Water levels and temperatures continue to yo-yo, but does the fishing ever get totally desperate? There's usually something to try for, even if it's just to kill an afternoon. I was glad that Norbert Darby dragged me out for a Sunday trip. Signs were mixed. Warming temperatures, but also loads of pike anglers out on the canal, none reporting anything very dramatic.
The water had cleared slightly, but still didn't look that inviting, so I opted for a big perch coloured fly (above), with plenty of presence. To be quite honest, it was nice just to stretch the legs and make a few casts. About half an hour later, as I was sneaking the thing in slow and deep, there was a lovely tap-tap-THUMP! on the end of the line. If there's one thing I love about fly fishing, it's that moment of connection transmitted right through the fingers.
After a minute or so playing tug of war on my eight weight, this was either a very spirited jack, or something hefty. The fish that rolled was thick round the middle, and suddenly things felt more urgent. Norbert took some snaps while every dog walker and their beast in the vicinity decided to come an have an ogle- an added presence I rarely enjoy with a lively fish on the unhooking mat! This one went 15lb 4oz, really chunky and beautifully marked too.
Having being trounced by Norbert on our two previous trips, this was also a welcome comeback. "You won't catch anything on the fly" was his earlier piece of gamesmanship. Not that either of us gets pointlessly competitive or anything. It was also reward for recent homework at the vise. Having never know a season quite like it for floods and crappy conditions, my recent flies have been much bigger and bolder than the usual fare. Thank goodness for pike though. Without them, there would be quite a big gap in the fly fishing year.
It won't be too long, of course, before other species start to feature with the fly tackle. Clearer rivers would be a start- but judging by the massive growing interest in flyfishing for coarse fish, it could be quite a year. Along with new partner in crime Charlie Hancock, we've launched both a Facebook Group ("Flyfishing for Coarse Fish") and also a Twitter account (@FlyForCoarse). So far the interest has been amazing, with well over 200 followers and members onboard in just one week! There'll be a big competition on the way, and lots of fun stuff to get involved with- watch this space. Better start tying for the spring now! (These are some roach and rudd flies I'm just finishing for a group member):
Otherwise, I've also enjoyed some more pole fishing. I hadn't been to Shillingford for ages, but this can be a banker water for cold weather. Provided, that is, you bin the text book swims. All those tempting looking features look great for perch- but when they have two feet of icy water around them, these bits can be pretty dead. The pole lets you test the depth with total accuracy however. Find an area a little further out just a little deeper (sometimes only 2-3 inches more than the surrounding depths) and you're often in business.
Despite the remnants of recent snow, a patient approach with regular helpings of caster and chopped worm did the business for a tidy net, with quality roach and several perch to just under two pounds.
Spring still felt a long way off for the annual Devon Pike Anglers Club match, held on a day of biting easterly winds. Credit to the intrepid half dozen anglers who fished the event, whose spirits were scarcely numbed by the sort of conditions which could see the Easter Bunny die of hypothermia.
Nevertheless, the cut retained a sombre beauty for a roving session. Both flies and lures were permitted- and I always find this an interesting contest of different styles- and you could say the same about the characters fishing! Would the superior vibration of the lures steal the day in less than clear water? Or would the slow, subtle spell of the flies appeal more to pike rendered sluggish by a dip in temperatures? The rules were simple- a main prize for angler with the most pike, plus a pair of little sweepstake awards for the biggest and most pathetically tiny pike on the day.
After about an hours fishing, a more relevant question seemed to be whether we would catch anything whatsoever. Our contestants searched and cast their way undeterred, while canny old fox Peter Higgins nabbed the first fish at the rear of the group, by running a pike fly tantalisingly through those near bank spots the rest of us had forgotten. Soon afterwards, Adam Moxey added a jack for the lure boys, while our 2011 winner Ian Woodason kept getting his spinnerbait whacked without getting any purchase on the jaws responsible.
We switched artificials and moved swims. Cold hands were rubbed together. We shared obligatory nods and "bloody cold isn't it?" conversations with passing onlookers. The hits came in little spells, usually when we escaped the muddy stuff and found one or two clearer areas. Perhaps the greatest result of the day was a well earned score by Pete Wilkins and James Sherlock, who both managed to land their first ever fly caught pike. Out of the blue, James then took a shock lead in the contest. From casting practise on the strip of grass outside my flat, he had reached the pinnacle of success... well, sort of. The pike were scrappy little gits but hardly epic sized. "It really works, doesn't it?" were the exact words of our new convert, who I think had previously assumed that fly fishing was just an elaborate way of decorating trees with pike flies.
So much for your local guide then- I was playing catch up, one of the last to get on the scoreboard with a one pound jack after a series of frustrating hits and misses. It's an interesting phenomenon, but we've had the same thing in previous events where the weather was bitter; pike willing to grab, but perhaps not doing so with their usual aggression and not getting hooked as a result. The unluckiest man of the lot was poor Ian- who got a stack of bites but not one fish hung on properly. That said, he did find this rather fetching gold jerkbait in a tree, which was a real bonus:
Who would prevail in the final hour? It was tight, with James Sherlock making it a hat trick of pike on the fly. I thought my carrots were cooked, before something gave one of my clouser style flies a proper thump as it came up the near shelf. This time the eight weight wasn't so much tickled as walloped over- and a fish of five pounds, the best of the day, hit the net:
Another little jack for me and the match was tied at 3-3 by the final whistle. An entertaining score draw you might say. It was too bloody cold to play any extra time in any case. It had been a terrific little day out, fished in good spirits and a respectable tally of nine pike overall. The flies had the edge on this occasion, perhaps due to the cold water and less than kamikaze mood of the pike- and a fairly slow retrieve worked best. That said, the lure boys can count themselves a little unlucky not to have stuck a few more in the net.
