Fishing in The Duke of Marlbourgh's fish pond

I have a real love for fishing estate lakes! The combination of the feeling that this lad from a mining town in the heart of the Midlands gets mooching around on some lords country pile, and the ever romantic Mr Crabtree influences of yesteryear seem to always attract me to them.

When Keith initially asked me if I fancied sharing a boat for the day on Blenheim palace lake the possibility of me saying no was rather unlikely. From the moment I agreed I went into research overdrive as I looked for any fishing reports from the last three hundred years or so since the place was built. Before we even discussed tactics a few general areas had turned up time and time again in my research. A phone call prior to the trip had confirmed both of  us were on the same page. The Perca fluviatilis page that is! The perch in this lake can grow to some impressive proportions and my bag of clonkers a couple of weeks ago had whetted my appetite enough for me to dedicate this trip to them solely.

The early morning drive to Woodstock seemed to fly by and before we both new it we were standing in front of what can only be described as the most spectacular entrance to a fishery in the world. We were first in the queue but soon enough a cavalcade of cars were racked up awaiting the ceremonial opening of the twenty foot tall high medieval style gates that were nestled between a few hundred tons of hand hewn stone. I for one expected that when those hallowed gates were opened that we would be met by a Barbour clad gent flanked by two Labradors. Turned out to be a chap wearing stone washed jeans, white trainers driving a old Peugeot that looked more like a private hire cabby than the archetypal estate worker.

Driving down the long drive that tracks the lake gave a true impression of the sheer amount of water at our disposal for the day and I for one felt glad we had some kind of plan in place. By 7.15am we were carving our way up the lake towards John Vanguards Grand bridge passing a small shack at the top of the lawn as we did.

I read a fair amount of information about the Grand bridge as I knew it would be one of the target areas for the day. Built to honour the first Duke of Marlborough's numerous victories in battle it was supposed to be the biggest and grandest in the entire land before they ran out of funds and the plans were simplified by removing the top floors. Even though it was only half completed it was still the butt of many jokes at the time as this massive structure bridged no more than a trickle of a brook which was split into three shallow canals! Whilst reading I found this quote by Alexander Pope which I felt kind of made the point.

'The minnows, as under this vast arch pass, murmur, how like whales we look, thanks to your grace'

From a distance yes it looked big.

Moored up nearby you understand why it is known as the Grand bridge

One of the things I found most intriguing about this structure as an angler was that when Capability Brown and sons were hired  to re landscape the grounds his first decision was to totally dam the stream, flooding the whole valley to form the lake, which in turn submerged a whole floor of rooms at the base of the bridge. As anglers we all know structure means fish and I could imagine monster perch hanging in open archways waiting for prey fish to pass by. The reality of it was that hundreds of years of silt accumulating meant the water around the base of the bridge was only a few feet deep and those rooms were long since buried.

We did locate a deeper channel that ran in line with the large arch and this became our target area for this swim. Fishing a float rig into the channel with lob worms as bait whilst spraying red maggots over the top brought little interest from anything but after watching another angler land a nice pike opposite us I turned to see my own float from my dead bait line zipping across the surface which resulted in a plump pike that removed the possibility of the dreaded blank.

After agreeing to move we rowed over to a very fishy looking swim framed by a couple of bare trees whose limbs hung low and into the water. We were following a tip that the lake had a good depth in this area and had a reputation for big perch. It wasn't an easy area to fish as the wind which was hammering onto our backs dislodged my light float every cast. Keith who had brought a pole along managed to hold fast even with the wind battering him. After changing to a much more buoyant float to hold bottom I got what I thought was my first slow slide away of the float. Upon striking I could feel something was attached, though it felt rather inanimate to me. As I reeled it in it put up no fight whatsoever but in the boat it woke up and became rather aggressive.

Robbing little gits!

Up until I saw it break the surface I never heard anything about there being signals in the lake but now I began to understand why the perch population seem to grow so large here. A little later Keith did hook a nice fish in his seemingly crayfish-free swim; both of us hoped to see a spiny fin and stripes through the murk were surprised to see a tench roll beside the boat. Though we hadn't even got the net out, so for the first time ever in my life I tailed a tench from a freezing lake in February.

My crayfish problems only got worse in this swim as they severed my hook links and dragged at least three dead baits down their burrows for dinner, so again we moved down wind to another likely looking spot and as we did the sun finally showed its face after a morning of wind and rain.

