Sunday, 17 August 2014

Timeout on the Teme

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As an angler of varied and restless tastes, I am torn two ways when it comes to the tackle I use and own. On the one hand it's always nice to covet something new, as the garage floor will tell you. But on the other, I just hate having lots of kit with me when I travel. Generally, I start with pure intentions. "Just one rod" are my usual famous last words, before the dreaded "what if?" strikes. What if the river is flooded? What if my favourite method isn't working on the day?
I managed to retain some self discipline and pack just a couple of rods for a roving session on the River Teme with Scott West, who also fancied a good wander somewhere new with the chance of some nice barbel or chub. Setting off at the crack of dawn, we grabbed a ticket from Allen's Tackle and headed for a stretch not too far from Worcester for a wander. And with barbel fishing virtually redundant in Devon, you might have forgiven us for getting a little bit excited.
Enthusiasm is one thing, but on any given trip what you hope for and what you get are so often different things. The river was dropping but still quite coloured, too much so to cast a fly, so a pragmatic feeder fishing approach got the nod. Plan A was thus a positive ground bait attack, with worms or my favourite barbel bait, double 10mm boilie, on the hook.
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And what a sumptuous river the Teme is. We didn't see or find lots of fish, but there were so many really fishy looking spots it was tough to know where to start. As is so often the case on an unfamiliar water, it seemed sensible to bait a few spots therefore and try just a short-ish stay in each swim until we found some bites.
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After just a small perch to show for the first couple of hours, it was only in swim number three that I was finally given not so much as a bite as slap in the face. The fish, presumably a barbel, took so hard my rod rest was toppled over like a felled tree. But by the time I'd started pulling back the hook pinged free. One nil to the barbel.
Meanwhile, I was also getting nips from small chub on worm baits to the point where it was a nuisance. Hence a tactical substitution was made to 10mm boilies on both rods. Funny really- I can take them or leave them when carp fishing on manmade waters (part of me thinks that they are very overrated, or certainly overused), but when it comes to river fishing I find them brilliant and highly selective.
I was luckier with the next take, which went from a few flirtatious little dinks to outright violence and another "grab your rod or kiss it goodbye" moment. On light tackle (and I should qualify that as eight pound line and a standard tip rod), barbel are sensationally powerful. The fish shifted from a near bank crease to mid flow in a split second, while I thanked my very bones I'd tested the drag at the start of the session. I have no idea what a barbel of seven and a bit pounds represents in today's fishing scene, but to my senses and with the thing charging all over a small swim it was quite an epic experience.
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Scott meanwhile was also finding some small chub on the worm, along with some frustrating whacks on the boilies which may also have been chub giving the bait a whack without being hooked. We also mixed things up by trundling baits through the swim, doing so by ditching the feeders and trying link legered presentations. This is a lovely way of fishing, tweaking your bait through a good looking bit of water and feeling for takes. Active too, but we struggled to find the better fish, most often small chub wrestling with the bait. Ok, so it isn't necessarily as efficient as a heavy weight and a short hook length, but like fly fishing or trotting it's an intimate, active way to do it and a method I'd like to do more of.
The next action was on the static boilie presentation again however, as I picked up a chub immediately dropping into a swim that had been primed with some bait perhaps half an hour earlier. The quick transition from full steam ahead to a duller lolloping fight suggested chub this time. Not a bad one either, at least to a Devon boy used to seeing typical fish of less than half this size:
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We worked hard for our bites then, but in spite of some success in the afternoon our final evening swims just didn't produce as we'd hoped. Never mind, it's always a pleasure to explore somewhere new with a friend, never fully knowing quite what to expect.

