Three Men on a mission

 

In one of the oldest historical narratives in the Bible, Moses sends a dozen spies to do a recce and report back on the, as yet un-entered, Promised Land. Two (Joshua and Caleb) return with a positive assessment, but ten tell a gloomier story. "The people in the land are like giants" they recounted to Moses, before emphasising their misgivings by claiming that, in comparison, "we felt like grasshoppers."

Today Louie and I went on a reconnaissance mission of our own, and although the fish weren't exactly "giants" they were a nice size, and we can report to the Thurnby Church Anglers that the prospects for next month's final club trip of the year are good.

 

We arrived at the lake, a small, circular, "commercial style" venue, and the first surprise was finding Mick, another member of our church club also there on a reconnaissance mission of his own. We dropped in on either side of him, and set up. Louie and I were fishing to a plan, with Louie fishing The Method with either plastic sweetcorn on a hair or banded pellet, while I was to see how float fishing fared, alternating between maggot and sweetcorn.

 

 

It wasn't long after lobbing in his feeder that Louie's rod started dancing in the rod rest, and his first carp, a pretty, fully scaled mirror was drawn over the net. He then had to undergo a long wait for his next bite, which didn't come until he changed from fake corn to banded pellet, but in the meantime Mick was building up a head of steam, with his method rod seeing regular action from the enthusiastic carp. Meanwhile the float was producing only small perch and roach for me, but I resolutely persevered.

 

 

The fish tended to come in clusters, and while Mick managed a couple of carp on floatfished corn in the margins, it became apparent that what the fish really wanted was pellets banged out towards the central island and hidden in the middle of a big ball of groundbait or dampened 2mm pellets. After a long wait, Louie's swim came into life again, and with just 2 hours left I decided that my floatfishing experiment had "run its course" and it was time to join the fray with a quivertip rod and Method feeder. I far prefer to catch on the float, but you don't get fish on the bank by obdurately refusing to acknowledge what's becoming increasingly obvious!

 

 

Almost immediately I was into my first carp, which gave a dogged account of itself, and I added another two before packing up. The bites were ferocious and unmissable, and anyone fishing here without either a baitrunner or their clutch loosened would need to be on a constant state of high alert and always ready to dive for a fast disappearing rod. There's little subtlety about either these carp or this style of fishing.

 

 Mick and I even managed a "double hook-up", and at the end of 6 hours Mick had recorded 10 carp, Louie had landed 6, while I managed 3 after making my delayed switch to Method tactics. Our final assessment is that things look hopeful for November, although the weather could be very different in a fortnight's time, with the potential for the benign beauty of a balmy Autumn day having been replaced by attritional winter frosts. We're also sharing the lake wish some anglers fishing a match, which will also change the scenario somewhat, with more anglers competing for the fish, more disturbance, and (one assumes) some highly competent, robot-like matchmen bringing their own efficient approach to contrast with our rather more haphazard and casual approach to a day in the countyside!

 

Roll on November, and here's hoping that winter delays its arrival for another couple of weeks.

 

 

A pugnacity of perch

The first fish I ever caught was a perch. A boldly striped, wriggling thing of wonder that took my float fished worm, the culmination of four solid weeks of trying to catch a fish. From that time forward, it was not only the fish that had been hooked, but me too, although I never consider my passion for fishing an "addiction" - an addiction is something you're trying to give up. Ever since that first perch was swung in to my eager hand I have had a particular fondness for the species. Obliging when small, challenging when big and always beautiful to behold.

 

 

The late Bernard Venables, angler, artist and wordsmith declared that the collective noun for a shoal of perch should be " a swagger". I would humbly offer as an alternative "a pugnacity" of perch. It has the advantage of alliteration, but also perfectly conveys the bravado of a fish that knows that it has looks on its side, likes to pose with its impressive spikey dorsal proudly erect and exhibits bullying tendencies as it harasses and harries the smaller piscine inhabitants of its watery environs.

 

 

Among the attractions of perch fishing is the catholicity of methods that can successfully be employed to angle for them. The fish above, caught by Louie a member of our church's fishing club, came while fishing with light tackle and a pole, many of my perch have fallen prey to the duplicitous trickery of a small spinner with a flash of red wool tassle, legering with swimfeeders and livebaiting also have their day, and my favourite method of catching them is with my ubiquitous centre pin reel and a float, a method which accounted for my biggest ever perch of 2 pound 5 ounces.