Moody skies

The next chosen spot yielded nothing at all but over the other side a reed lined area in the lea of the wind called us over to its gentle waters. Approaching it the wind dropped and silence fell until I managed to crash the boat straight into the reed bed whilst trying to follow Keith's instructions and getting left and right oars rather confused. I did eventually get us out of the mess and into a nice position parallel to the reeds.

Anyone would think there was big perch here.

The day before I had heard along the grapevine that Jeff had been at it again and landed a double figure Zander at bury hill only a few days after bagging a double figure barbel from the Avon. Hearing this sparked a pure stroke of genius in my mind (Yes Jeff, you are now my muse) and it was now time for me to put my cunning plan into action. Combined with a liberal handful of chopped worm my new fish tempting totem worked a treat as my float slide away whilst I was having a look at my dead bait float. A quick warning from Keith and I was hooked into a determined fish. I was unsure of what it was was and if I was honest the acute angle my fourteen foot float rod was in as the fish swam under the boat had me squeaking a bit as I have seen  tips of long rods snap due to this before.

Looking worried!

 A paint brush tail breaking the surface confirmed our boats second tench of the day and at three pounds fourteen ounces added some vital challenge percentages. I have to put it down to my new camo creation.

My new Jeff hatt camo tricked this tench into thinking it should be in his hands

We decided to stick it out on the perchy looking reed lined area and put down some bait in anticipation of some big perch switching on as the light faded. With all kinds of features in front of us we felt sure something would sooner or later take interest in our baits!

.

Over hanging trees trees dead reeds  there has to be something hiding here!

and there was

Ronnies!

All to soon we stared to get the impression our dead roach lying on the bottom were receiving some rather unwanted attention. About half an hour before we were due back at the boat house Keith took a punt and cast his dead bait sans float out into the open water. This turned out to be the best decision made all day on our boat and after what we suspected may have been a ronnie run his recast bait was picked up properly. With only the bait runner as bite indication the whole thing was like a scene from Jaws as one click was followed by another before turning into a click click buzz. At first both of us thought a small jack may have been on the end of the line but as it neared to boat it really pulled back. My earlier pike had been chinned out no problem but the net was needed for this one, although the only one quickly available was a folding trout net. It turned from an unseen jack into a low double on the surface then whilst I was trying to force it into the net it became evident it was a much larger fish. Lying across the rowing board it seemed very long a rather plump! After two weighings a weight of 17.7lb had Keith beaming at a new PB and what a place to do it from.

With the fish carefully realised after a few photos we realised we were close to our departure time and quickly packed up and made our way back over the lake to the boat house. On our return we found that it had been a bumper pike day all round with one boat banking over ten fish with the biggest over twenty.

The whole day was great even thought he weather punished us at times and I have no doubt in my mind that I will be back in the summer after those illusive monster perch and probably tench as well.  

Forcing the issue and struggling to settle.

Over the last seven days I have managed to get out three times and to be honest not one of those trips have lived up to my expectations for one reason or another!

The first trip on Thursday of last week was admittedly a prospective session at Ryton pool carp fishing. All winter long I have quietly been planning, bait making and studying old blogs in readiness for an early spring assault on this water, and with the weather being already milder than this time last year it seemed the perfect opportunity to have my first go.

A mild overcast day raised my hopes of a run or two and upon arriving at Ryton to see a flat calm pool shrouded in low light, my carpy senses were tingling in anticipation. 

Throughout the day I did see a couple of golden backs break the surface of the lake and every now and again a couple of bleeps on the indicator belied the attentions of moving fish, but after moving constantly all day and searching out every area on the lake I thought might yield a fish, all I had to show for my efforts was one dropped run just before it was time to leave.

During a packed weekend I returned for a short two hour session on Sunday evening to try my chances again in the same area as my previous run came from on my last session. I suspected on my last visit that my baits had been picked up and the rigs had failed to hook up the culprits so I made some modifications prior to arriving. This time I registered no odd bleeps at all until the light went and my right hand rod which had been cast tight to the bank roared off. I only felt the juddering of what I suspect was small carp for a moment before the line went slack.

After two sessions where I have managed to get some kind of response from the fish in Ryton I have concluded it is still a little too early to get a full on campaign going. I may have been trying to force the issue a little but still, they are waking up and give it a few weeks and they should really start to wake up and they may even be hungry...

