You know when you go for a job interview, and they ask you that really awkward question, usually towards the end of proceedings:
"What are your weaknesses?"
What the hell are you meant to say to that?! Do you say that you have no weaknesses at all, and thus, show yourself to be a right know-it-all? Maybe you are supposed to show your modest side, and admit that you're pretty shit a time-keeping, you can't function without a fag break every twenty minutes, or maybe that you don't actually know what a "CAD package" is, despite the face that your CV states that you are conversant with all of them? It's a fine line between making yourself look like an over-confident twat, or conversely, like a fucking idiot!
In terms of angling, I'm fully aware of my weaknesses, and I've no qualms about letting everyone know what they are. One such weakness was glaringly obvious today: when it comes to striking at lift bites, I am shite. To a lesser extent, it's the same story with drop-back bites on the tip, too. I'll be sat there watching the waggler or pole float, and the damn thing will rise half an inch, and I'll be sat there doing sod all. I know full well that in all probability, a fish has taken the bait, moved up in the water, borne the weight of the last dropper shot, and thus relieved the float of some of its buoyancy duties. My eyes can clearly see what's happening, but it seems to me that one of two things are happening within my brain:
Either it cannot process the information.....
EYES: "Eyes to brain....the float has moved in an un-natural manner.....something has clearly caused the line, and thus the float, to move in this way.....I repeat, the float has moved".
BRAIN: "Message received.....just processing information now.....erm.....hang on.....I know this one.....don't tell me.....erm.....something about moving.....the.....?"
EYES: "Aaagghhh, forget it, it moved back again three seconds ago.....knobhead."
Or maybe the brain can comprehend it, but it's the next process that's at fault?.....
EYES: "Eyes to brain.....the float has moved".
BRAIN: "I'm on it, we need to strike. Arms, you need to take action.....arms.....do you read me?.....arms?.....ARMS?!.....OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!!"
ARMS: "Hello.....did someone call?"
I was in need of a splodging fix. Not an hour grabbed on the canal after work, a proper sit down session. I'd already booked the day off work to look after my youngest, since her school had chosen today as a teacher training day. She'd since had a better offer, though: bike riding, dog walking, baking and playground shenanigans with a friend, no less. I can't compete with that - we don't have a dog for starters. I could help pack her off to said friend's, chuck some tackle in the car, call in for some bait, and be down at the local pond for 10am-ish - good arrows! The weather forecast was a bit shitty: a drop in temperature compared to the last few days, and a very strong north westerly. Still, beggars can't be choosers, and besides, I know a corner of the dam which is always sheltered, whatever the weather.
As it turned out when I arrived, someone was already sat in the desired spot - bugger! The only other sheltered area was bang opposite on the north bank, so that's where I headed. I couldn't be arsed dragging the seatbox down there (it wouldn't have fitted in the car anyway - bloody saloons), so it was the 30Plus chair that happened to get all manner of brackets, rod rests and rollers attached to it.
The short pole was soon set up, and a generous helping of pellets fed at 8.5m. I was fishing for bits initially - I'm a great believer that a crowd attracts a crowd (as Stewart Bloor often says in his excellent blog) - the idea being that if you can get the small fish feeding, curious larger fish are bound to come and see what the fuss is about at some point. Using a very light setup with single reds on the hook, small roach and perch were forthcoming right from the off.
A step up in hook size and a change to meat brought a skimmer before things went quiet. I remember the local guru (there's always one!) once telling me that fish often backed off here, and that adding a pole section should soon put me in touch with them again. Sure enough, meat continued to do the business at the increased range of 10m, with a steady stream of net roach and skimmers all afternoon until I packed in at 4pm.
A bit of an odd day really, weather wise: the wind was causing all manner of problems early on (and I'm not talking about yesterday's onion bhajis!) although this died down mid-afternoon. It rained briefly, too - they didn't forecast that! And crikey, they don't call this side of the dam the Orbison Bank for nothing - good job I had the polaroids with me. Flippin' sunburn at the end of September!
All in all, a top day down at the local fishery. I'm guessing I probably had close to 10lb of fish in the five hours I was actually fishing - roach to 12oz, skimmers to 1.5lb, a few perch and a gudgeon for good measure. Now, if only I had mastered the (embarrassingly basic) skill of striking at the lift bites, I'm sure that figure would have been closer to 15lb. No matter, it was the first time I had pole fished in a while, and it certainly knocked the cobwebs off.
Predator season soon. I'm sure there must be some monster perch in here, what with all the roach and gudgeon. Hmmm, where have I heard that before?!
