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.

Predator Pickings

As anyone who likes to seek out new locations discovers, fishery owners come in all types. I've met some brilliant, supportive characters, as well as some first class nutters! I don't think some of them realise the huge importance they play in the sport- treat your anglers well and they'll be back time and again. The curious part comes when you encounter owners who would almost rather you weren't there. With perch fishing especially though, it's worth seeking out those more hidden places which are hardly promoted and where "fishery management" means a bloke hopping off his tractor and saying "that'll be six quid please". Autumn is invariably the most colourful time of the year. I'm glad in this instance I got Frazer McBain on the case again, who could make even the meekest little pond look elegant and mysterious. I've been doing more pole fishing lately for the perch. The pole is brilliant for getting accurate depths and pushing baits into tight spots- and as well as my favourite chopped worm tactics, I'm also using stepped up rigs to present small roach in perchy spots. It didn't start brilliantly on this occasion though, with a smashed pole section. Just as well the best areas are often near the bank- and this two and a bit pounder took a tiny roach close to cover over a decent helping of chop: Talking of off the beaten trail waters, initial trials have begun with the PAC boys on what could be an exciting little detour. All made possible by the efforts of Adam Moxey- who has done a sterling job sniffing out the place and talking to the owner. I can't name it just yet- although the boys who came to the first PAC meeting of the season at Mill on Exe now have an inkling of where our annual fish in will be held. Top class winter wear from Mox too- he was so well concealed from the cold he looked a bit like an armed robber. I had no pike on this occasion, but managed a perch on a drifted dead roach (an unusual occurrence on this method) and enjoyed a beautiful day in good company. Mox said the fateful lines "Just watch my rod for a minute mate, I'll be back in a few minutes" -and lo and behold, Chris Lambert was on hand to hit a screaming run and land a beautifully well conditioned double. It's been a really sociable few weeks in fact, and I also had a great day out with Mox and Russ Hilton on the Grand Western. We tried wobbling, lures and flies out. All of the methods caught plenty, the place looked as cute as a canal gets and the pike were fiesty if not huge: Definitely a month for predators then, and not only of the fishy variety. I took my other half Jo to Yarak Birds of Prey centre as a birthday treat and had a blast holding and photographing all the different birds, like this eagle:

A Pit Stop in Reading

Another week of travels for me, this time on blustery waters to meet up with Peter Wardle- a man with a great passion for pike fishing, as well as possibly the largest collection of heavy metal albums in the Reading area. It was also a chance to meet the local PAC lads and do battle with some lovely, if sometimes moody gravel pits. On an eventful two day stint we had a bit of everything in terms of both fishing and conditions: fresh autumn sunshine and a thunder storm, periods of sudden excitement followed by damp lulls. It certainly helps to have local knowledge on your side with these large, imposing waters. Pete had that alright- but not always the smoothest navigational skills when it came to negotiating the roads around Reading! In his defence, Pete doesn't drive- and I'm starting to think the area's highways were planned by sadists. Anyway, he more than made up for this by taking us to a tempting looking bay on a large pit. I started off with drifting tactics, which I always like on windy still waters. I'm also a fan of dyed baits. These might seem a gimmick, but I like a bait which really stands out- and I've found them very useful on both coloured waters and larger lakes where you want the fish to have the best chance to find your bait. Once upon a time I would paint food dyes onto my offerings (and also usually my fingers) before freezing them. More recently though, some clever bugger at Pikepro came up with the idea of little sprays- much easier. Rather than a huge vaned float I tend to go with a smaller dart style float for the job. The scene looked beautiful, but I was anticipating a lengthy wait. A big surprise then, that an hour or so in and both of us witnessed a fin break the surface in the waves. I recast my drifter bait to the spot and within seconds the float slipped under. A quick strike and I felt nothing. Luckily for me, the fish was still interested on the next cast- again, I managed to miss the first indication, but the fish then grabbed hold as I reeled in for another shot. Some days you really do count your blessings. Not only did I get a second and third chance to hook up, but the fish actually came off at the last second. Only a split second movement with the landing net from Pete saved the day! It was a long but pretty skinny low double and a big relief. I do sometimes whether my practise of using just one treble for smallish drifted baits is wise- but perhaps the odd loss is worthwhile payback for an absolute minimum of complications with unhooking? The next run was also slightly fortuitous, as both of us also had a rod out at range at the time. Pete had a sneaky bite that he couldn't quite connect with, before moments later my drop off sounded. The first sight of the fish was a huge head- followed by a long but very skinny body. Don't get me wrong, I love all the pike I catch- but in physique this fifteen pounder reminded me a little of "Plug" out of "The Bash Street Kids". The charges were levelled- "I don't know- you come here, you catch our bloody pike!" But in fairness, I would have been lucky to get a sniff without being put in the right spot for the conditions. I hope to be able to repay the favour should Pete fancy a crack at the Somerset Levels (another great place to get thoroughly lost). The second day was harder, with just one jack and a lot of walking and some phenomenally dour weather- but it was also great to meet the Reading PAC crew and give a talk on pike fly fishing and other subjects. The other real recent highlight has been introducing a friend to pike fishing. Fair play to Adam Aplin for persevering with the fly- and catching his first ever pike on the method. After a previous session looking at safe tackle for pike and casting flies in Heavitree Park, we hit the Grand Western Canal. To his credit, Adam took two fish, also lost a bigger one and now really has caught the fly fishing bug! The pike were certainly obliging for us. I had been talking up the aim of fishing the margins when a cute little jack absolutely hurtled at the fly right under the bank as we watched: The best pattern on the day was a yellow and black baitfish in a size 1. I can't emphasise enough how much easier smaller patterns are to cast when you're starting out with pike on the fly- small waters offer a brilliant introduction on lighter tackle and you can always graduate to beefier rods and bigger flies later on. I was also delighted to see Adam handle pike confidently so early and, quite literally, get to grips with the basic skills: With the Levels so flooded, the Grand Western also formed a perfect plan B for some filming with the Sky Sports "Tight Lines" crew. I had intended to show them some river piking, but that was rendered impossible by Biblical levels of rain. Never mind- you can catch the action on the show this Friday (the 19th)- or on the podcast later on.

