Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.130 (Canal Zander)

It began, as many great stories do, with a casual wander into a second-hand bookshop, the kind with creaky floorboards, a faint smell of must, and shelves stacked just chaotically enough to suggest treasure. The bookshop in question was Ye Olde Booke Nook in Stratford-upon-Avon, a town more accustomed to tales of star-crossed lovers and brooding Danish princes than canal fish with attitude.

Malcolm Trench, a local historian with a fondness for angling and Ribena, had popped in hoping to find a dog-eared copy of Henry V. What he found instead stopped him cold. It was a small hardcover book, familiar in size and style the unmistakable format of a vintage Ladybird. But this one bore a title no collector, historian, or child of the seventies had ever laid eyes on: How to Catch Canal Zander.

The cover was classic Ladybird: bold illustration, earnest expressions, and a child propping up fishing rod with more determination than skill. 

A zander eyes wide and vaguely suspicious held up in aberration. Malcolm, knowing a curiosity when he saw one, purchased the book immediately for the princely sum of £1.50 and three compliments to the shop cat.

Back home, he opened it and was instantly transported.

The book told the story of Bill, an enthusiastic but slightly clueless child, and his Uncle Reg, an experienced canal angler with the fashion sense of a 1970s geography teacher and the patience of a saint. 

Their mission was simple: to catch a zander, a fish so elusive it was rumoured to only appear under cloud cover and when fed sausage rolls by hand.

As with all Ladybird books, the story was delivered in crisp, earnest prose accompanied by detailed illustrations Uncle Reg stirring his tea with a bait hook, Clive falling into the canal mid-monologue, and various waterfowl looking quietly disappointed.

Uncle Reg, clearly a man of principle, dispensed wisdom with the frequency of a wise hermit.

“Zander don’t care for jazz, Clive,” he intoned on page five. “Stick to silence or soft Morris dancing.” On another page, he cautioned, “If you see a heron, bow respectfully and say nothing. It’s probably the mayor.” These pearls of wisdom, delivered deadpan and completely without irony, were arguably the emotional heart of the book.

The book concluded, not with a triumphant catch, but with a shared pork pie and the zander swimming smugly away. “He’ll be back,” Uncle Reg said, staring into the murky water like a man who’d made peace with life’s mysteries. “He always comes back.”

Speculation soon followed. Was this a genuine Ladybird publication lost to time and budget cuts? A forgotten prototype from the company’s experimental Obscure Outdoor Pursuits series? Or the fevered invention of a particularly bored illustrator left alone with a sketchpad and a flask of Bovril?

Experts were torn. Some believed it was a real piece of forgotten publishing history. Others were convinced it was an elaborate hoax the kind of beautifully-crafted parody that emerges every few decades to remind us not to take nostalgia too seriously, and that canal fishing really isn't capturing oneself, or anyone else for that matter !!. 

Still, the signs were promising. The layout was authentic, right down to the tally number and font. The back cover even bore the old open-wing Ladybird logo and a puzzling quote from “The Canal and River Trust (Probably).” Regardless of its origins, one thing was certain: How to Catch Canal Zander had captured hearts. Online forums buzzed with discussion. Collectors posted screenshots and wish lists. And somewhere in a dusty office, a Penguin Random House intern was almost certainly being asked to “look into this.”

As for Malcolm Trench, he did once since framed the book and placed it proudly on his mantel. “It’s not about whether it’s real,” he said. “It’s about the feeling it gives you that warm, ridiculous, slightly damp sense of wonder.”, then again I might just stuck it on Ebay !!!

Have you switched off yet ? I'd a load of deadbait turned up so better get fishing !!

When I got cutside for this short late afternoon session the CRT contractors had made a right mess of the canal down at the Hot Spot because all the grass they had been cutting had literally ended up all in the water. I was amazed that there were a couple of lure chuckers managing to cast their lures within the grassy deposits and after a natter with both of them, where one of them had managed 3 fish, the other was currently blanking. 