 

 

The colouration on this fish, as on the picture of my fishing partner Pete's fish below, is the typical less vivid example common in fish caught in clay bottomed and heavily coloured commercial Stillwater venues. While it may be fashionable to deride such "carp puddles", the reality is there are some very big and rarely fished for perch in such places, and, in fishing as in life, there's no place for snobbery! There's something enjoyably counter-cultural about pitching up at a "commercial" and sitting on a whicker basket and fishing with a centre pin reel .... the majority of hardened carpers conclude that you are either (a) mad or (b) an irredeemable "noddy" and you find yourself left alone to enjoy your sport without interruption.

 

 

If I were forced to elect to fish for only one species of fish for the rest of my life (and what a cruel, invidious choice that would be to have forced upon oneself!) I would choose the perch. With its stripes, eagerness to please and bombastic personality the perch is a totemic fish, loved by small boys and the best sort of men ..... those who- at heart- remain boys.

 

 



A slow start to the pike season

Fishing has a way of keeping you humble. Fast on the back of triumph come the trials that build angling perseverance and patience. Ten days after landing my biggest ever perch, my first pike trip of the Autumn proved to be an altogether more chastening affair.

Accompanied by Greg (pictured below pouring a coffee to punctuate the inactivity) and Pete, confidence was high. We were in a spot that has been kind to Pete and I in the past, and the cold start soon warmed up into a lovely (although possibly too) bright morning of "mists and mellow fruitfulness".

 

 

Catching the livebaits was the first challenge, a task which turned out to be quite a challenge. However, despite their reluctance (perhaps they had an inkling of their fate) a few were collected, and soon we were in business. Greg elected to spin, rather than livebait, and caught a small perch on his first cast, a fish which turned out to be a "false dawn" as over the next two hours he was unable to add to it. After about half an hour my livebait was taken, and I reeled in the smallest pike I have ever caught on a livebait - it must have weighed all of 8 ounces. My theory, which is impossible to prove and so must remain only a theory, is that the livebait attempted to mug the pike and was somehow unlucky enough to get caught up in the young jack's mouth. To add to the insult it was deep hooked (despite my policy of instant striking), and required careful unhooking. The fish was returned (and swam off with a defiant flick of its tail), but I didn't bother with a photograph (which would only have been for comic appeal, anyway), as I wanted to return the fish to the water as soon as possible. Pictured below are some of my unhooking tools, not the prettiest sight, but a few pairs of forceps, some pliers, a Baker "Hook-out" and the Fox wire cutters are all essential items for anyone wishing to go pike fishing.

 

 

For the rest of the session the livebaits remained untouched, although Pete did manage another diminutive pike, about the same size as mine on a spinner. One of the handsomest fish of the day was this perch which was caught while fishing for livebait, a fish whose good fortune was that, although not large, it was marginally too big to be put into the "condemned bucket".

 

 The sun climbed in the sky and the temperature rose, and it seemed clear that no further pike were likely to set the floats bobbing, and so Pete and I (Greg had already departed for work) opted to spend the last 20 minutes spinning for perch, a decision which resulted in a brace of small ones for Pete and another little fellow for me.

The day had begun with high hopes but, although the company and weather were congenial, had provided a tough start to a piking campaign that will see us through the winter and into next Spring. A baby pike apiece for me and Pete, but it's the wily esox at the top of the leaderboard after round one. Battle lines have been drawn ....

 

Loving my Lincoln

 

Everyone knows the score: centre pins are supposed to be beautiful. The reel of the aesthete. Shiny, metallic, preferably venerably ancient and a joy to behold. I have a centre pin that approximates to that description (pictured below), and have used it to good effect and landed good fish on it. It's a pin that, like me, is in its 5th decade and "ticks all the boxes." However, it's not my favourite centre pin of the two I own.

 

 

 

My "go to" pin isn't of any great vintage, and if it were a child only its mother would find it attractive. It's the Shakespear  Lincoln, made of graphite not machined metal and is slightly larger in diameter than I would choose, however it spins freely and forever, and is a joy to play fish on, never tangles and even with freezing cold hands is easy to use. The ultimate example of a product whose "sum is greater than its parts."

 

 

Most of my use of the reel is for standard float fishing in the margins, but I have used it with a largish perch bob and a gudgeon livebait while perch fishing, and the gudgeon (hardy and indomitable as its species always is) swam for what seemed like miles, gently taking line from the pin.

