Jack-a-nory

After a fairly lengthy bit of toil, I can finally breathe out again and give news that my next book project is imminent. A collection of past favourites and current work, “Tangles with Pike” represents a decade of writing. Well, strictly speaking that would be more like every year since the age of about thirteen being hypnotised, thrilled, baffled and sometimes just a little obsessed by Pike. We're aiming for a late November release, with both a full colour hardback and a special e-book. And while you wouldn't always judge a book by the cover, I'm thrilled to have a David Miller special gracing the front.

Pike are still my favourite fish on the planet. I think this is for several reasons. One is the fact that even twenty-two years since my first, they still have that ability to jam my heart into my mouth and feed me that irresistible cocktail of excitement and adrenaline.

Nowadays, I tend to think pike are one of the easier species to catch. At least, if they're hungry they will tolerate line you'd never dream of using for say tench or perch fishing. But I didn't always think like this. In the very beginning, my dad would occasionally bring a bung float and sprats to the bank and I can remember thinking "this is never going to work!" Compared to my roach pole, it looked like shark tackle.

My first success was lure fishing in fact. Which is spooky, because an exact replica of the first pike plug I ever cast (below) was recently given to me by Garrett Fallon (the book designer and editor of Fallon's Angler). It was fairly shocking, to be frank. Yes, it wiggled frantically enough to be grabbed by my first ever pike, but then in mid battle it came apart in the middle. And disaster was only averted when… (I'm going to be a sod here and just say look out for the book!).

Actually, this makes me think just how much better tackle is today. Those things I regarded as the height of sophistication in about 1990 (springy line, hooks with huge barbs, crappy fibreglass rods) were actually pretty dodgy.


Anyhow, the tackle might have got way better, but I'm still after pike with varying degrees of success so many years later. Having dreamt of opening the 2014 pike season for a while but tied up with the book, it felt like a full circle effect to take my dad (above), the very person who first started me pike fishing. These days neither of us is that partial to a bung float and a bag of sprats. We catch way more these days with a fly rod in fact than we ever did in those early days.


The Grand Western Canal looked beautiful, if a bit weedy still. Nor were the pike massively hungry as we walked for perhaps two or three miles, watching and searching. I'm pleased to report that even on a Sunday, we also didn't spot any of our illegitimate friends with plastic bags in place of landing nets. Funny, but in the midst of all the current paranoia around poaching and the business of "naming waters" it seems to me that the sport could actually do with more not fewer legitimate pike anglers on the bank. That, and having people willing to talk to those in the wrong and report things rather than just whinge.
It's very easy when you're having a slow day to make excuses on the level of "this place has been poached!". But the answer usually lies with the angler or the conditions. On this occasion, it was just way too bright for the first two hours. We barely even saw a pike, other than a tiny thing that launched itself at my fly- and missed.
Pike fishing is so often a case of either drama or disappointment, with not much in the middle. And so it was on this occasion; just as evening arrived, all the fish appeared, as if some conjurer had magically restored life to a dead canal. I caught two little pound-or-so devils on my eight weight, before a well-aimed shot under a bush let to a slightly better class of carnage with a lively fish of about four pounds which I watched trailing the fly before rushing in for the kill:

All good fun, even with modest sized fish and after so many years of piking. In fact the one thing I perhaps feel less need to do these days is to slog for hundreds of miles in the hope of something huge. I will definitely be dreaming of a monster from one of the larger lakes or rivers this winter, but actually just being there is often enough. Best of all, I just love the game of hide-and-seek that the small, clear waters can offer. These have fuelled my writing as much as the more famous places and big pike I was lucky enough to catch. But I hope that as well as a few monsters, "Tangles with Pike" will do justice to an extremely varied catch of absorbing and entertaining stories, rather than the standard "here are a load of big pike and here's how I caught them" affair. The aim is definitely to capture the atmosphere, besides the figures. And I want to entertain people, not just make them think "you lucky XXXXXXX".

Autumn Gifts

Sometimes in fishing it pays to... well, not pay anything. If I can make it, find it or tie it myself I generally do. This not only saves you a few quid but adds a certain satisfaction to the sport. I love catching on my own, home-rolled flies, for example. I also like swapping and receiving freebies from fellow anglers. As a fishing writer you have to make the most of these perks because, aside from the big stuff like books, much of the time you get the feeling third world child labourers are paid better.

