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. 

Severn Trent Water - We Bring Poo To You

Anyone else on the countdown to the River Season ? 😑

Thankfully ChatGPT keeping me entertained !!

Now if you didn't know in 2022, Severn Trent Water was responsible for 14.9% of the more than 300,000 sewage spills recorded in England, with spills lasting for more than 1.7 million hours, according to ENDS Report. In 2022, Severn Trent Water reported nearly 45,000 sewage spills in England, lasting for nearly 250,000 hours, which is more than 28 years.

ENDS Report identifies WHISSENDINE WWTW in Rutland as a site that spilled sewage for more than 6,600 hours. Severn Trent Water was fined more than £2 million for allowing large amounts of raw sewage to enter the River Trent. The incident occurred at the Strongford Treatment Works, which discharged more than 260 million liters of sewage between November 2019 and February 2020, the equivalent of 10 Olympic-sized swimming pools.

“Carp Diem” – A Day at Shrewley Pools

It was the kind of morning that made you believe anything was possible—sun shining, birds chirping, and Sam forgetting his sandwiches again. Mick, ever the optimist (and secretly delighted Sam would end up sharing his), was already halfway through his first cup of tea when they pulled into the quiet car park at Shrewley Pools.

“Today’s the day,” Sam announced confidently, for the fifth week in a row. “I can feel it. Big carp. Personal bests. Fame. Maybe a sponsorship.”

Mick raised an eyebrow. “Let’s just try not to snag a tree this time, yeah?”

They set up by the water’s edge, rods poised, bait perfectly prepped pellets, corn, and bread even that mysterious ‘magic mix’ Mick had bought off a bloke in a pub who claimed it was “basically fish crack.”

They waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Hours drifted by like the clouds overhead, and the carp remained firmly in hiding presumably on a spa day or laughing at them from the deepest, darkest part of the pool. Mick suspected the fish had unionized and taken the day off in protest.

Sam tried everything switching rigs, recasting every twenty minutes, even giving the water a motivational pep talk. “Come on, lads. I’ve got a net and everything.”

Meanwhile, the wildlife stole the show. A kingfisher zipped past like a neon bullet, making them both jump. A pair of ducks waddled over, clearly expecting snacks and looking personally offended when handed a bit of sweetcorn. A squirrel in a nearby tree spent a full ten minutes throwing acorns at Sam's bait bucket.

“I think we’re being mocked,” Mick muttered.

Still, the sun stayed out, the air was fresh, and the world felt pleasantly quiet aside from the occasional splash somewhere just out of casting range, which might have been a fish or just nature’s way of trolling them.

By late afternoon, Sam leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, sighing. “No fish, sunburn, one mosquito bite in a place I can’t scratch in public… but I’ve got to admit, this is still better than being at home having to do my homework.”

Mick nodded, passing him the last of the tea. “Yep. No fish were harmed today but our dignity’s hanging by a thread.”

They packed up slowly, laughing at their bad luck and the sheer absurdity of it all. No carp, no glory—but the stories, the sunshine, and the duck side-eye made it a day well spent.

As they drove away, Sam looked over. “Same time next week?”

Mick grinned. “Only if you bring your own sandwiches.”

Thanks ChatGPT I didn't have the enthusiasm to write anything. A very frustrating session indeed, the odd carp seemed to being caught on method feeder. But even when there were some small carp in the margin to the left they avoided the hookbait completely.

I caught nearly 90lb of carp here during a Shanghai AC match but today they were just not having it. Still some zombie roach milling around kept the boredom at bay as the ducks were one by one picking them off, oh and the weather was rather nice. There were some carp on the surface during some short spells but you cannot fish floating baits which was a shame, but if we do come back here during the summer, I'll bring some maggots I think.

Anyway enough of that, lets have cuppa in sun and look at the positives, at least Sam and I had some decent bonding time. 

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.123 (Canal Zander)

Fishing is supposed to be relaxing, supposed to be an aid to peace of mind and long life. But I'm beginning to wonder.

There was this doddery old chap I met on the bank. Shaking in every limb, he was, wrinkled like a crab-apple and hair and beard like Father Christmas. But there he was, fishing peacefully away.

'To what do you attribute your great age?' I asked.
'Fishing,' he said.

'Marvellous,' I said.'Fishing,' he said. 'And booze. And wimmin.'
'Even better,' I said. 'And how old are you?'
'Thirty-three.'

I just made that up. But I have come across several cases in which fishing has brought a hell of a shock to the participants. And probably knocked several years off their lives.

It knocked quite a few years off the natural span of an angler in Melbourne, Australia. (All right. I know you know where Melbourne is, but not everybody's that well up on the Anti-podes.)