My third trip was one myself and Andy had been planning for a while to the picturesque river windrush nestled on the Cotswolds. I first visited this river a few years ago and it was the site of my first ever greyling capture.

All week I had been watching the weather and praying the rain would ease off as this clear river never responds well to too much rain, as the fish population spend most of the year swimming in gin clear water and sight feeding.

After meeting up with Dave we scoffed a hearty breakfast before obtaining our tickets from the local tackle emporium and headed down to the first section. I was half excited and half worried since the night before regarding the conditions and this is where my troubles started! I had brought with me three rods. One for trotting and two others for light and heavy ledger work as well as a huge array of baits to try. The river was not as bad as I thought it would be, but on the other hand I was... as we worked our way round both beats I could not settle into what I was doing at all. If I was ledgering I thought I should be trotting. If I was trotting I thought I should be feeder fishing. We all lost a fair amount of kit on unseen obstacles but by far I seemed able to find every bit of debris in the river with ease.

Fishing the slacks I managed to scrounge a few taps but my first real bite came fishing under a mat on a half sunken tree when a small trout grabbed my bread bait before snagging me up under the mat. Several moves later whilst trotting a lovely glide I lost a half decent greyling on the retrieve as I slackened off reeling it in and the small hook popped clean out.

I found myself falling foul of putting too much pressure on myself to catch. I felt like I had to cover the whole river in one day, so if I wasn't getting bites straight away I needed to move on as quickly as possible.  In retrospect I would have far better off concentrating on one swim all day rather than flapping round like an idiot loosing crap loads of gear and generally getting wound up.

And after all that I realised too late that whilst concentrating on not catching fish I hadn't bothered to get the camera out and take and pictures and so had missed some wicked shots. Though I did grab a couple just before the light started to fade.

Pleasing percidaes

Sunday Morning I joined forces with Andy to have a session on a section of canal that is rumoured to have produced some very large roach recently. Meeting in a lay by in the dark early on Sunday morning it felt very clandestine but eventually Andy arrived little late after a bit of a bait disaster at home.

I always approach a new section of canal with a little trepidation as in my opinion it inevitably goes one of two ways! Mine and Andy's approach for the day was pole fishing bread punch down the track, though I did feed a second line with a generous helping of chopped worm in a different area and chucked out a dead bait under a float near the far bank, both as back ups in case the roach fishing did not go well.

After a bite less hour I had no confidence that the bread punch was going to produce at all, as between the two of us we only one roach to show for our efforts which Andy had caught, and that was smaller than the dead bait I had hooked on my predator rig earlier. Moving onto my chopped worm line turned out to be the best decision I have made in a good many years of fishing and after a small perch grabbed my worm hook bait on the drop on my first put in, my second resulted in a perch ten times bigger than the first. Seeing the fish in the net my eyes were bulging and I quickly slipped it into the keep net to see if any more were hanging around.

They were! and by cupping copious amounts of bait in every time the bites began to dwindle, the perch kept coming. Half way through the morning from the corner of my eye I saw the dead bait float start bobbing before moving off slowly. After waiting an age for the bite to develop my strike pulled the bait clean out of the water. But I knew only too well if it was, as I suspected a zander, a second run was not that far away and it wasn't. This time a mental zed tried it's best to throw my hook thrashing around on the top. On the bank it turned out to be the angriest Zander I have ever encountered which turned out to be rather a help when we had our picture taken together and it posed a treat.

I did land a second Zander of a pound which took a huge lob worm on the perch line that stunted the perch sport. By dinner time my bait was gone and the only thing left to do was pull the net and go mad with the camera as opportunities like these don't come round every time we go fishing!

Eight fat perch, four over a pound.

All the big ones were undoubtedly related.

The two biggest, the top fish was just scraping 2lb and the bottom fish was a fraction over 2lb.

Piscatorial pictorial.

I managed to get out this weekend...

I met up with this chap...

And this geezer...

We fished round the corner from where this bloke used to live...

And like anyone else out this weekend got hammered by this...

Still, we managed to do a bit of this...

And a bit of this...

We caught some of these...

Plus a few of these...

As I packed up I stood in a fresh pile of this...

And Rob, who was down wind, went a bit like this!

The End

A few over the weekend.

