The River Arrow - Maharajahs and Malversations

There is nothing more satisfying when the weather is cold than a good old curry. This one is a simple recipe that had ground pistachio nuts as one of the ingredients and me being a tight git, everyone of those pistachios that are eventually ground up were deshelled by your truly.

A labour of love most certainly but this is one of the richest tasting curries I have in my homemade curry armoury. I don't make it that often but the wife prefers mildier conconctions and this is right up her street. There is a small amount of Kashmiri chilli in there but I pep mine up with a couple of chopped up birds eye chillies and a sprinkling of coriander. 

Will it feature on the Newey's curry night we host a few days after Christmas ? probably not because it does take quite a long time to prep and make, but this rich and mildly spiced dish is fit for a maharajah. Now walking about Kings, the mighty chub is right up there for me out of all river fish.

A fish you can rely on when the conditions are tough and challenging, when many of the other species are just not up for feeding.

For this session at the river Arrow it was out with pungent cheesepaste on the balanced chub gear to try and winkle out a fish or two.

I started off in the weir where after missing 2 unmissable pull rounds of the 1oz quiver tip the 3rd bite I felt some resistance and the hook came back with a scale. Only a small scale at that so I can only assume using a large piece of paste on a hair set-up the fish was too small to get it in its gob and it was snatching at the bait. 

At least I knew the fish were up for a feed though so it gave me a bit of a spring in my step.

The beginnings of storm Bert could be felt throughout the session and the rod was being blown all over the shop which to be honest didn't really help in trying to register those bites.

Chub can be funny buggers from messing around with the bait to full on barbel'esk three foot twitches. 

The next swim I fished is pretty deep for a small river it being over 6 foot I know that and the next bite was no denying it was a chub.

The tip after a couple of plucks had a full on meltdown and I struck in to a solid lump that was putting up one hell of a fight.

I thought I was going to lose it at one point because it was trying to get right under the staging I was stood on and there was scaffolding and all manner of bad stuff under there.

Thankfully with the rod showing just how much of a battle this chub was putting up eventually I managed to tease it in the net.

Certainly a good fish and judging my the length of it when rested in the net I thought it would go bigger than the 4lb 4oz it weighed. 

It certainly didn't have its winter belly on it just yet but wow what a scrap that was. I rested it in the landing net to allow it to recover and fished for another bite in the same swim but sadly it never came.

 A battle scarred warrior this fish definitely has seen some action over its lifetime that's for sure. With a bite in the first two swims I was fully expecting to catch some more but swim after swim apart from the odd rattle it was oddly quiet.

I returned to the weir but again nothing doing there and also a swim above which is much slower and deeper. There wasn't any other anglers on the opposite side of the river which is on another club book, so I had the river to myself again so I'm not complaining. 

As I type this Storm Bert is in full force with rain lashing against the window and the wind making a right racket. The local rivers are motoring up with I suspect a few of those going to be over their banks. I watching the Avon though because with that milder rain and temperatures I'm hoping to try for a barbel possibly if I can get to the river that is. 

I'm just hoping Barbara got the memo this time !!

The Tiny River Alne - Bert and Bedswervers

I must admit it was quite a surprise when on Tuesday we woke up to a decent amount of snow on the ground. I was all for working from home but stupidly I'd left my laptop's power supply in the office so I had to go in, not before dropping Sam at the bus stop mind you. Sadly that warm bed had to be vacated because of my own stupidity !!

The roads to be honest were not that bad so the Jimny which is excellent in the snow didn't really get a decent workout. Only the road out of the estate was snow covered the main roads apart from being slushy were pretty clear.

I did have plans to go fishing after work for an hour or two but I just didn't get round to it. It had been proper barassic and with the snow melt going in I doubt the fish would be in a feeding mood anyway.

Well that was the excuse anyway, I just wasn't feeling it to be honest so fish at the end of the week would have to do. I finish early on a Friday so I had 2 and a bit hours to try and winkle out a fish or two from the Alne which is just down the road.

Simple tactics this one with a small cage feeder full of liquidised bread and the either a thumbnail piece of bread on the size 12 hook or a few maggots. I did have some worm for backup but it did look a bread colour to be honest. 

A quick check of the water temperature the water was rather chilly, but even though I fancied a big dace with my best on this river and my overall PB is 12 ounces, I'm sure the chub would be biting. 