This lovely perch was one of several taken on some cracking "Martin's Minnow" flies sent to me by Martin Smith (keep an eye on www.flyforcoarse.com for a step by step in the next few weeks- plus a link to order from him). I'd vowed to give them a swim ages ago but got snowed under with work. At long last though, I managed to take an evening stroll on the Grand Western Canal near Tiverton. Having located a shoal of fish under a bridge, I was happily wrestling one after another in on the flies- each as greedy, and small, as the last. I fancied a bigger one but thought nothing of it as I wandered onwards. However, on the way back to the car at the end the light was going and I had that gut instinct that makes many an angler late for dinner which says "I think I'll have just one more crack". I hooked the fish virtually on the bottom and it gave a nice deep, lolloping if unspectacular fight. With bits of dorsal fin missing and worn scales it had that retired, punched too many times boxer look. I love perch though- and at 1lb 13oz this was a good one for such a small canal.

Equally appealing to my cheapskate side was a trip to Creedy Lakes today using bait that cost only some work with a garden fork in the compost heap. Call me tight, but finances are only one reason for this decision. Boilies are not only expensive but overrated on busy fisheries, in my humble opinion. 95% of visitors must use them- and as often as not blank on them. Why such a stranglehold? Simple- the whole carp fishing world is full of anglers who get free bait in exchange for saying "you must use this to catch." It is of course utter horse manure, designed to separate pound coins from pockets. Yes, boilies have their uses and I have also been a bait field tester in the past- but I detest dishonesty. As I've explained before, I'll often use boilies for less pressured waters- but if everyone is using them, carp will become extremely suspicious and there are much more effective baits. Worms are one of them.
Anyway, I digress but the main lake at Creedy proved tough. Strange because I really fancied the end where a mild wind had been pushing in all week from the same direction. Nobody on the lake was catching anything. I had a couple of small "pasties" on the worm but just couldn't hook anything bigger, so I tried baiting with some chopped worm right in one of the craggy corners, where the bivvies steer clear. I didn't fish it immediately, but kept returning for a look. A swirling tail pattern told me all I needed to know a little later. Within five minutes of lowering in a double red worm bait, direct to a size 10 hook and 10lb line, I was in:

The fish ran like stink in the confines of a very tight swim. It was absolutely beautiful too, really long and strong for its' weight of fifteen and half pounds. When I think of how much tackle I had brought with me, it seems crazy that the only things actually involved in the capture were one rod and reel, a net, the most basic of float rigs and a handful of bait that cost absolutely nothing. Always a sweet, slightly guilty pleasure at a fishery where anyone not using three identical rods hurled across the lake is led to feel like they are some kind of lunatic.

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.

So near, yet so darned far!

Talk about week of many miles and varied experiences. The difference between success and epic fail can be as fine as a fluorocarbon hooklength when it comes to fishing. Perhaps I'm being hard on myself, but it feels like a week of "not quite". I travelled all the way up to Lincoln to give a talk to the Lincoln PAC on Monday- well what can I say, RO Simon Blaydes has a persuasive enthusiasm! I very much enjoyed meeting all the lads from this well supported region, and also managed some fishing while I was there. I did a day for pike and another for perch, but both times encountered a similar challenge: masses of fry, along with predators that were tricky perhaps because they were so spoiled for choice. I managed just the one pike on my first day, but probably should have had more after seeing two or three decent fish repeatedly batter into shoals of diddy roach. Day two was more of the same, albeit on a trout water in search of a big perch, and I'm not sure I've ever seen such thick shoals of fry as I found around inshore structures. However, it was the trout which came close to shore at intervals through the day to hunt- and create the sort of effect you get in a monster movie when a 60ft high reptile comes into view and tiny people scatter everywhere you look. Perhaps I shouldn't feel too disappointed at the lack of perch, because it was exciting stuff and enjoyed some good hits. This mint conditioned brown went like stink and actually coughed up three little roach as I unhooked it, including one which was still wriggling! perch did finally show up, but only for a short feeding window just before dark. Take your pick of excuses- top of the list would be a foul wind making casting and presentation a nightmare, although I'm also going to go back to the drawing board as far as my fry copies are concerned. After a fair bit of effort on predator and fly fishing, I then fancied something a bit different. With the exception of pike events it has been a few years since I entered a match, but with Tiverton AC holding an open on the pretty Grand Western Canal at Tidcombe, I really fancied a crack with the pole. Bread punch seemed the favoured method for bites- but taking a tip or two from friends, I went with a big piece of punch on a size 16 as an opening ploy, and bloody hell did it pay off. Well, nearly. I had two bream down the central track in the first half hour, which fought in a most un-breamlike manner on a number four elastic. Thrilling stuff and for a precious few minutes I was thinking "bloody hell, I might be in with a chance here!" Unfortunately it wasn't quite to be- other anglers also latched into some bream, pushing me down the running order. I fished the peg hard, trying chopped worm, caster and even a single pinkie on a 22, but for little further reward. A lot of effort for perhaps a dozen roach, but that extra bream or two which might have won me some coin were not forthcoming. Never mind, a little under 6lbs for fifth place is probably no disgrace given my long absence from match fishing and I thoroughly enjoyed the day (big thanks to Russ Hilton for the match pics, whose towpath stroll I hijacked). At the risk of making a pretty tenuous analogy, I'd liken my performance to the current plight of Exeter City FC- some decent play, but not quite promotion material just yet.

