Canal bream fishing.

I feel as if there has been a subtle change in in my fishing recently. I suppose it's one of those organic changes that occurs throughout your fishing as time goes by. I can distinctly remember just wanting to catch any fish at all as a youngster, then as I grew older the natural progression was that I wanted to catch lots of fish and as a result of that I focussed more on that match fishing style. Then with the capture of the occasional larger fish I transcended to chasing specimens and that leads me to where I find myself now. You see right now I don't feel that urge to at any cost catch the biggest fish I can, but instead find myself more motivated by method of capture i.e. catching pike on surface lures, tench on lift floats, carp on alarms or as the case was in this recent session canal bream on the feeder.

What sparked this latest method quest off was a comment I made in conversation where I said that even though I had owned and been using a Shakespeare mach two wand feeder rod for many years, I had, instead of using at as feeder rod, been using it as a margin perch rod on the canal using its stiffest tip. The idea soon grew in the angling cortex of my brain to actually take my mini feeder rod and some micro feeders to a quite well bream renowned area of the Coventry canal and play out my bream fishing micro feeder fantasy, which I promptly did.

It just happened that I also had a new multi feeder arm for my chair I thought would be great to try out as well and with both arm and rod in tow I nipped off down the cut and parked myself opposite the infamous hawksbury marina. I figured to go gently at it and after clipping up the feeder set right in the mouth I the marina I made five casts with a loaded feeder to get my eye in and kick start the session before I found myself setting the rod down with a gentle curve and waited for the bream to appear.

I didn't have to wait long for the skimmers to show and within fifteen minutes the tip pulled round and I landed my first close to a pound. Three more identical ones followed before the shoal moved off.

Although I was already targeting an area  around a meter and half wide it soon became obvious that the fish seemed happier to feed in the slightly deeper water at the bottom of the shelf (spot A). They seemed to occasionally come up onto the shelf (spot B) if I waited long enough but the bites took ages to materialize, as where on spot A there was instant interest. This became so evident, that if I missed the sweet spot by even a foot and a half I would recast straight away.

By keeping on this specific spot and cast regularly the skimmers a perch kept coming intermittently and I hoped it was only  matter of time before I hooked into a better bream. I think the slew of boats which had been conspicuously absent all morning pushed more fish off the main track of the canal and into the sanctuary of the marina, judging by the string of liners I got soon after they passed. Soon enough my scaled down helicopter feeder rig snagged something better and the tip wretched round. The little wand must have looked very impressive bending right over as I played the wet sack in and the rod nodded occasionally. before I slipped the net under a nice looking bream between three and four pounds or so.

I was really pleased with how this session went. It was only a short session as the boats once they got going soon forced me off the canal, but in the time I did get to fish I had ten or more small 10oz -1.6lb skimmers, a hand full of perch and roach and one single proper bream. Most importantly though the scaled down canal feeder method worked a treat with the tiny feeders, helicopter rigs and super light rod. I definitely want to get back to the same spot again to chuck a few feeders around as this area is well renowned for tench as well as bream up to very respectable canal sized fish, especially as I had so much fun on this occasion.

Catching the smallest fish using the biggest bait.

Almost a year ago to the day I was sat next to a massive sheet of water behind two rods baited with worms. My intended quarry that day was the declining eel. But before an eel could find my bait and after the marauding perch disappeared off wherever they go, a little fish picked up my bait. That capture of that little yellow fellow really stoked a passion.
I had forgotten how much I appreciate the capture of these fish, each one always a surprise. After this I wrote passionately about them, but as always my intent to fish again for the humble ruffe was shelved once home in favour of more glamorous fish.

I did however promise myself that one day I would make a concerted effort to fish for them again. I say again because once before myself and three others nearly drove ourselves over the brink of sanity trying to track them down in our local shire. I even under took a journey with Jacky in Norfolk to try and locate a broad where I had encountered them before, only to fail miserably. But his time I had conclusive and up to date evidence of their existence in a body of water, which by happy coincidence I would be holidaying at.

If you were to mention to most that the aim of your fishing whilst away was to chance upon the smallest most maligned fish that swims in that particular lake, they would probably think you mad. Facebook alone is filled with proclamations by anglers that they are heading to a far away venue to capture a new PB or any other of the myriad expeditions we anglers undertake. No one goes away trying to catch a PB ruffe or even tries to catch them, do they.