I wasn't wrong because the first cast I literally got a bite as it was falling through the water, sadly I missed that bite and the next one after that, when the hook came back with a fish scale. It didn't take long mind you when the 3rd bite was a classic chub bite and I struck in to a decent chub.

It was giving me the run around too and I was surprised it was a fish of just under 3lb because it gave a right good scrap, and I thought it would go much bigger.

These fish don't see much anglers bait but this one had a right old belly on it. A lovely chub indeed and only fifteen or so minutes in to the session, I enjoyed that !!

Now what I didn't expect was two more chub from the same swim within the space of around 20 minutes or so. They were certainly up for a feed. !!

Anyway that swim went dead so I went on the rove. I fished another few swims and managed a chub on maggots and then another one when I went back to the first swim. Only the chub showed for this session the dace were suspicious in their absence. 

It was a nice colour and maybe a foot of visibility which may have been the issue. Some of the bigger dace I've caught here have been when the river has been chocolate brown believe it or not. 

Oh well 5 chub in around 2 hours I wasn't complaining and you know how much I love to catch chub as they are up there with my favorite species. Once the sun started to set it was rather nippy I must admit and my hands after making some mash bread to bait up a couple of sadly unproductive swims were as cold as some of the pensioners under Keir Starmer.

I fished until I couldn't see the quiver tip and vowed to come back again to try for the dace. There is storm Bert on the way apparently with some rain on the way so that will no doubt turn to the river to chocolate again, lets just hope it isn't too much.

Warwickshire Stour - Fish Spuff and Fistuliforms

Well a dedicated set of fishing reading glasses is a must these days for me because after ruining another set because of getting covered in fish spuff, luncheon meat grease, fish scales, halibut oils and God know what else that just won't budge no matter what I try to clean them, that cannot happen again. 

So I've a work pair and a fishing pair now (and lots of cheapo spares) and that will have to suffice, and ok the fishing pair is still like looking out of the bottom of milk bottles but at least I'm not too worried about that now. Luckily I can claim through work as another pair would have to come out of my coffers and decent glasses are not cheap are they. 

Well what a glorious Sunday morning it was down at the Warwickshire Stour. I had planned to go to the river Alne which is 5 minutes away but a quick look at the back of the club card there was actually a match on, so that put a kibosh to that, the Stour it was then, but then I do love this diminutive waterway. 

Anyway the Stour which is a tributary of the Warwickshire Avon is home to my river roach PB of 1lb and 9 ounces and there are certainly bigger fish to be caught I know that for certain. Chub well I've had 4lbers and that's not bad for a river that winds itself through farmland in the main. 

The conditions let's be honest were not exactly ideal !! clear blue skies in the main and the Stour which usually carries some colour was as clear as I've seen it. It was also very low indeed which meant some tricky landing of the fish from the elevated banks. You often have to make your own swim too, so it's not easy fishing really.  

What I didn't expect was a chub with the first cast of the scaled down chub rig, a small cage feeder full of liquidised bread and a thumbnail squeezed piece on the size 12 Guru feeder special hook. I've been using this rig on the river Leam and I've huge confidence in it. 

These sort of small rivers you need to move from swim to swim and try and locate the fish and those bites can come quick when you actually find them. I didn't take long to find the next fish either in-fact it was the next but one swim after this and a fish of similar stamp.

That came from the pool swim where looking at the far bank I usually fish this swim when there is at least another couple of foot on. It seems to always hold fish this swim and Nic from Avon Angling loves this little river as much as I do. 

The sun highlighting the chub bronze colourings and again a fish of similar stamp to the first. They do fight well these small river chub especially on light tackle and if anyone has a TFG River and Stream gathering dusk and wants to part with it give me a shout, as I'm on the lookout for another one, it is probably my favourite rod. 

Another fish came from this swim below where a large slack looked a perfect area where fish would be sheltering away from the main flow. After missing an unmissable bite !! I got the rig out a again and this time hooked in to a hard fighting river chub. 

Ok not the biggest admittedly but I wasn't complaining as I thought I'd struggle for bites on this 3.5 hour session. The best was yet to come though as the last swim I fished I couldn't believe my luck because a bite on the drop first cast I managed to catch 3 chub out of the same swim all in the space of 10 minutes.

I really didn't expect that !!!

