Lure and Dropshot fishing in Somerset

The back end of the season can be tricky round these parts. By the time the waters of the Somerset Levels are in any state to fish, winter is almost over and time is slipping away. I had hoped to find a dropping River Tone, but instead went for early start on the Taunton to Bridgwater Canal with Russ Hilton.

It's not the easiest venue to find the perch. There are at least 11 miles of it, and it can be hard fishing with a lot of walking required. I'm not even about to start telling you specific locations on this blog (sorry), but suffice to say you need to use your feet and find your own fish. But I'm really enjoying catching on the ultralight gear at the moment. You can fit a whole whack of lures into a box no bigger than a backy tin. You can also change setups quickly, and these days I'm doing a lot of drop shotting with the flies too.

There are plenty of features on these canals, but it's funny how often you'll catch a good perch from a fairly innocuous looking spot. If you can find the wider parts and straights where the smaller bleak and roach are massed, you'll see the tiddlers being chased on cool mornings. As often as not, it's a jack pike. But just sometimes you'll find a perch, or even a gang of them.

I like a tiny, minnow-like lure for these weedy canals. I fished a small 2g head and a little Japanese, split-tail lure to start. Sometimes you can even spot the fish- and when it's like this the fly can be even better. But on this occasion, visibility wasn't perfect and the fish seemed to be lurking in the deeper central track and were hard to pick out. I had just the one good knock in the first half hour, and was connected to a fish that felt weighty but only stayed on for perhaps six seconds. Bugger.



Then Russ showed up and we hit another spot, covering a fair bit of ground to get well away from the access point. The obvious, snaggy features didn't produce- and instead it was a featureless straight, a little more coloured water, with the takes coming in the middle.

With experience, you often know it's a good perch quite early in the fight. They don't fly off like the small pike. They plod and turn, but it's still quite tense. Even more so when you missed that first chance. You may not get another.



In late winter, these canal perch are really at their best and fattest. The even more curious thing about lure and fly caught fish is that they tend to push their fins up. It's as if they're still bristling with bad intent, even once you've landed them. This one went 2lbs 10oz and was pictured quickly, before going straight back.

And that was pretty much it for the cut. Next stop, I tried a short session drop shotting on the river. I've been thoroughly enjoying this technique with my own designs for dropshot flies. With a fine rod, you can search all the little slacks and areas close to the bank really accurately.

I rig my flies exactly as you would a standard drop shot soft lure, with a Palomar knot. On this occasion, I quickly stepped up from an 8g to a 12g dropshot weight, just to give a little more control.

Some parts of the river are really mucky and it took some exploration to find the fish. I fooled a couple simply by flicking the fly on the edge of a shopping trolley. Pretty much all the early takers were perch:


That all changed though, with the rig flicked out in a reedy slack. I'd just bumped a perch, when something a lot more solid pulled back. A light lure outfit is less than ideal for an angry pike, but these days you can get a lot of poke even with "toy" kit. A slightly stepped up fluorocarbon leader also helps when there are odd small pike thrown in the mix:


So, the short sessions have been fun and useful, and in fact the only full day out I had was a pretty gruelling session fly fishing on Blagdon Lake. It was meant to be a mild day with Gary Pearson, but he was ill, so instead it was John Garnett I subjected to a breezy day after the trout.



To cut a long story short, bites were hard to come by. We found one point swim where bites occurred, and just after I lost a fish, the old man netted a rainbow on a scruffy but effective home-tied Blob.


We might have caught a few more, had the wind been less brutal. But after a second fish, we just had to find some sanctuary.


We caught up with the others in a more sheltered spot, where the locals were hitting odd fish but the the fishin continued to be tough. Simon from Turrall probably deserves most credit for managing a fish on the buzzer, but there wasn't a great deal else to shout about!

Next stop for me is the West of England Game Fair, where I'll be signing books, tying flies and by midday probably hoping that the bar opens early. Wish me luck and hope to see you on the bank soon.

The Wye with Friends/ Fly Fishing for Chub

As the saying goes, it's better to do something late than never. You say to yourself "I really must have a crack at X this summer," but with rain clouds and autumn threatening you still haven't done it. Actually, the scale of delay was even more dramatic in the case of the Wye. My pal Russ Hilton had arranged a trip for him and his dad with me on this great river last Christmas, but owing to terrible weather in early 2014 it never happened. So there we were, hitting the road in late August for what must be one of the most overdue festive gifts of all time.

