Turning back time on the canal

One of fishing's abiding charms is that a middle-aged man with a fishing rod manages to retain something of the young boy he once was. An unexpected window of angling opportunity  opened up for me this morning, and I fancied a "dob for perch" - to wander up and down the footpaths of the Grand Union Canal, with just a bucket containing my bait (a tub of worms and a small bait box of Predator Plus infused brown crumb groundbait), a net, a rod and a reel. There's something liberating about divesting yourself of the rod holdalls, carryalls, seats, umbrellas and paraphernalia that normally accompany a fishing trip, and going back to basics, fishing in a manner that even Huckleberry Finn would have readily related to.

 

 My eschewing of carp or tench, and deliberate pursuit of small perch on a summer's day may seem unusual, as, too, was my choice of rod; although the plan was to perch fish with a proper boy's perch bob, I wanted a rod that was short and light, that could be pushed through gaps in the bankside foliage, and was easy to carry while walking, and so I opted to use my "pride and joy", a custom-built 6 and a half foot spinning rod, made for me by my American rodbuilder friend Don Morse, and to employ it as a float rod.

The canal was at its most attractive, today's bright sunshine making patterns as it reflected off the water, with the bankside vegetation verdant from the previous day's rain. The temperature was in the 80's ("old school", me), and the sunshine bright, not ideal perching conditions, but I was confident. As it turned out, my optimism was well placed, and by creeping from moored barge to moored barge and dropping my worm close to the hull, I was soon winkling out a succession of small perch.

 My float was a small 2BB perch bob in the Harcork style, which looked jaunty in the water, and bobbed and disappeared with pleasing regularity. None of the fish were big, but they were plenteous and greedy, each one exuding the air of swagger that one associates with the species.

 

 The assorted walkers and barge owners who stopped to chat, or who waved cheerily as they slowly motored down the centre of the canal in their brightly painted boats, were universally friendly and convivial, and I was happy to make the acquaintance of "Tiger", a playful kitten belonging to a pleasant hippy-like pair of young boat dwellers. I momentarily envied their alternative lifestyle, but not the gummy grin of the male of the couple, whose toothless smile wouldn't have looked out of place on the face of a guest on the Jeremy Kyle show!

 

After a few hours of walking and "dobbing", my angling addiction had been sated, and I was ready for home. I wasn't counting, but almost every swim produced a couple of perch, some far more, and I must have caught 30 or 40 small, spikey and stripey fish with eyes bigger than their bellies.  My very first fish was a perch, caught on a worm, when I was still a boy back in 1981, and today, for a few precious hours, I was once more that boy ....  despite the greying hair and crow's feet around the eyes, still excited when a quick strike leads to that juddering sensation of a hooked fish, still awed and in wonderment whenever around water, and still able to receive far more happiness as a result of capturing a 2 ounce perch than any "normal" person could possibly understand. Like the poet said "the child is father of the man", and may it ever be thus.

 

 

 

Favourite floats - function, form and my personal top three

 

Anyone who knows me well will attest to these two truths: firstly, I would rather catch a fish on the float than on any other method known to man, and, secondly, I am an inveterate list maker. I enjoy cataloguing subjective lists of my favourite books, films, football matches, records ... you name it, and I'll happily list my top twenty, ten, five or three. With all that in mind, it was only a matter of time before I combined my penchant for list making and my love of floats and float fishing, to bring you my favourite floats list. (Out of respect for, and in  deference to, the patience of my long-suffering readers I have restricted the list to just three.)

 

At number three is my "go to" float. The one that if I were restricted to just a single float to use for all of my angling would be the one I'd unerringly opt for; the straight Norfolk Reed Waggler. (which like all of the floats in my list was made for me by professional floatmaker Ian Lewis from Devon.)

 

 

 

There might be an argument that states that, in view of what I've just said about the position it occupies as primus inter pares in my float box that it should top my list, but while (especially in its flamed version) it is aesthetically attractive it lacks the "wow factor" of some other designs. This is a workaday float, a float for all seasons and one to trust implicitly, but it doesn't quite have the totemic status or panache of the other floats that eclipse it in my top three. Having said that, my three biggest ever perch, including my 2 pound 5 ounce personal best, were all caught using one, so it's a float that I owe "big time."

 

 

At number two is a type of float that I only very rarely turn to (I doubt if I've used one more than a dozen times in over 30 years of angling), but its stunning appearance and its inextricable and iconic link with tench fishing propels it into second place. The driftbeater, fished overdepth and overshotted, complete with outsized, buoyant sight bob and a large bait, may only be given the very occasional outing, but is worth a place in any traditional angler's collection for its beauty alone. Sentiment and "good looks" secure second spot for this "most English" of Stillwater floats.