Tuesday, 12 August 2014

Fishing and Folk Week

 photo DSC_0319_zps0df180c9.jpgRecent angling has been somewhat interrupted these last two weeks or so, for several reasons including the perils of organising fresh work and a lively Sidmouth Folk Week. Those care free, meandering summer holidays I remember are long gone it seems. But if there's one thing the busy angler learns it's how to free a couple of hours here and there, whether that means making a suitable excuse, getting up early or sweet talking your other half. And sometimes a couple of hours are all it requires.
Unsurprisingly, short stolen sessions often involve a fly rod for me and while rudd often give instant kicks, I've also been packing a carp set up ready to go. No crazy ultralight antics here though: at present I'm using a nine weight and ten pound leader as the only solution to tame some seriously fit and wild carp on a very weedy pond.
It's something I've spent a long time doing over the past few seasons, but admittedly my success levels have varied greatly. That said, where there is low fishing pressure and/or tons of natural food it is now something I attempt with confidence. My most recent catch is a classic example, occurring after two blanks with bait. And yet carp fly fishers always seem to suffer the same hang up: they feel the need to feed bait and fish dog biscuit "flies" even when the carp are perfectly happy eating snails, shrimps, nymphs… you name it.
The fly I've had most takes on lately is an adult damsel. Strange, because although plentiful you wouldn't imagine the fish picking up more than an occasional casualty. I fish this with no floatant, so that it sticks for just a second or two to the surface before very slowly sinking. Even so, it's a game of anticipation, letting it fall gently where it can be seen. Cast gently and you might present the fly ten times to the same fish; mess it up and it's game over. I've also found the carp perfectly happy to track the fly until it sits on top of weed, examining it for a few seconds before having a suck. No such trouble with the latest fish though, which took on the drop after two pals had ignored it:
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The fish gave me some real heart attack moments, mostly just due to the way it hugged the weed. For a couples of minutes all I could do was keep the tension, as all I could see was a pair of lips poking out, the fly neatly in the corner. Eventually though, I used the frame of my solid framed landing net (much better than the triangular specimen models in this situation) to gather her up, along with a good helping of salad. She was just an ounce under twelve pounds and absolutely stunning: fully scaled mirrors are my favourite carp in terms of good looks.
Very satisfying indeed- and although it might betray that I'm better with a fly than bait in general, I managed to pull a blank on the next night session with boilies. I think the absolute key to the fly is its subtlety; it's such a delicate presentation, whereas even a free lined bait makes an audible plop. And while several thousand cliched articles will tell you this is a "dinner gong" (groan!) to carp, that's only usually true on heavily stocked waters. Indeed, in an age where even the most "natural" of carp presentations usually involves two ounces of lead as standard, we still have a lot to learn about finesse.

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As for the rest of my summer, the near future is all about getting kids fishing. I find 90% of my guiding falls into two categories: People who are novices and want to learn the ropes, or those who are experienced but want something new (usually coarse fish on the fly). I'm well aware that a lot of youngsters could use a friendly teacher though, who can provide all the bait and tackle and not charge the earth for it. Which is why I've set up my "Summer Fishing School"
events. The first (on Thu 21 and Fri 22 August) takes place at West Pitt Farm, near Tiverton. The owners have very kindly waived the fee for kids to fish, meaning I can provide everything for £16 a head. Do drop me a line if you have kids, family or friends who would enjoy it. There are two sessions each day (9am-1pm or 2pm-6pm) to pick from and this is an ideal fishery for it- I am 99.9% positive every single guest will catch and learn loads in the process. Every child will catch roach and rudd, while they also have every chance of fine carp. I'd far rather people booked rather than just turning up however, because this helps me keep groups small and balanced so I can give the best and most focussed sessions possible. Just give me a bell on 07804 240986/

And off the normal fishing beat, Sidmouth Folk Week also provided a proper "session" in all things musical, with the odd local tipple thrown in. I'm slightly ashamed as a Devonian to say that this was my first proper experience of the event, which sees sleepy Sidmouth descend into a happy kind of anarchy involving dancers, musicians, jugglers, pyromaniacs, tricksters and revellers of all kinds. What I loved best is that it seemed such a beautifully unscripted event. The British "have a go" spirit prevails where you find everyone from a 12 year old kid doing their first ever performance, right through to the professionals. The costumes and even the very instruments themselves are often hand made from scratch- as you can see from this rather fetching guitar, fashioned from a cigar box and with beer bottle caps for volume and tone controls:
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If you steer past the usual tat and the odd dull covers band, it also seems very much the sort of event where you might spy a big name or two to look out for in the future. My pick of a talented bunch was Cam Cole, a moonwalking, hollering street guitarist who plays stripped down, rootsy music with killer riffs and a distinct twang of the blues. Worth looking up, or even better going to see:
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After a whole week of invasion, the town then geared up for the big finale, with fireworks and a parade where you wondered what you'd been drinking: Morris men and women, fire carriers and even giant jelly fish made up a spell-binding procession. In our Tescos era of bland consumer nonsense, it's genuinely refreshing to find eccentricity and tradition alive and kicking:
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Monday, 4 August 2014