This I think is where the problem lies. Unless the memorable capture of any fish is not punctuated by a photo of a slime soaked angler cradling some giant as it spills from between his or hers fingers, it would seem it just not worth doing. Though there is a few which dedicate time towards small fish. Dennis Flack is one. He currently holds three UK records all of which are mini species. Another is Mark Everad, whose book 'The little book of little fishes' was like petrol to my smouldering desire to angle after ruffe. I know there must be others who do this too. But it would seem that unlike the more popular aspects fishing which are rammed down our throats daily by the angling media, that the hunting of mini species is a truly underground.

How do you catch a ruffe? Frankly what is written about specifically targeting the diminutive ruffe can be written on the side of one. Prior to leaving I had as much as one can, researched the topic of angling for ruffe with little results. Being a minor species it would seem that they are not worthy of fishing for. Aside from the afore mentioned book by Mark Everad and a few snippets on the web, only Falkus and Walton seem to have dedicated much time to put pen to paper regarding the species, and sadly the majority of what both have written seems directly aimed at the taste and consumption of the poor yellow fellows. Though who would want to eat a ruffe is beyond me. 

With little to go on I knew before beginning that this was going to be a voyage of discovery compressed into a short space of time! But luckily my target area was a medium sized marina aside a massive broad lined by reeds. This would act as one huge feature of which I was not going too, but fish within.

Like most anglers, my automatic assumption was that small fish equals light gear. After all we live by that unwritten rule to give our quarry a sporting chance. So naturally I began using light lines, small hooks in conjunction with an super sensitive float. Bait was the only thing I or anyone else seemingly had a lead on, as what lead me to this point was the previous capture of a trio of ruffe using worms to fish for another species.

Initially my thoughts had been to fish a pole with the obligatory light rig attached. But before setting foot out of  the Midlands I shelved this idea due to the cumbersome tackle involved, instead opting to use a 13ft light float rod and a super sensitive Drennan still water dart float.

My first outing onto the broad in search of of ruffe was by all accounts successful. A liberal helping of chopped worm did its job and attracted instant bites. Time after time the orange tip of the float slid away as ether a small roach or perch gobbled up my single dendrobaena hook bait. After catching a quantity of fish that would not only satisfy a match angler and probably win a match, I received a slight dip on the float before it traversed the swim left to right. My first transparent yellow ruffe was landed and the quest was on.

Another soon followed but my excitement to keep a shoal in the swim by topping up with more chopped worm proved a detrimental decision. More freebies went in and the roach and perch again turned up on mass.

Even though my elbow now ached from action I could not help but think that my success with other species was proving to be my downfall with my quarry. Pondering the problem over ale away from the bank I ran through the session. My rig although successful did not discriminate any species. In fact so sensitive was it that should a passing roach fart, the float would dip. Previous experience told me that although small in stature the ruffe is a bold biting fish seemingly unconcerned by fine rigs. So the drennan dart was gone and replaced by a much less sensitive 4BB peacock waggler.

The 2lb hook link attached to a fine wire size 18 hook soon followed that, to be replaced by a size 12 specimen hook tied direct to my 3lb main line.

Bait was my next thought. The single dendrobaena worm was easily and readily consumed by any fish that swam in water I was fishing. So that was replaced with a section of lob worm which I hoped would at least deter the small roach, thus reducing the bites by half, but did seem totally preposterous at the time.

The following day I put these new ideas in to practise in conjunction with a new baiting attack. The first day the initial helping of chopped worm attracted a lot of fish but the ruffe had not shown until the bites from the other fish had stopped. So going with this theory I baited a single large shot of worm at the start of the session and fed no more.

It worked and the pest fish turned up. Happily no small roach got in on the action but a few larger ones pestered me early on, and they were followed by a mass of annoying perch which I concluded would not be avoided at any cost...

After the intial action subsided I sat back thinking that now was the time when all others had lost interest, that a shoal of scrounging ruffe may appear. Intermittently bites that seemed correct appeared. Single dips followed by travelling floats. Just as if someone was skimming across the bottom with my bait in its mouth. The only thing now was I could hook one for love nor money.