The biggest was slightly under 3lb but all in decent nick and like I said considering the conditions to go away with 6 chub at the end of the session I was well happy. Those roach didn't show though sadly but to be honest they rarely show up, when they do it's usually a good'un !!!

I really do love sessions on small rivers especially when the weather is as nice as this. Ok the wind was chilly but that sun made up for it and as usual here I had the river to myself, well apart from the kingfishers and birds of prey 😎

Warwickshire Avon - The Untrodden Pt.9

A gin clear Warwickshire Avon is never a good proposition really when piscatorial pursuits are on the agenda, because invariably you know the outcome of the session before it has even started. It's just tough as old boots out there usually and unless you fish in to dusk and beyond often those bigger fish just don't show up at all, they are not stupid...

....unlike the snot rocket the Pike mind you often they go against convention and decide not to use their brain even though they have one. 

Talking of which, these carp below are on a technology park I work at a few days a week and they are certainly not stupid because at lunchtime they all congregate near a walkway bridge to be fed by those that work at the site. Sadly the site is CCTV's up to the eyeballs as I'd have a go for them. It would be like fishing at Tunnel Barn in the summer I suppose, but with the added attraction these carp will be worth catching, with the biggest grass carp I would say were over 20lb. 

Now a northern pike's brain is small relative to its body size, making up only 1/1305 of its body weight. This is typical for most fish, whose brains are usually about one-fifteenth the mass of a similarly-sized mammal or bird. Some biologists believe that the small size of a northern pike's brain may explain why they are not concerned about predators. Others say that their sharp teeth mean they don't need to fear anything that moves in water, air, or on land.

In comparison, the average human brain is about 140 x 167 x 93 mm and If spread out, the human brain would be roughly the size of a pillowcase. Talking of pillowcases I was surprised I managed to get out of bed when the Fitbit vibration alarm jumped in to life because I was nestled between a couple of warm pillows myself and I didn't sleep particularly well if I'm honest, so I could have stayed in bed and enjoyed the sanctuary. 

But no, I stuck to my intended mission and with one pike rod and a packet of smelt decided to try and winkle out a Pike from the syndicate stretch. I'm an inpatient angler I must admit and a roving one at that so sitting it out in one swim is just not for me so this sort of session is perfect especially when I wanted to case out a potential trotting swim.

I'd taken more of a look at one of the swims I made the first time I was here and it looked ok to trot, however with many of the stingers now wilting and dying off because winter is on the way it it looks a much more comfortable swim to fish nowm, and this session confirmed it was good to go. 

Anyway I didn't have long because I had a busy day ahead but enough time to try and winkle out a pike or two. I arrived just after 7.00am and as I hot footed it across the wet grass a 40 strong group of cormorants flew overhead most likely having just left their roost ready to plunder the fish stocks somewhere in for them anyway, perfect belly filling conditions. 

I got fishing anyway where it wasn't until the third swim the smelt got some attention. A bob of the float at first which I saw out the corner of my eye, where after nothing developed a twitch of the bait to get to rise off the bottom soon led to full on run.

I tightened up to the circle hook where the pike went off on a chub type run trying to get in to very bit of cover. Its spirit was no match for my dedicated pike rod setup so it was soon in the net after a decent battle. A lean pike that could do with a feed and was probably circa 7.5lb or so but it certainly brightened up the relatively gloomy day with a nippy wind.

That sadly was my lot, I fished another swim however that was the only bite of the morning. A blank avoided and if I'm honest I was quite happy with that. There was literally no fish topping or showing whatsoever, so this face was most welcome. 

The River Leam - Thrutching and Thremmatology

I have this mate called Long Tall Tony who climbs mountains and is always going on about thrutching.

'Sssh!' I said once in a posh pub. (You could tell it was posh by the way the barmaid stuck out her little finger when she picked her nose.) 'Sssh! There are ladies present.'

'No,' he said. "Thrutching means having a hard climb. Really having to work to get to the top. I bet you have to do lots of thrutching when you're out fishing.'

'No,' I said. 'We don't go in for things like that.'

I lied. We do. Thrutching really means doing things the hard way. Which, in angling terms, is fishing by the book. Doing what the experts tell you. Which always works out more expensive, more nerve-racking and more muscle-bending than doing what comes naturally.

