End of year fishing report

So, with my "busy time" approaching, yesterday's session was my last of 2014, a fishing year bookended by blanks, and that contained a lot of fun and the usual combination of minor successes and failures, fish caught, fish lost and angling puzzles to continue to mull over. It was predominantly a story of two venues, The Grand Union Canal and a pond I'll refer to as "The Carp Lake", and both were responsible for good days and what we sometimes euphemistically refer to as "challenging days."

 

 

The canal was the scene of a number of short sessions lure fishing for perch and pike. Normally early morning affairs, occasionally solo affairs, but more usually in the company of Pete, or on a couple of occasions my son, these provided the opportunity to engage in one of the most enjoyable forms of angling: mobile lure fishing. Travelling light and targeting likely spots, the canal provided us with plenty of perch and the occasional pike, some good fish but no giants. As well as the old dependables, the Ondex and Aglia's, we also tentatively experimented with dropshotting and ultra light lures, experiments, no doubt, to be continued next year.

 

 

 

 

The Carp Lake was the scene of a month of (by my standards) intensive fishing, with five sessions, including an overnighter fitted in to four weeks. Fishing with my son, Pete or Roger, a steady stream of carp fell to a mixture of modern carp fishing techniques, my son and I tending to opt for PVA bagging while Pete's preferred option was the Method. As with the canal, fish were plentiful, and the carp here fight hard, but all were of a modest size, with most fish being high singles.
 

 

 

 

As well as the inevitable commons and mirrors, one late summer session also saw Pete's hair rigged pellets fool not only the intended carp, but also an unexpected brace of quality crucians. Although I suspect it'll take a fair bit to separate my son from his favoured PVA bags or Pete from his method feeders, my intention next year is to fish for the carp predominantly floatfishing the margins and using a centrepin.

The highlight of the season was being accompanied by my son on his first ever night fishing trip, and introducing him to the sounds and sights of a carp lake as dusk gives way to darkness.

In all, an enjoyable year's fishing, the pioneering excitement provided as new sections of the Canal were scouted out, explored and fished, and a return to carp angling after an absence of a couple of years. The one regret would be that I float-fished far less than I would have liked, an oversight to be corrected next year. With the last few sessions of the year seeing few fish caught, I suspect if one of my schoolteachers from back in the day were to write a report on my exploits it would probably read "Jon has tried hard, but failed to maintain his early promise."
Never mind ...... there's always next year.

Last session blues

Today's final session of 2014 was a reminder of two things- stillwater fish are much easier to catch in warm weather than cold, and winter angling can be cruel. For me, fishing in the colder months is like smoking cigarettes - more of an addiction than a pleasure. This morning as I climbed into the car to get my quick three hour fix the car temperature gauge cheerfully informed me that the air temperature was a full 2 degrees, and the weather forecast on the car radio didn't suggest it was going to get that much warmer, either.

Knowing that bites would be at a premium, I decided to go small (size 20 hook and single maggot), with half a pint of maggots and half a pint of castors as bait. As I arrived at the lake the sky had a pretty pinkish tinge, which quickly faded to wolf coat grey. I set up with one of Ian Lewis' (Ian Lewis handmade floats) Norfolk reed wagglers, and began feeding a swim just off the edge of some dead reedbeds.

I was fishing with Pete, my regular fishing companion, who decided to double his chances by fishing a swimfeeder tucked in close to an overhanging tree with maggot as bait, as well as a waggler. In the event Pete had the only bite of the whole three hours that we fished together. Fortunately he connected with the fishy culprit, the result being the carp pictured below.

 

 

After the allocated three hours were up I needed to return to work for an afternoon meeting, followed by a running a training session for the village primary school football team that I coach before taking the first (of many!) carol services this month. My fishing season, which has almost entirely comprised of very short sessions, has lost momentum in recent weeks, with the abundant pike and perch of the spring months from the canal, and the summer's carp giving way to a disappointing winter in which Pete has almost permanently had the "Indian sign" over me.

Pete stayed on for another two and a half hours after my departure, and added this handsome perch to his catch, on what was a gruelling winter session, and- almost certainly for us- the angling swansong of 2014.