Fishing with the Fly Punk

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There are places we travel to fish that are extremely prolific and others that are simply good for the soul. Ireland is both, and a place I'd sorely wanted to return after some enjoyable pike fishing a few years back. These days I'm also just as keen on my trout fishing, and I guess you could describe me as a "successfully rehabilitated" pike angler. You might say the same about my host Aidan Curran (aka Pubz McWreckthegaff), an angler with plenty of teeth marks on his angling CV who's now just as happy tangling with trout. Not that you might guess so from this piece of ongoing current work from his wife, Pony:
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Anglers come in all shapes and sizes, but it's probably fair to say that with his red mohican and taste for punk rock, Aidan is not exactly your typical fly fisher. Then again, with a love of "coarse" fish and aged clearly below 50, I'm probably not either. We broke the usual rules about discussing politics and religion fairly quickly, while also swapping flies and ideas along the way as the car rattled with raucous tunes. Our main target was the legendary River Suir near Tipperary, but we must have spent as much time on tributaries such as the Ara. Such streams are about as idyllic as it gets for a travelling angler.
It was an "educational" experience in more ways than one on our visit. Ok, so hot weather had rendered waters low and clear, but these trout were as spooky as I've ever fished for. There were stacks of them, but no matter what we tried for the first two or three hours, you couldn't help but send them scurrying. Perhaps the sheer head of them was part of the problem: you'd see one spook and literally stir up a dozen of its mates up in the process.

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I then finally got the chance to get even with a little tip-off from local guide George McGrath, who can be seen above with Aidan, studying a bridge pool and issuing some advice. Very much an authority on fly fishing in this neck of the woods (+00353 085 1519770), George is one of those old school heads who will tell you in no uncertain terms which flies work and what you should or shouldn't be doing. And he certainly proved the worth of local knowledge by lending us a few flies, including a tungsten beaded nymph that I used to hook, but sadly lose a lovely wild fish of perhaps two pounds. Blast! It was only later in the evening that fish could be picked off more easily and we had some measure of revenge:
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The days proved tough in general, where distinctly un-Irish weather proved baking hot and not ideal at all for trout. Not all bad, because this did make for fine weather to get out and see the local countryside and culture, probably also preventing my girlfriend from going mad. The "Rock of Cashel" was one highlight, as were the Guiness, sea food and home made soda bread we dug into:
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It was to be a trip of tricky fishing during daylight hours in general, albeit punctuated by short flurries of activity late and even into darkness. I don't have the space here to go into the whole shooting match (and naturally, I'm always keen to save some of the really juicy plot for my next magazine articles), but it did make me wonder why night fishing isn't more popular at home for trout. The main reasons are simple: while the darkness conceals line and angler, its also true that all the little creatures come out to play, feeling safer, while the trout follow suit, including the bigger ones.
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There were many lessons then, but one of the biggest was to pack more caddis type patterns in future, and especially the smaller sort, like the Balloon Caddis (above right) in a size 16 from George. I think we still sometimes have the impression that when travelling the fishing is likely to be easier and we can take liberties with flies. Wrong on both counts! If I picked up one key message other than staying late, it was the value of having smaller flies in a few key patterns. Whatever your level of experience, the locals will almost always know better than you what works and having six key flies is better than boxes of the wrong versions.
And we did indeed save the best for last with a final crack into darkness. The transformation in results was staggering in fact, just by persevering into that dingy period when most anglers pack up and go home. Sport went from the odd missed take to carnage in the shallow flows where fish were suddenly queuing up for the hatch and I finished feeling pleased to have finally hit the river at "rush hour". None were vast, but the power of a foot long Irish river trout in a good push of water is still a rod-kicking thrill:
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As always, the only trouble in Ireland is that you will eventually have to leave. There is simply so much to explore here though. Too much for five days, although we did also head west for a crack at some rudd. I had a the odd small one and even a hybrid on the fly, but the giants that these rich waters can produce were sadly lacking. Even so, the venue was absolutely stunning and I found a real kindred spirit in Aidan:
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It's hard in fact to reduce the experience to a few lines of blog, when we did so much in the week- including a quick blast in Dublin's brilliantly musical and drunken Temple Bar area. I also did something else I've avoided for a long while, and that's to take a fish for the frying pan. Very different out here, I guess, where the rivers are quiet and fish plentiful. We treated the best of my brown trout to butter, salt and pepper. I'm not about to make it a habit over here, but washed down with a drop of ale it was a real treat.