I headed much further up the stretch where there is plenty of cover where the zander reside and with the rods having to be elevated to get the line off the surface, what I didn't expect was a zedlet within literally 5 minutes of the floats being out.

 A good start but I wanted something bigger so I went leapfrogging sections of cover to try and find them. I had a good chat with a champion drinking boat dweller on subjects such as the work, beer, whiskey and the state of the world. He was walking his 3 legged spaniel that didn't seem any worse with his affliction, apparently a coming together with a car when he was a pup was the cause. A good half an hour staring at motionless floats we parted our ways and I walked to another area where Zander reside.

There seemed to be much more fish activity here and within 10 minutes the left hand float fished tight to some reeds jumped in to life and was heading down the canal.

A better Zander this pulling one's string and after a spirited fight it was in the net. That's better, not a monster but a fish in great condition and the circle hook exactly where I wanted it, a perfect hook-up. With it retained in the net for a rest up before a piccy I got the float out again and within a few minutes this time the right hand float started to go to the left. 

A really confident bite this so I tightened up to the circle hook where as soon as the fish felt the resistance it bolted off and actually launched itself out of the water, taking the other float with it !!! Yeap a snot rocket jack pike. It was landed quickly enough but I ended up with the world's biggest tangle which called the end of the session. I'm still not feeling the canals really, but with a load of new deadbaits now, I might head up to the Hallowed to see if I can catch anything more deserving of a trophy shot. 

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.129 (Bread Munchers & Magnet Fishing)

Now it all started with a very optimistic plan: Sam and I would rise early, hit the canal marina at the crack of dawn, and gently pluck bream and hybrids from the water like serene, fish-whispering Zen masters. You know, just two chaps enjoying the quiet simplicity of angling, one with nature, rods in hand, sandwiches in pockets. A pure and noble pursuit.

Except we both needed to be prised from our duvets.

By the time we eventually rolled up to the canal, it was less "crack of dawn" and more "brunch with boats." The marina was alive with the chaos of holiday hire boats meandering about like oversized bath toys set loose by excitable toddlers. There was more engine revving and dodgy reversing than a learner driver's convention.

And, of course, all that boat activity stirred up the canal water. The tow was all over the place, so Sam had to stick his rod so high in the air it looked like he was trying to get a signal for canal Wi-Fi. He spent most of the morning adjusting his setup like a frustrated TV aerial technician in 1998.

Still, we gave it a good go. We baited our swims with bread and groundbait, settling in for what we hoped would be a replay of my last glorious bream-catching session. I had visions of thick, bronze-bodied bream sliding smoothly into my net while Sam looked on with the kind of jealousy only fishing buddies can muster.

What actually happened was... absolutely nothing.

Not a nibble. Not a bite. Not even a suspicious bubble. Just us, sat there like a pair of over-equipped statues, quietly pretending we weren’t losing the will to live. And to top it off, the towpath was heaving – like Piccadilly Circus on a Saturday, only with more Lycra-clad cyclists and less regard for personal space. One guy even managed to walk straight through our swim while loudly announcing he was training for a triathlon. We wished him luck and quietly cursed his calves.

Eventually, we reached the universal angler’s conclusion: Sod this.

So, we packed up the rods, took a deep breath, and pivoted to Plan B – magnet fishing. If you’re unfamiliar, magnet fishing is like fishing, but instead of hoping for scaly creatures, you’re trying to haul centuries-old junk out of the murky depths with a magnet that could probably ruin your phone from ten feet away.

We headed to a spot near the locks and bridges, prime magnet fishing locations, which is code for “where a lot of stuff has been accidentally (or drunkenly) thrown in since 1793.”

The sun had come out by then, and the skies were so blue it almost looked Photoshopped but don't be fooled. It was still cold enough to remind us that the British spring is more of a concept than a season.

After a good hour of flinging the magnet into the canal and pulling out increasingly disappointing bits of nothing, Sam finally struck gold metaphorically speaking. He reeled in a solid chunk of metal: an ancient-looking rivet, encrusted with history and canal gunk.