I managed to get Friday off and finally got together with Jeff to target a narrow fast flowing bit of the upper Avon we both hold in high regard for Chub fishing. About four years ago I fished this area every other week and plundered it senseless of its healthy stock of good chub landing more fours than I can remember, a good helping of fives and my PB 6.4lb. A few years later when I had finished with this stretch, myself and a couple of friends went back to do some perch fishing and whilst doing so my old house mate Matt landed a monster chub bigger than anything I had ever seen before. God only knows why we didn't weigh it but it was a truly epic fish.

I wasn't an early start but we soon found ourselves looking at the slightly coloured upper Avon. Jeff slipped off upstream to target a tree lined bend I know only too well but I decided to head straight for the deep bomb hole responsible for so many big chub. It is a bit of a transitional swim where a patch of bullrushes push the flow onto the near bank and scour out a deep trench in the muddy bottom. At the end of the swim the river grows shallow as the water hits a gravel bar and this is where most of the chub seem to hang out.

As I approached the swim I attracted the unwanted attention of a pony in the field which, once I had crawled into position trying to keep off the sky line, appeared on the high bank behind me and spent the next hour and half staring intently at me from three feet away. I made five or so prospective casts with bread and cheese paste but only got a few trembles on the tip. I decided to try and see if a bit of mashed bread would liven things up, which it did when two swans appeared from nowhere and went mental, ducking under water grabbing my bread as it flowed downstream. In no time at all they where right over my baits and upending desperately trying to reach any morsels they could find. If that wasn't enough once finished they did a spectacular mating dance right in front of me before spending the next thirty minutes preening and splashing in my now buggered swim.

Jeff had by now moved onto pastures new and I soon followed to the next field. My next swim was one I used to always overlook but today it looked different for some reason. Over time rivers change and up until today this swim had always looked young, shallow and streamy, but looking at it again now years on it seemed to have developed a deeper eddy  of the edge of the fast flow and now seemed all that bit more chubish.

As always when I fish for chub I snuck into place and made a delicate first cast with a irresistible hunk of bread. My feeling about this swim was spot on and a double tap was followed by that fantastic hooping of carbon. Though I rarely go chub fishing nowadays I still admire their dirty powerful fighting ability and this one pulled out all the stops to prevent me pulling it out from under the snags. Once out of the danger zone it just plodded around in circles in front of me till I caught sight of a broad back and white lips under the water.

As it neared the net I thought it had five pounds written all over it and in the net I felt certain it was a five but on the scales it lost weight only pulling the dial round to 4.8lb. Even though it fell short of my target weight it was still a very nice fish on a January dinner time.

As I packed up to move to my next swim I spotted the figure of Jeff approaching over the field. A quick chat revealed he too had a chub which had also seemed bigger than it weighed at 2-3lb. We both agreed there was only a couple of swims left on the stretch and met up moments later to fish ether side of a snaggy bend. I fished my swim for half an hour or so before I got that feeling that nothing was going to happen and went over and sat behind Jeff, flask of tea in hand, till it was time to off.

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Zander or anything in mind

Sunday soon came around and all week I had been planning to drop onto the river around Lucy's mill to try my luck for a zed or two. I had told Jeff I was heading that way whilst with him on Friday and his eyes lit up with an invite.

On the river in the dark I let Jeff have first dibs on the swims as he was fishing for prey and I was chasing predators. My casting of 2-3oz of dead bait with 2oz of lead to pin it down may have proved a little disturbing for the local roach population so I gave him a wide berth. Normally this whole area is good for a few bites from a zed or two but today they were strangely absent. You only get a small window of an hour before and an hour after to nab a few bites so I was always planning on moving up stream once the light had settled in. But the arrival of two chaps from the local club pegging out a match just confirmed it was time to move.

My next plan was to fish a feeder rod on the plateau adjacent to the weir to try and bag one of the ever present bream that loom off the edge of the weir pool, whilst chancing a single chunk of spicy luncheon meat on the edge of the main flow after an unseasonal Barbel.

Opening my bucket of ground bait my senses were met by and rather disturbing fruity stink. The day before I had liquidised a loaf of bread to use as ground bait. I had also found a bag of cooked hemp in the freezer which too had also been run through the food processor to form a milky slurry which was added to the mix. Though once it had been added a distinctly spicy smell emanated from the mix. The hemp turned out to be a chilli flavored batch I had been using for barbel fishing last year. At the time didn't feel it would be that harmful but it turned out that a night in our warm kitchen sealed in the bucket had sparked some kind of fermentation and the smell was far from pleasant. Confidence in your bait is a key factor as far as I am concerned. If i use a ground bait I think smells good to me I think fish will like it too and I will keep banging it out till I get a bite in total confidence that sooner or later a fish will move onto it. But this stuff was well off the mark. After a hour of fishing I had only managed a few knocks and Jeff had already moved off to another spot. 