Monday, 28 July 2014

A cast on the far side

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Of all the characters I've met in the angling world, it's perhaps the rebels and convention defiers I treasure the most. Such is Dee Egginton, better known as "Skateboard Dave". Here is a fly angler who hasn't so much ignored the textbook, but crossed out every line before setting it on fire and throwing it into the Mayor's back garden. Not surprisingly, he fly fishes for everything and some of his ideas and exploits are on a different planet. Kind of fitting really that we found the above sofa for one of the more bizarre photo opportunities I've ever come across.
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From the off, and a long walk, I knew the day was going to be an adventure as we made our way to a madly overgrown river. There was hardly room to cast, such were the tiny dimensions of a lost midlands stream, but that didn't stop us sneaking around and catapult casting our way to some devilishly exciting close-quarters fishing. It began with a bang, literally, as the first fish was a powerful trout which took a streamer within seconds.
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It was to be the first of a cracking brace- although we were actually after coarse fish primarily!

In the limited confines of such a water, long rods were the order of the day, with short casts and tactics not a million miles away from ultra light lure fishing. Perch were abundant too, also giving jig style Tadpole flies a good whack around any form of cover.
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Sadly these buggers were common too:
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In fact, my pal and invasive species expert Theo Pike would have been proud of us as we dispatched several. I say "we", but I found them tricky- Dee showing me the best method of sneaking behind the buggers before applying the boot. Actually, quite a strangely satisfying thing to do.
Meanwhile though, in the fishing stakes I managed to miss a good early chance or two as fish hit my streamer. Luckily for me, I got my mistimed strikes out of the way early as I managed to react better to an even better hit a few yards further on. A real whack and a hair-raising fight could only mean one thing: trout! The biggest wild brown I've had in several years in fact:
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It was to be a fascinating, eye opening day in general, and although there is only limited space in the scribble that is my blog, the adventure continued as we added chub and dace before driving to Mallory Park to turn our attentions to further targets. Carp were first- and while the oft cited tool for landing these hard fighting fish is a stout seven or eight weight, Dee showed his typical disregard for convention by digging out a little three weight solid glass blank:
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Basking fish were targeted by both of us without a dog biscuit in sight. I kicked off with dark spiders dressed on forged hooks, while he landed some crackers on tiny bloodworms:
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The most instant fishing was had by simply landing slow sinkers gently in front of basking fish. However, it got really interesting with a switch to "blind nymphing" with tiny flies such as bloodworms fished right under the rod tip. I'd never been very confident carp fishing in this fashion, but Dee's tactics were a revelation. The tiniest knocks were followed by surging hooked carp hooked fair and square in the lips, to the point where he was actually disappointed because he wanted to catch more roach and perch than these greedy things!
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The odd silver fish did follow before we remembered that human beings need things like food and water. And while there is only limited space in my scribblings here, my mental notebook is still awash with thoughts and musings on the maverick that is Skateboard Dave. The fact that the guy is not a household name in angling, while sponsored planks trot out the same guff every season, is a damning inditement of the current angling scene I would say. But perhaps this is the difference between an angler who fishes to impress others, and someone like Dee who fishes not for endorsements or reputation, but to satisfy an insatiable inner curiosity that sees possibilities where others view only arbitrary boundaries.
The worrying thing for fly fishing in particular, is that the more it follows the familiar (and often expensive) course of tradition, the less it will appeal to the new breed of angler, and the young in particular. Which is why it was excellent to be part of the Fly Dressers Guild part of the CLA Game Fair with the Turrall team. A whole host of youngsters tied their first ever fly, which was excellent fun, while I was bowled over with the skill and enthusiasm of Ben Beckwith, who ties patterns that would be the envy of fly dressers several times his tender thirteen years of age. We did a little swap as he showed me a brilliant sedge pattern and I showed him how to tie a pike fly in return:
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The show was a lot of fun as always, and I also had the honour of signing some of the new "Canal Fishing" book with the other authors on the Coch-y-Bonddu Books stand (pictured are Peter Hayes, Theo Pike and Malcolm Greenhalgh).
 photo DSC_0264_zpsd160e0a0.jpgAs per usual, this blog is lagging a little behind current goings on I'm afraid, as I literally dashed home from the Game Fair and headed straight over to Ireland for a crack at both trout and rudd. But I'm knackered and that's another story to tell altogether. So, till next time…

Thursday, 17 July 2014

Summer Events

Just a quick extra slice of blog for me as I prepare for the CLA Game Fair, which I'll be attending on Saturday and Sunday with Turrall. Really looking forward to this, as it's always such a great event to meet fellow anglers. I'll be tying flies for coarse species and trying to keep the real ale to a minimum. Do Stop by and say hello if you're about.