As I re baited with a section of worm, it occurred that although the big baits were getting interest, the way I was hooking them through one end meant that unless the entire bait was consumed the hook stood a fifty percent chance of not being in the right position. So the hook was moved into a more central position...

and pop! First cast, Mr Ruffe was in hand!

Two more followed that morning giving me the distinct impression I was on the right track. Big baits and a strict feeding routine, combined with heavy rigs fished over depth seemed to winkle out the ruffe from the mass of hungry roach and perch circling over their heads. 

Landing a forth just before I finished and strolled back home with the scent of beer back bacon filling my nostrils, I felt this idea to actually spend some time ruffe fishing was not seeming so mad after all.

The sea.

Time spent close to the coast must at sometime be spent casting into the the surf. And as I have become very partial to the odd pendulum cast here or there, it was inevitable that sooner or later I would feel the lap of wave upon toe.

Sadly though my monitoring of the catch reports for the area prior to arriving revealed it had been a torrid summer for the sea angler. Zero swell and nondescript conditions had resulted in only the most dedicated anglers that were prepared to spend all night on the right tides, staring at rods tips illuminated by lamps, reaping a few sole here and there.

Even knowing what was in store for me I still offered myself up to the sea. Wall to wall blue skies and blazing sun greeted me. The beaches although well populated by people were suspiciously lacking in anglers. I felt like a gooseberry standing staring at my rod tip as sun bathers bathed and kids made sand castles alongside me.

Jacky, however, loved it. Normally when I am enjoying myself throwing lead towards the horizon, she finds herself sheltering in a tent smiling through gritted teeth as I enjoy the bounty of the sea. This time the tables were reversed and she reaped the rewards of a late summer, relaxing on the beach as I thrashed the water to a foam trying every possible way to scratch a bite from even a crab. I even brought a lure rod and a selection of shiny lures along to chance a bass in the blue waters. But this only resulted in sun burn from my normally hidden feet being exposed to the savage sun.

Of three sessions where I fished into the sea, the highlight was when, from nowhere, an Apache gunship swung low onto the beach  and tracked along the coast only a hundred feet or so over head. I would have run off down the sand like some scene from a action movie imagining he was strafing rows of bullets into the sand, if I weren't so intent on getting a picture of it as it passed overhead.

With little sport to be had, relaxing became more of a focus, and the time when I appeared to be staring at the motionless rod tip I was more than likely thinking of ruffe fishing and associated things.

Back on the ruffe hunt  I was now catching them regularly and as with always my thoughts turned to weights. I had all along being weighing all the ruffe I landed using my flyweight scales and as always they were proving unreliable as best at these low weights.

An average one like this could weigh anything from half to three ounces which I knew was not right!

Though with my familiarity I had begun to examine and photo them quite closely. In doing so had not only developed a sore patch on my left hand where there spiny gill plates grated on my palm. But I had begun to see the myriad of patterns in their skin and the intensity of violet colour in the eyes, which differed from fish to fish. 

With a good average catch rate developing, I decided to invest in a set of digital kitchen scales capable of accurately weighing my captures in ounces and drams. This proved enlightening not only to the weight of the fish, but to how useless flyweights in their lowest measurements.

This has been a readily discussed topic amongst myself and my good friend Jeff over the years, especially when dace season arrives in late winter. The addition and comparison of the new scales against my fly weights has for me proved that they are totally unreliable below the five ounce mark due to their internal mechanism taking a certain amount of load to initiate. BUT! once that five ounce barrier is broken they are actually quite accurate.

Every ruffe landed now went through the same routine of being weighed and photographed, much to the amusement of any other anglers who were out chucking feeders into the broad chasing bream. 

A giant among tiddlers The broad was shrouded in early morning mist as the sun rose on day five and after walking the three spots I had been targeting plus a few I was considering. I settled back on the area which had so far produced the best results. Even though it was no looker of a swim.

I knew the sun would soon burn the mist from the water and facing east, my eyes would not last long staring  in that direction, so this needed to be a quick one.

