Perch fishing in transition

Liminality was everywhere as I walked from the car park to the Club Lake, fishing bag over my shoulder, rod and landing net in hand. Summer was changing to Autumn, the nation was preparing to bury its Queen and welcome its new King, and I was transitioning from summer fishing to the annual pursuit of perch which dominates my fishing throughout the cooler and colder months. The world seemed to be in a state of suspended animation, everyone and everything pausing to take a collective breath.

I only had a few hours, and this was to be a casual re-introduction to a campaign that will intensify over the coming months. I had eschewed my usual go-to perch bait of prawns for this session, bringing just a tub of maggots, that simplest of baits, which had been dyed red the more appealing to make them to the perch who, in my experience, have a particular penchant for the colour.

There was the hint of an early afternoon chill in the air, as I flicked my float into the margins and began introducing small handfuls of maggots in the well established "little and often" manner. It wasn't long before I was swinging my first perch to the bank, a buccaneering bristling mini beast, all stripes and spines.

More diminutive perch were to follow, every drop in being met with the float dancing and dipping, with the result always the same- a small perch protesting it's indignation before being returned to the water. Despite the Autumnal temperature it was a summer sun that shone in the sky, not the best conditions in which to pursue bigger perch who are not known for their love of light. Small perch, by contrast, will always feed as they indulge in the essential task of putting on weight- instinct tells them the bigger they grow the safer they become from predation.  

It wasn't long before the voracious hoards of ever hungry carp became aware of the steady stream of maggots entering the water, and the rest of the afternoon saw me alternate between catching juvenile perch and a procession of carp all of which pulled back hard and pulled the split cane rod into a pleasing battle curve. 

In the event, as a a perch fishing opener the afternoon had proved a false dawn. Plenty of perch had been caught, but none of the hoped for size. However, it would be churlish to complain. There are  far worse ways to while a way a few hours, and the absence of quality perch was compensated for by the pleasure of sitting in the sunshine in beautiful surroundings and the tactile quality of  split cane bucking and kicking in response to the determined pull of a lively carp, and (best of all) the steady stream of carp and perch was twice disturbed by the capture of a brace of gudgeon, a fish that transports me back to my childhood and never fails to put a smile on my face.

Today the victory goes to the perch, but there will be many more opportunities to come - a perch campaign is a marathon not a sprint. There will be other afternoons and bigger perch.

Makin memories in Nuneaton

August came and went and was fishless, a sorry state of affairs caused not by any loss of angling  form on my part but rather by a broader loss of enthusiasm and general sense of lethargy. Despite living only 15 minutes drive from my Club Lake, which is always good for an after-work evening session, I found myself too lacking in after-work energy to grace its banks, and for the first time in a long time a whole calendar month passed without me even wetting a line.

In the end it took a trip organised by someone else to shake me from my apathy, and so it was that I found myself fishing Lagoon Lake on the famous Makins complex in Nuneaton for a social with friends from Whetstone Baptist Church's men's group and the Christian Anglers group I belong to. With prizes promised for the biggest fish of the day and for the most species caught, and a mixture of old friends and new acquaintances, this promised to just be the tonic I needed to arouse my from the cloud of tiredness that had enveloped me and sapped me of my customary vim and vigour.

On arrival at the complex I walked into the onsite tackle and bait shop clutching two bait boxes, but the response to my cheery request for "two pints of maggots please" was met with "sorry, mate, we don't do maggots." Clearly, if it ain't pellet it ain't bait, but perhaps that's the price a fishery pays when its sponsored by a bait company. The day hadn't started and I was already in "Plan B" territory!

We drew for swims, mine turning out to be peg 23. I set up a simple float rig, but elected to start with my 2lb TC barbel rod, Method Feeder and hair rigged sweetcorn, with a view to feeding two areas and switching from time to time between float and ledger. The feeder rig was cast to the margin of an island and had barely had time to settle before it tore off and after a short tussle a small but determined mirror found itself  laying on the unhooking mat.

The early fish, however, turned out to be something of a false dawn, and around the lake most of our party of 15 anglers were having to work hard for their fish, with some proving more successful than others but no-one bagging up. Several good carp were caught, the best catches coming to those who kept experimenting and ringing the changes.

Two of the angler's wives visited with their toddlers, and kindly walked around the lake offering homemade cheese twists and chocolate biscuits to our party, tea and coffee was consumed and the occasional stroll around the lake to chat with others of our group made for an enjoyable and sociable vibe, despite the challenging fishing conditions. Shallow water and low oxygen levels seemed to have induced in the carp a spirit of lethargy that our best efforts could only partially dissuade them from.

I managed one more carp, a long torpedo shaped fish of about 5 pounds that not only was shaped like a baseball bat but, sadly, looked as if it had been hit in the face by one, possessing one of the worst parrot mouths I've ever seen, unfortunately not an uncommon sight on Commercials. My final total was just under 30 fish, mostly caught on the float and a mixture of small perch (I "borrowed" a handful of maggots from Gaz), rudd and bream, the majority of them succumbing to sweetcorn. I also contrived to lose a further 3 carp, 1 on my light float and centre pin rig, and two on the barbel rod and carp gear. 

At four o'clock we gathered for the presentation of trophies, with prizes for the biggest fish (won by Sam), the most different species (won by Cliff), and a special "Passion for Angling" award (won by Andrew) for ...... well, I'm not going to embarrass Andrew by committing the reason for the award to print, suffice it to say "what happens at Makins, stays at Makins!"

Early September doubles as late Summer, and the ground around the lake bore the signs of the drought, the earth hard and cracked, but as I left the lake I knew that although for now the trees retained their summer hue, soon the green canopy would be replaced by golds, russets and reds, and Autumn would see me return to my main preoccupation, the pursuit of specimen perch. It had been a good day spent in good company, and I drove away happy, my thoughts already turning to the perch campaign that will occupy me for the next 6 months.