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I'm also excited to confirm some events for the summer. The Wye is very much on my mind and chub, like the five pound beastie above taken on a large dry caddis, are especially prolific and very willing to take a fly. The place always gives me a little shiver of anticipation- and barbel will also be on the menu. If it runs low, fly fishing is possible for the species, but even if it's high other methods will work. I'll be co-hosting two-day sessions with none other than Bob James, who remains an absolute maestro when it comes to river fishing (just watching him trot with a centre pin is a joy). The events will be for small groups of four to six anglers, with enough beautiful swims and time for everyone to enjoy some of the very best river fishing and try their hand at various methods. I can't wait.
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In other news, I'll also be running summer sessions closer to home for local youngsters on both West Pitt Farm (Near Tiverton, 21/22 Aug) and South View Farm (Near Exeter, 28/29 Aug). The idea here is to run fun, affordable half day trips, where young anglers can learn key fishing skills and enjoy catching fish in a friendly environment (and yes, I'm also fully trained, first aid and CRB checked- I take my coaching seriously). More info to follow, but for more info or to book either of the above, just drop me a line ( 07804 240986).

Wednesday, 16 July 2014

New steps and old favourites

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Oh dear. I'm looking at the blog and have just realised it has been ages. July has rapidly flown past and I'm going to have to cram a fair bit into this update. Brace yourselves!
One major step for me has been to join a syndicate this summer. This is something I've never done before in my life, but I found the draw of a quiet and very traditional looking lake quite irresistible. And as you can see above, part of the joy is just having access to somewhere private, enjoying nature, some fish spotting and maybe even catching the odd beastie without the hurly-burley of a day ticket fishery. Those who have done it themselves will realise it's not always cheap. But I figured it could be now or never: I thought if the offer came in five years time I might easily be lacking funds and wonder why I missed my chance before.

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While most anglers will join syndicates for species like carp though, I've been just as interested in the rudd that an old, secretive lake might produce. I've had great sport so far and some of the fish have been as vividly coloured as any rudd I've ever landed. They're all worth catching as far as I'm concerned, but I would dearly love to catch a two-pounder on the fly from here. So far so enjoyable though- and with some good ones sighted I've been stepping up to large size 10-12 spiders. This one is the king so far, at around a pound and a half as you can tell from the size of the reel:
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Just as agreeable as the fishing though, is the way that the handful of members are really civilised anglers who are refreshingly lacking in the tunnel vision that can afflict carp angling. Although they like to gently take the Mickey, they've also taken great pleasure in borrowing my fly rods to successfully catch rudd- which is great to see. Equally though, the learning process works the other way and I just love the crafty ideas carp heads get cooking with. It's going to be a lot of fun.

In fact, contrary to expectations, I've come much closer to banking carp on artificial flies than on bait so far. I've taken carp on things like bloodworms and floating snails previously, but I get the feeling these wily syndicate fish will be a challenge. They're certainly eating natural food though- so who knows? I came painfully close with a fish that looked every ounce of twenty pounds at close quarters, for example. After several refusals with a damsel, I watched a bigger fish turn and have a look. With the fly settling gently on the weed I held my breath- and watched as lips opened and sucked the lot in! A rod-wrenching battle ensued, but the fish got mired up in the weed. Try as I might I could't free it- and by the time I'd literally got in position to reach under the bank I'd lost her. Frustratingly, I literally had the net ready and even touched the beast's tail. So close to what would have been my best ever fly caught carp, and not a dog biscuit copy in sight! A nine weight outfit is the next logical step, with extra strong leaders- because fish of this size in this much weed take no prisoners.

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Crazily enough, my other notable capture has been a fly caught gudgeon (above), fluked on a carp pattern. Perhaps I should come clean: my phone had gone off (don't you hate that when you're fishing?) and the fly had sunk right to the bottom. As I picked up the rod and brought it in, the cheeky little thing attached itself, grabbing the fly fair and square in the lips! You really couldn't make it up.