Later I could see Jeff landing a fish upstream even before the phone rang and the excited conversation regarding a big roach had me quickly heading his way. Generously he offered to let me squeeze in next to him and cast into a very tight area where all his bites were coming from. Before I had even set a new light ledger set up (the feeder was done away with as not one drop of my foul ground bait was going to ruin this swim after Jeff had invited me in) Jeff had landed another good roach. Casting above him I could not get a bite as Jeff constantly struck at frenzied bites. A second quick move to Jeff's opposite side enabled me to cast downstream of him began to generate bites but by now it seemed the fishes confidence had gone. 

As time wore on I did manage to start getting some better bites but nothing like the pulls that Jeff had first encountered. Making a switch to maggots finally yielded a good roach which sadly found freedom moments later, resulting in a barrage of good olde English curses which startled a pair of passing tourists. All had gone quite on the roach front until Jeff hooked a fish which turned out to be very plump perch that looked every bit 2lb but still I struggled on. A couple of good bites did help me avoid the blank with two tiny perch.

My luck didn't get much better when a real savage bite heralded a much heavier fish. At the time there was a decent group of tourists standing by us and the bending rod to a non angler is a real source of amusement and they crowded closer. I really hoped it was a big perch but Jeff standing leaning over the river net in hand confirmed a 3-4lb Jack pike just before my light hook link was severed sending my lead zipping past his head.

With the roach gone and me already very late home for dinner it was time to away but not before getting some shots of Jeff's red letter day. A few brace shots and a net shot later it was my turn for a brace shot and although I felt a right berk holding two little perch for the camera. However Jeff's confirmation that largest of thetwo perch - five whole ounces - was enough to push me into second place in the challenge helped me force out a smile.

It had turned out to be one of those days for me when I could not do right for wrong. Not being able to connect with a bite for love nor money when your companion is bagging up can only be described a character building, but it was still nice to see some superb fish come out of the river.

One last thing; of late I have begun to see a few shoots here and there and the snow drops are showing as too are the daffodils. By my reckoning that gives us about three weeks till the winter will just about be over.

Decent action causes serious doubt.

'You know you've have had a good session when you run out of bait!'

This was certainly the case for me on Sunday when I visited an old haunt of mine on the Avon. Its been a few years since I last fished this part of the river but whilst racking my brain for a reliable winter area I remembered this little gem and thought a few hours down there could be well worth while.

I arrived before first light and fumbled my way through the undergrowth in the dark nearly going arse over tit several times before arriving at the swim I intended to fish. With the fishing the way its been lately on the river I have decided the blunderbust approach is far more productive than targeting specific species. By this I mean rather than fishing one specific method targeting one species I am using a generalised method to target anything in the area.

The river looked dowdy in the dull January light, which on this river is only a good thing and once settled in I made my first cast with a feeder full of liquidised bread mixed 70/30 with sensas noire. I am glad I remembered this spot because the feeder never hit the bottom before the tip rattled. Straight away I was on the fish, and roach after roach were swung in as the sport got faster and faster.

Most of the roach were between 2-4oz but after a long winter of scratching for a bite here and there this was pure heaven. I kind of wish I had bought a keepnet with me as after an hour I lost count of numbers but I caught loads of these little blighters. 

Around nine the bites strangely stopped and I suspected a pike may have moved in but before I had chance to grab my pre set-up pike rod out of the quiver, the tip went in an altogether different way. After striking a nice dace of 5oz was landed, followed by four more in quick succession. I don't know whether the dace pushed the smaller roach off the area I was casting to, but whilst they were around not one roach took my double maggot hook bait. Then as quickly as they arrived they went again and the little roach turned back up. 

By 10.30am my ground bait was already dwindling which was shocking as I had brought about one and a half kilos with me. Again the voracious roach disappeared before the tip went with some real venom. I was only using a light feeder rod and this fish put the most bend in it I'd seen all day, and soon a much larger dace was wallowing in front of the net. As soon as I saw it I began begging the river gods to stop old essox turning up and nabbing it off me, an all too common situation in this area, hence the pike rod I had bought along.