From Country Estates to Council Estates

I am an angler of itchy feet. I like fishing a real range of waters. That might seem like stating the bleeding obvious, but it does affect the way you fish. Hopping waters is exciting, but if you make lots of different detours you really have to think on your feet. Sometimes just getting the day ticket is a mission. Like at Shobrooke Lake, Devon- where you hand over your cash at surely one of the most unlikely combined businesses in the land (Ladd's Computers and Guns) for the not incredibly cheap rate of £12.50. "Yeah, I want a day ticket please. Oh, and while I'm here I'll take a Dell lap top and that great big shotgun. Yeah, that one. I'm thinking of an internet fuelled killing spree. Maybe I can chuck the bodies in the lake while I have a crack at some roach on the waggler." And if that seemed a bit unlikely, you'd might also wonder what I was doing lobbing out a spomb packed with hempseed and 10mm boilies. No, I haven't sold my soul to Satan or (xxxx insert Godless tackle company as applicable), I'm just finding these little devices really bloody useful and, dare I say it, good fun to use. You don't need some ridiculous spod rod and the result is a lovely, accurate pocket of bait that doesn't sound like an air strike on Kabul. I intended to fish the long pole with casters for the silver fish, but also put out a bonus rod for bigger roach or carp. Joining me was Russ Hilton, who I'd been trying for a while to drag away from the cricket pitch and back to fishing. A good move, because the lake was beautiful and although all the hardcore carpers had bagged the near bank swims, we found some space at the quieter end with a nice, mild breeze pushing towards us. We both enjoyed plenty of bites, with the odd better roach or hybrid thrown in, the odd one over the pound mark: The really exciting part was when the bonus rod surged into life. Lobbing the pole behind me, I savoured a good scrap from a carp. It happened later on too, with regular little top ups of bait grabbing the interest of a better one. The two carp couldn't have been more different. The first was a bit of a mutant: bug eyed and no pelvic fins of any description. The next was absolutely gorgeous though, beautifully dark gold and well proportioned. It took careful playing on relatively light gear: After such an enjoyable day I felt a real appetite for another trip on a decent sized and leafy lake. Trenchford Reservoir seemed a fair bet for a long walk with some lures. Having no pubs next to it, the place also seemed a good place to take Norbert Darby without fear of distractions such as barmaids and cider. The part I'd forgotten is that the place is harder than the Klitschko brothers. We didn't have so much as a whiff of a pike and even with waders, you just couldn't get to around three quarters of the lake. And the bits you could get to were as dead and depressing as Jimmy Saville. Time for a move then- and the predictable irony was that the most concrete part of the urban Exe showed far more signs of life. The walk was just as long, and just as biteless to begin with, although the graffiti art on show was right up our street. Some great B-Movie monsters and quirky humour, and Norbert took a shine to a big lady: The sun was up, we were laughing and pike were there after all, just not quite where I'd expected them. All we needed was a pint of cider, some jokes in such poor taste I can't repeat them, and a bit of a tactical reshuffle. Best of all, we silenced the town's own "I know everything better than you" character in a moment of pure, poetic justice. He'd been busy telling us that he was the mutt's nuts and declared that all the fish were in deep water; I couldn't help but smile sweetly as he caught a tree the same minute Norbert latched into a nice pike in a painfully shallow swim. It's times like this I wonder if perhaps there is such a thing as divine intervention. Karma is a bitch, ain't it?

