Cutting Loose

There are only so many hours in the week to cram everything in these days, but this last week or so I at least managed to cram a couple of fun outings in. The bigger plans and more critical things are all well and good, but the most enjoyable trips are often those cheeky sessions, squeezed in when you probably should be doing something else. Like a morning on the canal, just because it's not too far away and you have a loaf of bread and fancy a couple of hours.


I roped my dad into it this time, as we hit the Tivvy canal earlyish for a crack at some bread punch fishing not far from Tidcombe Bridge. It is here the Tiverton Christmas match usually takes place, although I'm still wondering if I'll make that particular date. If our quick session was anything to go by, and temperatures stay mild though I bet it'll be a belter.
On this occasion we each kicked things off with a ball of finely liquidised bread a little smaller than a golf ball, cupped in for accuracy. Expecting small roach and bits I was on a Preston Chianti float taking just five or so strung out number 10 Stotz and an 18 hook.
I had a little chuckle at my old man's idea of a "small" hookbait, which made a size 12 look small. However, his slightly heavy handed start was almost instantly rewarded with a nice bream of 2-3 pounds.



In the next 10 minutes I added one of my own, before claiming six roach in as many bites, making it the sort of start to a session that a match angler dreams about. I tend to save this sort of outrageous fortune for those lazy trips when I didn't even have the foresight to bet a quid on the outcome. Never mind though, it was bloody good fun. The bites just kept coming and there was little discernible slowdown in the whole of our two hours and a bit of fishing. We caught roach after roach, along with the odd skimmer, for a very enjoyable session. About the only step needed to keep bites coming was the introduction of a small ball of bread after the hour mark. I experimented with bigger pieces of punch, but it seemed to make little difference- stacks of roach, with perhaps eight out of ten in the 1oz or less class. This also bodes well for the future of the canal. Suffice to say, a really tidy net of fish was shared and we were still back in time for lunch and the avoidance of "where the hell are they?" style conversations from the womenfolk.

I get the feeling the Christmas contest could be a belter this year with double figures required to take the top spot. Winning is a tall order though, because there are many useful local anglers who are well versed in pole and punch fishing on the cut. It's always a fun day though, and I might just have to fish it and see!

Besides wasting a Saturday morning and a perfectly good loaf of bread in one swoop, another short, sneaky session was also enjoyed with pike on the fly in the company of Pete Wilkins. The idea would have seemed laughable that morning as gales battered my windows. But by two o'clock things had died right off and we hopped off to the cut. Local knowledge really can get you out of jail when the weather is horrible, because you can head for those sections which haven't been totally flooded or churned up by excess rain. Such sections on most canals tend to be those higher up points, rather than the parts where rain water messes everything up.
Perhaps I went too big and ambitious on this occasion because my extra large pike fly, which I fancied for a bigger pike, was flatly ignored while Pete Wilkins cleaned up with three fish on a rather smaller yellow and red pattern. You could tell it was his day from the off, when within three seconds of his very first cast a jack lashed out! Well fished that man:

These lazy, leisurely sessions are the total opposite to the pressure and pitfalls of trying to catch for the camera. There's probably a very good reason you don't see too many TV angling shows that feature zander, given their enigmatic, sometimes frustratingly elusive nature. But my task for the Sky Sports crew was to winkle some of these predators out of the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal.

Would I catch or just get very cold and bored trying? It was a testing day in the end, but not without some drama… but why would I want to spoil the plot for you? Watch this space for further show info.

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.

Bread, flies & floods

Some things in fishing, you can legislate for. Others keep you guessing. The location of fish is just one area nobody can predict with unerring certainty. Such was the case on a pole fishing trip, where I fancied another crack on breadpunch with Russ Hilton. We picked the wrong pegs at first- there had been fish around Charlton before in this particular area, but we couldn't buy a bite for a whole hour- and punch seems to work quite soon or not at all. Undaunted, we upped sticks and took a walk before deciding on a new area. The banks were horrendous, but we could see lots of silvers and several pike nearby too. It was bite a chuck fishing from the off, but rather a struggle to get anything over about an ounce. The place was absolutely heaving with small silver bream, and in fact the only thing which prevented constant bites was the odd pike boiling in the swim and sending the little buggers scattering. In the end, we knocked the session on the head and grabbed pike tackle. Drifted deadbaits were accepted in no time at all, with several runs in the space of perhaps 90 minutes. The pike were on the small side, as is typical for the cut, but fun nevertheless. Otherwise, It has been a period of hectic sorting things out, including a trip to hospital rapidly followed by the final, concluding day for my Level 2 Angling Coaching badge. The paperwork has been a nightmare- but the course itself worthwhile and I've learned a lot. By the end of it I needed a relaxing day out somewhere, and fancied a bit of stillwater fly fishing. I also caught up with the two Adams, Aplin and Moxey, for whom the whole idea of "catch and take" trout fishing was totally new. A pretty scene at Blakewell it was to, and as well as trout we could spot perch in the margins. Sure these never used to be here- contrary to the wishes of the management to remove them, I like seeing perch in trout lakes. Adam managed to catch one on a damsel nymph, while things started slowly with the trout. The first hits came not on naturals, but by switching to a good old Woolly Bugger: Funny how fisheries can change. Once upon a time, it felt like the fishing was almost too easy at Blakewell. On this occasion things took a bit of sussing- and the fish seemed to want a lure presented nice and slow, rather than stripped aggressively. The real turning point was switching to that purist's nightmare, the blob. With less weight than the goldheads, this fly could be fished much slower without dropping into the weed and it led to a hectic final hour. It's always especially pleasing to introduce others to a new type of fishing too, and it was brilliant to watch Adam Aplin play a first ever rainbow trout that leapt clear three times before hitting the net. A third new species on the fly rod for Adam then- and one very happy camper! On a more sobering final note, the damage to the Grand Western Canal has been a horrible shock. Even to the most ardent fisherman, when folks have to be evacuated, it does put the welfare of fish into perspective. I gather there is now a floodwater lake formed near Greenways. For man and fish alike, let's just pray things settle down.

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.