Thrutching means breeding your own maggots. Having the shed, the garage, the loft or the back end of the yard permanently ponging like a knacker's yard in a bank holiday heatwave. And neighbours getting up petitions.

Thrutching means tying your own flies. Going boss-eyed and getting the trembles of the fingertips which precede the total seizing up known as Dapper's Doom. All to produce something that looks like a badly made bog brush.

Thrutching means stewing your own hemp. And having the wife storm out of the house. With the kids. And the pussycat and hamster. Pausing only to call in at the solicitor's to file papers for mental cruelty and misuse of her nonstick pans.

Thrutching means getting your own wasp grubs. At short notice. And thereby having neither the protection nor the armoury. Going out on a Sunday afternoon to Big McGinty's compost heap. Armed only with a spade, a bait tin and an aerosol thing that claims to kill all flying nasties stone dead. Leaving you backing away, squirting like mad at the kamikaze wopsies who don't know they're supposed to be dead, and who sting you in places you never knew you had.

Thrutching means making your own groundbait. To the jealously guarded secret formula. Setting fire to the oven in which you left the breadcrusts while you popped out to the Nag and Knocker. 

Forgetting that 475 degrees Fahrenheit or Gas No. 9 is not exactly a low light. Coming back to be greeted by the jolly lads from the fire brigade. Who haven't been around since you tried to bake the wasp grubs.

Thrutching means making your own floats. Slicing chunks off the left thumb as you shave down bits of balsa or trim the old quills. To produce a thing like a pot-bellied ballpoint refill that sinks at the first cast. At a cost of only £35.37 plus VAT and french polishing the table.

Thrutching means collecting natural bait from the hedgerows. Like elderberries. Which come off the trees in lovely great bunches and fill up the spare room until you can get round to preserving them. Leaving plenty of time for the forty thousand earwigs hidden in the bunches to abscond and take over the whole house. Playing hell with the cat's peace of mind.

Thrutching means stalking the fish. Crawling to the water in camouflage gear and with burnt cork or Cherry Blossom all over the old mush. Which gives you spots and gets you arrested as an IRA suspect or illegal immigrant. And which, if you don't actually overshoot the bank and fall in, leaves you with earwigs in your ears, hares in your hair, daddies in your long legs and bot flies up your nose.

The lesson is plain. If you feel a thrutch coming on, go and sit in a nice safe pub until it wears off.

Alternatively, be strong. Nip it in the bud. Knock it on the head.

Kick it in the thrutch. ☺

Anyway back to the fishing !! 

A short session after work this where after leaving the office in Ansty in Coventry I could be at the syndicate stretch of the Leam within 15 minutes where I'd arrive just as the sun was setting. That would give me some time to set myself up and bait up a couple of swims with liquidised bread around half an hour before dusk.

Simple tactics again with a small cage feeder filled with squeezed liquidised bread and then I'd fish either worm or a thumbnail piece of bread on a size 12 hook. 

Small rivers like this the bites often come quick if you're on the fish so after around 15 minutes without a bite I moved swims which was the first swim I primed where I had an indication straight away. Within 5 minutes of that fish pluck the 1oz glass tip jumped in to life and after a couple of pulls I had a drop back bite and hooked in to a fish.

I was expecting a chub but it was the distinctive fight of a roach and sure enough when I landed it under the head torch it was a decent one. It went 14 ounces on the scales which is a nice roach in my book. 

I reabited and cast out in the same swim and 10 minutes after a proper pull round from nothing and I struck into something more solid this time that was giving me the run around. I netted it eventually after a good strap and it was a nice chunky small river chub that went 3lb on the nose. The fish were certainly on it now and after that swim disturbance that I managed another one soon after this one smaller at 2lb and 3 ounces. 

Then the swim went dead where I switched to worm as it was now dark but despite the pungency of the wrigglers I didn't get another bite and decided to head home with a few nice fish caught in little more than an hour and a half of actual fishing. I've said before small rivers suit me perfectly, I love the mystery and ok the fish are not likely to be huge but there are certainly gems to be had. 

Warwickshire Avon - Emergencies and Embouchements

Well what a brilliant weekend just gone I must admit, well saying that not for my good friend Simon who had to call an ambulance for himself on the hard shoulder just past Bristol on the way down to Minehead, when he had blurred vision. A suspected TIA (Transient Ischaemic Attack) which came out of the blue and put the kibosh on his weekend before it even started. 