Mr Pike never did get it and a seriously fat dace was mine! I already had the scales to hand from weighing previous catches and this went straight in the carrier bag and pulled the needle round to 9oz. After double checking and triple checking it I was satisfied it was right and let it go back to get ever closer to that magic one pound.

By 11.30am the ground bait was all gone, as were most of my maggots after switching to a mag feeder. My only option now was to mash up what ever bread I had brought along as bait, keeping back only a few slices as possible hook bait. Using this mashed bread mix in the feeder pretty much killed the fishing as I suspected the fish were following it off down stream. I could have stuck the pike rod out for a while but was more than happy with the mornings fishing and the thought of the baked ham Jacky was cooking up for Sunday dinner had me chucking kit in the bag and racing back to the car.

I was well pumped over my dace capture until out of interest I had a look at the 8oz fish Baz from Return to Ryton caught a few weeks ago. The moment I saw it on the screen the doubt began to creep into my mind about the possibility of  my scales being out. I consider myself to be an honest angler and challenger - a fact my fellow competitors from last year will confirm after I turned down crucian point as I believed the linage of the first 6lb of crucians I caught was doubtful. So as the dace percentage is a high scoring one I went back and checked my scales for accuracy by weighing first 9oz of flour and then 9oz of water on Jacky's fancy kitchen scales before checking both on my flyweights and found they were weighing right. After this I measured the length of the fish using the scales as the constant at nine inches and compared it to Baz's 10 inch fish. By Monday I had become a little obsessed and contacted Baz to get some original copies of  his pictures to try and quell my doubts.

.

With the two pictures next to each other I was satisfied to see that, yes, Baz's fish was much longer and leaner  but mine was a totally different shaped fish that seems shorter, but a lot more stocky and fuller bodied.

  

So with my scales checked and pictures compared I leave myself with no doubt that it was 9oz and will be claiming that one at 43% After such a uplifting session I am gagging to get out again soon! 

Couple of beasties brighten up a dull day

The past few weeks of struggling to get any decent fish made me rethink what I was doing, and after chatting with Andy we both agreed that we had for now had enough of scratching around for little reward. So it was decided we go for gold and focus on some predator fishing.

The previously low clear rivers have, since the thaw after Xmas plus a week of rain, become swollen a muddy brown. Initially the rivers had been at the top of our list of venues to target along with local lake, but keeping our options open we did not decide until a few days before that we should leave the previousley mentioned places well alone and head for the now legendary Exhall marina swim on the cov canal.

We arrived before sun up and spread four rods over the canal. The weather was perfect for some dead baiting with heavy overcast skys and a good stiff breeze was rippling the canal bobbing my floats and imparting a bit of movement of the baits.

It did not take long for Andy's left hand lead rod to bleep into action and him to strike into a nice pike, which once on the bank after a slow and steady fight pulled the scales 15.8lb. It wasn't till the photos were done and the fish relesed that Andy told me it was a new PB.

Next it was my turn and whilst sitting there chatting away we both noticed one of my floats moving away slowly. The run had small Zander written all over it and upon striking the rod bend indicated this to. After seeing  what looked like thrashing on the surface I voiced my opinion just before the fish powered off.

After a while a thick green back swirled on the top and yet another pike found its way onto the well worn banks of the marina swim.

In the water it didn't look to that big but on the mat she seemed far bigger and on the scales it again seemed heavier at 11.3lb. 

After two fish in under an hour we could not get another bite between us even though we went through every bait and trick we had at our disposal, so instead the morning was spent lazily sitting drinking steaming cups of hot chocolate whilst talking to each other and the hundred and fifty other people who passed by.

We never did get another bite, but later in the morning the arrival of a crazed spaniel heralded the imminent coming of Jeff accompanied by Judy who were out for a Sunday morning walk. He already knew we'd caught from an earlier text message from myself but as with all anglers was as eager to see the pics as we were to show them. Myself and Andy had already discussed the possibility of his fish being the same one as Jeff caught a week or so ago and as always Jeff had his camera to hand. A quick comparison of the two pic confirmed matching marking on some of the fins. Later at home I to had a look at both pics of the fifteen and even checked them against a fourteen pound fish I caught in the area before Xmas but it would seem mine was a different fish. There has to be some reason why there are so many doubles in one area? My theory is that the larger females are congregating near the marina ready for the fast approaching spawning season as the marina is filled with lilies in the summer, which although are currently nowhere to be seen the roots of these plant must offer the best spawing site on the whole coventry canal.