September spawned a monster...

With time short, and conditions as unpredictable as ever, September has closed with a trail of budget accommodation, blustery waters and bloody fingers in search of pike and other species. With fuel so pricey, sometimes the only way to make ends meet is to kill a few birds with one stone and take a road trip. A successful one, I'm pleased to add- as you can see from the state of my fingers. Last week, it all began in slightly calmer style as I was delighted to guide fly convert Owen Haynes on what looked like the last good day of summer. We had a blast with lots of visual fish present. Despite only relatively recently taking up fly fishing, Owen put spiders to good use in some of my favourite spots, taking a good tally of fish- and was unlucky to miss out by a hair's breadth on what looked to be a real monster rudd. It matters less when you catch a hatful of pretty, nicely conditioned roach: I always like to send folks away with some bonus flies too, and keen to catch a pike next, Owen went away with some new pike patterns for a spot of "field testing"! Shortly afterwards, I was hurtling across the country to catch the PAC Convention, along with some strategic stops on the journey. If you travel light, you can quickly set up anywhere- and I couldn't resist a shot in Somerset on the way up. A little disheartened to see the carnage and bare spaces created by the weed cutter in operation, I was relieved to find a shoal of chub on the canal. They just wouldn't rise for a dry fly, but a Spider Sedge flicked to the edge of the shoal was snapped up by this nice fish: After a couple of jack pike on the Severn en route, I rocked up in the Midlands to continue my shoe-string fishing tour on the reservoirs. With a good handful of waters to choose from, you're spoilt for choice, but a day with Zoota Lures maker Alex Prouse (see www.zoota.co.uk) was a must. I had admired his beautiful jerkbaits at a couple of shows in the past and couldn't wait to see them in action. I've enjoyed jerkbait fishing before- but usually with the solid variety you work with the rod tip to swerve left to right. There's something extra special about a model someone has tested and finished by hand however and the pike seemed to agree. Drifting to cover plenty of water, we started to get follows and hits. Alex was first into a fish, a nice double: The day was exciting enough when I spotted a really long fish follow. Alex recommended a switch to a smaller "mini Wagtail"- and fatefully, ten minutes later, the line stopped and I got that nervous excitement of a fish that held deep and ponderous. At the first sight of it my jaw fell slack. Bloody hell, I was a gibbering mess! Some big water fish are thicker than your leg, others are really long: this one was both. I would be lying if I said the fight was a breeze- it was torturously edgy, as the fish was only hooked lightly by one treble. I was having horror visions of another pike in this bracket I hooked last season on Chew, which shook its head and was gone. Not this time! At 27lb 10oz, I was supremely grateful to Alex and his brilliant lures. I don't usually dare dream of a pike anywhere near size until much later in the season- and to catch it on a lure was doubly special. Just to prove the lures were no one hit wonders, he proceeded to catch some lovely pike of his own among a string of spine tingling follows and big hits. Not only are these lures deadly- they're also a lot tougher than those I've used in the past. And if they get really hammered, a lighter can always be used to make running repairs! The next day was a complete change of scene as I fished elsewhere with predator fly expert Nigel Savage. We had further fun with some very scrappy pike, but I was especially intrigued by his tactics for zander. This couldn't be more different to casting for pike, with jig style flies and depths often 30ft or greater to contend with: I would liken it to jigging- but by no means in a dismissive way. Flies are trailed and carefully worked behind the boat, rather than repeatedly cast, which would be fairly ludicrous with the vast depths involved. Doing everything by touch is a lovely way to fish and Nigel took several zander from the depths. It was also a great week for meeting other pike anglers at the PAC Convention, where I had the pleasure of giving a talk to a group of keen youngsters. With areas like rigs and catch and release well covered by seasoned heads, my remit was the rich area of pike legends and tall tales from the archives. From the great Mannheim pike myth, to tales of geese, dogs and small boys being eaten, it was all good, far-fetched fun. In fact, the pike season couldn't have got off to a more rewarding start. I'd also encourage Westcountry rods to check out the Devon R13 PAC blog (see my links page at www.dgfishing.co.uk) for upcoming events. Nathan Edgell is first up in late October at Mill on Exe- with an exclusive water fish in and other good things to come.