 

 

 

 

... and so (this is the moment to conjure up in your imagination a dramatic drum roll), to my all time number one float. A float that brings to mind boyhood fishing and traditional angling at its finest, a float that makes up for in appearance what it, arguably, compromises in sensitivity .......... I present to you the ultimate totem float, the perch bob. I have perch bobs of all sizes, from mini 2BB Harcork style replicas right up to creations buoyant and tough enough to support a lively gudgeon livebait and requiring a couple of swan shot to cock them. Prettily coloured, well crafted and a joy to look at, for me the perch bob is the epitome of all that float fishing represents, and every angler should have several in his or her collection. I've even got a handful of them where the body is crafted from an oak gall

 

 

 

 

 Of course, the frustration of a list such as this is the artificial need to reduce to three. My real life float collection numbers several float boxes, and leaving out such standards as the porcupine quill, the cork bodied or the fluted avon, feather body decorated wagglers, quill lifters, goose quills and a host of others doesn't sit comfortably. One float that was desperately unlucky to fail to "make the cut" was Ian's "crucian mini bristle float" (pictured below), which is a great float for presenting small baits to finicky fish close in.

Also, I'm aware of the limitations of my own judgement and the subjectivity of the  vagaries that lead to the inclusions and exclusions in any list. My list is just that- it's my list, and yours would likely be different. However, that's a part of the fun of list making. Of this, though, I'm sure: there's no better way to while away a day than by fishing, and no better way of fishing than with a float. The dip, lift, bobbing or disappearing of a brightly varnished orange or red tip exerts an addictive draw that only the angler understands. The late Ted Hughes, one time Poet Laureate, described the experience like this: "I have spent hundreds of hours staring at a float. Not drowsily, very alert. So that the least twitch of the float arrives like an electric shock." Nice words, I wonder if he was a list maker .... ?

 

Fishing "where the heart is"

To William Blake it was a "green and pleasant land", for Shakespeare's John of Gaunt "this other Eden" and after a week on holiday in France I was itching to reacquaint myself with the English countryside in the best possible way, by sitting next to a green and pleasant tree lined lake and chasing a few of Eden's fish.

 

With a busy first week back at work, time was at a premium and so, accompanied by my son and daughter, it was off to Beeby, one of my favourite local lakes, and one that over the years has proved generous in giving up its fish.

In the event, the fishing was a disappointment, but the evening itself was thoroughly enjoyable. Although James regularly accompanies me on my angling travels, Ruth (once an enthusiastic angler) has discovered a plethora of other ways of enjoying her spare time, and so her company on the bank was a rare occurrence to be cherished.

The plan- to the extent that there was one- was for Ruth and James to pole fish with maggots for whatever was biting, while I would float fish with worms and sweetcorn with the intention of sorting out the larger fish. To complete the piscine assault a Method rod was cast a couple of rod lengths out with the agreement that if the bite alarm sounded we'd take it in turns to play any fish that had engulfed the banded pellet, although the eventual non-compliance of the carp and silence of the bite alarm rendered the agreement unnecessary.

Ruth and James were soon swinging in a succession of small, but greedy, perch and rudd with the bristles of their pole floats dipping and disappearing with great rapidity. My floatfished worm approach, as anticipated, saw a slower response from the fish but failed to provide the improvement in size and quality of fish caught that the size 12 hook and lobworm was intended to ensure. Small perch have large mouths and even bigger appetites, and a procession of juvenile stripeys set about the task of reminding me of said facts to my increasing frustration.

Switching to sweetcorn proved unsuccessful. The bait, so successful on my last visit when it accounted for a nice carp as well as a decent haul of silver fish couldn't raise even the slightest of trembles on the float. Worms continued to provide small perch, interspersed by the occasional roach or rudd of equally unimposing stature.

After just over three hours of fishing, and with dusk approaching we decided to accept defeat with as much grace as we could muster. Sometimes, as the Old Testament prophet Zechariah said, it's best "not to despise the day of small things", and although the fish we'd caught were indisputably small, they were each of them perfectly formed, and we'd enjoyed a splendid evening in beautiful and peaceful surroundings.

Henry David Thoreau reckoned that "some men fish their entire lives without realising it wasn't the fish that they were really after", and while I suspect that even he would admit that without fish the pastime would lose the major part of its enduring appeal and raison d'etre , the fact is that there's a whole load more to fishing than the capture of finned creatures of leviathanesque proportions. Time spent in special places with special people is its own reward, and tonight the fish were incidental to the enjoyment. Like the prophet said small isn't to be despised, and as the old adage has it "small can be beautiful." Tell you what, though: while all of that is true and central to my own fishing creed, I'm hoping for bigger when I visit the famous Marsh Farm fishery in Surrey next month. Even my magnanimity has its limits.