 

 

But here's the funny thing: while this morning's session may have been about as pleasant as a bad case of amoebic dysentery, and notwithstanding the fact that January and February may prove even colder and harder to find fish, I can't wait till my next session ........... do they do the equivalent of nicotine patches for fishing? ......... this addiction is getting ridiculous.

The friendly fisherman

There's a shop specialising in predator angling equipment that goes by the name of "The Friendly Fisherman", presumably a reference to its proprietor in the hope that describing him thus will lead to anglers wanting to patronise his store. I once knew of a tattoo artist who was known as "Gentle Graham", which again- if my experiences of being inked are anything to go by- would have been good for his business, too. I've ordered online from the aforementioned angling store, and found them to be efficient and prompt, but having never met the owner I can't comment on the veracity or otherwise of the shop's name. However, my experiences on the river bank and lakeside have led me to believe that there's some truth in Walton's ideal of the "brotherhood of the angle", and certainly friendships have enhanced my fishing days.

 

The picture above is of me fishing a few years back with my two brothers, with whom I've shared many an angling adventure. They endure as angling friends to this day, and although these days we only actually fish together rarely due to geographical proximity, our telephone conversations tend to revolve around fishing, as does the conversation whenever we meet up.

 

 

 Although some see fishing as a lonely, solo activity for quiet taciturn types who shun the company of others, my own preference is, wherever possible, to share my fishing sessions with one or two likeminded friends. In my Plymouth days Mark (above), Rob, Ben, Jonathan (then teenagers) and Joe (pictured below, and the godfather of my son) were my companions. Joe was great for comedy value, perennially tangled, breaking things or falling in, the young lads were tenacious in their pursuit of fish, permanently changing swims and tactics, and Mark was always good for a leisurely conversation, almost always accompanied by a few fish.

 

 

These days my main fishing partners are Pete (who's figured in a number of posts on this blog) and my 14 year old son, along with a supporting cast of occasional angling companions: Roger (below), Louie and Craig. All the anglers mentioned have been members of churches I've worked in, and it's great on the bank to relate to them not as "the Vicar", but just as a fellow angler and friend.

 

 

The internet has further opened the possibilities for making angling a social affair. Through Facebook groups and forums I feel as though I "know" anglers all over the country, and the internet has led to me getting to know and fish with Stewart Bloor, inveterate blogger, fellow Christian minister and well known angler, and also journeying to the States to meet and fish with friends I'd initially met on line, one result of which is a friendship with a top American rod builder who'll shortly be commencing work on a custom lure rod for me.

 

The archetype of an angler may revolve around the stereotype of an unsociable, sad, old man, but while I'm undoubtedly getting older (a recent experiment with a beard was curtailed after a few days, owing to the amount of white or grey hair that was covering my face) the way I practice my fishing means I'm anything but "sad" or "lonely".  The "brotherhood of the angle" still holding true Centuries after Walton and Cotton departed this life for a better.



Angling on the box

 

When it comes to a bunch of anglers discussing fishing TV shows the collective noun must be either "a whinge" or "a dissatisfaction" ...... it seems as though- with the exception of "A Passion for Angling, which is universally acclaimed as the best angling program ever- that there's always something to moan about. Which, I think, is a shame, and particularly short-sighted.

 

Take the latest series of "Crabtree". To some split cane traditionalists it's not Crabtree enough, despite the use of centrepins and handmade floats as well as carbon and method feeders, while perhaps for others there's not enough "action"- too much beautiful scenery and mist rising from the water, as if such a thing were possible. I actually think that, although not perfect, it's actually pretty darn good.

 

And maybe that's the problem. While we're all aware that we ourselves are from perfect (either as anglers or as people!) we demand an unrealistic level of perfection from angling TV producers. I'd argue that, in an age when there are so many competing interests and distractions, and where the average age of anglers is increasing and less people are fishing that almost all TV publicity is good publicity, even if it's coming from the much maligned Robson Green (except for when he's doing really dumb or inexcusable stuff like bow hunting for carp!) He's grown as a presenter, and the combination of travel and angling is always going to draw an audience, and I know of lots of non-anglers who watch it, enjoy it and are beginning to wonder if angling might not be something that they'd enjoy. Sure, he's not everyone's "cup of tea" and he's sometimes been badly advised, but on balance I'd call it a net gain.

