A cast on the far side

Of all the characters I've met in the angling world, it's perhaps the rebels and convention defiers I treasure the most. Such is Dee Egginton, better known as "Skateboard Dave". Here is a fly angler who hasn't so much ignored the textbook, but crossed out every line before setting it on fire and throwing it into the Mayor's back garden. Not surprisingly, he fly fishes for everything and some of his ideas and exploits are on a different planet. Kind of fitting really that we found the above sofa for one of the more bizarre photo opportunities I've ever come across.


From the off, and a long walk, I knew the day was going to be an adventure as we made our way to a madly overgrown river. There was hardly room to cast, such were the tiny dimensions of a lost midlands stream, but that didn't stop us sneaking around and catapult casting our way to some devilishly exciting close-quarters fishing. It began with a bang, literally, as the first fish was a powerful trout which took a streamer within seconds.

It was to be the first of a cracking brace- although we were actually after coarse fish primarily!

In the limited confines of such a water, long rods were the order of the day, with short casts and tactics not a million miles away from ultra light lure fishing. Perch were abundant too, also giving jig style Tadpole flies a good whack around any form of cover.

Sadly these buggers were common too:

In fact, my pal and invasive species expert Theo Pike would have been proud of us as we dispatched several. I say "we", but I found them tricky- Dee showing me the best method of sneaking behind the buggers before applying the boot. Actually, quite a strangely satisfying thing to do.
Meanwhile though, in the fishing stakes I managed to miss a good early chance or two as fish hit my streamer. Luckily for me, I got my mistimed strikes out of the way early as I managed to react better to an even better hit a few yards further on. A real whack and a hair-raising fight could only mean one thing: trout! The biggest wild brown I've had in several years in fact:

It was to be a fascinating, eye opening day in general, and although there is only limited space in the scribble that is my blog, the adventure continued as we added chub and dace before driving to Mallory Park to turn our attentions to further targets. Carp were first- and while the oft cited tool for landing these hard fighting fish is a stout seven or eight weight, Dee showed his typical disregard for convention by digging out a little three weight solid glass blank:

Basking fish were targeted by both of us without a dog biscuit in sight. I kicked off with dark spiders dressed on forged hooks, while he landed some crackers on tiny bloodworms:

The most instant fishing was had by simply landing slow sinkers gently in front of basking fish. However, it got really interesting with a switch to "blind nymphing" with tiny flies such as bloodworms fished right under the rod tip. I'd never been very confident carp fishing in this fashion, but Dee's tactics were a revelation. The tiniest knocks were followed by surging hooked carp hooked fair and square in the lips, to the point where he was actually disappointed because he wanted to catch more roach and perch than these greedy things!

The odd silver fish did follow before we remembered that human beings need things like food and water. And while there is only limited space in my scribblings here, my mental notebook is still awash with thoughts and musings on the maverick that is Skateboard Dave. The fact that the guy is not a household name in angling, while sponsored planks trot out the same guff every season, is a damning inditement of the current angling scene I would say. But perhaps this is the difference between an angler who fishes to impress others, and someone like Dee who fishes not for endorsements or reputation, but to satisfy an insatiable inner curiosity that sees possibilities where others view only arbitrary boundaries.
The worrying thing for fly fishing in particular, is that the more it follows the familiar (and often expensive) course of tradition, the less it will appeal to the new breed of angler, and the young in particular. Which is why it was excellent to be part of the Fly Dressers Guild part of the CLA Game Fair with the Turrall team. A whole host of youngsters tied their first ever fly, which was excellent fun, while I was bowled over with the skill and enthusiasm of Ben Beckwith, who ties patterns that would be the envy of fly dressers several times his tender thirteen years of age. We did a little swap as he showed me a brilliant sedge pattern and I showed him how to tie a pike fly in return:

The show was a lot of fun as always, and I also had the honour of signing some of the new "Canal Fishing" book with the other authors on the Coch-y-Bonddu Books stand (pictured are Peter Hayes, Theo Pike and Malcolm Greenhalgh).
As per usual, this blog is lagging a little behind current goings on I'm afraid, as I literally dashed home from the Game Fair and headed straight over to Ireland for a crack at both trout and rudd. But I'm knackered and that's another story to tell altogether. So, till next time…

Bits vs Beasts

If ever a session illustrated the merit of having different lines of attack, it was my last canal fishing trip with Russ Hilton on the Taunton to Bridgwater. The subtext was getting a few more shots for my canal fishing book and some practice for the Tiverton Christmas match, but I was just looking forward to some fishing as opposed to merely writing or talking about it. At the start it looked like we might catch silver fish all day long on bread punch. And had we so desired, that would have been a distinct possibility, so stuffed was the venue with small rudd and roach. It didn't matter whether you went all cute and fine with a tiny piece, or switched to flake on a fourteen, the hordes descended.
Russ was definitely catching these quicker than I was, at a fierce old rate on the whip. Makes me think I should dig my old whip out again at some point. A four meter model, with pointless yellow decor on the handle, was the first ever fishing rod I could call my own as a small boy. But in terms of fish caught that crummy length of fibreglass probably represents the best value item of tackle I've ever owned. It was the downfall of many Thames roach, as well as bullheads and bootlace eels. Not quite as posh as this rather sexy Sensas model you'd have to say:

But I digress. Fun though it is bringing endless rudd to hand, it's always nice to put something bigger in the net too. And the trouble with small baits is that it can take an age to get through the bits and pieces. Luckily enough from my own, slightly disorganised perspective on this occasion, Hilton came up trumps with a ridiculous bag of worms and strict orders that he didn't want to take any of these home.
It's a plan that works so often on canals, but worth reiterating the value of a "feed and wait" line on the cut. A pole cup of chopped worm and caster went across to a tree on the far bank, which not only looked fishy but had good depth under it. Apart from a top up after an hour or so, this was left well alone while I kept out of mischief by pinching more rudd, roach and a solitary silver bream.

Slipping a redworm minus head onto a size 12 and heavier rig, I eventually made the switch across and the response was pretty instant. After a slightly better rudd, the next fish was a proper head shaker in the form of a much better one, a perch this time. Had it been a match I'd have been cursing because I managed to lose the next two, including what felt like quite a beastie. Meanwhile Russ was taken all over the canal by what we guessed was a carp, which actually turned out to be a rocket powered pike of about four pounds that picked up a worm. In fact we'd seen little fish scatter at the surface a few times and not all of these attacks screamed pike. After another top up and another crack at the rudd, the next fish from the sunken tree stayed hooked. A lovely perch of 1lb 14oz proved the best of the day- and just in the nick of time because I had to leg it back to Exeter.

In spite of my late, lucky perch Russ must have had the greater weight of fish, with a silly number of rudd and some better ones that showed later on the bread. I wouldn't put it past him to teach me a similar lesson in the Christmas match:

And on that note I'm really looking forward to a proper winter break, with no deadlines and no place to be on a cold morning. Other than the odd order I've done little fly tying lately, which I must put right. After giving talks to branches of the Fly Dressers Guild on tackling coarse species I definitely have the bit between my teeth. Especially so after seeing the collection of Chris Reeves, which included this rather baroque looking antique pike fly:

Tying is rather like fishing: always a new trick to learn and another direction to try. I am permanently making little notes and snaffling samples when in the company of fly tying enthusiasts. And at least the long, dark winter provides plenty of time to fill a box or two with new creations.