Happy to be back.

With the rivers now closed and my diligence to try and eek every opportunity out of them over, I find myself returning to the canals. Frankly it's about time because I get the distinct impression that I was wasting my time a little trying to wring anything out of the river as neither fate, luck nor skill seemed to be on my side at the end there. The canals though, they're a different matter entirely because my angling is born of the canal and the murky water which dissects the land holds comfort for me with its familiarity and mysteries. At this time of year when the hedgerows flanking the cut begin to spark back into life with white blossom of hawthorn, I find myself never more satisfied than when walking a tow path to go fishing when dawn breaks or heading back in the dark with the smell of wood fires from moored boats drifts along the canal in cooling night air. All in all I am happy to be back in this world of muddy paths, unexpected surprises and dog shit.

In my mind I have a map. It's a rough map of scribbled lines and marked around those lines here and there are poorly written notes. If anyone could read those notes apart from me they'd say unintelligible worthless things like, chub/night/worm/shallow. They are things that only anglers would want to know, but to me they are invaluable. On this mental map you see are twenty-eight years of fish captures covering the Coventry, Oxford, Ashby and Grand union canals. Over time the map has become bigger and the scribbled notes have covered it more. Often I have thought about drawing it out, but I always conclude that there would be no point as no-one would want to read it so why bother; I can always look at it in my head and recall a spot to go if I want to angle after a certain fish; And recall I did, a place to go for my first session back and it was a big perch I fancied.

It was Friday morning and the sun shone on my face as I skipped down the banks of the Coventry. The wind though was cutting hard down the stretch right onto the bend where I wanted to fish. The canal looked in perfect condition with a nice tinge of colour whilst still having six to ten inches or so of visibility. After land mine check I quickly set up stall before plumbing the depth of a line just off the shelf. After flicking out the un-baited rig I busied myself chopping six fat worms into little chunks before adding some casters in my pole pot. By the time I had finished, the float had settled onto the line it would always go to in line with rod tip. Baiting up on the very tip of the rod with the pole pot whilst the water was not towing, you can assume that the bait will go straight down then once it starts towing, be left to right or right to left, the scent trail and goodies should remain on the same line even it moves either way.

Conscious of the low water temperatures, I went small with the baits to begin with and cast a lob tail over the baited line and sat down to wait. This was never going to be fast and furious session and I had to wait forty-five minutes for the float to finally show signs of fish be present. A single slight dip caught my attention and I waited for the light pole float to slide away. The light nine foot road bent over as if attached to the bottom and there juddered over even further as the culprit attempted to escape in a series of big boils in front of me. Caution and a light clutch soon brought it round to the net and my canal escapades had begun with a cracker of a perch. 

As I said before this session was not exactly action packed and to anyone reading, the details of a middle aged man shivering on the tow path would be boring. But what the session lacked in quantity it made up for in quality, though the single zander I caught on my dead bait sleeper did not rank high on the chart of quality fish!  

After the manky zed I only received four more bites. One bite I totally missed, another resulted in a miniature version of the first perch albeit only six ounces in weight. The next one was by anyones standard, a fish with some potential for years to come.

The last and final fish of the session was in the nicest possible way a football of a fish. It felt heavy in the water and in the net looked like a slab. When I picked it up and looked from above I couldn't believe its girth and just had to get a shot of a perch you could put a saddle on and a really tiny monkey, like a marmoset, could ride. 

I do love these shape of perch. Sure, I like all big perch but I love the big round ones that look like real life versions of the stuffed ones you see in glass cases rather than the long humped back ones, and it was the perfect way to finish a hard but very rewarding session with my second fish of the session over two pounds.

Two days later I found myself on a different tow path twenty or more miles away from the first. This time I  scoured my mind for a suitable place to try for a big roach and the Grand Union seemed to fit the bill. Armed with a bag of fluffy white bread crumbs tainted by a hint of a morish but mysterious flavour simply called 'big roach' and a few slices of a better than normal quality bread I hoped might attract a better sort of fish, I headed to a spot with form.

My diddy and faithful nine foot canal wand was tucked up at home and for this occasion I was once again armed with fifteen feet of carbon that I am quickly developing a close relationship with. The reason I'd bought along my Greys 15ft was I wanted to fish in the same way as the previous session only further out. So far this rod seems to be living up to the expectations of the manufacturer in that it is rated for lines between 2-8lb, which I thought a wide set of post to perform well between, but so far so good. Its not so much of a rigid beast as it knocks off smaller fish and when asked, the power of the rod progresses right down the blank with plenty of power. This time I was putting my faith in it that should a roach over a pound and half or even two come along then I should be confident in my gear.

