Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.116 (Canal Zander)

Within staggering distance of every stretch of water are fishermen's pubs. Some are just plain, cosy, comfortable and warm, with sturdy wooden furniture, stone, tiled or wood floors; roomy enough for fully-laden anglers to fit into, or with an alcove for stacking the tackle. 

The beers are drinkable, often local. The food is plain and wholesome, with not a tame trout on the menu and nothing in a basket. Stuffed fish on the walls are few, unspectacular and have been caught locally. The name of the pub is traditional but nothing special: Rose and Crown, White Hart, Three Horseshoes, George and Dragon, Wagon and Horses, Joseph Arch

The landlords or the breweries have obviously failed to realise the potential of the hostelries, have done nothing to improve their image or angling appeal. But thankfully, there are other pubs about which have been improved, where the angler feels immediately at home, and where he can relax in an atmosphere redolent of angling.

Nor are the pubs difficult to track down. The name is usually enough. The Izaak Walton, for starters. Or Izaac or Isaac. As the old buffer seldom spelt his own name the same twice in a row - it was Izaac on his marriage lines, Izaak on his will, and Isaac on his tombstone - who's to quibble? There are Izaak Walton pubs which have been called such for two or three hundred years. 

These are likely to be either pubs used by normal anglers or patronised by anglers whose families have been wallies for two or three hundred years. Anglers whose families have been wallies for two or three hundred years do not take kindly to the incursion of novice or aspiring wallies. But old-established Izaak Walton pubs are few and far between compared with the number of Izaak Waltons which, only a few years ago, slaked local thirsts under the signs of Dog and Duck, Pig and Whistle or Railwayman's Arms.

There are other great angling names of the past which could be applied to pubs, but what wally would recognise the Charles Cotton or the Dame Juliana as having anything to do with fishing? No, with the Izaak Walton, you're on a pretty safe bet.

Even safer are The Jolly Fisherman, The Fisherman's Rest, The Happy Angler, The Singing Reel, The Bulging Creel, The Leaping Trout, Save the Zeds Now we're really getting somewhere, with a set of names rarely likely to lead to disappointment. 

One early guide is to be found on the wall outside: a notice reading, ANGLERS ARE KINDLY REQUESTED TO USE THE PUBLIC BAR. This emphasises that the landlord caters for angler of every persuasion, and does not wish to upset the non-anglers in the saloon. 

If, on the way through the public bar, you bang your head on the half-dozen lobster pots and glass lobster pot floats hanging from the ceiling, and get entangled in the tastefully draped lengths of trawl netting, you can be reasonably sure you've chosen well. Especially if the pub is fifty miles from the sea.

When your eyes become accustomed to the gloom, for these pubs are often in semi-darkness both for atmosphere and to prevent the dust on the lobster pots from becoming too obvious you will notice other aspects of the decor which confirm your original findings. There'll be baskets along the wall, usually old game- fishing creels, a highly encouraging sign if the pub overlooks the Grand Union Canal. And there will be the fixed-spool reel, a braided sea line and a pike spoon. odd fly rod hanging on brackets, fitted up with an early

Now we're really getting somewhere, but for a final check, inspect the many fish in glass cases around the walls. They may be cracked and old, with scales missing and fins fraying, but gad, they don't catch fish like these any more. Look at the dates on some of them: 1888, 1897, 1903, 1912... adding up to a glorious historical pageant of fishing hereabouts, which is all the more interesting as the pub wasn't built until 1934.

 Rub the dust off the plaques on some of the cases and read the details of the catches. River Dee, River Tay, River Shannon, Lough Erin. And contributions from the Hooghly, Zambezi, Limpopo and Orinoco. 

Imagine the dedication of those anglers, bringing their trophies all the way to rest in a pub seven miles outside Watford. And those fascinating labels on the side of the cases... Lot 82, Lot 135, Lot 683.

Those framed sepia photographs on the walls. All those sturdy old boys in whiskers and tweeds, clutching fish of enormous size. You've found your pub all right.

Address mine host in extrovert anglerspeak, slapping your thigh in swashbuckling fashion to indicate that you're a man of action who's spent all morning braving the elements.

 'Bit breezy out there today, old chap. Nearly took off once or twice. Like bloody Mary Poppins, what? Certainly didn't do the fishing much good, with the water whipped up like that. Could hardly see the old float for the spray.' 'Oh, arr,' he replies in his best Bethnal Green rustic. 'You're not the first as has said it. Fishing the lock near the plastics factory, were 'ee? Notorious, that is. Might ha' bin better off down by the paperworks. But pay no mind, sir. There's as good fish in there as ever came out. Now then, what's your pleasure?'

