Dinton Pastures and rose tinted spectacles

"The past", wrote LP Hartley, "is a foreign country- they do things differently there." There is always a fear when remembering bygone days that all nostalgia is only really an exercise in remembering the past as it never really was. Were summers really hotter, politicians more honest and fish easier to catch thirty years ago? I doubt it, and the only reason that my grandparents were able to leave their front door unlocked in the 50's (a feat they often boasted about) was because (a) nothing much had been invented back then, and (b) the inequalities between classes were so great that they had nothing worth nicking!

 

I fear many of my teenage angling memories might be marred by a similarly over generous retrospective selective memory, but irrespective of such a possibility, Dinton Pastures remains in my mind's eye a place of almost Illyrian boyhood happiness.

 

These days it's become a "circuit water" for some of the South East's top carpers, and a walk around its banks might lead to bumping into Dave Lane or Terry Hearn ensconced in their bivvies in pursuit of monsters, but I fished it, back in the 80's not for carp, but mostly for pike. I occasionally fished the stretch of the River Loddon that flows through the Country Park, catching plenty of gudgeon and the occasional roach, perch or chub, but never one of its famed barbel, but the lake was my first love. With my 8 foot Shakespear Sigma spinning rod (the first carbon rod I ever owned, and my "pride and joy") and a small collection of plugs (the Shakespear Big S was my "go to" plug of first choice) I caught countless pike from the lake between the ages of 14 and 19). Apologies for the dyed blonde fluffy hair, but the picture shows just one of them, taken on a summer's day fishing with my friend Olly- it was the biggest of a dozen pike caught that day.

A few years ago I was back in Reading to take my Godfather's funeral, and on the morning of the funeral I went for a melancholy walk down memory lane and round Dinton Pastures. I saw three chub of about four pounds facing into the current holed up under a tree on the Loddon, walked a circuit of the lake, took in the view and realised that although you can't ever return to the past  you can take it with you. I'll probably never fish Dinton again, but standing there on that summer's morning I realised that I didn't need to.

Early morning social on the canal

This week's dawn trip to the canal had a dual purpose- to try out some of my new handmade floats and to fish with Pete, a friend from church who's returning to the angling he enjoyed in childhood after a lengthy adult life induced break.

 

Regular blog readers will know that my normal tactic on these short early morning sessions is to lure fish, a method which has met with recent success, and even the odd pike to accompany the target species of perch. However, I've recently received some new handmade floats (perch bobs and Norfolk reed wagglers) and was eager to try them out.

 

As we were engaged in what was planned to be an extremely casual fishing session- more what the Americans describe as "goofing off" than serious piscatorial activity- we decided to share one rod, take it in turns to fish, and just enjoy the early morning quietness and the company. We elected to go with the Norfolk Reed waggler, and as the canal was running through in the manner of a river, to trot the bait down with the current. We tried worm on a size 12, while loose-feeding red maggots, but it was only after changing to a size 18 hook and double maggot that we started connecting with fish.

 

 

The first fish of the day was a bream, before the ubiquitous perch took over. The fishing was "patchy" with fish coming at intervals, but never really getting going or falling into a pattern. We ended up effectively long-trotting, and bites came from all over the swim, rather than in any concentrated spot. Pete out-caught me ( Venator trumps Piscator in Waltonian terms!), and with the exception of the bream in the photo below all of the fish were perch.

 

 

If truth be told, from a fishing perspective, the morning was a bit of a struggle, but it was nice to float-fish the water for a change, and although the inhabitants of this stretch of canal seem to be mostly small, the fact that we caught a few, coupled with the pleasant surroundings and conversation meant another early morning well spent.

 

We've booked a return trip in a fortnight's time, but this time reverting to the more familiar spinning approach, and I've recently heard a rumour about another stretch of the canal that is (direct quote) "stuffed full of pike, mate."

Plans are, inevitably, being drawn up ....
 

 

 

 



All the fun of the float ...

O let me rather on the pleasant Brinke

Of Tyne and Trent possesse some dwelling place

Where I may see my Quill and Corke downe sinke,

With eager bite of Barbill, Bleike or Dace.

 

John Dennys

 

 Short of dynamite or bow and arrow, there are few methods of fishing that I would be unwilling to try, but none surpass the float in giving me pleasure. Despite the fact that the majority of my biggest fish have fallen to ledger tactics, with my best ever carp, bream, tench and (I'm embarrassed to admit) roach all being caught using variations of the ruthlessly efficient bolt rig, I still elect to floatfish wherever possible.