I rarely use a fixed spool reel for close in float fishing these days, preferring the more tactile sense of playing a fish that comes from using your hand as the reel's "clutch", and the Lincoln has fared well over the last seven years, and looks indestructible enough to last forever. Pretty it may not be, but "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", and I love my Lincoln.

 

 

 

 



Perch PB and "it's a wrap" ...

When the Reverend EC Alston (who for a while held both the British tench and rudd records simultaneously) died in 1977 his obituary in The Times stated that "he will be remembered as one of the last great sporting parsons", and while fellow church minister Stewart Bloor and I may not quite be in the late Reverend Alston's league, we are trying to do our bit for the reputation of "revs who fish."

 

Today our fishing was a pleasing mixing of business with pleasure, as we fished a Shropshire Pool in the company of Dave, a cameraman and filmmaker for Christian Vision for Men (CVM). Stewart and I, along with a small group of helpers, formed UK Christian Anglers (www.christiananglers.co.uk) last year, and CVM approached us about working on a filming project which combined us fishing and talking about our faith. The weather was gloriously and mercifully sunny, and as the mist rose from the water at first light we knew we were going to be in for a good morning.

 

 

We shared a swim, which, as well as aiding the film-making process also ensured the conversation and banter was able to flow freely. Stewart opted to fish to an island with two carp rods, PVA bags and his favourite strawberry jam pop-ups, while I chose to floatfish with maggots under a 3bb reed waggler. My reel was one of my trusty centre pins.

 

 

Sport on the float was brisk, and I was soon into a succession of tiny perch and gudgeon, with the odd better perch, bream or roach punctuating the steady flow of greedy tiddlers. Stewart had to wait slightly longer, but his first fish, when it came, proved not to be the anticipated carp, but a plucky chub with a sweet tooth.

 

 

We did a number of bits to camera, answering questions about our own individual journeys to faith, the work of UK Christian Anglers and talking about fishing clubs run by churches (regular readers of this blog will know that my own church has its own thriving angling club), but when I was in full, expansive, loquacious conversational flow, Stewart's bite alarm intruded and he landed a welcome, but small common.

 

 

Stewart also added another chub, but the best, in true filming style, was saved till last. I needed to be back in Leicester, Dave the cameraman was travelling on to visit relatives and Stewart (who as well as his church and fishing commitments is chaplain to a professional football team) had a match to attend and footballing radio show to present, and so it was agreed that we would pack up at around 1pm. At 12:30 my float dipped, skidded along the surface and then buried, and my firm strike met solid resistance. I suspected a chub (it certainly wasn't a carp), but after a few short runs, and with the match rod taking on a nice battle curve, a monstrous perch broke the surface. Instantly I knew that if it made it to the net it would be a new PB, and it was with a deep sense of relief that I guided the fish into the net that Stewart capably wielded for me. The digital scales showed a weight of 2 pounds 5 ounces, the perfect end to what had been a wonderful morning. I suspect the finished film will show me grinning like an idiot as I removed the hook, but I really won't care .... some things are so good that they're worth a brief loss of dignity. "Lights, camera, action" .... we'll need to do it again sometime.

 

 

The (fishing) future's orange ...

The weather forecaster's gloomy predictions of rain, blustery winds and the occasional thunderstorm proved to be welcome in their inaccuracy as the morning sun rose over the lake. It was Friday, and the fact that it was "normally a work day" added to the pleasure for the non-retired anglers among the group from Thurnby Church Anglers as tackle was excitedly unloaded from cars and vans. The lake, which was new to all but one of us, looked pretty and was nicely secluded as we chose swims, with interesting but benign cloud patterns scudding across the sky.

 

 

I picked a nice pitch, lined with reeds and dotted with lilly pads, and dropped a float in on the edge of some pads about a rod length out. I had decided to have one of my "retro days", and so was sat on an old willow fishing basket that I'd picked up on e-bay and renovated and fishing an old school looking rod, centrepin reel and using a lovely scorched sarkandas reed waggler made by Ian Lewis. (Ian Lewis handmade floats). The lake contains tench, orfe, bream and crucians, and it wasn't long before I was playing my first fish to the net.

