was the evening of day three when a little light finally shone on my ruffe fishing exploits. I had fished through all the reliable swims thrice over and was making my second pass of the day when my float began to wander. Something had hold of my bait and unlike the suicidal perch which just sink the float, or the cagey roach which dither with it, this fish seemed to be eating my lob worm section as it moved round in a small circle. It had to be and couldn't be anything else other than a ruffe.

I think the most common reaction to catching a ruffe by most people is the surprised exclamation of "oh its a ruffe", normally shortly followed by a plop as the much maligned fish is discharged back to the bottom to carry on its scrounging ways. But I implore anyone who reads this to stop just for a moment and look closely next time you catch one, as this easily overlooked herbert is quite possibly one of our isles best looking fish. Its just that no one bothers to look closely enough to appreciate them.

I was on the board, my account was open, whatever you want to call it, I had landed a ruffe finally. Two more followed that session but all three were peas in a pod at 0.6, 0.8 and 0.6 drams. I am still not convinced that the first and last one weren't the same fish that swam straight back to the baited area and got hooked again.

On the matter of the sea.

I can't visit the coast without doing at least some sea fishing. So taking a break from the intense powder keg world of ruffe fishing, I got out the old broom stick beach rod and packed the other half up ready for a day on the beach. 

Hot summers days at the end of the school holidays and beach fishing are best compared to that time when you were a kid and you wondered what would happen if you made a milk shake using orange squash. It seems a viable idea before you start but that as the two combine you suddenly realise they don't mix that well at all.

Wall to wall blue, the sun beating down on your head like the dessert, and kids all around makes swinging an big chunk of spike clad lead very uncomfortable. Not only was little Tommy and Gilly splashing around in the surf making it difficult, but the general lack of bites made the idea of trying to squeeze in a cast here or there pointless.

For miles up and down the coast anglers had become nocturnal and stayed well away from the throngs, only to come out at night in search of the sacred sole. That was apart from one chap who my fishing radar detected instantly from half a mile away walking up the beach having caught a delicious bass. Turned out he had landed three of them and they all lay gutted under a damp towel. That was enough to spur me to have another go on the same beach. Though all I caught that day was the sun on my neck.

All in all the sea fishing was hard! Too hard for me and the best I feel able to offer you, dear reader, is this picture of a random tall ship which passed by; truthfully the most interesting thing I saw at sea.

Back on the ruffe hunt things were looking up though and a few more slight examples turned up the following night as I eeked my session right into dark. I pushed my luck and hung on thinking surely a better one had to be around. And for once I was right when my barely perceptible float slid slowly under. I would love to describe an epic battle at this point but can't as this is ruffe fishing, and even on most sporting outfit the most that can expected is a little thrashing and splashing. Fight aside this was the best ruffe and last ruffe of the whole week, and although it was way off last years giant two ouncer it still seemed a very special fish in the context of things.

Rumours had been flying around the broad and the local tackle shops all week of some monster perch turning up in the broad. Even as an angler I some times take these things with a pinch of salt and frankly I had discarded the information as soon as I heard it. Especially as after five days of fishing half lobworms over chopped worm/maggot and had not seen a perch an bigger than half a pound, of which let me say there were thousands, if not millions, everywhere!

The morning in question I had slipped out very early to bag a spot I fancied that for the previous four days  had a Geordie match angler firmly entrenched in it, and who had, incidentally, caught naff all fishing a feeder at range. I fancied it as it was the only swim I hadn't fished and it had some nice cover in deep water a rod length out.

However the queue of small perch waiting over my baited spot seemed endless and by the time the sun rose high enough to burn the mist off the water I was already counting my worm baits thinking I would be off soon. Lucky for me it quietened off a little and with my ruffe fishing experience growing I knew this was normally the time the ruffe turned up when the party had ended.

Half an hour of no interest and I was wishing anything at all would take my worm never mind a ruffe. Moments later the float just went! It didnt, dither, bob, slide or dip. It just went! Lucky for me I had the clutch set on ruffe. Because when I answered with a swift srike the fish battered off like a freight train. The first run had me convinced I had hooked a jack pike by the way it surged off. When it got thirty feet from the bank I was sure it was a pike. Thinking it wouldn't be on long, I tightened the clutch and waited for the inevitable snap of my line in its teeth, but the fish turned and kited towards a moored boat  further down the bank. A little more pressure and I managed to avoid that hazard before it came out into open water, making a big swirl as it did. On the next turn a spiky fin appeared and pike turned into perch. Seeing that I eased off fair bit I can tell you. A few more violent runs and it was ready for my waiting net.

I am normally very prepared when I land a good fish and if it was a giant ruffe I was prepared. But even a British record ruffe wouldn't need an unhooking mat, you just hold them in the net. This fish though I needed to be careful with and here I was fishing in a land of concrete without so much of a hint of padding to lay this fabulous fish on. Sadly the best I could do to unhook it was to lay it on a pile of soft ropes I found attached to a boat. Even laying momentarily on that it looked so perfect I couldn't resist a quick snap.

Luckily for me the sight of my bent rod had attracted another angler over who I commandeered into taking a trophy shot. Though this was a risky business in itself, as the chap in question was quite elderly and I could in no way ask the poor fellow to kneel down on the concrete. So instead I risked it, gripped onto the fish for dear life, and stood up for this shot with the most perfect three pounder I have ever caught.