We both stared at it like archaeologists discovering an old Roman toothbrush.

“It’s probably from the South Stratford Canal itself,” I said, with all the confidence of someone who definitely didn’t just make that up. “Built between 1793 and 1816.”

Sam, beaming, declared it was going straight into his collection of tat , a proudly eclectic museum of mysterious metallic odds and ends. One kids’s rubbish is another kids’s weirdly shaped talking point.

So while we didn’t catch any bream, or even see one, the day wasn’t a total loss. We got fresh air, a bit of sun, and the thrill of possibly tetanus-inducing treasure. Not to mention the deep satisfaction of knowing we beat the triathlon guy to the best lockside bench.

All in all, not a bad way to spend a slightly disorganized, thoroughly entertaining morning on the canal.

Moral of the story? Always pack a magnet. The bream might ghost you, but the tat never disappoints.

And here was the prize !!

I don't think I'll be able to retire on it anyway 😃Still Sam went home happy and that's all that mattered !! 

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.128 (Bream & Zander)

I headed out to the Grand Union Canal, chasing that ever-elusive perfect session. The plan was simple: float fishing for bream with a bit of bread and groundbait, followed by a go at some zander fishing near cover. What could possibly go wrong?

The morning kicked off cold and damp classic canal weather. The kind that makes your fingers feel like they’ve been cryogenically frozen within the first ten minutes. 

But spirits were high. I picked a decent looking swim, fed a bit of groundbait in (a tad on the damp side, like me), and got cracking with bread on the hook. And to be fair… it actually went pretty well (the third swim I tried). 

The bream were on! Not massive slabs, but I managed to land six maybe more, I lost count somewhere between juggling the landing net and trying not to spill my tea. They were all taken on the float, and the bites were proper sail away jobbies. It’s always satisfying when it all just clicks.

Now, this isn’t just a random stretch of water it’s got history. Back in the day, it was the venue for some huge fishing matches. The reason? There’s a really long, straight run of canal there that’s perfect for pegging out big competitions. You can almost feel the echoes of old match banter in the hedgerows. It’s not as bustling these days 💀, but every time I fish it, I imagine the old-school match lads, shoulder to shoulder, weighing in nets full of roach and bream with grins (and the occasional grumble) all round.

At one point, I looked up and even the ducks seemed mildly impressed. Well, except for one that looked like it was plotting to mug me for my groundbait. You know the type.

Anyway, with the bream box ticked and the float rod packed away, I figured it was time to get serious. Out came the deadbait rod. Mission: Zander.

Now, if catching zander were as easy as talking about them in the pub, I’d have needed a wheelbarrow. I worked up and down the stretch, casting nex to thick cover, near reed beds, and even gave a hopeful flick next to a submerged traffic cone that looked a bit “zander-ish.” Nada.

Not a sniff. Not even a nibble, I whispered sweet nothings to the canal… nothing.

I bumped into another angler who gave me that look you know the one that says, “You’re wasting your time, mate,” but in a polite, nodding British way. Even he was struggling, so at least I wasn’t alone in my zander humiliation.

When things slowed up I retraced my steps and beyond and fished an area of reeds that produced a bite rather quickly. Another small bream, nothing like the stamp up at 'bream bay' but at least I was getting a few bites. 

By the end of the short session, my hands were cold, my flask was empty, and the zander had well and truly ghosted me. But you know what? I didn’t mind. Seven bream on the float, a bit of nature, and the usual mind-clearing peace that only fishing brings. What more can you ask for?

I’ll be back. And so will the zander… probably. Maybe. Eventually.

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.127 (Zedlets & K2-18b)

I took Ben to Mcdonalds the other day and there was a table of kids 10 strong all on their phones swiping and fixated on their  phones, hardly saying a word to to each other, conversation is oldschool it seems, DEAD !!

Now I know COVID hit the GENZ hard but it really was an eyeopener on what the future holds. 👀

I could be time blog readers, once upon a twitchy time on the banks of a sleepy English river, Mick the founder of the legendary Piscatorial Quagswagging Blog sat beneath a mossy willow, nursing a flask of tea and watching his float with the meditative patience of a monk.