 

The float as someone, possibly Sherringham, once observed is "pleasing in appearance and even more pleasing in disappearance", and there are few sights in angling more evocative than that of a red tipped float gently bobbing in the ripples next to a bed of lilly pads. Catching fish on the float also tends to relativise   fish weights upwards.  The carp that I'm holding in this photograph weighed 12 pounds and- if caught on a bolt rigged boilie would have represented no particular achievement, but the fact that it was taken on a waggler and 4 pound line to 2 pound bottom enormously increases its cache.

 



These days my penchant is for traditional, handmade floats. There's something appropriate about catching a natural creature using a float made of natural materials, and something pleasing about using floats that Mr Crabtree would have recognised and approved of. The aesthetic allure of a well varnished float made of quill, Norfolk reed or cork, nicely whipped and handsomely varnished, can lead to a seriously addictive collecting habit.

I've just finished putting together a lovely little box of floats to fish for my current favourite adversary, the perch. A few of the floats were older ones from my own floatmaking days, but most were made for me by Ian Lewis, a maker of traditional floats, based in the South-West. He provided the tin box, Norfolk reed wagglers and perch bobs in the picture below. Three of the perch bobs have oak galls for the bodies, and one of them will be given its maiden dunking on this coming Friday's pre-work, pre-breakfast appointment with the canal.

 

 

And so to conclude where we started- with poetry. Not this time the words of a 16th Century angling poet, but of the late Ted Hughes, former poet laureate and an angling aficionado, who described float fishing like this:

"your whole being rests lightly on your float, but not drowsily: very alert, so that the least twitch of the float arrives like an electric shock. And you are not only watching the float- you are aware, in a horizonless and slightly mesmerized way ..."

Powerful stuff.

Size isn't everything!

It's not an easy thing for a man to admit, but I'm having "size issues."

Here's the problem: I'm loving my fishing at the moment, am having ridiculous amounts of fun  regularly snatching a couple of hours perch fishing on my local canal, but I haven't caught anything over three pounds. Now, if the three pounder were a perch there'd be no issue. A three pound perch is, in anyone's estimation a "monster", and to me it would represent both a personal best and a "fish of a lifetime." However, the three pounder was a pike, which in relative terms, although fun, is no great shakes, and the perch have all weighed only a few ounces. Now, the thing is I'm not bothered in the least bit (like I said, I'm having fun, and I've caught enough large carp and pike in the past both to remember fondly and to feel that I don't need to prove anything), the real problem is the pressure of writing a blog that's read on both sides of the Atlantic. However happy I am in my pursuit of small perch, will readers want to continue looking at photo's of "schoolboy fish"?

Perhaps the answer is to make the blog all about "literary style and flourish" ..... after all, the best angling essay I've ever read was by the excellent John Gierarch and was all about making the perfect cup of coffee while fishing and camping, and Chris Yates can wax as eloquent and readable about his mystical conversations with the river as he can about actually catching.

Take this morning's session, for instance.

 

 

The canal was looking at its magnificent best when my son and I visited it for a two hour spinning and bankside breakfast session, but not only was the canal aesthetically pleasing, it was also generous with its perch, but once again they were small.

Not all as small as this plucky little fellow who had the temerity to ingest my son's size 3 silver and spotted spinner, but none of them more than a quarter of a pound.

 

 

As well as the perch that we actually caught, several others followed the various spinners and curly tails that we threw at them, and a few splashed their way off the hooks before making it to the bank. But it wasn't all about the fish: the pleasure was partly in the fish, but also in the father/son time, the beauty of the surroundings, the wildlife (we watched a grass snake swim in characteristic sinewy, head up style across the canal), the inherent pleasure of mobile lure fishing and the bankside breakfast.

 

 

 

Perhaps it's just a "perch thing." I'm a member of a 4000 strong perch fishing group on Facebook, and while there are regularly photo's of real "clonkers", venerable hump-backed giants, there are as many pictures of small perch, and a general agreement that as perch are the prettiest fish that swim in English waters that any perch is a "good" perch merely by virtue of being a perch.

 

I guess, in the final analysis, as I term myself these days a "pleasure angler", then the overriding criteria must be pleasure, and if I'm enjoying myself (which I am) there's no need to justify myself or to experience any angst about the fact that I'm catching the smallest fish I've caught for years, but having the most fun.