Bored and Splodging
Piscatorial Shenanigans
Friday, 30 September 2016
Friday, 26 August 2016
Surface Pro
1. Travel light.
2. Locate the fish.
3. Approach them on your eyelashes.
4. Keep things simple.
As the currant bun was out today, basking bream were once again on the agenda. More than likely they'd be well up in the water and making themselves easy to locate, right? Sure enough, they proved to be as predictable as they were slimy. And very obliging they were, too. Slow sinking free-lined bread did the business again - it doesn't get much simpler than that. Five fish in an hour and a half, the largest of which (at 3lb 1oz) putting an alarming bend in my fibreglass travel landing net pole! Who says bream don't feed on the surface?!
Note to self: Barbless hooks are a must when using with this Maver landing net. It is a hook magnet, and I literally had to cut the line (and the mesh!) and re-tie the hook on after every fish. This doesn't happen with my Dinsmore match net!
Saturday, 13 August 2016
Change Of Approach Required…..
Well, any approach would be a start! The fact is, I haven’t wet a line in
anger since my last blog. A combination of the school holidays, disturbed
work patterns, the swapping of cars, general half-arsed lethargy and a garage
full of shite have all contributed to my lack of bank time. Whilst all these
factors have had some bearing on my inactivity, it is probably the latter which
has hindered proceedings the most – the fact that no matter how lightly I aim
to travel, I cannot seem to put my hand on the items required.
Maybe I’ll find the required rod, and maybe even the correct reel, but perhaps it will be spooled with too fine a line and the spare spools happen to be buried under the lawn mower and an old bed?! Perhaps I’ll find all the major items only to be thwarted by the absence of any floats, leads or feeders? Maybe I could find the missing items if I was to partially empty the garage onto the driveway? Oh wait…..I can’t…..we have an extra car on the drive which wouldn’t normally be there, and it’s dark outside anyway, as I spent the last hours of daylight ferrying the kids around from one place to the next, and fixing / cleaning the afore-mentioned extra car in preparation for its imminent sale! After a full day at work, plus this extra bollocks, I really cannot generally be arsed. Recently however, the realisation dawned on me: if I am to carry on in this manner, the whole summer will soon have passed, and then autumn and winter would be upon us, bringing with them a whole new list of jobs, obstacles and excuses not to partake in the act of splodging. I would have to make an effort, sooner rather than later, to locate some appropriate tackle and get on the bank. Fridays offer me the opportunity to finish work early, and although I would have to pick the kids up at some point, I was sure that I could sneak an hour or so on the canal situated close to my place of work. Luckily, I had in mind a “shit or bust” method which would require minimum tackle, could be executed in said time frame, and should offer instant results, although it would require favourable conditions (a warm, calm, sunny day). The method in question: surface fishing for bream. “But bream don’t feed from the surface”, I hear you scream. “And they don’t like bright conditions either, you fool”, I hear you mutter. “And they shy away from calm waters, they much prefer a ripple on the water, you bell-end”. And you would be right (not to mention a cheeky twat); it does seem fanciful that this method would work. However, I have done my research: I walk the canal fairly often, and on warm sunny days the bream in question can be seen congregated in relatively large shoals of thirty or so fish – most in the 2lb to 3lb bracket. Indeed, I had walked the bank on a couple of occasions earlier in the week, and the shoals of bream had been present both times.
I know the whereabouts of four such separate shoals, and they are always in the same place should the conditions be conducive. And while locating is one thing but catching quite another, I am encouraged by my recent findings with regard to whether they can be tempted to feed or not. Experiments with bread have shown that while they will not take a floating crust or flake from the surface (I don’t think they can actually see it for a start, as I don’t believe that bream can see directly above them), they will take a slowly sinking piece as it passes through their field of vision. This is hook-free bread, you understand. Never before have I actually tried to catch these basking bream, but the idea was to try and make a free-lined piece of bread flake (or bread disc, as championed by the excellent Jeff Hatt) sink enticingly before them to see if I could tempt one into taking it. A substantial hook should add enough weight to make the bread sink slowly, but if not, I could always squeeze the bread to varying degrees to adjust the density. A shot could be added if this still didn’t achieve the required effect. So, armed with a short(ish) soft action rod, and a small reel spooled with 2.9lb line, landing net, a small bag of end tackle and polarised glasses, I set off in search of slabs. Conditions were perfect, and the first shoal was easily located. A few pieces of bread were deposited amongst the shoal, just to see what reaction they would evoke. Worryingly, even the slow sinking offerings were ignored. No matter, I tackled up anyway, but the first cast was a bad one, and on the retrieve I didn't notice that the bread disc had fallen off (a consequence of not buying the Hatt standard Warburton's blue). The result was that I wound in too much line, and the hook became caught in the top ring of the rod. When I'd figured out what had happened, I inspected the "knot" on the shank of the spade end hook for damage. It was mangled, and the hook pretty much fell off in my hand. Not a great start!