Cheap Seats vs Exclusive Beats

I've never been one for forking out mega bucks for my fishing. It's not any lack of love for stunning private waters, but more lack of funds. You do get the odd perk out of writing about places, but the phrase "there's no such thing as a free lunch" also applies. Just like I'd never want my output to read like a sales pitch for a sponsor, nor should it read like a fishery brochure. And besides, I quite like it when my viewpoint comes from the cheap seats. Where there's muck there's interest. Where there is dirt there is truth. This is why Rimbaud and Baudelaire frequented gutter bars and cemeteries rather than five star restaurants. That, and the fact that they were perpetually wrecked on absinthe. This week has been a tale of two very different river settings. Firstly, you have the free stretch of the Culm. I've never investigated this place properly before, hence it was a bit of an awakening. Sadly as well as butterflies, birds, chub, dace and trout it also has litter and dodgy types; cows and dogs disturbing the water in at regular intervals. Not surprisingly the best fishing came from taking a walk (or should I say a wade) away from the better trodden areas. Like that craggy bit by the M5. You know the one, the place you must have scanned 1000 times from your car and thought "I wonder what's down there?" Well, I gave it a crack: Was the fishing electric? In a word, no. But varied and challenging, yes. I fished a Klinkhamer and hares ear combo to find dace and a couple of sporty trout, as well as losing what I suspect was a half decent chub. The dingy bits were so overgrown I stuggled, but on some of the shallow, sunny runs I got some lovely rises to the dry fly. Beautiful too, are these Culm trout. Sunny gold and vivid. This bit of the Culm might not be Premier League fly fishing then, but hey- it's free. My next outing couldn't have been more different. An invite to spend the day on a quiet -and usually very private- stretch of the Exe through the kindness of a family friend wasn't to be sniffed at. It was a place so beautiful you had to keep reminding yourself that you weren't trespassing. My brother was already frothing at the mouth with the prospect of salmon, but I wanted to make sure I put something in the net first before giving them a cast. Grayling are a particular favourite. They definitely thrive on neglect- and of all the fish I believe they are the most fragile and easily killed by careless anglers. The nice thing about grayling on salmon waters is that you know virtually nobody is fishing for them. I found plenty of lovely, steady paced runs with 2-3 feet of water and rising fish. Most wanted the dry fly: It soon went from good to outstanding, as the rises increased and Ben hooked a salmon further up. The next grayling I hooked was in a different class to the rest, vast in length by comparison. They are one of those fish that really tantalise as they come towards you; I love that moment the dorsal fin is hoisted and for a brief moment the fish is perfectly frozen before you. My brother had the only scales sadly, but it was 17", quite possibly a two pounder. Who cares, figures are for maths teachers and it was exquisite: I've written before about the huge influence confidence, or a lack of it, can have on fishing success- and on this occasion you felt anything was possible. Ben had already caught a salmon too, so there was only one way to try and finish the day. I aimed an orange Pot-Bellied Pig into various tempting, boiling spots along a far bank channel. After about cast fifty, I was still hoping and almost tempting fate asked Ben "so do I strike when I feel something?" The answer to that is generally "NO!" -a better answer would be to grit your teeth, give line and try not to die of shock. The thing I was attached to flew downstream at a scary pace before throwing itself into the air. Pure adrenaline. In fact, the next time someone even suggests fishing is boring I'm going to slap them. "It's going to be a decent one," and "it's well hooked I reckon," were comments that only added to the tension. The fight was manic, but under my brother's expert guiding hand I eventually managed to bring it to the net. A first ever salmon for me, on the fly and one of the most nerve shattering battles I've ever had on a fishing rod I'd say. The fish, a male, made a steady recovery before making his way homewards. As for me, I've only just stopped quaking.