It's known as a mini stroke apparently and certainly a wake-up call to alter his lifestyle which to be honest has been rather full on for years. A stressful high pressure job having to fly and travel here there and everywhere, lack of sleep, often grab and go food, too much booze etc etc, your body will eventually tell you about it. 

Anyway for those other 12 that made it, Friday night kicked off with Greg Wilson spinning classic disco tracks, warming up the crowd for an impressive lineup with Mighty Dub Katz (Fatboy Slim) 

The History of Rave set, featuring Sasha GiGi, Adelphi Music Factory, and Arielle Free, were plundering out those banging nostalgic beats. Then Later, Eats Everything turned up the energy with rave anthems, while Special Request dived into deep techno, then Todd Edwards closed the night, with his signature beats.

As Saturday night approached, Sarah Story’s lineup, including Eliza Rose and Melle Brown, kept the audience dancing. Utah Saints (they were awesome), Conducta, and Ewan McVicar followed, building anticipation for Fatboy Slim’s headlining set, which captivated the crowd as always, this being the 3rd year #Allbacktominehead

Sunday, well during the day Fatboy Slim, his Uncle, and his son Woody who shared the decks playing all manner of classics from dance, to rock and jazz, and as night fell, Todd Terry (superb) and Groove Armada closed out the event with iconic Ibiza anthems. 

To close Fatboy Slim returned for an unexpected final set, creating an electrifying end to another brilliant weekend. A weekend where the outside world is forgotten, albeit briefly which is perfect big family of old ravers like me. A couple of the gigs reminded me of those old clubbing days, where ever you were in the venue you could feel the bass through your feet. 🆒

October and the start of November has been rather busy for me I must admit, that Selador dance gig in Glasgow, a family holiday in Northumberland, a lads holiday in Spain and the FatBoy Slim weekender I could do with a rest myself now and that's where the fishing comes in.

I'll hopefully rack up some sessions now, well I need to really, as I've rather neglected the fishing as it has had to put on the back burner really. But then if life doesn't get in the way of fishing sometimes, maybe you need to do more with your life, those years are ticking by for a 52 year old like me, those diary entries are a much needed welcome change from the humdrum.

Anyway with a couple of hours to fish I ventured down to a convenient stretch of the Warwickshire Avon where I'd fish in to dusk. The river is low and gin clear and what I didn't expect was after seeing if there were any chub willing to take bread off the top, that a few drifts down of some freebies one literally launched itself out of the water to grab the prize first before the other fish (I assume).

Wow !! I didn't expect that. So I removed the small bomb from the running clip and set a piece of bread on its way down the shallow reed riddled river that was motoring through.

A chub nailed it straight away and went off on a mad run when it realised it was hooked. In-fact it took me through two sets of reeds before I managed to get it in open water. Once that was done its game was up but such a cracking battle on light gear I really do love catching chub on balanced tackle. A nice chunky fish of 4lb 8 ounces was most welcome when I know the Avon is fishing hard from others.

Sadly, after failing to hook up to another Chub that took it off the top soon after I went on the rove and fished two more swims in to dusk and a tad beyond without even a nibble. Very odd indeed, anyway I'm back on it now, lets catch some fish !!

The River Leam - Old Boys and Ololygmancy

Well another birthday ticked off where the 3rd of November I turned the grand old age of 52. To be honest I didn't want much of a celebration so a slap up Sunday roast and a rather good fireworks display in Stratford-Upon-Avon with a few bottle of bitter, was most welcome indeed.

This weekend it's 3 nights of partying and to me these are the sort of things you need to do to keep you young and I couldn't care less about the finger pointers. The problem is the fishing of late has been rather curtailed especially when it gets dark early these days. 

Work if I'm honest has been a bit of a pain after coming back of holiday, rush CAD jobs, 3D prints that needed to be fitted to prototype vehicles YESTERDAY !! when will I get to go fishing ? Well luckily a syndicate stretch of the River Leam is not far away so after work had finished, as short drive later I rocked up at the river with fellow blogger and Artificial Flight Youtuber George Burton already in resident in the pump pool. 

He hadn't been there long but had already caught a nice roach and there was also other fish topping when we were having a natter. It had a couple of foot of visibility and was rather sluggish but the fish activity was encouraging.  