Bonus Time

Fishing is always such a subjective pastime as far as results are concerned. Weights, for example, are such a relative and often poor measurement of enjoyment. Would you rather catch a stack of fish from a heavily stocked water, for example, or a hard earned net of more realistic specimens from somewhere fairly wild? Canals are a point in case- unpredictable, fascinating places where it still represents some kind of achievement to winkle out a nice bag of fish. Russ Hilton, another big fan of more traditional waters, would no doubt agree. I had intended to take him fly fishing, but we decided to drop onto the Grand Western Canal for the morning first. We tackled up with bonus fish in mind, with relatively cute tackle and baits like caster, worm and hemp on the menu. Russ decided to use the pole, I went for a light waggler outfit. Sport was hardly hectic, but by feeding regular little helpings of bait several nice bonuses came our way. I usually feed a maggot line to keep me out of mischief, while letting a "bonus" line settle further out with regular doses of caster and chop. After some fun with small rudd down the middle, I was instantly rewarded casting a worm over my far bank line: I'm wondering if we should have weighed this perch in fact- it hardly matters, but it was a cracking fish for a little canal. Surprisingly the bite was quite slow and shy. It seemed to be worm that the better fish wanted, although it was such a cold start the swim had to be coaxed to life carefully rather than bombarded with bait. Russ was next to strike with a tench, also to worm. I wouldn't call it a red letter morning of fishing, but it was great fun and a typical slice of canal sport. The odd local chatterbox, twitchy rudd bites and some bugger's dog jumping in to finish off a swim that was already waning by midday. Bringing up the keepnet, I perhaps had a few more fish than I thought, not masses of bites but what was there was good quality. After an all day breakfast and a strong coffee to wake us up again, the second half of the day was spent fly fishing on the Lowman. A good decision it seemed, because after a quick casting lesson for Russ, we spotted several wily little trout and even some hatching olives. It's always a great pleasure to introduce another angler to something you enjoy so much yourself, and in no time Russ was pitching a dry fly into little runs and pools. A Beacon Beige or Klinkhamer brought them up a treat for some lively takes on the top and a stack of lively little trout, along with missed bites and the odd bit of tree. It took me right back to last season in fact, and my trip with urban fishing fanatic Theo Pike. The same spots were just as alive with trout and, lo and behold, the shopping trolley that features on my cover shot for Theo's new book is still exactly where it was before! With several entries on Devon waters, "Trout in Dirty Places" comes highly recommended for any of you looking for low cost (or no cost!) fly fishing.

From chewing on flies, to flies on Chew

Boundaries continue to blur in recent fishing, with more coarse fish on fly tackle. One thing's for sure- the fish don't give a piscatory toss which category the tackle falls into. Rudd and roach continue to inspire, and it has been a great thrill not only to keep catching them but to see others also testing the waters with success. From my older brother the salmon fanatic to regular fishing mates Norbert Darby, Ian Nadin and Steve Moore, everyone seems to be enjoying some exciting fly fishing for coarse species.

I like this sharing of fishing and ideas (and usually friendly insults). Definitely what fishing should be about, rather than secretive spots, meaningless figures and clashing egos. You learn so much more by being relaxed and sharing info- and certainly, the hotter it gets the more active the roach and rudd seem to be (unlike trout!).