Preston man proceeded to tell me how he had fished this stretch for donkey's years. Caught this, that and the other, won this match, that match and the other. Then, he said something which rocked me slightly: "Common carp these, mate", he said, pointing to the large shoal of what were clearly bream. Given his supposed experience, and the fact that he was wearing an item of match fishing gear, and given the fact that the fish in front of us were so obviously not carp, his statement really did leave me speechless for a moment or two. "Erm, I'm pretty sure they're bream", I said after a while. "Nah, nah," he says confidently, "they're definitely not bream. They're too thick across their backs. Bream are really thin, like dinner plates. The tail's the wrong shape, and bream never swim about on the top. They come up and roll, then they go straight back down on the bottom", he says. "Yep, they're definitely common carp. I caught one on here this week", he said, "caught it on the bottom though". In no mood for an argument, and wanting him to piss off ASAP, I held my tongue. His mate had wondered off by this point, clearly quite embarrassed by the whole conversation, and I'm glad to say that he had the good grace to leave an expectant angler in peace. Not so Preston man, who then proceeded to start throwing bread at the very fish I was about to attempt (since I hadn't even got started by this point!) to catch! When he eventually buggered off, I was pleased to see that the shoal of bream was still present, so after being bank side for half an hour, I was ready to make my first cast (the previous feeble effort didn't count!). Imagine my horror then, when I looked up and saw a huge barge heading my way. Boat traffic is very rare here, but this is typical of my luck at the moment. Well, it made a real mess of the swim, churning up the silt and turning the water a milky coffee colour. Bollocks! It took around ten minutes for signs of life to appear in the swim again, in the form of tiny roach milling about on the surface. The bream were nowhere to be seen though, and I had to move further up the stretch before I caught sight of them. They were visibly deeper than before though, a good foot and a half below the surface. So, shit or bust, a cast was made. After landing above the shoal, the bread disc slowly began to sink - six inches deep, twelve, eighteen. Then it seemed to hang there, but was largely ignored, at least by the bream. Then the tiny roach began to attack it - none big enough to suck in the whole thing complete with size 10, mind. But then a larger shape approached and the bread disappeared. I struck and felt that satisfying resistance through the soft action rod. Fish on, and a bream at that. The landing net and the rest of the gear was some distance along the bank though - d'oh! After a quick scrap, a fish of around 2lbs was in the net. Probably one of the smaller specimens in the shoal, but a result none the less. Upon closer inspection, it transpired that this bream was actually a bream / roach hybrid. My camera wasn't set up, and for the sake of the fish I took a couple of snaps with the phone and released it. As you would expect, the commotion spooked the rest of the shoal, and despite giving the swim a fifteen minute rest, they didn't return. No matter, I had (sort of) succeeded in my very specific quest and it was probably time to pack up anyway. As I did, two familiar figures approached, on their way back with an empty bread bag. "I bet that barge cocked things up for you, didn't it?", said Preston man. "Yep, but the fish did come back, and I did catch one", I replied. "Oh", he says, and in seeing the photo on my phone, he says, "Yep, definitely a bream", as if he's been right all along! "Actually, I think this one's a hybrid - I can see a bit of roach in there", I said. "Oh yes", says Preston man, "I can definitely see that now. It's the red fins that give it away". ?!
|
Monday, 4 July 2016
Feelings
It’s been well
over two weeks since the start of the new river season, but until very recently,
I haven’t felt the need to wet a line in any of the local rivers. Sure, there
was the excitement of the glorious 16th, and several trips to the
water’s edge (armed only with polarised gigs and a childish grin) just to see
how things looked, and to check out the likely fish-holding spots. The grin was
short-lived, as none of the stretches looked particularly inviting. I just
wasn’t “feeling it”, especially when I recalled numerous tales of first-day
woes from seasons gone by. I know people who religiously book the day off work, sometimes even the whole week, and many of them camp out on the night of the 15th so they can literally make the first cast at the stroke of midnight. Good on them I say. I get it, but it's never been my thing. You hear the odd report of successful first day sessions, but generally I associate the glorious 16th with not-so-glorious results.
There. I couldn’t possibly fail. So with made-up Avon rod in hand, and waders…erm…on legs(!), I made my way down the footpath beside the Don – straight past the occasionally fished accessible pegs, and into the jungle! Over the hand railing, down the almost sheer overgrown banking (getting nettled all the way), and into the river itself – on foot, I hasten to add, not arse over tit. I waded across to a small island mid-river, and there I parked myself, smug in the knowledge that this particular swim must surely have been fished only a handful of times in recent years, if at all. The swim was just as I imagined it would be: the main flow running over a shallow gravel bar and into deeper water right in front of me. There was (relatively) slack water either side of the customary crease, and at the inaccessible far bank some bushes protruding right over the water’s edge. Perfect chub territory, so it would seem.