A pint of your best, I think, landlord. None of this plastic rubbish. What do you recommend?'

'After a hard mornin' like this, sir, I'd say a glass of Old Izaak's Nutbrown Country Ale. Straight from the barrel. Up it comes. Old Izaak's Nutbrown Country Ale. Brewed in Birmingham. Straight from the barrel, via the natty electric pump with a handle topped by a large plastic acorn or small plastic coconut.Time for some grub. Feel a bit peckish after all that activity. What's on the menu? Fish pie? Seafood platter? Scampi in the basket? Izaak's Delight? Walton's Sur- prise? Breambasher's Brunch? Truite à l'Izaak? What's that? Local trout, eh?

That'll do. Local trout. Fresh in today. Nothing like the old trout, straight from the water. And your wife cooks them herself, landlord? Can't be bad...Within minutes, along comes the trout. Straight from the water along with five thousand others at the trout farm - only a couple of months ago. 

Fresh in today from the local High Class Frozen Food Emporium. Home-cooked: microwaved to a turn in the good old-fashioned way. Tasting of traditional, hand-made, high quality cardboard. Can't whack it.

That's better. Feeling full now. A game or two on the fishing video machine, just to keep the old reflexes sharpened up. And then some fishing chat with newly- arrived fellow anglers. 

You've not a lot to say about the day's fishing, really, even though that gudgeon did fight like a tiger. But plenty to say about past triumphs.

Salmon? Yerss... Nothing like the thrill of the old salmon's first rush when you think you've hooked an express train. And the way the arms ache after playing it for an hour. Don't hold with having it gaffed by the ghillie, though. Much prefer to see the whole thing through alone. Takes more skill, of course, but at least when you've got the fish you know you've got it.

Another pint of the old Nutbrown, please, landlord. Slips down a treat, this stuff.

My best from this stretch 8lb 9oz 

And sea trout. Say what you like about salmon, and you'd be the last to decry the fighting qualities of the King of Fish, but there's nothing like getting stuck in to the first run of sea trout. And the feeling of achievement and the glow of wellbeing after a day striding over the heather and stalking the run upriver...

Not that you've ever caught a salmon. Nor would you know a sea trout from a kipper if the kipper weren't brown and split down the middle. And striding over the heather for even half a day would leave you far too knackered for any glow of wellbeing to creep in.

Another one of those, please, landlord. The old Nutnuts. Thirsty work, trying to outshout half a dozen fellow anglers in full spate. At last the landlord calls time. Changing as he does so from the pleasant, rubicund and rustic mine host into a cockney gauleiter on attachment to the National Temperance League. Right, you lot! Ain't you got no 'omes to go to? Bloody fishermen... all the same. Let's have your glasses now, PLEASE!

Exit, stage left. Pausing only to call in the loo and throw up. Not that Old Izaak's Nutbrown Country Ale was overly-strong. A specific gravity slightly lower than Pepsi, if anything. Bit fizzy, though, once it got down there. And somehow it didn't agree with the local trout. Fresh in today. Pity it was fresh out so soon. But you can't have everything. Nice pub, that. Bit of atmosphere for a change. And interesting company. Must try it again some time...

Now talking of must try harder if you've not switched off already, the other week some huge canal Zander we caught by Buffalo Si's mate on a stretch I was put on to by Si himself after he discovered the hotspot. And a hotspot it was too with 3 doubles coming out and a decent one for me from a stretch miles from 'The Hallowed' which surprised not just me, but the like-minded. 

I was planning to return to the big roach area but with navigation now back up and running to boats I'd return early morning to hopefully snare a big redfin, so I decided to go and fish for Zander instead. 

I was in two minds about actually going fishing because I wasn't feeling brilliant with a rare cold seemingly brewing, a sore throat, bunged up sinuses and generally feeling a bit crap, but I'm glad I did. You see after arriving and wondering why the canal was towing so much to my right after about 10 minutes of fishing a boat turned up. 

After that went through and churning up the canal I got both rods out again and within seconds the left-hand rod had some interest and then it buried out of sight !!!

A decent fight ensued where the huge boil on the surface meant it was decent fish and it was, a long and lean 7lb 10oz canal Zander graced the net, I was well happy with that. After that highlight though a frustrating session really, no more boats but 4 or 5 missed runs which I think were small fish that couldn't get the bait full in their mouths, and then one lost fish around 4-5lb that came off literally as I went to land it.

I don't usually do that well for the bigger Zander when the waters have warmed up, but right time and right place and all that, you never know what will happen. As I wasn't feeling brilliant I left just before dusk having fished for a few hours when chemical lights or a torch would have been needed. I might try and squeeze in another session in here before the season start, fingers crossed for an even bigger one.