But something had changed.

You see the banks, once a sanctuary of silence and float-staring serenity, had become a circus of bleeping chaos. 

Anglers lined up like festival-goers, armed with rods that cost more than Mick’s old Metro Gti, and bite alarms that lit up like disco balls at the faintest whiff of a breeze.

“Oi Mick, you seen my latest catch? Got it on TikTok used a trending sound and everything!” shouted a lad down the bank, wearing joggers tighter than his attention span.

Mick gave a slow, solemn nod, barely blinking as his float trembled then bobbed then dipped. He struck with grace, landing a fine roach. But no one noticed. They were too busy syncing their casts to social media algorithms.

Back at home, Mick stared at the stars one evening, his battered floats lined up like trophies on the mantel. “If no one wants to watch floats anymore…” he whispered, pulling on his smiley-face bucket hat, “...maybe I need to cast off somewhere they still do.”

So he did what any sane, slightly weathered, bearded float-enthusiast would do: He built a rocket. Not just any rocket the Piscatorial Quagswagging Express a converted Blue Origin craft now powered by nostalgia and Champion Beer.

As Earth grew smaller in the porthole, Mick gave a floaty wave. Below, the entire planet was blanketed in a shimmering TikTok logo, like a plastic sheet covering a once-vibrant painting. The alarms still beeped faintly in the background. Inside the cockpit, Mick clutched a fistful of handcrafted floats, gave a thumbs up to no one in particular, and muttered, “Back in my day, a bite meant something…”

And with that, he turned his gaze to K2-18b.

He’d heard there were no alarms up there.

Just silence.

And maybe, just maybe… a bite worth watching.

Anyway back on earth I had Zander to catch so luckily for me 5 mins away I can be on the canal towpath where some reside. Now Buffalo Si messaged me the other day and said the cash strapped Canal & River Trust had taken to the cover like something out of the chainsaw massacre and he wasn't wrong.

That thick cover that wasn't hindering the boats btw all hacked back and much of it removed completely and from past experience that hinders the fishing and when it's low as it is now, and less boat movement because of the knackered lock not far away, it was going to be tough.

There was a lure angler on the stretch and he seemed surprised when after about 10 minutes I was playing a zedlet with eyes clearly bigger than its belly. But a fish is a fish after all and at least I hadn't blanked.

That was the peak though because I had to get on my toes to try and find the fish. I leapfrogged that length of canal with no more bites so I retraced my steps and decided to fish the opposite direction where in the past I've had a 9lber and also a fish of 8lb 10oz. That was a while ago mind you and I hardly fish it now because it is certainly harder to get any bites.

I gave it a good go and ticked off 14k steps in the process but the one and only bite came at the start of the session. At least a black lab was enjoying itself but there was no way I'd be swimming in these waters, me well the fishing was pants but at least the fitbit was happy.

As I type this I should be out fishing somewhere but I woke up at 6.00am ready to go but had no urge to go whatsoever so went back to sleep for a couple of hours and had a lie in instead. With the Easter weekend here I will get out somewhere but for now it's toast and marmalade. 

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.126 (Operation Zandstorm)

It all started in the 1950s, when a few very posh men in tweed hats decided that British fish just weren't exotic enough. “Perch are lovely,” they said, “but wouldn’t it be splendid if we had a fish with fangs?”

Enter the zander a continental predator from Europe, basically the lovechild of a pike and a dracula cosplay. They were introduced into the Great Ouse Relief Channel in Norfolk, and at first, they behaved... like tourists. Quiet. Curious. Polite.

That didn't last.
Operation Zandstorm !!

By the 1970s, you see the zander were bored a bit like me at the minute waiting for my VR to be accepted, they’d heard whispers of murky canals, endless corridors of silt, dog poop bags and shopping trolleys... and opportunities.

So they hatched a plan.
Escape the fens. Infiltrate the turd turbid Midlands. Conquer the canals.