The river was carrying a little extra water, and had a nice colour to it – almost perfect, to my mind, for slug fishing. The biggest, blackest slug in my bait box called for at least a size 4 hook, so one was carefully tied to a hooklength of slightly lower breaking strain that the main line (4.6lb vs 5.6lb) so that I could pull for a controlled break should the rig become snagged. First run through showed that some weight needed to be added, as the slug barely sunk a few inches below the surface. A single AAA shot just above the hooklink improved matters, but trundling the rig through the near side slack, and right under a very inviting bush (ooh, matron!) produced nothing. A few more runs through proved that no-one was home on the near side. Lobbing the slug with a load plop into the far side slack also proved disappointingly fruitless too, although the rig was very difficult to control unless I held the rod sky high to keep the line from the crease, and then it was difficult to keep the line out of the bushes.
Then I considered that maybe the slug should be presented right in the crease. After all, the main flow carries the food and debris, and the fish lie in wait in the slacks and eddies, ready to intercept anything that looks edible, right? The slug was slung mid flow with a loud plop, and due to the increased flow, needed a further SSG shot to help it sink. Thereafter, it trundled down the swim nicely. Bail arm off, I was slowing down the flow of line trying to make the slug trip along the river bed. Half way down the run, the pull of line from the spool quickened, and I figured that big old fatty slug had hit a strong current and was being swept along by it. Sensing that the slug must now be some distance downstream, and not wanting to get caught in the streamer weed below, I retrieved the rig and was surprised to see a bare hook. Could the quickening of line being pulled from the spool have been a take?
Maybe a fish had snaffled the slimy black offering and darted downstream with it? The next few runs down the exact same path, at a rather pedestrian pace, proved that it probably was a take! For the next half an hour I tried to encourage another bite, but aside from a few lost hooks owing to snags, it was uneventful. It was now time for me to leave too. Bollocks!
Don’t get me
wrong: I have been splodging a few times in the last couple of weeks, it’s just
that I chose to fish the canal whilst everyone else was out thrashing the
rivers.
I’ve always been
an awkward chuff!
I promised
myself that I would stay away from flowing water until it felt right. I was
proved right too, as subsequent reports have shown that only the hordes of
nuisance brownies have been feeding with any intent. Brownies serve a specific
purpose for me: they’re great in desperate times when I just need a bend in the
rod, but generally, unless they’re over 2lb (which they almost always aren’t!)
they’re a bleedin’ pain in the arse.
We have a love / hate relationship, brown trout and I. When I rediscovered fishing they were a source of excitement, almost an exotic species to me, as I'd never fished for them during my first stint. They eat pretty much all the traditional baits: maggots, casters, worms, bread, corn, pellets (if pellets can be classed as traditional?!), and they are so aggressive you really can't miss the bites. They fight like hell, often spending more time out of the water than in. So what's the problem? Well, they're too easy to catch for one - daft as that may sound, and I like a bit of a challenge. More importantly though, I resent them, for they seem to have displaced pretty much all the once plentiful coarse fish in the upper reaches of the Don. In reality, they're probably not responsible for this at all, as all species used to co-exist as I recall. It's more likely that the majority of fish got washed downstream in last decade's floods, with only the trout able to make it back to the upper reaches (if there's one thing trout are good at it's travelling upstream!).
Anyways, the
back end of last week felt different. “Right”, you might say. On Thursday
evening I gathered some stuff together for a short roving session on the off
chance that I would “feel it” after work on Friday (you could call it a
pre-feeling feeling!). I also formulated a plan to negate the nuisance trout,
and I even had a specific stretch of the Don lodged in my mind too. The window
of opportunity would be small, though. One hour was going to be all the time I
had to locate, fool, net, weigh and possibly kiss (in the style of Rex Hunt –
and that’s not rhyming slang!) a sizeable chub or barbel.
Things looked
good right from the off. The weather, warm, overcast and fairly dry, was doing
its bit. According to the EA river levels website, the Don was carrying a bit
of extra water, but was dropping nicely. I had heard of a few chub being caught
the day before, too (thanks, John).
My plan was as
follows:
- Since many recently reported blanks had been “achieved” by presenting a legered bait, I would present a moving one.
- Since I have never knowingly come across a brown trout with a taste for slugs, I would present the mother of all slugs, figuring that even if a particularly greedy brownie was to take a shine to it, it almost certainly wouldn’t be able to fit it in its mush anyway.