With limited time and a fare quantity of worms left over I went for a big hit. Depositing at least the half a pint of chopped worm into the swim around my float. Moments later the rod was hooped over and the line cut across the still surface. This was no ruffe for sure. The dogged fight hinted towards something silver and I suspected another pound plus roach of which I had already landed several of had nobbled my bait. When it shot up the surface and I caught sight of a large silver flank my heart thumped. The next time it came up and dived it succeeded in freeing itself much to my disappointment. One of the old chaps who spend their summers living aboard there boats ventured over having seen me lose the fish, and smirkingly asked if it was good one. My confirmation that I had lost a good roach prompted him to inform me that the marina had produced roach of two pounds in the last few years. Which although hard to believe, might not have been that far off the mark as my best so far had been 1.4lb.

Putting the loss behind me I endured a string of perch before the swim again went dead. As per normal the lack of other fish gave the ruffe time to sneak in for scraps and two small ruffe soon obliged. The next quiet spell lasted ages before my float dipped, then actually slid away. Immediately I suspected the perch had drifted back in and the fish on the end of my line pulled back as much as something this size can. I was being very nonchalant, until what I was convinced was a small perch turned into a big ruffe. Almost embarrassingly I swung it straight into my chest quickly so as not to lose it.

This bar far the biggest ruffe I had ever caught, or seen for that matter. I knew from a previous check of the UK record list that the current record stood a 5.4 oz and this one was about to reveal exactly how big that record ruffe must have been.

Weighing 2.4 oz on the scales it did not look that big, but in my hand it seemed huge. Six and half inches long and totally different looking from all the others, this one stood a chance of being the mother of all them all.

I had caught what is now my official ruffe PB.

The next day I came down to earth with a thump. After landing three fish including the new PB I could not find a single ruffe. Over two different sessions I rotated through four swims and all I could land was flipping small perch. Even when they stopped feeding the ruffe were very much absent. I got the distinct impression that was it. On tidal lakes when the level drops low, which it was doing this month, the fish sometimes push out from the edge of the lake and it can take days for them to reappear.

An angel saves me. On the final day the wind kicked up and I knew the sea would swell. Knowing this would be my best chance of catching anything off the beach I headed seaward to try one last time for even the smallest whiting. Again I walked away after failing to entice a single nibble from the desolate north sea, even after chucking some primo bait at it. It was Jacky, the gem that she is, who as I stuffed rods into bags, that suggested that I might squeeze one last session in as she packed ahead of the journey home.

Moments later I deposited the last of my free offerings into the broad, sat back with only three lob worms left and sipped a bottle of beer  as I watched my float.

It was a close call as two worms worth of bait went down perches throats before a ruffe turned up. It wasn't a PB shaker but still made the top three at 1.7oz, and was very welcome.

With only two thirds of a worm left I clung on till the very end, and after landing a final perch on my last bit of worm, I recast the chewed remains of the bait I had delicately disgorged from it's mouth. Just as the sun hit the reed bed behind me the float bobbed and drifted slowly to one side.  My last cast on my last bait landed my last ruffe. I carefully photographed it and took one last look, before flipping it back.

I watched the sun set over the water as I packed up and mulled over the last few days. After baiting up with over a kilo+ of free offerings, and using over a hundred and twenty lob worms as hook baits, I had waded my way through hundreds of small perch, a handful of semi decent roach and few skimmers, to land sixteen ruffe.

I suppose to a lot of anglers this would qualify as the most unbelievable waste of time, but for me I loved every minute of it, and it may well have pushed me into a new facet of specimen hunting forever.

Only getting silver

Quite honestly I don't know who is more confused right now, me or the fish. In moments between casts into the sea, I thought as a snooker player does about what moves I may make when I returned home to coloured rivers, the scent of damp leaves and mobs of crow cawing from roosts in the woods. Only problem was it was still bloody summer when I got back and all my plans do not fit well with this late heat wave. 

I really want to fish for autumn quarry as does Andy, but no matter how hard we tried to think of something that may be fruitful we found nothing that we thought would be truly productive. So in doubt we crashed Lee's trip and went crucian fishing on October the 2nd...

I do love a nice estate lake and once long ago the lake we were visiting was one, although now it is shadow of what it probably once was. We arrived in pitch black and after checking the notice board for booked pegs (honestly) we set off towards the dam wall.

It certainly looked the part and according to both Lee and Andy this lake held a good population of Crucians right up to big, so I set out my stall accordingly; light floats capable of detecting shy bites, centrepin reels and a veritable smorgasbord of baits.