Still, after a daft o'clock meet up we started with a bang. We would have got the Wye even earlier, had my directions been up to scratch. Why oh why do two different places within 6 miles of one another both have to be so unoriginal as to go by the name of "The Red Lion"? Needless to say, we went to the wrong one first, before I got my bearings. Luckily there was no mistaking my favourite swim for feeder fishing. Russ and Dave were raring to go by this time, but we played it sensibly, baiting positively and letting the fish settle for over an hour before casting in. And patience was rewarded as Dave Hilton kicked off in style with a chub of over 4lbs. It wasn't fish a chuck, but the barbel also came along in dribs and drabs over the course of the afternoon and next morning. The chaps also got a special visit from Bob James, much to their surprise, who was on hand to provide tea, cake and some timely fishing tips (you can read more on Russ's blog "Tales from the Towpath"):

Even if it's for mates, a guide's main priority should be to get their guests catching before all else. I barely fished on day one, but enjoyed netting barbel and some terrific chub for my friends- or just soaking in the peaceful flow of the river during the lulls. Nevertheless, there was time for a cast on the second day. In contrast to "bait and wait", the fly can work instantly. You won't catch the numbers in one spot you will with bait, but there is nothing I love more than roaming about and casting a fly. Bob even snuck back for a go with some small lures as we spent a pleasant hour or two fishing side by side and comparing notes.

Bob was quickly into a couple using tiny spinners, before he had to depart while I got into action on the flies. A couple of fish came quickly after a good walk with polarising glasses as I kept a close eye on little weed rafts on the near bank. Approach is everything with these fish; usually a case of carefully sizing up each spot before approaching from a safe distance and presenting a good sized dry fly cast well upstream. As is often the case, anything big and juicy seemed to get them going. I got a little overexcited and pulled a Black Cricket right out of the gaping mouth of a cracker that looked four pounds plus! The next two fish were barely half that size but I made no repeat of this mistake. I might have got even more takes with a lighter leader, but 5lbs was as light as I was prepared to go around the rough stuff.


Fly fishing for chub is certainly not for the lazy on river like the Wye. Steep banks and tight spots must be negotiated, while I always feel the right way to proceed is to spend at least as long just looking for fish as you spend actually casting.

With a large perch sighted in one area, I also tried a few catapult casts with a tungsten bead streamer- but disappointingly I just couldn't get this lovely fish to make a grab:

There were other treats too: I lost a fine trout on a daddy longlegs, while I also spotted a cracking pike sunbathing in barely eighteen inches of water. While I would have loved to go for it, my seven weight rod and fluorocarbon leader would have rendered such a a feat virtually impossible, not to mention irresponsible. So I just caught her with the camera instead:

After that, perhaps the most interesting fly fishing of the day was with streamers. I've done a fair bit of this for chub, but the trip really emphasised the value of fishing downstream. In several spots it was the only way to cast towards a snag only accessible from one side. Casting downstream has big benefits: you can not only fish the fly much slower (often getting a strong pulse by little more than just holding the fly against the flow), but you also get really positive whacks and a high rate of hook ups, because you have no slack line to pick up. The size of fish seemed to increase too, with a Black Woolly Bugger doing more than its' fair share of the damage:

Ok, so such tactics aren't quite as tantalising as watching fish rise, but streamers seem to catch in a wider range of conditions. Even cool winds and a spot of rain didn't seem to stop the chub launching some gratifyingly brutal attacks. There is no need to fish too fine with streamers- and I often fancy the method for bigger fish, hence my set up was to fish straight through with 8lb fluorocarbon. They don't always fight super hard but rather fight dirty, lunging for snags, getting into the main river flow or trying to wrap you in weed. I was glad I used robust tackle anyway:

Why did I leave it so late this season to have a crack at the Wye? It beats me. I really wasn't keen to leave. I was even less willing after catching up with Russ and Dave in the afternoon, who had started getting bites from barbel again. It felt warmer too, and after a whole morning on my feet I fancied an hour on my backside I couldn't resist having a cheeky cast with the feeder in the main swim they'd been steadily baiting. It suddenly felt warmer too and after a lot of earlier climbing up and down banks and wading it was great to lose the coat and waders and sit on my backside. The rod didn't so much rattle as wrench over with my final bonus fish, while the lads added three others:

A few "last casts" were inevitable, before we remembered that human beings need things like food and water. I think my pals were as knackered and starving as I was anyway, and on the way home we devoured fried chicken like men who hadn't eaten for a week. Like our Wye trip I guess you could say we left it rather late. For anyone who still fancies a crack at this great river, there's still time to drop me a line though and the fishing can still be very good in the autumn. For details of our two-day "From Float to Fly" trip, as well as juicy, purpose made flies for chub, check out my site: www.dgfishing.co.uk

Postcard from a wandering drunk

One of the equally wonderful and irritating things about fishing is that, rather like football, everyone is allowed their own "expert" say in the matter. Certainly the case on urban bits of canal, where I met Seb Nowosiad for some fly fishing. If the above picture is a bit wobbly, it's probably because the bloke who took it was already on his third tin of super strength lager for the day. We humoured the chap anyway, before Seb left him a roll up cigarette and we went in the total opposite direction to where he was pointing and giving his expert fishing analysis. Nice.

The canal itself was about as clear as an alcoholic's brain too. Not as clear as we'd hoped, which suggested it could be a challenge to catch on the fly. The numbers of rudd and roach at the surface were a pleasant surprise though and given a good walk I was confident we might find some good ones. It might sound blinking obvious, but given murky water and flies it's sensible to use slightly bigger or more visible patterns than usual. A little beaded Tan Shrimp was commandeered by Seb and took several roach plus a skimmer, while I dug out a size 12 Black and Peacock spider, intrigued by local rumours of monster fish.
That's the trouble with rumours though; you almost willingly daydream and ignore the fact that
a) The general public often don't have a clue what they're looking at with fish.
b) Anglers, and especially the casual ones, will spectacularly overestimate what they've witnessed (notice how tactful I was there. I could have simply said "lie" or "deal in more fiction than Penguin Classics").
Anyhow, perhaps one or two rumours had a grain of truth, because you always have a chance of nice rudd on the Taunton to Bridgwater. If you can get to the buggers. It was especially educational for Seb, who is a relative fly novice. For a lure angler, it is all too tempting to retrieve the flies all the time- when for many coarse fish you want to just let them be to settle naturally, with virtually no interference. Too much drag or a clumsy cast and you can blow it. I still make a mess of it sometimes myself, but as well as the odd bush I had several decent fish from the pokiest swims imaginable, including this fish of 1lb 9oz:

After sweating it for months on the new "Canal Fishing" book, you might have thought I'd have had enough of them, but I've been doing more on the local cuts than the rivers so far. With it being light well into the evening I also had a blast on the Grand Western, where a whole troop of schoolboys were roaming. High on enthusiasm but low on knowhow, I felt duty bound to help one or two. After all, you don't catch many roach on 15lb line and three very dead maggots on a size 4 hook. They also kept wanting to borrow my polarising glasses to look at passing tench like this beauty:

A little later I then caught up with Russ Hilton for a spot of tench fishing, which proved ultimately frustrating. Well, for me at least. Russ did ok, while I managed to miss them, including one where my worm had skilfully obscured the hook point to render my strike totally duff. In typical style though, Hilton came good with a couple of nice fish. It's a good job I never make bets with him:

Other than that, I'm just getting over the inevitable demise of England at the world cup. At least as a half Swiss, I can follow a team that are the opposite to In-ger-land: underrated, under hyped and organised with that special efficiency that comes with having a German manager. In truth, I've still enjoyed the footy and even managed to combine it with some fishing, most notably at Stafford Moor, where Chris Lambert and me tried frantically via phone and radio to keep up with England's score. We may as well have stuck to the fishing in hindsight.

We had a plan to tempt a catfish on offal, to give you the backstory, but to no avail. Several carp fancied a chunk of liver, but perhaps a much larger or more disgusting morsel is required for catfish? Back to the drawing board I think. For the record, both Beatties and Joseph's Lake are both outstanding "runs" waters should you fancy a crack at summer carp in Devon- and there's no better or friendlier fishery boss than Andy Seery for putting you onto a big catch.