 

 

 

I can remember some very "low production values" angling TV from my childhood and youth. There was "Hooked" which, if nothing else, convinced me that match fishing doesn't make great viewing (but I still watched it every week after school), an effort called "Go Fishing" presented by Jack Charlton (great centre-back, average angler, mediocre presenter) which had a very jaunty theme tune, and even further back a series called "The Fishing Race", which included the then-famous specimen hunter Jim Gibbinson and included such highlights as the Welsh rugby legend Gareth Edwards getting "hammered" in the bar on a ferry to Sweden for a fishing trip and some guy fishing in an aquarium for a piranha! None of it classic TV, but I lapped it up nonetheless.

 

 

John Wilson took the long-running series genre to new heights in the 80's and 90's, and introduced the compelling mixture of adventure travel and angling that now seems to be a staple of angling programming, whether Paul Young, Jeremy Wade or poor old Robson. His infectious laugh and "personality angler" profile paved the way for successors such as Matt Hayes. Perhaps the best (and worst) thing that ever happened for angling on TV was Hugh Mile's beautiful "Passion for Angling" series; best because it set standards of camera work, story telling and enchantment that have never been surpassed, and worst because everything (even Hugh's own later project "Catching the impossible") have been damned with faint praise by comparison. The relationship between Chris Yates and Bob James (affectionate but with a slight edge of bickering) was akin to many a longstanding marriage, and somehow four programs using the narrative device of the seasons seemed to sum up all that's good in angling.
 

My own favourite angling programs have been the aforementioned "Passion for Angling" and also the "Compleat Angler" series presented by Rae Borras and the actor Geoffrey Palmer in which modern angling trips were juxtaposed with readings from "The Compleat Angler" in a winsome homage to Walton.

 

I guess that if there's a message amid these nostalgic ramblings through angling's history on British TV, it's that we anglers, as a community, are far too quick to criticise and too slow to recognise a good thing. The more angling that there is on TV, the higher the profile, and the higher the profile the more newcomers we'll attract to the sport. We need to be less tribal ("I only watch carp fishing, mate" or "one struggles to watch anything that features carbon rods, don't you know") and to welcome (and watch) and enjoy whatever scraps the commissioning editors throw at us.
 

..... and wouldn't it just be great if someone could digitally rework Jack Hargreaves' fishing slots on "Out of Town" - that'd really be worth setting the TV to record.

 

Seasonally affected perch disorder.

 

 It seems hard to believe that the photo above of my fishing companion Pete's son was taken on an early morning trip just three weeks ago. No coat, scarf, gloves or hat- the balmy, sunny, Autumnal days of October. Simon and Garfunkle may have sung something about "seasons changing with the scenery" but they should have said something about the rapidity of that change. October's mild Autumn has given way to November's attritional offering of dark mornings, short days and dropping temperatures, and with the changing weather has come a change, too, in our fortunes.

 

No longer do the perch chase with abandon and the pike find their way to the bank with- if not regularity- reasonable frequency. The fish have become as curmudgeonly as the water and air cold. If September and October's compliant predators seem like a fading memory, August's arm wrenching carp are beginning to feel like ancient history.

 

 

My last three trips have resulted in just two small perch (both caught this morning), while Pete's last two sessions have resulted in just one perch; slim pickings.

There are contributory factors: our sessions are always short, a couple of hours snatched here and there, and today's session saw the nightmare combination of a gin clear canal, caused by the recent frosty cold snap, accompanied this morning by pouring rain.

 

 

Pete spent quite a bit of time drop-shotting (why not, everyone else is), but to no avail, while I  alternated between soft plastic shads and crankbaits for pike, interspersed with spinners for perch. My brace of extremely modestly sized perch both fell to the ever reliable Ondex spinner. Today it was Pete's turn to blank.

 

 



It's only four week's ago that Pete caught a decent pike on one of our early morning pre-work sessions, but confidence is beginning to dip and doubt to creep in. Should we continue our exploration of the Grand Union Canal (there are a few new areas we've got lined up to try), or should we give the canal and lures a rest and steal three hours of float-fishing on a local lake?