- Since this mother of all slugs was likely to sink even the largest of proprietary stick floats / chubbers / avons on the market, I would free-line it Mr Crabtree style.
There. I couldn’t possibly fail. So with made-up Avon rod in hand, and waders…erm…on legs(!), I made my way down the footpath beside the Don – straight past the occasionally fished accessible pegs, and into the jungle! Over the hand railing, down the almost sheer overgrown banking (getting nettled all the way), and into the river itself – on foot, I hasten to add, not arse over tit. I waded across to a small island mid-river, and there I parked myself, smug in the knowledge that this particular swim must surely have been fished only a handful of times in recent years, if at all. The swim was just as I imagined it would be: the main flow running over a shallow gravel bar and into deeper water right in front of me. There was (relatively) slack water either side of the customary crease, and at the inaccessible far bank some bushes protruding right over the water’s edge. Perfect chub territory, so it would seem.
The river was carrying a little extra water, and had a nice colour to it – almost perfect, to my mind, for slug fishing. The biggest, blackest slug in my bait box called for at least a size 4 hook, so one was carefully tied to a hooklength of slightly lower breaking strain that the main line (4.6lb vs 5.6lb) so that I could pull for a controlled break should the rig become snagged. First run through showed that some weight needed to be added, as the slug barely sunk a few inches below the surface. A single AAA shot just above the hooklink improved matters, but trundling the rig through the near side slack, and right under a very inviting bush (ooh, matron!) produced nothing. A few more runs through proved that no-one was home on the near side. Lobbing the slug with a load plop into the far side slack also proved disappointingly fruitless too, although the rig was very difficult to control unless I held the rod sky high to keep the line from the crease, and then it was difficult to keep the line out of the bushes.
Then I considered that maybe the slug should be presented right in the crease. After all, the main flow carries the food and debris, and the fish lie in wait in the slacks and eddies, ready to intercept anything that looks edible, right? The slug was slung mid flow with a loud plop, and due to the increased flow, needed a further SSG shot to help it sink. Thereafter, it trundled down the swim nicely. Bail arm off, I was slowing down the flow of line trying to make the slug trip along the river bed. Half way down the run, the pull of line from the spool quickened, and I figured that big old fatty slug had hit a strong current and was being swept along by it. Sensing that the slug must now be some distance downstream, and not wanting to get caught in the streamer weed below, I retrieved the rig and was surprised to see a bare hook. Could the quickening of line being pulled from the spool have been a take?
Maybe a fish had snaffled the slimy black offering and darted downstream with it? The next few runs down the exact same path, at a rather pedestrian pace, proved that it probably was a take! For the next half an hour I tried to encourage another bite, but aside from a few lost hooks owing to snags, it was uneventful. It was now time for me to leave too. Bollocks!
So in summary: I
wasn’t feeling it, then I felt that I might feel it, then actually felt it, and
now I felt a right pillock! What if I’d struck at the pull? Surely a nice fat
chub would have been the culprit, such was the size of the slug - one that
could surely only fit into the cavernous mush of a decent chevin. Or barbel even,
that rarest of things on the Sheffield Don? Of course, I didn’t recognise it as
a pull at the time, so maybe I can take some small comfort from that. Maybe the
pull wasn’t a pull at all, and I’m just convincing myself that something
happened in order to make myself feel, bizarrely, a bit better about it?!
Anyway, one
thing I’ve learned over the years is: time on the bank is never time wasted – blank or
no blank. I’ll be better prepared next time. And there will be a next time. When
I get that feeling.
Friday, 10 June 2016
From Paella & Bolly to Pie & Brolly!
Well, after a week away in the Canary Islands (think
bikini clad dolly birds strolling along the palm tree-lined marina) it’s back
to the Sheffield & Tinsley cut (think donkey jacket clad fitter scratching
his hairy arse on his fag break, tip-toeing around the dog shit as he flicks
his fag butt into an altogether different marina).
I did toy with the idea of taking some lure fishing gear over there with me this year, but I really didn’t have the enthusiasm for it. On the odd occasion when I have taken gear abroad I’ve found it a bit of a chore to find suitable fishing spots (especially since you are not allowed to fish the Spanish harbours / marinas these days). In Menorca a few years ago, I woke up at the crack of a sparrow’s fart and went fishing from the rocks on several occasions, but more often than not I found myself 30ft above the water and I ended up losing the equivalent of my own body weight in leads. I was also mindful of Lee Swords’ experiences with broken rods, etc. when he travelled to the Canaries previously (see here), so I didn’t bother. I did still take an interest in the resident fish though, and loved feeding the shoals of mullet in the crystal clear harbour, watching hundreds of them destroying the large chunks of bread we were throwing in.