Mine was a corker of a swim and looked perfect for a Crucian or two, but it seemed it was also perfect for skimmers, which plagued all three of us all day. At 10 oz - 1lb each they were a match anglers dream, but for three midlanders seeking gold they soon became a pain up the arse to say the least.

Confidence on all our parts of catching Crucians was high so the quid for the biggest trophy was put on the line for the biggest of the day, though sadly  unlike Andy and Lee, I never managed to root gold from all the silver. Until he had to head off Lee was on route to take the trophy north for a stint, but Andy fluked a mucking great fish just before we left to steal Lee's thunder.

Seeing it in his net I thought he'd nobbled a two but on the scales it fell a little short at 1.12lb - still enough to keep the trophy south of the M42 nonetheless.

I feel bad saying this as the owners of this lake are obviously working very hard to try and make a nice fishery(which is a credit to them),  but it is rather heavily populated with carp anglers who seem to think they are fishing on a much larger lake than they are, and show little to no concern for each other, never mind the few visiting anglers trying to scratch a few fish from amongst their web of lines.

Panning for gold

They say you need a good breakfast to start the day, a fact I certainly believe in. But a lesser known fact I also believe in is that to start your day or fishing session you need a good sound track to get you into the right state of mind.

Personally I have a rather varied and encompassing  musical taste, and on any given journey to water I could find myself listening to anything from the Rolling Stones to Bentley Rythm Ace, right through the Rat Pack before coming back via Amy Winehouse. 

Sitting in the car I flipped the leaves of my CD collection and happened upon on perfection for the journey ahead. What else could I listen to as I cruised into the Warwickshire country side but the waling tones of the 1960's psychedelic rock legend that was Janis Joplin. 

Having finally arrived after giving the steering wheel as much of a battering as the car speakers I descended the  tree shrouded drive turning off the music as I did, as this is the point where I move from the outside world into a tranquil world of angle... Oh and I didn't want to piss off anyone already fishing as I traversed the lake side road by Janis screaming ' Take it, take another little piece of my heart' as they tried to hold their pole steady.

Turned out I hadn't of worried as I had the whole lake to myself all day: 'Score!'

On the way there I had listened to 'summer time' the song and technically it is summer time here in the UK if you'd believe it, so today I intended to angle for the epitome of English summer species: Crucian carp.

Unlike so many of the other species that I pursue Crucians don't seem to care how hot it is or what time of the day they feed. In fact in my experience on a lot of lakes they actually prefer it to be hot and stifling. I suppose this is largely to do with their uncanny ability to live in water with practically no oxygen it. They are hardly caught before the frosts end and once the first chilly nights of autumn arrive they once again become scarce.

Feeling a little classical I had opted to fish some classical kit by way of my old speedia centre pin and a old school quill float. I would have included my 13 foot billy lane cane match rod in that but sense had prevailed as a day of holding that beast is by no way relaxing...

A little bit of this bait scattered in followed by a little of that and I was off. First cast I could say that the bait never got to the bottom before it was taken, but that would be a lie, as to say this the bait would have had to got past the top, which it didn't! The first fish of the day was another summer classic, a Rudd which snatched it the instant it hit the water.

Hungry and perfectly formed there was masses of them within inches of the surface.

I had to box clever here or the voracious horde would hamper my chances of going for true gold. The answer came by way of two pints of red maggots which I began to dispense onto the water a rod length off my chosen spot. 

It did work to some extent as my baits were at least hitting bottom but still I had no choice but to wade through the masses of roach, bream, perch, Rudd and micro tench with my float dipping within seconds of the bait sinking.

As the sun neared overhead I caught sight of something very interesting. A pod of three lovely golden crucians swam bold as brass right in front of me only two feet from the bank. What happened next was pure wonder! When baiting my swim, I had done it from a little to the right of where I was actually going to fish and seemingly some of the bait had fallen in the edge and probably a bit short of the intended mark. As suddenly as they appeared they stopped in unison, all dipped and began to pick up the freebies. I watched as the pod followed the measly trail into deeper water towards my bed of waiting goodies. Sure enough moment after they disappeared into the abyss a gentle dip of my float was followed by it slowly sliding away.