Rumours spread that a rogue zander named Big Baz spearheaded the operation. Baz allegedly bribed a swan for passage and travelled through the Middle Level Navigations with nothing but a Lidl bag full of gudgeon and a dream.

One legend claims a group of zander disguised themselves as perch and got waved through a fisheries checkpoint with nothing more than a wink and a flick of a dorsal fin.

Now, let’s be real zander aren’t great with maps. 

So how did they make it to Birmingham, Coventry, Leicester? Certain “enthusiastic” anglers allegedly borrowed a few zander and accidentally released them into new waters. In buckets. In broad daylight. Probably while someone shouted “Dave, you absolute weapon, that’s not a perch!”

No one was ever officially blamed. But one guy named Martin hasn’t been allowed near a canal lock since 1983. By the late 80s, zander were everywhere. They liked the canals. They liked the turbid water. And they LOVED the all-you-can-eat buffet of unsuspecting roach and rudd.

Fisheries managers panicked !!
Environmentalists wept 😭

Meanwhile, zander were forming underwater ska bands and holding illegal fish raves under the Gas Street Basin. 

The Grand Union, the Oxford, the Ashby, the South Stratford even the Coventry Canal all had zander in them, laughing through their gills as they dodged electrofishing teams and posed for anglers' Polaroids. How long will this last though as they are being persecuted by the Canal and Rivers Trust who are determined to get them out. (to boost the Christmas party fund)

Now, zander are part of Midlands canal folklore. Old boaters swear they’ve seen a zander the size of a stretched out Staffy in the Staffs & Worcs, kids dare each other to swim near Zander Alley by the old lock, and somewhere in the dark water near Tipton, it’s said Big Baz still swims wearing sunglasses, sipping canal vodka, and planning his next move.

Talking about planning the next move, well I checked the other day when Buffalo Si from River Masters gave me a nudge to get over quick to an area of canal that was Zander soup. His floats were going off literally as soon as the manky deadbaits hit the water. I ended up joining him bankside where I managed a 6lber and near 7lber in quick succession. An eyeopener certainly and fish are often creatures of habits so were they here a year later ?

Only one way to find out !!!

Now unusually for me I roped in Ben to come with me for this trip. Ben will be 16 in July 😮 and despite being diagnosed with autism and global development delay when he was a toddler at nursery, his challenging needs are to be honest relatively easy to live with, we are lucky he has always very happy and rarely sad, and never kicks off, unlike many other kids like Ben with special needs. 

He is unlikely to be able to live independently however, you never know though with support that might change later in life as he is making progress as the years go by.

Sam was with his mother up in Chester to see his mate Matthew you see with a boatload of tackle I donated to him as when I took them both fishing, when he stopped with us, he really did love it. 

So much so he bought some fishing tackle on his own accord and started to fish some of the waters locally where he lived, so Sam and I sorted out quite a bit of tackle for him, it was only gathering dust anyway, so it was good to see it go to a good home. 

At first I asked Ben, "Do you fancy coming fishing with Daddy" and he said "No, Thankyou". In a tone that only Ben can come out with (very somber), I asked him again and he put his hands over his eyes, which means, don't ask me again. I didn't though, so instead I said, "There is lots of trains that go past you know !!, you'd like that !!"

"So do you want to go fishing ?"

"Ooooooooookkkkkkkkay" 

To be honest I was only going to go for a couple of hours anyway, and I'm sure he would be fine when we were there. He is one hell of a fidget though, he literally cannot keep still half of the time, so it would be interesting how he got on. No harm in trying now is there, I brought a chair anyway so I was hoping he would chill out in that, watching the trains go by. 

What I didn't expect was another angler fishing the stretch of cover and that was Mike, he was also after Zander and managed one before we left. There were three boats moored up which was a rare sight and I got speaking to one of the owners who after having a bit of a moan about me and Mike nattering right next to one of the boats, actually turned in to a pleasant chat. The CRT got a scathing and she also told me about a few of the pollution incidents she had reported recently. 