If it were possible to fish these spots, and if you were somewhat unsporting in your approach, I’m sure you could bag up using something akin to a floating method feeder. I’m not talking about the barbaric multi-hooked contraptions (possibly of eastern European origin) that are occasionally found on the banks in the UK, I’m thinking of an altogether more delicate approach. Anyways, it’s all academic, since it’s 2000 miles away and you’re not allowed to fish there!
I did toy with the idea of taking some lure fishing gear over there with me this year, but I really didn’t have the enthusiasm for it. On the odd occasion when I have taken gear abroad I’ve found it a bit of a chore to find suitable fishing spots (especially since you are not allowed to fish the Spanish harbours / marinas these days). In Menorca a few years ago, I woke up at the crack of a sparrow’s fart and went fishing from the rocks on several occasions, but more often than not I found myself 30ft above the water and I ended up losing the equivalent of my own body weight in leads. I was also mindful of Lee Swords’ experiences with broken rods, etc. when he travelled to the Canaries previously (see here), so I didn’t bother. I did still take an interest in the resident fish though, and loved feeding the shoals of mullet in the crystal clear harbour, watching hundreds of them destroying the large chunks of bread we were throwing in.
If it were possible to fish these spots, and if you were somewhat unsporting in your approach, I’m sure you could bag up using something akin to a floating method feeder. I’m not talking about the barbaric multi-hooked contraptions (possibly of eastern European origin) that are occasionally found on the banks in the UK, I’m thinking of an altogether more delicate approach. Anyways, it’s all academic, since it’s 2000 miles away and you’re not allowed to fish there!
So, back to the cut, and in walking the bank during my
lunch break, I was surprised to see no fewer than five anglers wetting a line
within a 100m stretch.
Over recent weeks I have noticed an increase in the
number of splodgers here, initially one or two – three at most, and relatively
well spread out at that. Five individuals could suggest that the fishing is
shit hot at the moment, or that there’s been a feature shot here by one of the
angling publications recently, or it may just be by chance. Whatever, I’m not
used to sharing the banks with anyone, so I hoped that by the time I returned
after work, they would all have buggered off. They hadn’t.
I headed away from the crowds(!) and down to the
narrowing where I “hooked” the sizable perch previously. On the way there I scanned
the water for the whole ½ mile or so, and was reminded of the huge numbers of
small roach that this stretch holds. As you would imagine, the relatively hot
weather brings them up in the water, and with the Polaroids on it’s easy to
spot the large shoals milling around, often very close in – something which,
again, reinforces my view that this canal could sustain some clonking great
stripies.
Nothing happened at the narrowing so I decided to try
elsewhere. I have had some success lately targeting perch by sight. This
stretch can be very shallow at the near bank and when the water is fairly clear
it is possible to see the small groups of juvenile perch down the edge as you
approach.
I’ve found that by stopping just short of them and
lowering in the drop shot rig a couple of feet away (so as not to
spook them), the first perch to see the lure will make a bee line for it, then
bang – Bob’s your nanan. My problem today was that the water wasn’t so clear
that I could identify the species from the required distance. Time after time I
would find a group of “perch”, lower in the rig, and see one or two approach
the lure to see what it was. Then a few more would come for a look. Then the
whole shoal would arrive before magically turning into roach! If I’d had a
small whip with me, a light rig and some brandlings I could have used the same
approach and bagged up on them. Maybe next time? Anyways, I did catch enough
perch to keep me happy along the way.
The session was most notable for a half hour chat I had
with John Lam – a very knowledgeable and enthusiastic angler, and genuinely
nice bloke too (check out his Facebook blog here). He very kindly shared some
of his findings and confirmed a few stories I had heard about various local
venues. He also re-affirmed some theories I had about the Sheffield &
Tinsley canal too. I won’t be divulging any of the information here, or
anywhere else for that matter!
Like me, he’s itching to get back on the rivers from
next week.
Friday, 20 May 2016
Revelations
Revelation number one: clear evidence of striped
monsters lurking within the cut. And in two separate locations, no less. My
quarry actually exists, and although seeing is one thing and catching quite
another, I at least now know that I’m not targeting them in vain.
I’m talking about large perch, of course. Not large in
the Angling Times or Angler’s Mail sense – I’m talking large in relative terms.
It would make sense that the canal holds perch of a decent size, as it does
currently hold a large head of roach, all the way from fry up to (and probably
beyond) 1lb mature specimens. It also has an abundance of features, unlike some
other canals which consist of miles and miles of seemingly identical sections.