I managed to pick two of them out before they seemingly slipped away to be replaced by the hungry horde again. But that little tiny insight into there movement was just too telling. As I topped up the feed I scattered a hint of bait purposely this time in a line ninety degrees from the bank leading again to my baited area.

It worked a treat and through the afternoon more pods of between three and five fish cruised into sight before duly stopping over the bait and changing course towards my trap.

Ten in total graced my net and of them, seven were some of the grand old fish that inhabit his lake; the other three were a few of the new smaller stock which was added earlier this year. I saw these tagging along behind the big boys learning the lay of the land and they will soon enough reinvigorate the ageing stock.

A photo of summer

I can't deny it. I am a sucker for a brace shot

Aside from a great catch of Crucians I caught a shocking amount of fish whilst trying to extract that streak of gold. I didn't bother to net anything other than the Crucians but I landed well over twenty small bream between 1.5lb and 3lb, an easy15-20lb of Roach, Rudd, perch, tiny tench and one of the roach topped the scales at 1.2lb.

I have to say that Snitterfield reservoir is fast becoming the jewel in the crown of LAA and to any other Leamington members. "Snitters is on absolute fire at the minute so if you want to bag up in a monstrous way get down there and don't forget some serious bait as it took me two pints of red maggots, 1.5 kilos of pellets and a couple of bags of ground bait to winkle out that lot".

Change of scenery.

Sunday was supposed to be a continuation of mine and Andy's part in the great Midlands monster perch rush, until I got a phone call from him as I sat digesting my tea on Saturday evening... He informed me that news had reached him that our super secret squirrel hole canal stretch was out of action the following day.

With all our kit set up and ready to go for a canal foray the only sensible option was to simply try another stretch of canal. The only one that stuck out as a candidate was an area I fished last autumn which as far as I am concerned fits the bill for big perch, largely thanks to its population of signal crayfish. It turned out to be a total blow out! Keeping mobile whilst fishing four rods over an entire bridge to bridge section we managed nothing apart from a single crayfish which tried to make off with my roach dead bait. Even that had the common sense to let go before reaching my hand where I would more than likely have taken out my frustration on it with a bank stick.

With three dire sessions under my belt I felt the need for a mid week jaunt out and promptly went to work Monday morning and wangled a day off. In my current fish-less state I did not want to narrow down my chance of catching by being species specific, and in all honesty I just need to see that float slide away to reaffirm to myself that fish have not undergone some kind of mass extinction in Warwickshire. With those two things as key criteria I chose to spend a sunny day fishing pole in hand at a venue I adore.

Snitterfield reservoir

 

This small man made reservoir nestled on the sloping orchard lined hills of the Avon valley is a favourite venue of mine though I never spend as much time up there as I feel I should. This deep lake takes ages to warm up as the year progresses and its exposed location can make it a brutal place on the wrong day; but on the other hand it is rammed with fish and on the right day could put a smile on anyones face.

I haven't visited it since summer last year and what happened to it during our Arctic winter was anyones guess, but a week or two of sun had to be having its effect by now. The depth of it even a couple of rod lengths out is shocking, so like most pole fishing the edge was order of the day.

After setting up stall near one of the few overhanging trees on the lake I potted some sensas noire ground bait plus a few pinkies onto one line four metres out, and a deposited a cup of chopped worm under the overhanging branches to have little look for some better perch which I suspect this lake may hold.

I did not have to wait long for the float to dip and my first roach of the day made its way bank ward. It was by no means furious fishing but by constantly feeding small amounts of pinkies the bites began to come regularly if a little slowly. The best roach of the day came not long in at around ten ounces and was mint, as all the roach in this lake seem to be. 

Through the day I intermittently tried the worm line to no avail but after going back to my main swim again the float dipped quickly under and my hopes of a bigger roach seemed to have momentarily been answered until a skimmer bream appeared thrashing on the surface.

How I wished that were a roach!

I managed to keep the roach coming all day and the average size was pretty good at between 4 -8oz so I was in no way disappointed. Though I do rather regret not taking my keepnet, as net full of silver makes a cracking photo every time.

The lake seems to be coming to life, the constant dappling of the surface by small fish intersected by the occasional swirl of a larger carp. Even though the sport was not as hectic as it has the potential to be I think the slow warming of this lake means the water temp is well behind most shallower venues, hence the fish are still feeding in this winter manner. So if I get the chance to return at the weekend I may use a winter approach on a warm spring day to try and locate some bigger roach.