Anyway the fishing well, a missed a few runs where I didn't hook up which usually means small Zander and sure enough I did managed a small'un when I was speaking to the lady.

"You can have it for the BBQ if you want ?"

"Errrr, I know what gets dumped in here, no you're ok"

I only stopped an hour and a half, Ben well he seemed to enjoy himself so I need not have worried really. 

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.125 (Canal Zander, Bread Munchers and Captain Quagswag)

Another fantastic lunch at Stratford-Upon-Avon's Beleza Rodizio, meat, meat and more meat, Brazilian rodizio-style. 

Now Brazilian rodízio-style is a type of all-you-can-eat dining experience, especially popular in Brazilian steakhouses (churrascarias), where a wide variety of meats are served continuously at your table until you say stop.

If you've not tried these type of restaurants servers, called passadores, come around with large skewers of freshly grilled meats beef, pork, chicken, lamb, sausage, etc. and you help yourself to the self service salad bar., which is also superb to be honest.

You usually get a red or green card (or in Straford's case a block of wood shaped like an egg timer, red one end, green the other) Green "yes, bring more" and red "I'm taking a break" or "I'm full".

No rush, just pace yourself, the highlights well, the Picanha is hard to fault which is a cap of rump, the Alcatra (the wife's favorite) which is top sirloin cut, Cordeiro which is lamb with mint and then my favorite, the beef in garlic marinade. I love the chicken hearts they do, but sadly not on the lunch menu, oddly the garlic beef wasn't either, but I wasn't complaining !!!

Greedy, you betcha, but not that horrible full feeling you get when you've consumed a pizza for example. The service well, it was absolutely superb, we will be back !!  Anyway talking of greedy !!

In the heart of Birmingham, the bin crisis had reached apocalyptic proportions. Rubbish heaps were so high, local pigeons were getting vertigo. 

Out of the chaos emerged a new kind of urban legend: a heroic, caped rat named Captain Quagswag, riding a sleek black cat and rallying the city's rodent population to reclaim the streets… and the bins.

But Captain Quagswag was no ordinary rodent. He had a dream a dream that didn’t stink of old kebabs and leaking nappies. He longed for fresh air, calm waters, and the gentle tug of a fish on a line. So, after rallying his crew of bin-diving rat warriors, he announced:

"We're going fishing, lads. And not just anywhere we’re hitting the canals of Stratford-upon-Avon!"

With a trail of wheelie bins behind them and a stolen mobility scooter leading the charge, Captain Quagswag and his rat brigade made their way down the canal towpath. They dodged swans, jumped over barbecues, and even stopped briefly to battle a gang of angry geese.

Upon arrival at the marina, they commandeered an abandoned canal boat—“The HMS Stinkbait”—painted it bright red, and set sail (slowly) into open waters. The rats cast their makeshift fishing lines (recycled coat hangers with cheese strings for bait) and waited.

To everyone’s shock, Captain Quagswag soon hooked something massive. The boat rocked. The black cat, acting as first mate, hissed in excitement. After a 30-minute battle that involved three rats getting flung into the canal and a small explosion involving a camping stove, Quagswag landed it—a shopping trolley filled with fish fingers and a half-eaten Greggs sausage roll.

Cheers erupted. It was a feast. The Birmingham rats had gone from bin-bothered scavengers to canal-fishing legends. From that day forward, canal-goers in Stratford spoke of the strange boat manned by a masked rat and his feline companion. And the sign on the back of the boat said it all:

“Captain Quagswag’s Piscatorial Patrol – Bin There, Fished That.”

Now I've fished this marina many a time and to be honest I've not done brilliantly. Ok I've had some Zander but nothing big, but this time I fancied also trying for some other species so I had some bread slop with me and bread for the hook. Was I missing a trick ? quite possibly as Blog Reader Nick (Waves to Nick) emailed me over winter to say he was doing ok when he fished it. 