Dusk wasn't far off so I had to get moving so I settled in to a snag filled swim not far downstream where I'd scale down a little from my usual set-up where roach and chub were the target. Simple tactics with a small feeder full of liquidised bread and then a small piece of pinched bread on the size 12 hook. 

It's a lovely little river this and this stretch is surprisingly deep in places in-fact both swims George and I were fishing you had to count 1,2,3-------7 before the feeder hit the bottom.

Anyway it was looking good for a bite however my luck of late has been rather lacking however after only fifteen minutes or so after casting out, the 1oz tip jumped in to life where after a couple of small pulls a tentative bite developed and I struck in to a solid lump !!

This was not one of the nice roach that reside here but one of the chunky chub and sure enough after taking me all over the shop and trying to get in to every escape route thankfully I landed it. 

A nice one too going 3lb and 8 ounces on the scales with the trophy shot not really showing just how little light was left. It was definitely on the cusk of dusk and after putting it back in another swim I managed another one of about 2.5lb, so 2 chub in less than 45 minutes happy days.

George was being outwitted by the topping roach so he made and exit where I continued on for another half an hour or so with the torch illuminating the rod tip. One quick roach type bite that I missed and the odd rattle but when I left at 6.00pm the fish activity definitely lessened. Oh well at least I'm back on the score sheet, it's been a long time. 

Westward Ho! - Bull Huss and Birth-Rates

So a weeks holiday with the family in Westward Ho! North Devon to see my twin brother and his youngest daughter, the accommodation had a sea view  and was right in the heart of Westward Ho! so it would be rude to not do some sea fishing now would it. 

To be honest I fancied trying for a smoothhound so I packed the cheap beachcaster however not having much time to pack, I basically chucked in the usual sea fishing fair, so a lure rod as well as some LRF gear so fish some of the big rock pools that are here.

We usually stay in Instow or Appledore when were are down this neck of the woods, so it was nice to actually stay where my brother lives for once. The weather looked like it would be relatively mild for this time of year so hopefully I'd get a few fishing sessions in. I've caught bass on lures in this area but oddly I fancied a smoothhound🦈mainly to poke fun on their lack of teeth, what's all that about 🤣

Sadly Summerlands tackle is now closed in Westward Ho! it's a shame as it was a well stocked tackle shop and plenty of bait and I'd always had good service there. On a positive not the butchers a stone throws from here is superb, 

Sign of the times I suppose, I was surprised just how much coarse fishing gear they had, but still sea fishing was their mainstay. 

Now one of the myths of our island race is that we feel, periodically and irresistibly, the call of the sea. 

When we get back from a trip on a heaving boat, we realise that most of our ancestors must have walked here before the Channel was cut.

What we mistake for the call of the sea is the euphoria of ozone, winkles and Guinness which overcomes most of us during our week in Blackpool, that feeling of superhuman well-being which can be used either to boost the birthrate of the following spring or diverted towards the pursuit of the saltwater monsters. 

Most of our wives, with the kids already squawking for ice creams, buckets and spades, candy floss and a donkey ride, would much rather we got with the monsters.

The first thing to do is to get kitted out. Tartan shirt, windproof trousers, canvas jacket with kinky rope fastening, jaunty trawlerman's cap guaranteed to make anyone but a genuine jaunty trawlerman look a right burke, and a pair of bright yellow wellies with a spare just incase one of them leaks. 

Once the wife sees you in that lot you have no chance at all of getting to work on the birth-rate. 

You are now left with a choice of fishing from the beach or the pier, from the rocks, from a rowing boat or in company with a bunch of other yellow-wellied euphorics from a hired inshore fishing boat.

Anyway apart from the dangers from wind and tide, sea and storm, hook and weight, there are also dangers in sea fishing from the catch itself.

Sea fish are not at all keen on being caught and have their own special ways of showing it.

The angler learns very quickly, for instance, not to go 'Koochy, koochy, koo', to the pretty little whiting. 

The pretty little whiting has a set of teeth which turn the chin-chucking accompaniment into 'Koochy, koochy-aaaaaaaargh!!!' And anybody daft enough to try the same thing on a ling is known thereafter to his friends as Lefty.

Careless conger fishermen can be recognised by the way they walk up to the bar, shout 'Four pints, please' and hold up two widely separated fingers. 