Food for the soul.

Occasionally I find myself guilty of concentrating so much on what I am doing that I do not see the real beauty of my surroundings. By this I mean that  though I spend as much of my spare time as I can out in the wilds of the verdant land in which I reside, I am more than likely staring intently at a rod tip or float and miss out on the wondrous back drop that frames the whatever I am staring at.

I had got Friday off work and went out fishing with no more intention of casting line upon water and hoping something might nibble my bait. I headed to one of the most quiet spots my beloved Avon has to offer. With no particular species in mind I tossed out a feeder full of liquidised bread and crushed grilled hemp into the deep slow moving water. As I suspected the fish were being a little more than finicky But I did not care at all as the view in front of me was sublime.

Sitting next to the river sipping tea I lazily basked in the warm winter sun as my rod tip nodded occasional-ally as one of the resident tiddlers pecked at my bread bait. I got my first view of a water rail as it sauntered along the reed bed in front of me but sadly I couldn't move an inch towards the camera before it shot of over the river into the under growth. By mid morning I had managed to scrape together a hand full of bits and a couple of little skimmers around a pound. The next tap was followed by a hoop of the rod and I found myself playing one of the resident bream for a short while before I bumped it off. My next bream also found freedom but the third made it's way to the net and sent the scales round to a satisfying 6lb something.

The afternoon slowly drifted away as had the bream shoal and with the sun at it's highest the rod tip went into stasis. Leaving my post I meandered off along the wooded bank to see who or what may have been around. The birds were going wild catching flies in the first bit of warm weather for a few weeks and I spent a good half an hour watching a pair of tree creepers moving from tree to tree pecking at any insects too slow to escape them. I did come across a couple of fellow fishermen; one who was holding out for monsters which I suspect never turned up, and an old chap whom I sat beside for a while and chatted to as he ran a stick float through and swung in a dace or roach with the regularity of a metronome. It's strange but I love to watch other people fish as much as I love to do it myself especially when they do it as well as this chap.

After returning to my kit I settled in for the final few hours, most of which was uneventful, but I did add a few more skimmers as I sat watching the river slip by. I had a feeling I was in for something special when the sun set and as it dipped behind scar bank the country side seemed to become illuminated  by the sunset before everything went dark. As if by magic the fish population who had spent the afternoon being so coy threw off all caution and the river erupted into a carpet of swirls and ripples as they rolled and flipped in the half light. I kind of expected to get a bit of last minute action but I think the fish were more interested in having a good time than feeding, though I didn't care as sometimes it's just nice to out and see the sunset in a different place.

I don't think anyone in the world would be disappointed by that.

A contrasting session

After my last fishing session I could not have chosen a more contrasting place to fish than my local canal. Like another of my fellow challenge competitors I have a severe case of Ruffe obsession on the go right now that an early morning foray Sunday morning should have helped with, but... my first night back in my beloved bed after six nights in what can only be termed as the worst bed in England meant I overslept! So I left it alone until Monday morning which I conveniently had off too.

Before I go into the details of this trip I feel I should explain something. If there is one type of fishing I was meant to do in this wondrous life it is canal fishing. I was born in a hospital next to a canal, every school holiday from 11-18 years old were spent on the Coventry canal, many a fair Bedworth maiden was wooed by me along those mingin banks, I have swam, fell into and even rode a motor bike full tilt into one.
So with the genetic code of a born and bred cut dipper running through my veins I felt sure I could get into a few fish and hopefully at least one Ruffe.

Most of my recent fishing on canals has been after the larger fish that do inhabit them but today I was going old school with a bit of pole fishing on the cards. One thing I know from experience about this type of fishing is that if you want to catch small fish, or any fish, from a canal is that you don't need much bait at all and fish as fine as you dare.

Once I had located the sort of sandy area I was looking for I began my gentle attack by first cupping in a pot full of riddled mole hill with a little ground bait on to one line down the edge and a second down the middle in the trench. I would have gone for a lone line but couldn't be arsed to drag all the kit needed for long pole fishing along with me.