Another little success has been getting my dad on the bank again, who might not thank me for telling you he's recently turned 70. He's very much the fair-weather fisherman. If it's a grey day, it can take serious arm-twisting. When it's sunny though, he doesnt need asking twice and so we hit the smaller of the two Creedy Lakes. Lovely it was too. I've commented before how many anglers can't look beyond weights- which explains why this weedier pool tends to be quiet while the main lake sees more rods than the Tackle and Guns Show. We had takes on both floating and bottom baits and it was exciting stuff- here's the old devil with a plump, dark gold common. The killer bait were cat biscuits sneakily nicked from my folk's old moggy:
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In actual fact, the typical residents here are much skinnier and longer though, almost resembling the wild carp you read about in old angling books. I did a little field testing with some late samples from the Bait Factory and these did the trick for some runs. I'm not one for using PVA products and multiple rods on such classic waters, opting for small boilies float fished (I know, revolutionary isn't it to avoid three ounces of lead). I find that by wrapping these and the hook itself in soft paste you can guarantee a clear hook point on the strike, the paste offering protection from debris and weed (if you're curious, keep an eye on the Bait Factory site for some techy points and tips shortly).
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This pretty low double was my best, fighting ludicrously hard:
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And actually, that will do for this instalment. I've missed some bits out (including some news on "Fly For Coarse" and some exciting summer events!), but will add another entry soon. It's meant to be a blog after all, not War and Bloody Peace.

Thursday, 26 June 2014

Postcard from a wandering drunk

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One of the equally wonderful and irritating things about fishing is that, rather like football, everyone is allowed their own "expert" say in the matter. Certainly the case on urban bits of canal, where I met Seb Nowosiad for some fly fishing. If the above picture is a bit wobbly, it's probably because the bloke who took it was already on his third tin of super strength lager for the day. We humoured the chap anyway, before Seb left him a roll up cigarette and we went in the total opposite direction to where he was pointing and giving his expert fishing analysis. Nice.
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The canal itself was about as clear as an alcoholic's brain too. Not as clear as we'd hoped, which suggested it could be a challenge to catch on the fly. The numbers of rudd and roach at the surface were a pleasant surprise though and given a good walk I was confident we might find some good ones. It might sound blinking obvious, but given murky water and flies it's sensible to use slightly bigger or more visible patterns than usual. A little beaded Tan Shrimp was commandeered by Seb and took several roach plus a skimmer, while I dug out a size 12 Black and Peacock spider, intrigued by local rumours of monster fish.  photo DSC_0101_zps9ad6e44f.jpg
That's the trouble with rumours though; you almost willingly daydream and ignore the fact that
a) The general public often don't have a clue what they're looking at with fish.
b) Anglers, and especially the casual ones, will spectacularly overestimate what they've witnessed (notice how tactful I was there. I could have simply said "lie" or "deal in more fiction than Penguin Classics").
Anyhow, perhaps one or two rumours had a grain of truth, because you always have a chance of nice rudd on the Taunton to Bridgwater. If you can get to the buggers. It was especially educational for Seb, who is a relative fly novice. For a lure angler, it is all too tempting to retrieve the flies all the time- when for many coarse fish you want to just let them be to settle naturally, with virtually no interference. Too much drag or a clumsy cast and you can blow it. I still make a mess of it sometimes myself, but as well as the odd bush I had several decent fish from the pokiest swims imaginable, including this fish of 1lb 9oz:
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After sweating it for months on the new "Canal Fishing" book, you might have thought I'd have had enough of them, but I've been doing more on the local cuts than the rivers so far. With it being light well into the evening I also had a blast on the Grand Western, where a whole troop of schoolboys were roaming. High on enthusiasm but low on knowhow, I felt duty bound to help one or two. After all, you don't catch many roach on 15lb line and three very dead maggots on a size 4 hook. They also kept wanting to borrow my polarising glasses to look at passing tench like this beauty:
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A little later I then caught up with Russ Hilton for a spot of tench fishing, which proved ultimately frustrating. Well, for me at least. Russ did ok, while I managed to miss them, including one where my worm had skilfully obscured the hook point to render my strike totally duff. In typical style though, Hilton came good with a couple of nice fish. It's a good job I never make bets with him:
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Other than that, I'm just getting over the inevitable demise of England at the world cup. At least as a half Swiss, I can follow a team that are the opposite to In-ger-land: underrated, under hyped and organised with that special efficiency that comes with having a German manager. In truth, I've still enjoyed the footy and even managed to combine it with some fishing, most notably at Stafford Moor, where Chris Lambert and me tried frantically via phone and radio to keep up with England's score. We may as well have stuck to the fishing in hindsight.
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We had a plan to tempt a catfish on offal, to give you the backstory, but to no avail. Several carp fancied a chunk of liver, but perhaps a much larger or more disgusting morsel is required for catfish? Back to the drawing board I think. For the record, both Beatties and Joseph's Lake are both outstanding "runs" waters should you fancy a crack at summer carp in Devon- and there's no better or friendlier fishery boss than Andy Seery for putting you onto a big catch.  photo DSC_0353_zpsb3ae9707.jpg