In any case, it's not long till July when my son and I have a couple of carp overnighters planned, so all those waiting to see a photo of a "proper fish" will- hopefully- be indulged then. Until July, the weekly trips to the canal will continue.

Next week I'll be swapping my usual lure fishing approach for a lobworms, maggots and traditionally made perch bob assault.

I'll let you know how I get on.

 

 my son enjoying a just cooked sausage bap

 

Perch bobs and a dodgey motor

The best laid plans of mice and men sometimes have a habit of failing to come to fruition.

Last Friday I sneaked a cheeky pre-breakfast, pre-work spinning session for perch, and landed a brace of very small but beautiful perch and an angry and determined jack that probably weighed about two and a half pounds- fun fishing, and I still was able to start work at 8:00am.

In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I decided to make it a weekly Friday 5:30am date, but- just six days in- it looks like I won't be going this week. The car has been in the garage with a transmission problem that's been baffling the mechanics for three days, and I suspect that the car (now eleven years old) is entering a terminal phase and will shortly require replacing.

 

However, it's not all bad news.

These arrived in the post this week.

 

 

They're hand made mini perch bob floats made by Ian Lewis, a float-maker from Plymouth in Devon. The floats are cane stemmed with a porcupine quill insert, but their unusual feature is that the body is an oak gall.
I have a liking for traditional, English floats made from quills and cork and reeds in a manner that's reminiscent of the "Crabtree era", and (except when I'm pole fishing) use them almost exclusively for my float fishing. I've made a few myself in the past, but these days I don't have the time, but purchasing from a craftsman like Ian is the "next best thing".  (www.handmadefishingfloats.co.uk or check out his Facebook page)

The intention  is- once the car gets sorted- to use them on some of my early morning sorties, where I'll target a couple of likely spots, throw in some chopped worms held together in a ball of gardening peat liberally splashed with Predator Plus, and float-fish either worm or prawn under one of these beauties. It'll provide an interesting contrast to the spinning approach that I usually employ on the canal. .

 

One thing is for sure. Once the car is fixed I'll be back at the canal. I'm totally addicted to this perch fishing game now, and in my absent minded moments I find bristling, red-finned, bold-striped perch invading my dreams.

Just think, if the car repair doesn't cost too much I might be able to afford some more floats!

 

 

 

Smash and grab for pike and perch

5:30am and the alarm clock sounds. No time for breakfast, I get into my fishing clothes, clean my teeth, pop a spinning rod, small rucksack and landing net into the car and I'm off. The car radio, set to Radio 4, informs me that this coming Sunday is "international dawn birdsong day" (there seems to be a day to commemorate everything nowadays), but by winding the car window down I enjoy the dawn chorus two days earlier than the designated day.

 

There's a chill in the air, but the sun is out, and yesterday's rain doesn't seem to have had much effect on the colour of the canal. It's 6:15 when I make my first cast.

 

 

Despite the early hour I'm not the only one fishing on the canal, but the three herons all seem unconcerned by my presence (look very carefully in front of the far bank tree and slightly to your right of it and you'll see one of them in the photo above), and I opt to fish with a size 3 gold ondex spinner.

After about a dozen casts under my favourite bridge there's an explosion of water and an aggressive pike begins a splashy and determined attempt to rid itself of its error. After a very determined fight of two or three minutes the pike squeezes into the net, where it continues to exhibit a bad attitude while I unhook it, before a quick snapshot and return to the water.

 

 

 

I move swims and try a few other likely spots, along reed beds and close to structure, but with only one follow in the gin clear shallows from a vividly striped but minute little perch that probably wasn't yet "man enough" to cope with even a small spinner.

 

I returned to the bridge for a final few casts, figuring that by now the pike would have probably moved on, enabling the perch who semi-permanently reside under it to come out from cover, and half a dozen casts produced a brace of almost identical small perch, beautifully coloured, all bristles, spikes and stripes.

 

 

 

On my final cast I snagged (and lost) the Ondex, proving that even good days always have their shadow side. By 7:40am I was in the car and driving contentedly home- less than an hour and three quarter's fishing, a glorious morning in sunny solitude, the dawn chorus, seeing three herons and catching a pike and two perch represents pretty much the best way to start the day as far as I'm concerned.

By 8 o'clock I was at my desk, and ready to start work.

"Smash and grab" fishing- with a busy life it's sometimes the only option, but when it works it's great.