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.