One thing's certain: irrespective of whether we give the canal a rest or carry on our investigative forays of new stretches, this noble waterway is not only an ongoing reminder of our industrial heritage and past, it's providing an ongoing puzzle that should turn a few more of my remaining hairs grey and add one or two more furrows to my brow.

Temporarily beaten, but by no means defeated!

Piking in an old school timewarp

Normally associated with Thursdays, but "what the heck, let's live dangerously", here's a Throwback Tuesday photograph. Firstly, I realise that apologies are due for the orange T-shirt, ridiculous sunglasses and gold ear-ring that looks as if it was purloined from Long John Silver, but this is me displaying an unremarkable looking pike (although I'd have loved to have tangled with the much bigger pike responsible for the massive wound on its flank!) caught from a North London lake almost 20 years ago.

Now, you may very well be wondering why I'm bothering to post a picture from a past era in my lure fishing history, and the answer is twofold: firstly, because I've little to report as it's a fortnight since I last fished, and my next planned trip is still a week away (a family break over half term and a nightmare workload having temporarily curtailed my angling exploits) and secondly, because I've been musing during this period of piscatorial inactivity on how little my lure fishing has changed over the last two decades, as my lure collection demonstrates.

 

 



20 years ago I was, if not "ahead of the curve" certainly pretty much at the sharp end of where the majority of UK pike anglers were when it came to lure choice. I religiously read (and prodigiously ordered from) the then-magnificent Harris Angling catalogue and had a great collection of hard baits by Heddon, Storm, Halco, Lucky Strike, Shakespear, Luhr-Jensen, Rapala et al, but since then most anglers have moved on, and the market is now dominated by soft-plastics but I tend still to opt for the "old standards" as my first choices. The reason may partly be that for the most part of the last 18 years I've been pursuing species other than pike and perch (a decade spent almost exclusively chasing carp in Devon, followed by a brief flirtation with crucians and quite a bit of general float fishing for "whatever comes along"), before my angling started to move back to being predominantly predator and lure driven.

 

 

It's not that I don't own any shads, jigs or grubs (I do), nor that I never use them, but the issue is one of confidence. In theory I know that they'd many times be the most effective choice, but as I've caught far more fish on hardbaits, spinners and spoons I use the latter far more than the soft baits. I guess it's going to rely on self-discipline if I'm to change, and perhaps I'll need to have a few trips when I only take soft baits with me to "force the issue". Among my plans for next year is to get into drop-shotting for perch, so perhaps that will prove to be the catalyst to my gaining confidence with rubbers and soft plastics.
 I guess I'm the victim of my own (incredibly limited and unspectacular) "success." While I never "empty the canal" I also rarely blank, and the fact that I'm regularly catching perhaps introduces an element of risk aversion.

Maybe next week I'll start off on a rubber shad and see what happens ............ but then again, perhaps not. So many options, so little time....

"A quiet week on the canal ..."

 

The American author Garrison Keillor begins all of his Lake Woebegone stories with the same sentence: "It's been a quiet week in Lake Woebegone." I could say similar of my week on the canal. This week saw me fish two short sessions, both of which brought me blanks. The first was a snatched after-school session with both of my kids, the second was a before work session with Pete, in which he chastened me by catching perch and pike when all I could muster was one solitary follow from a semi-interested perch. I did, however, in the session with my kids take my first ever "selfie" (is it still a "selfie" if there are two other people in the shot?), so was able to offset the disappointment at blanking by taking another hesitant step into the 21st Century!

 

 

 

The after-school blank wasn't too perturbing. We'd only had an hour, the canal was extremely coloured and we'd had some fun fishing rather casually. Friday was a different affair altogether, and has left my post-session analytic brain reeling in overdrive and full of "why?" and "what if?" and "what next?" questions.

Pete and I arrived at first light at a new stretch of canal that had just about everything you'd want thrown into a small, compressed space: a lock, a confluence with a stream, a bridge and then a stretch where the canal merged with a section of river which itself contained a weir; happy days!