You cannot really get much cruder than this set-up, a 2 SSG Guru Pellet waggler sits on the surface like my Zander deadbait setup and a SSG shot an inch from the size 12 hook provides the anchor and plummet. 

Feed some groundbait and wait for a bite. It didn't take long either however the first fish I bumped off, still I need not have worried because the fish were on it straight away. You see I managed 9 or so fish within the first hour where I should have used a keepnet, here a small selection of the fish caught. Mainly bream but some nice hard fighting hybrids kept me entertained.

The swim went dead when the sun came out so I decided to put the zander rod out when chilling out with a cup of tea and ten minutes later it bobs and sails confidently under and I'm in to a fish. A proper hard fighting Zander this one and it gave me the run around for a while, trying to get under the boat to my right at one point. 

I didn't weigh it but it was a decent one and certainly worth getting out of bed early for. I tried another 2 spots but the fish after the initial madness were just not up for feeding for some reason. The sun was illuminating the whole marina though so not ideal.

I went for a nose at another marina entrance a short walk away but there was nothing doing whatsoever and when the first boat was heading away from its moorings I called it a day. I've not been doing that well for a while, so it was nice to get a few bites for a change. 

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.124 (Canal Zander and Bread Munchers)

Fill your boots fellow anglers, you see the South Stratford at Wilmcote has a navigation closure due to the gates at lock 40 where the bottom gate has suffered a loss of support from its anchor and a detachment of the quoin, rendering the gate inoperable. As a result, the gate is fouling on the lock invert and is at risk of detachment, posing a safety concern, bugger. 

That's going to get the narrowboaters throthing at the mouth I'm sure, as that is the main route in to the Stratford-Upon-Avon town itself and it might not be reopened till the end of May. 🤯 . Myself and Nic from Avon Angling have fished this canal extensively but other anglers really are are very rare indeed. 

Anyway you tiller twiddlers be thankful for small mercies, you see long ago well, sometime in the 1980s on the South Stratford Canal near Wilmcote, a narrowboat called The Tipsy Teapot was making its leisurely way through the Wilmcote Lock Flight. Aboard were two canal-loving retirees, Barry and Dot, with their excitable spaniel named Toast. He earned his name after a kettle-related incident that left him a little crispy and forever underfoot.

They’d been warned by locals at the pub the night before.
 

“Mind yourself at Lock 43,” the barman said darkly. “That’s where Old Lockie haunts. He’s mad about lock etiquette... and Yorkshire Tea.”

Unfazed, Barry waved it off. “A ghost? Please. The only thing spooky about this canal is the price of mooring at Stratford.”

As they reached Lock 43, things began to go sideways. Barry, distracted by his own reflection in the water (which he swore looked younger), forgot to untie the stern line. Dot, in her usual calm way, dropped the windlass right into the lock after spilling her tea on it. Toast, ever the dramatic one, leapt from the boat in pursuit of a heron and somehow dragged the entire tea caddy into the hedge with him.

Then everything went quiet.

The air turned noticeably chilly, the birds hushed, and the canal water lay as still as Dot’s disappointed glare. That’s when it happened.

A low, gravelly voice echoed from the bushes:
“PUT YER PADDLE DOWN PROPERLY, YOU NUMPTY!”

Barry spun around. “What was that?!”

From behind the old barrel-roofed cottage emerged a translucent figure in overalls and wellies, floating slightly above the towpath. In one hand, he clutched a ghostly mug. Steam rose from it but the water never boiled.

The ghost sniffed.

“Is that... Tetley? Not in my lock, sunshine!” he bellowed, clearly offended by Barry’s teabag selection.

Dot, the calm in every storm (and every supernatural tea-based altercation), held out the emergency biscuit tin. She offered the spectre a soggy digestive and a fresh brew—strong Yorkshire, no nonsense.

The ghost narrowed his eyes, took a sip, and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

“All right then,” he said with a much softer tone. “Just mind yer windlass technique and tell that dog to stop chewing me ghost slippers.”

With that, he faded into the mist like a kettle left too long on the hob. Just before he vanished completely, a final whisper drifted through the air:

“Always... two sugars...”