Mixed Pickings

No matter how much or how far I travel in my fishing, there's something incredibly endearing about smaller adventures closer to home. I shudder to think how many interesting (and usually cheap) waters there must be in my own surrounding area, let alone the country.
The Ilminster Canal is a particular oddity I've wanted to try for a while. It was my right hand man on the forthcoming Canal Fishing book, Russ Hilton, who tipped me off about the place- and joined me for a cast yesterday. Remarkable for it's tiny size, the history alone is curious: a colossal failure in commercial terms, the Chard Canal was a case of poor timing and bad investment. It was meant to stretch for many miles, but after severe decline, the two hundred yards or so of water known as the Ilminster Canal which you can see today are all that remain.

Not that this is so unusual. There are various little isolated remnants of canal dotted around Britain- many of which feature in the new book. For the angler, a these little dead ends also have advantages: with no boat traffic and effectively no joining waters for fish to go missing, fishing clubs can and do have some real fun with fish stocks. The Ilminster is no exception, holding carp, goldfish, tench and even chub. It was the roach and perch we were after on a morning session however.

It was a cold day in the end. The bigger fish weren't active, although I started to make up a tidy little net of roach on maggots. Russ comfortably must have doubled this on bread however, catching plenty in just a few short hours. Actually, it's always interesting comparing notes with a pal on an unfamiliar water. In hindsight, I rather went for broke trying to catch some different species- but just couldn't find many bonus fish, even trying chopped worm or corn. Even so, this handsome perch gave me an epic tussle on delicate tackle intended for roach:

Other highlights included the rather friendly park cat, Sam. A bit of an attention seeker this one, he's so popular with the locals I reckon the old devil probably eats about five dinners each day:

Considering it was bitterly cold at times -and we also had a dose of thick hail- this was a really enjoyable little session. But for the sake of variety we also hit Dillington Pond in the afternoon:

This is another good looking venue with a genuine surprise element. Russ set up lighter tackle and tried tares for the roach and rudd while I went rather less classical, using a stepped up pole rig to tackle the snags with large baits including worms and prawns in the hope of a bonus.

Nor did it take long to arrive! My rig would give Bob Nudd nightmares: a large dibber float, five pound line straight through and a forged size six hook. Going for broke with a whole king prawn, I hooked something strong that needed wrestling from cover in no uncertain terms. Imagine my surprise when a three pound plus chub surfaced!

Otherwise the fish were in slightly iffy mood. Nor can you blame them- the perch, in particular can't be too far off spawning, although I had a couple around the pound mark for good measure, while soaking in the slightly regal surroundings. The stately home here looks so old time, you half expect the Adams Family to emerge from the front door as the light goes:

I do love spring. If the temperatures are still a bit fresh, so are the colours! And we still have the whole summer to waste in style. My friends will readily tell you, I'm not really a target-setting angler, and my main aim this year is simply to soak it all in and find some fun detours. Talking of which, you can read about "Britains Secret Canals" in my current Angling Times series, which features the Bude Canal this week.

Pike, perch and prawns

Unlike other sports, one of the really fantastic things about fishing is that it appeals to all ages. If you get the bug, it doesn't matter whether you're six or eighty six. What is the best age to be an angler? There is something magical about taking youngsters fishing. It always takes me right back to my own childhood, so it was my great pleasure to host for Michael Pryor and his son Raphael at the weekend for a spot of pike fishing. A hearty walk was in order, with flies and lures dropped into every likely corner.

I loved their enthusiasm, which was certainly called for on a testing day, not to mention Raphael's laughter and endlessly entertaining questions (typical example: "Could a pike of 100 pounds eat one of 99 pounds?"). It turned out to be one of those days where we only had a few chances- and some dodgy luck, especially with a nice fish of around five pounds lost at the net for Raphael. If anything, this only seemed to fuel his enthusiasm even more. By the close of play he was casting like a pro and still marching on in search of bites. If one day I have a son of my own I only hope he is half as keen and such great company as this.