 

 

The fish turned out to be a golden orfe, my first ever of the species, and I went on to add a further half dozen, along with a number of bream and crucians. The largest orfe (which unfortunately remained unphotographed as Greg, our resident pro-photographer as well as fellow angler was wandering around the lake taking scenic shots at the time) would probably have tipped the scales at about 2 and a half pounds, and fought well on 4 lb line, 3 lb bottom and a size 18 spade end hook. Here's the fish which broke my orfe duck, a much smaller but no less handsome creature.

 

 

Greg in the next door swim was also soon into orfe, and around the lake rods started bending as anglers struck into fish. No-one blanked and although the fish tended to come in bursts, everyone was busy as floats dipped and buried, and the fish obliged.

 

 

My only disappointment (and it seems churlish after such a good day's fishing) was that I failed to catch a tench. Pete, Mick, Roy and Jez did all land tench, with Pete proving the "tench master" with three tincas coming to his net.

 

 

In addition to the golden orfe, tench and crucians, Wayne landed the only blue orfe of the day, a fish which when held in the light had a lovely iridescent violet sheen. The highlight of the day was being joined by Roy, who some of us have got to know on the christiananglers.co.uk website, and who drove all the way from Yorkshire to Leicestershire to join us. As well as catching tench and bream, he kept us amused with his chatter and showed us some of his innovative (often home designed and made) tackle solutions. A real gentleman, we hope he'll be able to join with us on future trips.

 

 

By mid afternoon it was time to pack up, as many of us had children returning from school, and real life chores and duties to pick up. However, it had been a wonderfully engrossing way to while away a few hours in beautiful surroundings and fishing for fish which, although not easy in the manner of many commercial carp, were obliging enough to put a smile on all of our faces. The formation of our church's fishing club has certainly proved to be a highlight of the year. I wonder where we'll go for our next adventure....?

 

 



Small perch concludes "summer of my discontent".

Time was, back when I was a boy, that I fished as many times in August as in the rest of the year put together. The long, lazy school holidays, with the exception of the week when our parents carted us off to huddle together shivering on a Devonshire beach for seven days, were almost entirely spent fishing, and for my two brothers and me, these were usually the most productive sessions of our angling year. Not so, nowadays. A fortnight somewhere exotic, and two teenage children to ferry around, along with the busyness of standard church life (with a wedding to conduct most Saturdays for "good measure") and getting any time to fish in August becomes a feat requiring steely determination and military precision.

This year, the usual challenges were compounded by a stomach bug that hit at an inopportune moment and prevented my son and I from joining our church fishing club's August trip. Here are a couple of photos of what we missed .... bankside banter and fishy fellowship on a beautiful and very exclusive estate lake:

 

 

I did manage one trip with rod and line, a very brief venture to the canal with Pete to spin for perch, but to add insult to injury I blanked, while Pete banked half a dozen perch and lost a pike. I also accompanied Greg on a carp fishing trip as a spectator, but in keeping with the way the month was developing (or not developing) he also failed to catch.

 

Today, four days into September I was determined that my luck would change, although the solitary small perch that deigned to take my spinner hardly signified a major upturn in my piscatorial fortunes. Dave, my fishing partner for the day, (yes, you've guessed it) blanked. We fished both a small stretch of river and a couple of spots on the canal, and admittedly both had a few follows and the odd nip or pluck that didn't convert into a properly hooked perch. Dave also "dropped one off" as he swung it towards the bank, but it was barely any larger than his silver spinner. I frequently changed lures, but all to no avail.

 

 

My perch did, however, acquire a significance greater than its modest size warranted, as it was the first fish I've caught on my new custom built spinning rod. The rod, built by Don Morse of Rattlesnake Rods in Florida, USA, features the innovative new Microwave guides and is an absolute delight to use, more like waving a wand than wielding a fishing rod, and while its smart graphics, abbreviated cork handle and custom camo wrap incorporated into the blank may not make me an expert angler they certainly help me to look like one.

 

 

The last few weeks haven't been the most illustrious of my angling life, but the joy of it all is that fishing memories are selective, and when 2015 turns into 2016 it won't be August's travails that I recall, but rather the double figure pike that Pete and I were catching in January and February and the Thurnby Church Anglers trips when my son and I weren't missing through illness and when fish were landed aplenty. (also not forgetting my near British record gudgeon caught in the Spring!)

September looks set to be a better month, too, with a club trip to a new lake and a filming session with Stewart Bloor to look forward to. In fishing, as in life and faith, we look ahead with hope and anticipation .......... let's face it, as a rather cheesy 90's band once informed us: "things can only get better" ......