 

 It wasn't long before Pete had the first fish, a small perch that grabbed his spinner, the first of half a dozen he caught. However, the fish all came individually rather than the rapid bunches of fish that we're used to, suggesting that we weren't faced with a plentiful and ravenous shoal, but were picking off odd solo travellers or that they weren't that bothered about feeding. I started off with pike as my target, so concentrated on larger lures, before changing to spinners, but despite throwing a wide variety of lures at the canal, I only managed to induce one abortive follow from a modestly sized perch.

With about 10 minutes left  before the agreed time for packing up we agreed to spend the last few casts on the river, which was wide (in relative terms), slow flowing and full of dense beds of "cabbages". "It looks good for pike" I said, prophetically. I clipped on a Big S, hoping that its seductive wiggle in the shallow water over the weedbeds would evoke a response, but it was Pete's Ondex that was grabbed by an aggressive pike. After a brief fight and a lot of water being thrown into the air, the fish, which was probably pushing close to double figures, was netted, unhooked, admired and photographed.
"Well done, Pete" I said, and although the words were uttered through gritted teeth, I did mean it.

 



Piking Pilgrims Progress

Although angling can be a solitary pastime, and at particularly melancholy or reflective points I enjoy a solo foray, most of the time I like a social aspect; to have a bunch of friends with whom I share my angling adventures. These days my two most frequent angling companions are my son and Pete,my regular fishing partner,  with a supporting cast of friends and anglers that includes Roger, Craig, Mark and a few others, along with an annual "cameo" bankside appearance from my daughter.

 

 

 At the moment, as "indian summer" gives way to Autumn,  the main preoccupation for Pete and I are the pike and perch of the Grand Union Canal, and the last four weeks have seen me fish twice -once with Pete and once with my son (above) along with aforementioned annual cameo from my daughter- while in the same timespan the prolific Pete has managed four trips. In addition to the one with me he's been three times with his son, on one occasion also accompanied by Mark, another of our church's anglers. He's been getting among the pike, too, as well as the ubiquitous perch.

 

 

 



However, it may well be that of greater significance than the actual fishing sessions (three pike for Pete,  a first ever pike for his son and the usual plethora of landed perch, perch that "followed without taking" and pike that threw the hooks for the rest of us) will prove to be the brief recce's he's been indulging in of new stretches of the canal that "look" to be ideal spots for predators to be hanging out in search of a fish supper.

 

 

He's been discovering weirs, locks, bridges and a host of other features, stretches and swims that scream "pike" or "perch". The photo's that he's been sending me speak for themselves, in consequence of which an early morning session is planned for Friday- a first light upon the water start, and a couple of snatched hours lure fishing before work. We're going to be pioneering on one of Pete's new stretches, with all the expectation that comes with a first trip to a new section of the canal. We may hit pike and perch "gold", or we might just as easily blank, and it's that element of the unknown and unknowable that gives fishing its permanent frisson of anticipation.  Only three sleeps to go .....

 

 

 

 



"Sunk without a trace ..."

Choice is the blessing and the curse of modern life. Once upon a time going into a supermarket was a relatively easy task, but these days the choice is bewildering. It's the same with utility providers, white goods, computers- you name it and we're bombarded with more models and information than we know what to do with. Abundance of choice, it seems, is a fundamental human right in a capitalist economy. And even Walton's "gentle art" isn't exempt.

 

Take the spin-fisher's trace, for instance. In the days when I first started hurling lures (more in hope than expectation) into lakes, rivers and canals aged thirteen, there was no choice: it was simple, bulk standard tackle shop bought wire traces, with a choice that very occasionally extended to black, metallic silver or green. Buy half a dozen, and off you go.

 

These days there are specialist traces for heavy jerkbaiting and a whole plethora of lengths, breaking strains and sizes. There are wire traces that can be tied using conventional knots, many anglers make their own traces, and there's also the rise of fluorocarbon.