Otherwise, I've been back on the trail of perch. I had an enjoyable session with Russ Hilton at Simpson Valley, which seems a great little mixed fishery at the moment, if a bit of a drive on the backroads. I'm doing an increasing amount of mixing methods, by which I mean putting a pole to good use, but stepping tackle up and using quite big baits. Prawns are one offering I've never really given a fair trial, so I persevered with them this time.

Usually in February, I'd be trying the deep water on a small lake- but with it being so mild lately, the perch have been turning up really close to the bank, or typically just where the water deepens. It was to be a fun session, but also another one of near misses. I was getting so many false bites at one point, I switched to just a small piece of prawn and the culprits were revealed. Not only did I bag a three pound bream and one or two nice roach, but this rather handsome hybrid. Not a monster perch, but some very welcome variety:

After enjoying some good bites I then threw down the gauntlet a little and fed heavier, with chopped worm and prawns. The real regret was a solid perch that fought well and came off just when I was getting the upper hand. Russ fared rather better than me with a brace of two pounders (I'm sure he'll enlighten you on his excellent "Tales from the Towpath" blog shortly if you take a peek). My best fish was somewhere round a pound and a half- but was at least proof that prawns have more uses than cookery. Actually, it was an absolutely perfect looking creature, a real pin up of a perch! I think the day I get tired of seeing these is the day I give up fishing:

As for the most random sight of the day, I'm still rather puzzled as to this rather strange use of a gentleman's neck tie. Is this of significance to someone? Perhaps a marker for an angler's favourite swim? Is it art? Or did someone simply find it lost and helpfully hang it on a tree for its owner to find? I have zero idea. Not really my colour though.

Some like it Wet

My apologies first of all to regular readers of this blog, I know it has been a little while. Must be honest though: I can't think of many winters in living memory that have been less inspiring for fishing. Perhaps it's good to take a breather now and again though, even for a fanatical angler. The last trip I made was about a week ago and was more about stretching my legs and catching up with a friend.

Central Tiverton is not the most romantic spot at the best of times, but miraculously the river didn't look too bad. Must have been a day or two before the floods kicked back in and tried to drown the whole Westcountry. I'm glad I packed a pretty old, cheap match rod- because somehow I managed to trash the tip section in transit. Russ Hilton was good enough to share the honours though, as we took it in turns to trot maggots and have a good gas about everything.

Hardly electric I'm afraid, but it was good just to sit by the river again. A funny spot is the Exe in the People's Republic of Tiverton. There are odd dace and grayling here, but I missed the occasional bites I had, while Russ managed to land a couple of stray trout. Not bad ones either- silvery things in decent condition and better than a blank.

Meanwhile, with every last detail finalised and chapter proofread for the next book ("Canal Fishing: A Complete Guide") I must admit, I've felt like I needed a holiday from both writing and fishing. Is it enjoyable scraping together an existence this way? Bloody hell yes, but you have to treat your passions gently sometimes. Even the things we love most can get jaded, unless you give them some space to breathe. Which is why this flooded, gale force mud-bath of a winter is a perfect time to do exactly that.

Yes, obsession is a trap. There is a world out there beyond the damp corner that is fishing. There are people and beer and friendship and poetry and life. Some of you might envy those guys who seem to live permanently on the water with a rod. I personally don't. I know many editors and hacks in the fishing world who will tell you the hidden story of the most hardcore obsessives- and in many cases it is a lifestyle of loneliness, tinned food and haemorrhoids. What is the unlikely moral I'm trying to drive at? Sometimes LESS fishing actually makes for more enjoyment. Habit is the great deadener- and it's actually meant to be fun, remember?

My favourite recent haunt has been well away from the river in fact. It is Exeter's brilliant new bar, The Beer Cellar, at the top of South Street. Together with some other reprobates, I'm attempting to taste the lot, one bottle at a time if necessary. You've never seen a more outrageously varied selection of fantastic brews in your life, from crisp pale ales to the violently strong "Tactical Nuclear Penguin" (no kidding) at 32% proof. You have been warned. The line between drunkenness and enlightenment can be a fine one.
Other than my excursion to the Exe though, the only fishing related arrival has been the new range of "DG Flies For Coarse Fish" made by Turrall. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to have a range of anything in my own name, so this is a lovely surprise (to be added to my site in the next few weeks- but in the mean time try "Trout Catchers" who have most of the range for sales already). I'll be shooting up to the BFFI (British Fly Fair International) this very weekend to put these on show, along with my usual wares. It should be fun- and when the weather is this shite, having a proper social and meeting up with new and old friends should be just the ticket.