The roach fishing did not go to plan! Saying that I did catch a roach but at a mere four ounces I felt almost shameful trying to photo it and instead simply flipped it back to grow bigger likes its siblings. Luckily for me I still had the remnants of the previous sessions bait and had by way of insurance been potting a few bits of worms and casters a rod length down the tow path in the margins. After sitting for three hours staring at a float which had moved only once I was more than ready to have a look for a perch or two, which after all was what I normally fished for here and were my target when big roach have turned up in the past.

Having already established the margin swim was a few inches shallower than the track swim beforehand, a quick adjustment of the float was all that was need before I lowered a lob tail on the spot. I watched as the cocking shot sank the float down so only the red tip showed above the water. My eyes barely had time focus on the float before it quickly vanished and I struck into a good perch. It feels a lot different playing a big perch on fifteen feet of rod rather than nine foot, but as expected the soft tip action cushioned every lunge and my third two pound perch of the weekend was soon in the net.

The insurance spot it seemed was alive with fish using the bank as cover and a string of smaller perch and a single zedlit which came off filled my final hour. With only six worms left and a sprinkle of casters, I baited up one last time before resting the spot whilst checking nothing had slunk back onto the roach line. Fifteen minutes and three barges later it was time for one last go on the margin spot before I had to get off. With a fresh half of worm on the spot I waited with the preposterously long rod resting across my lap as the float bobbed in the ripple only a foot and a half down out under the tip. I didn't have to wait long though before the float moved away from the edge and sank out into the canal. Once again the rod bent satisfyingly over as boils rose on the canals surface. This was another big fish and as much as I wanted rogue roach the fight didn't seem quite right. Finally spines broke the surface followed by stripy back. A few twists and turns later the white of the belly showed and big mouth appeared at the edge of my waiting net; My fourth and final two pound perch went in the net and helped to turn what was a disastrous roach session into the second perch red letter day on the trot.

Silver rather than gold in the end.

As I stood atop the bridge looking over the Avon I thought to myself this was either pure genius or total madness. It also occurred to me that if it did turn out to be pure genius, the attempting to fish the river when it was in such a bilious state could produce rewards not just big, but massive. It was that possibility of a huge, fat, late season barbel that drove me onto the submerged banks of Lucy's mill.

Now I've fished this section of the river on and off for close to fifteen years and in that time I've seen in it in all states, but this occasion this was the worst I'd actually attempted to fish it. I knew though that if I could access some of the slacker water between the two weirs, the chances were that some fish would have pushed in there to escape the savage flow.

The normal area most anglers fish from was a good two or even three feet under water and where the flow was diverted by forty-five degrees across onto the bank huge eddy had formed. This tempestuous bit of water looked as mean as they come. Fifty feet wide and constantly churning, it was full of branches of all sizes from those you'd throw for a dog to ones the size you'd throw for Godzilla. There were chunks of trees, old plastic drums and what looked like a section of a kids play house. Honestly, I would have not been surprised at all if a kraken emanated from the centre and grabbed one of the Japanese tourists that seemed obsessed with photographing it.

Happily though as I predicted there was a nice bit of slacker water on the far side of the river between the two weirs. The benches and ten foot wide concrete parade that were opposite the slack on my own bank were a bit under water and therefore I figured the safest place to fish was from behind one of the benches where I stood zero chance of slipping in. Although amusing at first the constant slew of comments about why I was fishing when the river was in flood grew very thin very quickly, until the point when I was ready to start throttling people whilst yelling "It's my last chance to fish that's why I am here you moron". The fishing though was actually easier than I expected! Most of the debris was drifting onto my own bank and under my rod. With my line cutting into the chocolatey water half way across the flow my tip remained motionless.

In an attempt to draw any fish downstream up I had been recasting every fifteen minutes to keep the message travelling down stream. Three hours passed with zero fishy attention to be seen on the rod tip. Really, when it's like this I was expecting the rod to instantly lurch over or all tension to spring off the rod tip. But in fact when some interest did begin to register it was more of a hint of a bite. That hint though kept coming again and again. On inspection of my paste wrapped pellet I noted lots of small chunks being bitten out of the paste. I reckon eels were the culprits and as I needed one for a few challenge points, I changed over to a lob worm hook bait.

The bites that ensued were lightning quick and I was struggling to register them on my barbel rod, so I swapped over to my Avon rod and hoped to hell I didn't suddenly find myself attached to a barbel on this much lighter outfit. The lighter tip turned a tap into a full on jerk and after missing three bites a blind man would have hit, I connected with something that was neither barbel nor eel...

What else can I say other than what better way to finish up the river season than with the last fish being a near mint condition 1.4lb roach caught in flood conditions. The only disappointment was that I couldn't catch any more even though I was convinced there were more in the swim. But anyway, I was more than happy with silver rather than gold to end the season on.

Get him boys.

I reckon I nearly got lynched the other day whilst out fishing. When I told my better half that she didn't seem at all surprised. Mind you she's always been of the opinion that there is a tiny part of my personality that brings out the worst in people and who am I to argue with that as she's a saint in my eyes and I nearly push her over the edge on a regular basis.