It is still common, even after centuries of sweeping up finger-ends littering the bottoms of boats, for a conger to be slung into a box along with the rest of the catch. Before long, someone prods around in the box for a mackerel to cut up as bait. As soon as his exploring fingers come within chomping distance of the uptight conger, he realises that his ambition of becoming a concert pianist has hit a snag.

Trouble with a conger starts as soon as it is hauled inboard. It twists and turns, bucks, somersaults, spins, loops, thrashes and writhes. All the time its mouth is snapping like the scissors of a demented barber. Half Nelsons, full Nelsons, Japanese strangleholds and Indian deathlocks are not recommended as a means of subduing it unless you are on the short list for a job as harem master.

The only sure way to deal with a big one is to gaff it with two gaffs-one at the head and one at the tail-bash it on the tail to keep it quiet, and then cut through its spinal cord, just behind the head, with a sharp knife. Yuck.

Be careful with the knife. Don't lunge. If ever you see a party of anglers trooping off a boat, carrying one of their number and singing

Hi Ho!

Hi Ho!

Old Fred has lost a toe.

you can lay even money that Fred was a lunger. The conger is then dropped in a bag, the trace cut, and the bag tied tightly at the neck. ('Rubbish! No need at all to cut the trace. Just unhook the conger as you would any other fish,' he said, prodding me with his stump.)

The poor old thing, gaffed, bashed, knifed and tied up in a sack, should now be past caring. But after lying quiet for a couple of hours, waiting for the string to work loose, many a conger has slipped out for a quick chomp at the nearest wellie.

The weever is a nice little thing. Covered in poisonous spines. One jab from these spines can put you straight into hospital. Every seaside hospital ward has one-the bloke who knew all about the weever, but who insisted on stamping on one with plimsolls or rope-soled sandals.

The skin of the lesser spotted dogfish was once used as sandpaper. Lots of anglers who never knew this interesting fact before are acquainted with it after trying to hold a spinning dog in their bare hands. Another interesting discovery can be the spines in front of the dorsal fins of the spur dog. Excellent for blood poisoning. Giving it to you, that is.

The torpedo ray isn't caught very often. When it is, it can be recognised by the electric shock it gives. 'That,' you can say knowingly to the bloke who has been thrown halfway across the boat by the charge, 'is a torpedo ray."

The thornback ray and common skate have neat little rows of thorns all the way down their tails. Which is why it it is not a pleasant experience to handle them. The tail of the stingray is even better equipped with a barbed and poisonous spear. Never attempt to hold its tail while you take the hook out: ask the chap next to you to do it.

A rare fishing trip for brother Chris !!

The poor old skate is the one to feel sorry for. The male skate has a pair of 'claspers' on its underside, like the two blades of a pair of shears. 

These claspers, when they come together, can do a neat pinking job on your hand, and many fishermen are in the habit of cutting them off as soon as the fish is caught. This is a bit anti-social, really, because the claspers are the sex organ of the male skate. I mean, how would they like it?

The claspers have given rise to a variation on the old hedgehog joke:

Question: How do skates make love?

Answer: Very, very carefully.

One jolly thing about all sea fish is that any bite, cut or jab from them is poisonous and liable to turn septic if not disinfected very quickly.

Anyone for fishing?

Well where do I start, a new species for me a bull huss that took a mackerel head, a couple of eels and also a dog fish which to be honest put up the better fight. The weather was generally mild and some really nice days where fishing took a back seat. Sam and I tried various rock pools with some LRF gear but they were not that productive so it was back to the bigger fish hunt.

No smoothhounds showed and I fish with crab bait one of the mornings. Certainly the choppier the sea more bites were forthcoming and one bite nearly pulled my rod in but I hooked in to nothing oddly. 

A few seals around but little or not bait fish were seen and also no bass strikes. I could have fished in to dark maybe that would have been the better option, but probably not wise considering the rock mark you're walking on. 

A rather enjoyable break with good company and good weather and plenty of chilled out liquid lunches and good food, it's certainly a nice part of the world down here, it feels like England of old and that's not a bad thing. My brother and his daughter enjoyed the roast dinner I made them from the accommodation and we met up plenty which is good. Anyway i'll be heading back down to Devon(ish) well Somerset anyway for a long weekender. Fatboy Slim, Utah Saints and Groove Armada amongst other knob twiddlers.