A Flood of Pike

What a less than appetising start it has been to 2014. Downright odd. Today felt like a wet weekend in April, hardly a typical January day for fishing. Bits of the Westcountry are already resembling a war zone, with sandbags piled at villagers' doors and police tape aimed at keeping the public from treacherous flooding. And in the midst of it all, some idiots still want to go fishing. I am one of them.
Why do I do it? I'm reminded of my old head teacher, the late Trevor Green, whose passion was his motorbike. He enjoyed the worst of weathers because secretly, he found it bracing. He liked to take on the wind and rain. Perhaps it scarcely mattered when he was doing that thing he loved. This is the mark of what might politely be described as an "enthusiast". We come in many guises. Whether it's fishing or motorcycles, we need that experience, even if it flies in the face of sensible advice. Perhaps utterly sensible people are to be pitied; they have no strong passions.

But I digress. Flooding is not all bad news, at least for an angler. One benefit is that if you can locate the fish, they're often stacked up in relatively small areas. Sheltered urban spots were the focus today. More and more often in my predator fishing these days, I also like to pay attention to the smaller fish present on any water. It makes perfect sense to establish where these are concentrated and draw them in. Furthermore, a spot of light float fishing also makes a slow day much more entertaining. Within no time, my pal Russ Hilton had silver fish queuing up on the bread. Nor were they all small- as you can see from this chunky rudd:

It's staggering just how quickly pike or perch will take take advantage of silver fish distracted by free food. It was barely light before the first attackers arrived. My approach was as simple as it gets: a fresh bait on a single treble hook, tossed nearby. Route one fishing, and the first of several pike:

We played it by ear, moving spots roughly every couple of hours as bites dried up or we fancied a change of scenery. It was a drizzly day and I was grateful for the company. Russ is the sort of angler who never rants about his own ability, but quite often out fishes me, so I must have done something right to take the most pike today. Most bizarrely of all, I caught an afternoon fish of around eight pounds that looked really uncannily familiar. By an unmistakable scar on one side, we identified it as a fish I had already landed three hours earlier, a hundred yards away. One hungry -if slightly daft- pike.
Perhaps the only slight surprise was a lack of perch today. I say this, but bizarrely Russ landed two on bread when a small moving bait had been flatly ignored! Lots of silver bream and roach kept coming to bread too, which also explained why I kept pinching Russ's whip while he wasn't looking, to catch another fish or two.
By early evening it felt weirdly mild, in spite of darkening skies, so we stayed on for a little while. As it happens I'm glad we did, because the last bite of the day was something rather special in the form of this 11lb 12oz pike, which was as beautiful and athletic as any I've caught this season:

For those curious about technical stuff, you'll also see some of my pike notes in this week's Angling Times. These days I seem to be using fewer hooks in my fishing and also like to present my dead baits well off the bottom. I also much prefer just one rod and like to give it my full attention. A single barbless treble and an instant strike is so much better for the pike: all six of mine today were simplicity itself to unhook and release unharmed and only one fish came adrift all day. It should also go without saying that if you fish anywhere around concrete, you must never fish without an unhooking mat- it isn't rocket science and I really wish I didn't have to shake my head at the lack of fish care shown so often in urban locations.


Finally, I'm also pleased to say that we'll soon have the final results for the 2013 "Fly For Coarse" competition. It as been quite a surreal experience discussing entries with Matt Hayes and John Bailey this week, two of my all time heroes in fishing! While the judging panel have hardly been unanimous in their verdicts, they've certainly been so in their great enthusiasm. And what all three of us have agreed on is that fishing should be about fun and skill, not just what you catch, but how you catch it. in truth we were given a hard task by the entries: how do you pick between some huge pike, cunningly tricked carp, some phenomenal chub and even a fly caught bream?!! All will be revealed soon. Let's hope the foul weather abates so we can return to some more favourable fly fishing conditions sooner rather than later!