To this day, boaters on the South Stratford swear they hear kettle whistles near Lock 43, even when no one's around. Toast eventually gave up chasing herons and ghosts alike, opting instead to sit upright in chairs like a gentleman with opinions on upholstery.

And Barry? He never forgets to drop his paddles properly anymore. Because some tea-fueled lessons stick with you… for life.

Anyway enough of that, I better give the non navigable canal a go hadn't I because I need something to boost my enthusiasm to go fishing. Since the rivers have closed I really haven't had the urge to go because well, I'm just not feeling it. The weather isn't helping I suppose because it's been very cold overnight and then very sunny during the day.

The fish are often in limbo mode because when the waters starts to warm up, and they get moving, they will be thinking about spawning and not feeding. Still it was worth giving it a go I suppose just to see what I could winkle out. So a Zander rod and a float rod where I'd fish some bread and use some liquidised bread for some attraction. 

I rarely fish down there to be honest, but I've caught Zander in the past so it would be nice to try for some other species. 'Tramp Alley' is at the end of the Wilmcote flight just on the outskirts of Stratford and that has produced some nice fish for me, including my PB roach and also my PB canal chub. 

As much as I moan about fishing these poo ridded waterways, there is still some mystery and intrigue when that float starts to bobble, because you really haven't a clue what is going to be under it.

The weather wasn't ideal for fishing but it was a lovely day again however there was one problem that would stop the fish climbing up the rod, you see the lack of boat movement meant that the water was very clear indeed. Now the South Stratford sees lots of boats because of it being in tourist central and it is usually turbid much of the year, hence what the Zander have established themselves.

The fish feel confident feeding when it's coloured I've found, when it's clear not so. They are out there and vulnerable and like I found last year when the same thing happened, the fishing without any boat movement was tougher than I thought.

It's quite a change in the fishes usual environment which is one of the excuses I had before I even started the session. I've found with canal fishing when you are on the fish you get bites quick, but swim after swim there was nothing doing whatsoever. Next weekend I'll be raving again with a load of the like-minded in Brum at the intimate venue the Hare and Hounds in Kings Heath and yet see one person walk down the canal towards me, it turns me into a grumpy old man 😂 The misanthrope in me, I luckily can switch off in the right environment.

So after giving it a good 2.5 hours without a bite on either rod I decided to get back in the car and drive up to tramp alley which was 5 minutes away. If there was anywhere that was going to give me a bite, it's tramp alley. I'm sure the closer you get to town the better the fishing so I dropped in some bread by some reeds and went up to the last lock of the Wilmcote flight to try and get a bite, before moving back to the pre baited swim. 

I'm sure if I stuck in one swim like a matchman and tried to build up a swim my fortunes would change, but I really struggle to stay in one swim to be honest, it's just not me. Anyway what I didn't expect was a boat was just about to leave the pound, God knows where he came from. 

Because the closed lock was a 10 minute walk from here. I went up to an area fish where one of my biggest Roach on the canal came from, but the water was really shallow, barely clinging on to the banks. Ok we've not had rain for a while, but that must have been because of some imbalances going on. 

So with the boat not past the lock I decided to drop in there to at least to try and catch a Zander. A good 40 minutes or so without a bite on either rod and with the sun now setting I decided to have a last go in the primed swim. 

Within 5 minutes of dropping in the breadflake I had a couple of bobbles on the float and then it sailed away confidently and I hooked into a fish that was darting all over the swim. I knew what it was straight away 

A FISH, A FISH !!!

Not any old fish though a nice roach. Pheeewwww I don't have to take up golf after all. Ok not a huge one but I certainly wouldn't be using it as a live bait for Zander. I stuck it out another twenty minutes without any further bites, so it was time for the off. I finding it tough out there I must admit. I might have to try Nora Batty's gaff to see if the fish are still grouped up in some sanctuary, thankfully she's moved on and there are new custodians, I wonder if they are more obliging ?, only one way to find out.