Giving my ground bait a while to stew I pulled out my top kits and plumbed up a couple of rigs both consisting of a light  drennan pinkie floats on 3lb main line with 1lb hooks links and size 22 kamsan hooks.

Now set up and ready with everything within reaching distance I swung out my first drop in. A top tip I will share with any would be canal fisherman is, when fishing on the marginal shelf swing your rig out into the middle and let it swing back onto the shelf, as any fish looming just off the shelf that know there is food up there but do not have the confidence to come onto it, will nearly always shoot out and grab the slowly sinking bait.

After only moments the float dipped slightly enough for my to hit into a small 1oz roach. Second cast again produced another bite from a 3oz skimmer.

After putting out a pinch of pinkies and rested the margin line whilst I had a look on the middle line. The bait never even got to the bottom before the float shot under as my first nice perch nobbled my slowly sinking double pinkie.

The perch had arrived and know were dominating the proceedings  and by rotating between the two lines I kept a constant steam of perch coming every cast. By now I was regretting not bringing a keepnet with me as I was having to scribble down the weight of each fish as the perch point was on the cards. Every so often my number 6 elastic would shot out of the pole as a bigger perch pulled away. The two best perch of the session went 11 & 13oz each.

I did lose one good perch of over a pound as I shook my head in amazement as two coppers took their early morning stroll along the canal. By the end of the morning I had put together over four pounds of perch in about 30+ fish - who says the canals don't fish! Though I didn't get any Ruffe I am sure if there were any around they would of had no problems getting in on the action with the perch and if this canal can produce those sorts of catches with just two or three cups of ground bait and a few pinkies just think what a chopped worm could do. I did really enjoy getting back to my roots and doing some old school canal fishing and now I have just received some info off Andy about the exact location of a recent Ruffe capture I am sure I will back on another canal very soon.

What a difference a week makes.

Still determined to get some crucian action before the season starts I went back to snitterfield pretty much exactly one week after my last visit. Though the place could not have been more different. Gone was the clear skies and early morning sun, replaced by cloudy speckled skies and a stiff breeze. The night before I had messaged Andy to see if he fancied a trip out and when I arrived to a busy snit he was already set up on the windward end of the lake. Leaning out of my car window bidding him good morning Andy told me he had already seen a few crucians topping in the area. With the car stowed I walked back to fish a swim I have never fished but had heard it can be a quite good.

Again I went with the long rod and pole float combination, whilst a short zig was placed into the margin for good luck (lucky it was not.) After putting a few small balls of pellet laced ground bait tight to a over hanging tree I cast a tiny blob of paste over it. I had purposely bought no maggots with me to prevent a repeat of last week. The stiff breeze was getting worse as the morning progressed and I had the horrible feeling that the ripple caused by this was working against my bait presentation. The crucians here can, like all other crucians I have ever encountered before, bite very shyly. So getting the right balance between being able to present the bait well enough for them to pick it up and being able to register those tiny bites can be very hard.

After an hour of sitting on my bait all I had to show for my efforts was a skimmer and a  couple of roach. The cloud breaking and the sun peeping through heralded a change and soon I began to see some tiny bubbles pop up over my bait., though my hopes were again soon dashed as with the warmth came stronger winds and the ripples became more like small waves.

I stuck it out as long as I could but with every gust of wind my confidence drained away. Walking round to chat with Andy I soon realised that a little way up the bank  the wind was alot less vigorous, so a move was in order. Five minutes chatting to Andy who was fishing the pole close in and I could see the difference a well dotted down float controlled by a short line made; as he was hitting bites my crude set up would never even register. After moving to a swim up the bank I again baited with ground bait. But this time my pole float was kept on a very short line directly under the rod tip. Sadly it made little difference. The bites were so shy even from the roach population who had last week plagued me. I did bag another better roach and bump of a couple of fish but sadly my lack of finesse today had let me down.

Once we had both had enough I went over to see what short of a catch Andy had amassed whilst I had been staring at my float. An impressive hall of roach, hybrids, perch, bream and a single crucian lay in the bottom of his net.  When asked it turned out that none of the other anglers fishing today had fared much better than me so Andy's slick pole tactics put him at the top of the pile on a all round poor day.

So it would seem that this self confessed lead chucker will have to delve deep into his shed and search out my dust covered pole and make up some more refined rigs if I am to really get the best from this lake.