I've also been linking up with film maker and fellow writer Steve Lockett to capture the action in both still and moving pictures. More on this later, but it has been productive fishing with wet flies singling out some delightfully chunky rudd. Spiders seem to work best- either a black and peacock or a red bodied spider in sizes 12-14 especially useful. For the Tiverton or Taunton to Bridgwater canals, I would recommend a long walk with a light rod, but also a long handled landing net to reach over the reeds and other obstructions. Parts of the Amazon probably offer easier water access! The roach and rudd can be tricky to hit, but the bigger mouthed and better sized fish are less rapid biting, hence somewhat easier to hook:


For a very different experience I also headed out for a day in the company of Steve Moore to Chew. We began in search of trout, but with warm, dry weather very little seemed prepared to feed. We needed little invitation to switch to pike, a sensible move. Whilst not exactly hectic, we enjoyed some good sport and stonking battles on fly tackle.

Pike are sometimes strange creatures. You hook the jacks and they go ballistic, making you think you've hooked a monster. And then you hook a fish that feels lacklustre- before it suddenly remembers it's a brute and says "sod this, I'm off!" I was connected to something big just before lunchtime, which not only gave me a near heart attack beside the boat but then proceeded to put twenty yards between us and stick it's gruesome chops out of the water.... before ridding itself of the fly with a shake of the head. I couldn't help but keep playing it over in my head with those fatal words- "if only." We both managed to boat pike later on though, topped by this nice double. For Chew, nothing to necessitate a change of underwear- by any normal angler's standards, a bloody nice fish.

Steve enjoyed his day too, until developing casting-related cramp in his hand next day. Compared to trout fishing it is hard work slinging big flies around I guess, but glad to report Steve was on the mend when I ran into him on the Exe. I had hoped for bream, but basically came nearer to swans on a slow Saturday evening in the town. When you've been fly fishing it can seem a bit dull to sit behind rods. The fly fever is catching with others too and my other half Jo also did herself proud with a rainbow trout on a Kennick "learn to fly fish" day. Learning to cast is a bit like learning to drive I guess- not best done with a lecture from your partner! So much for gender stereotypes then- she caught it, I cooked it in mustard sauce.
In other news, I'm about to embark on a well earned holiday- just as soon as I've killed off the 101 jobs on my "to do" list. Expect a short break then, with possibly some random updates from Sweden and Finland to follow on my travels.

From Pins to Pike

Bored by some slow specimen hunting, this week spelled a welcome return to fishing with fun and action in mind. And why not indeed? It beats sitting there so deadened that parts of you start to fall off. Stafford Moor is one of those rare places worthy of the name "mixed fishery" to the very letter- loads of variety, stacks of suprises and a perfect place to go for a mixed bag with a few genuine question marks over what you might catch.
I love nothing better than using a long rod, centrepin reel and sensitive pole style set up for varied waters such as Woody's Lake. You get finesse for shy biting fish, but also terrific versatility and with the flex of a 5m blank and the free running control of the pin you can land even large bonuses on light line. But if that sounds rather technical, my real reasoning is that it's bloody good fun and the rattle of a centrepin reel is surely one of the greatest sounds in fishing.

By feeding three close in lines with different baits in each, I hoped to get a real mix of species and so it proved. Chopped worm and groundbait drew skimmers and a tench, corn tamed half a dozen lovely crucians, while bigger pellets came in later for bonus carp. I love this game! We get so specialised in our approach, but it's so refreshing when you just don't know what will bite next.

A massive thumbs up to ever helpful fishery boss Andy Seery here, as well as photographer James Callison who was at the fishery to capture a beautifully sunny spring afternoon. This place is well worth a visit, however you like to fish.

Equally good fun however was meeting up with the PAC members and non members alike for a cracking little lure fishing day on the Grand Western Canal (above). All of our intrepid anglers present caught fish and got into the spirit of the day- lots of banter, but no bitching; an element of competition but also great sportsmanship. Lewis Palk, for example, had his winning fourth pike netted by the angler he was neck and neck with for the lead! Not that Ian Woodason had much to worry about, having scooped the prize for best fish on the day with a pretty Tivvy pike not far off four pounds (yes, that is Ian- despite his current beard disguise!).

Everyone caught then, but it was Ian's brightly coloured jerkbait that dominated early on, before action slowed in the sun and smaller jigs took most of the fish. Crazily enough, in spite of the many hundreds of casts on the day Ian's fish came with virtually the first shot in the entire match! It nicely closed an enjoyable if testing season for the Pike Angler's Club- but do watch this space for updates and a new venue and events next year. The Region 13/Devon PAC Blog is the place to look- and should have some more pics from today's friendly match: http://devonpac.blogspot.com/