 

 

I've recently experimented with fluorocarbon, a material I've used before for "stiff rigs" for carping. I've had no problems, but must confess to not being entirely sanguine about its use. My interest was first piqued when trying to use a tiny snap bean style ultra light plug with a conventional wire trace. Basically it killed the plug's action, which kind of defeated the object. I made up a few fluorocarbon traces and on my next trip the lure (on which I've yet to catch a fish) behaved far better and exhibited the shimmies and wiggles its manufacturer had intended. I've also used the fluorocarbon with conventional Ondex and Mepps spinners. So far, so good, but I can't quite shake the fear that if a really toothy pike comes along fluorocarbon, for all its stiffness, might not quite be "man enough" for the job, and as the whole point of using traces is for the protection of pike I'm leaning back towards a return to always using conventional wire traces. Part of me wants to think "well, if Savage Gear make them then they MUST be safe", and their lack of visibility is certainly a "plus", but a nagging fear remains.

 

 

Internet research has, however, turned up a few more possibilities. I'm very interested in trying out a knottable trace material marketed under the name of "Knot 2 Kinky" (ha ha, see what they did there, "oh, how we chuckled"!), which comes in a variety of breaking strains which should, across its range, be able to cope with everything from ultra-lighting to more standard lure fishing. I'll definitely be getting hold of some, and I'll let you know how I get on.

 

It's all progress, I guess, but there is still a part of me that longs for a simpler era when you went into the tackle shop asked for a few traces, got the "one size fits all" items neatly rolled up in a little see through bag and went home without spending hours worrying about whether another brand or material would be better suited. Too much choice breeds uncertainty, uncertainty breeds lack of confidence, and lack of confidence is every angler's biggest enemy.

Which trace will I use next time? ............ that's a decision which might go to the wire!



Perch, pike and misadventures

 

5:00am on a Saturday morning, a time when normal people unaffected by the addictive compulsion to fish are still sleeping; the alarm clock sounds and a bleary angler rapidly dresses, picks up the minimal tackle required for wandering spin fishing and by 5:30 is good to go.

 

At the appointed 5:30 meeting time Pete pulls up outside the Vicarage, and off we head to the canal. The Grand Union is normally pretty beneficent to us when perch fishing, but on this morning it's a slow start. The first sign of things to come is when we realise that Pete, who'd done a tackle shop run to buy some traces for us earlier in the week, discovers he's left them at home. After ferreting around in my bag I find only two wire traces, which in a snag filled canal may not be enough; and so it proved.

 

We commenced fishing at a favourite spot, but after the best part of 40 minutes no perch were forthcoming. Of greater concern was the fact that in that timeframe we also both snagged and lost our lures with accompanying traces. Because the canal has a reasonable head of pike, Pete made the 40 minute round trip back home to recover the mislaid wire traces and I walked to another likely swim and sat around drinking coffee and waiting for Pete's return.

 

 

 The move to the new swim proved productive, with instant plucks and follows before Pete connected with the first perch of the day. Not a big fish, but on a day when the fish seemed reluctant and we seemed cursed, a welcome blank saver. I also managed a perch even smaller than Pete's fish.

Things remained slow, and after quite a bit of chopping and changing of spinners we walked back to the original swim, a classic "perchy" bridge with nearby moored barges and bankside piling - undoubtedly where Crabtree would have fished.

This resulted in a brace of bigger perch, one for Pete and one for me. Although not giants these were "proper" perch, with muscular shoulders and proud erect dorsal fins - perch with a belligerent attitude and classically good looks.

It was after this quick fire brace that the biggest excitement of the day occurred, which - in keeping with the session- had a frustrating conclusion. A marauding pike took a liking to Pete's silver spinner, and after a few minutes of thrashing around was just being drawn over the rim of the net when it threw the hooks, which flew several feet out of the water and scraped the side of my cheek before landing on the bankside grass. So near, yet so (annoyingly) far. Fish- particularly predators- can be a capricious adversary.

We finished the day with a few more casts in a final swim, which resulted in one more perch to me, leaving the final score as three perch each, not a bad result from a difficult day that was interrupted for 40 minutes by the "traces left at home" episode.

By 9:00am we were back at our respective homes, planning the return match. Pike be warned: this thing isn't over, yet.

Zander- the best fish I've (almost) never caught

It's not that I've never caught a zander - I've caught two, the fish pictured above being the bigger of them at ounces under 6 pound, but I'd love to have caught more, and while I know that the canal I lure fish reasonably regularly contains them, I only ever seem to catch perch and pike. Not that I'm complaining, but the odd zed would be fun. Perhaps I need to concentrate more on slowly edging soft plastics along the bottom or maybe to branch out into new areas on the canal, or perhaps abandon my usual predator fishing "percentage game" and seriously target them to the exclusion of pike and perch.