Along its whole length, from its confluence with the Don on the edge of
Rotherham to its conclusion in Sheffield city centre, there’s barely a fifty
metre stretch without a bend, or a bridge, a turning bay or a basin – it stands
to reason that there should be some proper striped lumps in there. The thing
is, up until last week, I hadn’t seen any.
Last week, armed with my drop shotting gear, I
happened to fish one of the many curious narrowings on this once busy waterway.
By narrowings I mean the sections where the canal’s width reduces to that of a
single barge – a bit like a lock, but without the actual lock(?!) if you follow
what I mean. There seems no obvious purpose for some of these narrowings, but
maybe back in the days of coal and steel transportation, these were loading
sites? This particular narrowing is a little easier to explain, as quite
clearly the reduction in canal width at this point is due to the proximity of a
foot bridge. Or maybe the narrowing was already present, and therefore was an
ideal position to erect said bridge at a later date?! Anyway, regardless of why
they are there, the narrowings do present an excellent habitat for perch.
Constructed from large deeply formed steel sheet sides, and often supplemented
with wooden piles, overhanging cross beams and buffers, they are the ideal perch
hangout from which to ambush the passing roach shoals.
For whatever reason, I’d
never seriously targeted this area before. On this particular session though,
armed with the perfect setup to exploit the features, I gave it a go. Thinking
that any residents would surely be on the larger side, I offered up a three
inch long imitation bleak – a much larger lure than I would normally use for
drop shotting. Whilst teasing the lure along the steel wall I received an
aggressive pull, and all of a sudden I was into something decent. A short fight
ensued, and the lure rod took on a nice bend as every lunge and head shake was
transmitted through the braid. Then, as my prize reached the surface, things
went slack. With my end tackle now emerging from the water, the unmistakable
dark profile of a large perch was seen making its way back to the depths.
Bugger!
I thought back to a few weeks previous, when a similar
thing had happened a mile upstream (if such a term can be used when referring
to a canal?). On that occasion I had been fishing down the edge of one of the
marina’s high-sided walls beside a bush (which had taken root in one of the
mortar lines of the wall and grown, over the years, to quite a size). A take,
followed by a short aggressive fight, culminating in a slack line. The
difference was, I couldn’t identify the culprit back then – maybe it was a
pike, or maybe a large perch? All I know is that the two events bore close
resemblance to one another. So, back at the narrowing, I was thinking that
maybe the larger than usual lure had adversely affected the hook-size to
lure-size ratio. Although it didn’t look particularly “wrong”, the size 10 hook
did look appreciably smaller than when planted inside the usual 1.5”
Yakimoshikayo-thingy type lure. Maybe the cheeky monkeys had hold of the lure
but hadn’t fully “inhaled” it, in the way perch normally do? I was in no
position to remedy this, however, having inexplicably left my spare hooks at
home – d’oh! I tried the feature again with a succession of smaller lures, but
perhaps unsurprisingly, my chance had gone.
However, in moving half a mile upstream (there I go
again), I happened upon a small group of juvenile perch right in the edge, in
around two feet of very clear water. The fish I could see were surely only of a
few ounces in weight, but with a small lure already mounted on the size 10, I
decided to see if I could tempt one. As it happened, they were not interested
in the slightest, but in the clear conditions I was shocked to see a much
larger perch lurking amongst them. It was only a brief sighting, as it turned
tail and sped off into the deeper water, but it was quite clearly over a pound
in weight, perhaps even approaching two. Who’d have thunk it? After finding no
evidence of them at all previously, I had now seen, with my own eyes, two such
specimens in one day.
Furthermore, revelation two was about to occur…..
Slightly further down the bank, a juvenile perch could
clearly be seen having a right go at my rig. Not at the lure, though. He’d
taken a shine to my drop shot weight – “shine” being the operative word! You
see, I’m currently using HTO weights which happen to be chrome plated. I think
they’re actually polished, not plated, but you get the idea.
In a most
uncharacteristic moment of uncheapskatedness some time ago, I had chosen to
purchase these rather expensive weights thinking that their quality would
surely match their price, therefore ensuring a good prolonged period of sterling
service. Indeed, their quality is beyond question, and very nice they look too –
maybe too nice, and that is the point! Thinking back, I did wonder at the time
of purchase whether they would attract fish in their own right, owing to their
splendid shininess. Anyways, stood on the bank, only moments after spotting the
second striped monster of the day, the penny had dropped…..
Revelation number two: the monster from the narrowing
encountered just one hour previous, the mysterious and substantial fish I had tussled
with by the mortar line bush in the marina several weeks since, and probably
the well camouflaged jack pike I had unintentionally disturbed down the edge a
couple of weeks prior to that – had all engulfed my reassuringly expensive
shiny drop shot weight in preference to the lure. All felt as if they were
hooked, but upon realising that they were losing the fight, they had simply let
go of the weight.