How this impromptu hanging nearly came to be was thus: I've been feeling a little pressured (by myself) to fish the rivers right up until the end of the season, but frankly they're a bit shit right now and I've been itching to check out a pool or two that I have discovered are showing some big perch potential. Anyway, a few things came together where it seemed getting to the river would be out of the question and with weather being almost conducive to still water fishing I took a chance and headed to one of the pools I wanted to investigate. The other thing I also wanted to do was finally have a go with my new Greys fifteen foot float rod which I've been gagging to use.

So after BB's swimming lesson, a pub breakfast and depositing my young at Nanny's for the weekend, I arrived around lunch time at my intended venue. As these commercial pools go it's pretty run of the mill with thirty or forty platform pegs, a couple of small barren islands and a smattering of anglers trying to catch deformed mouthed carp. There were seven or so chaps dotted around the pool and most of them were in the general vicinity of the feature I most fancied, in a quiet area behind one of the islands. On my way round the pool I chatted to a few of the residents and confirmed that only one chap had caught and that was a single small carp first put in, and the rest of them understandably disappointed by the lack of action. On a previous recce I found out about a deep channel in front of a reed bed close to where water trickles into the pool. The depth and cover along with the water entering the pool made it an obvious hot spot for any species in most weathers so that's where I pitched up camp.

One of the reasons I wanted a fifteen foot rod was so as I could use pole rigs to fish for perch as well as tench and crucians in the summer. The idea being that I can fish to a decent range out pretty much as if I was using a short pole and have all the control which that entails, without any of the pole accessories that you really need to use a pole correctly and that hamper mobility. The one pole accessory I have really pulled back into my armory is the pole pot which last year became a mainstay of my float fishing kit and this quickly came into play after I plumbed up and settled on a ledge which ran parallel to the target reed bed. Even as warm as the sun felt on my back I was cautious with the bait and potted in a half a pot of minced prawn, chopped worm and casters onto a very tight area. Moments later my lob tail hook bait sank onto the spot and I watched the yellow and red tip float cock and sink to half depth leaving only the red top showing.

If by now you hadn't figured out where this was going, then here we go. I didn't even have chance to react to the first bite as by the time it had registered that my float had gone the rod tip was bent round and I was playing what felt like a decent sized carp. Happily as described by the manufacturer, my new rod had gone from its stiff rigid state to a pleasing parabolic curve and even with a panicky carp bashing around in the shallows it felt like I had loads of power in reserve. In no time at all the fish had been subdued into my waiting net.

After netting and photographing a rather pleasing mirror I took it well away from swim to release it. It was on the way back that one chap congratulated me and his mate grumbled something about me having a secret bait. So of course the next cast I made onto spot was obviously going to produce the second carp straight away. I actually heard the grumbling chap say, "he's making us look stupid here", as I played the fish. Then as I got rid of that unwanted worm thief the chap and his mate both aired their opinions that I either knew the lake inside out or was using some mysterious illegal bait. I'd say you couldn't write what happened next, but you can and it did! Third cast and boom, third fish on and it's hard to hide fifteen feet of bent carbon on a well cropped commercial pool from seven bored anglers. I didn't hear the chap approach but I certainly heard him proclaim "worms" at the top of his voice to his mates and turned  to see one of the guys standing behind me before he turned off and say "well, I know what to bring next time" as he walked away from my bait box.

Thank god the bites dried up after this and my streak that unsettled the locals evaporated with it. After this I was reluctant to bait up too much in case of drawing in more flipping carp as they seemed to be hungry even if I was the only one catching and my free bait was the special of the day. Eventually I had to bait up and when another pot of bait went in the carp again quickly found it. After catching one smallish carp I moved the rig off of the bait for a while until the carp I hoped cleared up and left. After a suitable amount of time had elapsed I slowly lowered the worm tail bait on what I hope was a spot devoid of carp, and it was. Half an hour later the float rose exposing the yellow stem under the red tip and quickly dipped away. I struck and felt an almost hard thump before the rod bent under pressure and the pressure quickly released sending the rig into the air.

I was sure the bumped off fish was a perch and thinking it might still be around I dropped the rig straight back in. A further thirty minutes without a bite and I had no choice but to roll the dice one last time. With less than an hour before I had to be off the bank I once again baited the spot with more chopped goodness and let it stew for a while before daring to cast the rig. It was an exact repeat of the previous scenario only this time the fish was on. The fight was pure joy on the new rod and quickly the fishes identity was confirmed as a big perch before it slipped into the net. 

All I can say is what a stunner of a commercial fish it was! If every one I catch from this ignored little venue is this good looking then I will be back time and time again to risk a lynching from the local gobshites as fish like this are well worth the risk and more, especially as I have heard they grow to twice the size of this one in there.