 

 

This was the first zander I ever caught, although the Canadian angler I was fishing with insisted on calling it a walleye, as is the North American way, a tiny, plucky fish that engulfed a soft plastic grub fished on a jig head as it bounced its way back to the bank. The fish was caught fishing in Clear Lake, an enormous expanse of water set amid pine forests deep in bear country. "Boys Own" fishing.

 

 

With the exception of those two fish, the nearest I've been to a zander (excepting the pewter walleye badge that I bought in Canada which adorns my fishing waistcoat) was netting this small "schoolie" sized fish caught by my brother on a late evening livebaiting escapade. I'm not sure if it's their unusual looks (that mixture of savage looking dentistry juxtaposed with those delicate looking spots on their spikey dorsal fin), their relative rarity or their notoriety (weren't they the fish that uninformed doomsday soothsayers told us would eat every last silver fish on the Fens?)  that most attracts me to them, but there's definitely something about them.

 

This Saturday I've got an early morning lure fishing appointment with the Canal, so who's to say what might happen? I'm confident of perch and hopeful for pike, but a zander would leave me grinning for the rest of the weekend. I'll let you know ....

Going Spinmad in Crucian Heaven

The plan was that having enjoyed a month of catching carp I'd begin my autumn predator campaign with a bit of a flourish. There turned out to be only two flaws to the plan, firstly,  the return of summer just when autumn seemed to have set in, the other the fact that although I whipped the water to a frenzy with a range of perch lures, the perch decided to be less than compliant.

There can't be many Vicars blessed with as many anglers in their congregation as I am (although in a religion where the founder didn't say "go and play golf" or "learn DIY" but instructed his earliest disciples to "go fish", perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise), and so it was that this morning I arrived at the "commercial" that I'll be targeting in the colder months for perch accompanied by Pete and Craig, two church members, who'd managed to scavenge a few hours off work. Many years ago Craig  caught a 28 pound carp (rumour has it that it was somewhere in the late Jurassic period) and ever since has been size obsessed, so he duly headed off to the Specimen Lake armed with a ton of tackle and a kitchen sink of bait, while Pete set up on the general coarse lake (also carp dominated) and elected to fish the Method with 6mm pellet hookbaits. I also fished the coarse lake, which is reputed to contain some very large (and hardly ever targetted) perch.

 

 



The complete absence of pike meant that I could forgo the usually obligatory wire trace, and I set about fishing likely looking spots- the edges of reedbeds, snaggy tree branches, and anywhere where the bright sun wasn't shining on the water. I started with my standard "go to" spinner, a size 3 Ondex, but despite a couple of follows no perch were forthcoming. After a number of lure changes, eventually a couple of very small perch attacked a small Spinmad tailspin spinner, which I was using for the first time, and looks set to become a favourite pattern; unfortunately, it eventually attached itself to a snag, and now sits embedded in a tree root beneath the water's surface. I was extremely impressed with its action, though, and will be ordering half a dozen replacements later this week. No further perch were forthcoming.

The day, however, was far from a disappointment. Pete caught not only a feisty common carp, but also a lovely brace of quality crucians. Now, I'm aware that these days there are very few "true" crucians around, and that fish biologists pore over photo's, counting scales along the lateral line and measuring "this distance" and "that distance", and I know far too little about the species to enter such debates. What I do know is that neither of Pete's fish had barbules, both had the right shaped dorsal fin, and there are no F1's (a species I detest) in this lake ...... are they hybridised with common carp or feral goldfish? - I don't know; what I do know is that my maxim is that if it looks like a crucian, I'll call it a crucian- simple as.

 

 

We only fished for three hours before work and family duties called us away from the lakeside idyll, but despite the lack of plentiful perch for me, and of any carp for Craig, all three of us thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and will be back as soon as we can co-ordinate our diaries and clear the decks for another try. The lake looked enchanting, Pete made friends with an inquisitive robin, and I'll be back with a load more Spinmad spinners and hope in my heart. 

 Perch: be warned- this is just the beginning!