Thinking back to the incident at the narrowing, I distinctly
remember seeing the lure emerging from the water whilst still being somehow connected
to the substantial lump beneath. How could this possibly be the case if the
perch in question was not in the act of scoffing the weight?
Yes, am I now convinced
that this has been occurring, and as a progressive splodger of South Yorkshire
origin, I now have a heart-braking decision to make: do I discard all three
packets of these “reassuringly expensive” supposed investments in the interests
of increasing my catch rate (an act, effectively, akin to flushing a crisp
tenner down the shitter), or do I take the default stance of, “I’ve paid for
the buggers, so I’m bloody well gonna use ‘em”?
Of course, I’ll choose the
former – but ye gods, it’ll be through gritted teeth.
Friday, 13 May 2016
Now The Jigs Don't Work.....
Let me start by saying, I’m a newcomer to lure
fishing. Well, I say newcomer – I’ve actually just realised in writing this
passage that the opening statement is not strictly true. I did, in fact, capture
my first lure caught fish over twenty years ago. On that occasion the fish in
question happened to be a very stupid Irish pike. I call his intelligence into
question not because of his nationality (heaven forbid), but because of the
fact that he was caught twice. On the very same spinner. The second capture
occurring within thirty seconds of being released back into the gin clear
water. I didn’t have the heart to trouble him a third time (he must surely have
been a “him” because I’m reliably informed that the female of ANY species is
considerably more cleverer that what the males are).
Let me start again then by saying, I’m a RELATIVE
newcomer to lure fishing. Let me also say that Sheffield & Tinsley Canal’s
pike population seems to bear little resemblance to their Irish cousins in
terms of intelligence. As a consequence of this, I have had little success in
catching them. I know they are there, as I have seen them with my own eyes. I
have also seen evidence of them having been caught, and indeed eaten on the
bank (and washed down with eastern European lager judging by the empty tins
strewn beside the spent camp fires). My crude initial attempts at luring them
with an array of extravagantly coloured plugs usually resulted either in a sobering
blank or a lucky dip prize from the pungent silty canal bed (the most memorable
of which happened to be a miniature black bag full of dog crap – nice).
A change of plan was needed, and I started to amass a
collection of rubber shads.
These were much more natural looking in the water,
and due to the upward facing single hooks as opposed to the underslung trebles,
I was hauling out fewer lucky dip prizes. I did still lose the odd lure to the
snags, and in pulling for a break on one session I did get exactly that…..
That was not as a consequence of using rubber shads
though, as I’m sure a plug would have resulted in much the same explosive
outcome. Anyways, the main thing was, I started to catch pike. Not very often,
mind, and no bigger than 4lb or so, but it was considerably more fun than
blanking.
The trouble was I was only catching on every fourth or fifth sitting
– not good when four or five short after-work sessions could easily span
several weeks. By scaling down to a mini jig outfit I found that I could target
the canal’s large population of juvenile perch, and catch several per session –
a much better use of my limited bank time.
So there I was. The Perchmaster. Getting jiggy with
it, and I couldn’t fail. However, there are only so many 2oz perch you can
catch (without really trying) before you start to get bored. It was almost too
easy, and as a consequence I sought a new challenge away from the canal.
Fast forward a year or so, and the silty old
pterodactyl beckons again – only this time she’s not giving up her striped
jewels so easily, the moody cow. Now the jigs don’t work (they just make you
worse). I’m made to look cack-handed with the lure rod and I
can’t buy a pull, pluck or even a follow.
Times is hard, and as a result, I’ve
turned to the absurdly alien method that is drop shotting. Yep, the one whereby
you drop a tiny lure in by your feet and try to impart miniscule movements upon
it, via a 3ft long rod, by shaking like a shitting dog. I’ve already bought the
necessary gear too. Well, all except the seemingly necessary specialised £150
Japanese glorified bomb rod top section with a handle on it. Instead, I chose
to splice a 1.5oz glass quiver tip into my light lure rod instead, and very nice
it is too. Being around 7ft in length it can also double up as my canal roach
light bomb rod too – two birds and all that.
So here I am, a few sessions in with perch on my mind.
I’m not after 2oz tiddlers this time, although I’ll happily wade through them
if necessary. I’m after something in the pound plus bracket. That might sound
like a feeble target to some, but it may be harder than it first appears,
seeing as I’ve never actually seen evidence of such a perch in these waters.
Plenty of juvenile stripies, loads of jack pike and lots of prey fish too - I
just haven’t seen any decent perch. Surely there must be some…..mustn’t there?
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