All his life he had dreamed of a giant catch. He got one: a 58lb cod. As he landed it he dropped down dead.

His loving wife gave a funeral tea which befitted the passing of such a dedicated angler. It was a supper, actually: a fish supper. Cod fritters on a bed of clams with the departed's name written in instant mashed potato over the lot. Doubtless just as he would have wished.

Anyway needs must and all that because fishing is at the back of my mind at the moment, but walking well I enjoy that especially when the weather was nice and fair for this session. It didn't start well because road works, horse and carts, dawdler's and delinquents, still it only took about 25 minutes to get there (15 minutes back) and I got fishing quick enough.

The Zander had others ideas though and after leapfrogging the hot spot without a nibble I decided to move back up the stretch and try some more cover. After nearly being taken out by a waif like cyclist on a speed trial I managed to get the first bite on smelt, which I subsequently missed. Great !!! Anyway a good few hours fishing a good 300 yards of canal with nothing really to show for it.

I had another bite where the float went from zero to a half a metre pull in a second but the bite didn't develop assuming the fish felt resistance. The telltale puncture wound showed it was a small zedlet most likely and that was my lot. The fish were there for sure, but just not up for a feed, not uncommon at this time of year but I wish they would hurry up I need a bend in the rod. 😁

Warwickshire Trout - River Alne Pt.13

Well that urge to go fishing isn't really improving I must admit, not unusual during the close season admittedly but with the weather rather nice, I really needed a kick up the backside. Now the work situation came to a head on Monday where the current car I'm working on will reach JOB1 in August and the global business put up their hands and said, there will be no more new car projects for us in the UK.

Thanks for your efforts all, good work, now you can do one 👀

Not unexpected however and the writing has been on the wall for a while due to global influences (and not selling the cars in the number they would like) so it's not that it has come as a bit of a shock. It has been certainly a challenging project from start to finish, from a clean sheet of paper, design themes, 3D surfaces, concept design and layout and then detailed engineering of the components of the centre console, where much of that bashing from one’s CAD machine from my home office in COVID. 

I usually stop at post studio feasibility working with the Clay Modelers and the 3D geometry creators however this project has been the full automotive process from start to finish. 

A few challenging forks in the road too, where with parts off tool, there was a carve up of many of the components I've designed and also many throughout the car when a new architectural box of bits had to be repackaged. 

3mths of pain then came to try and keep the project on track, which considering its obvious challenges I can sit back and give me, and my immediate team a pat on the back.  I'm old and experiences enough having been in the trade for well over 30 years to not really be phased by it, but there are youngsters in the business that are visibly down not knowing what come next. I've tried to express the positives that will come of it, and networking is one of those. It's a small group of people that move around in the main and work comes off the back who you know really.

Up until this point there has been 2 previous culls of staff and this round will be the third where the UK team will be decimated and dribs and drabs remaining for those that want to stay. I see it as a natural stop in my career and it's time to move off on to something else. So with the VR process now underway at least I'll have a bit of breathing space to find the next project. It's a small team and like a big family really and I feel some pride in that I had a contribution to what will be the only 'proper' Polestar not a badge engineered jobby.  

Maybe if those forks in the road were taken differently by the management the outcome might have been entirely different. Oh well, we will never know, not like you can turn back time now is it. 

Well ok, I stand corrected 😁

Anyway I said I wasn't going to the Alne again after blanking recently but I fancied trying another stretch that sees more foot traffic and you would hope less predation because of that. So the gear was loaded in the car the night before and after work I went for a quick session. Mainly because the weather was nice and I fancied a walk in the nice afternoon sun.

What I didn't expect was an elderly gentleman who was geared up with his fly outfit and his homemade flies, which were that small I needed to put my reading glasses on to see them. 👀 

He'd blanked on the upper part of the river and was going to join me on the lower section. He was visibly shocked when I showed him what I have been using to catch the trout on the Alne, mainly because to be honest a Salmo Hornet in the large sizes are pretty chunky I suppose.

 

They have worked really well over the years and after showing him a few pictures of the fish I've caught, he actually said....

"I'm amazed, wow, I've never seen trout the size of that on the Alne and I've fished it for years, it's made me rethink my approach"

From a fluff chucker to a lure thrower, well I doubt that is going to happen but maybe he will up the size of his flies.

Anyway the river was low and clear and if I had one or two bites I'd have been happy but after a few nice looking swims without a nibble, I knew I'd be scratching around for bites. The wind had picked up and to be honest it wasn't exactly pleasant lure fishing conditions with it hacking through the open farmland like Rachel from Accounts Tax Rises. 

I only fished a couple of hours where I lost two lures and had the worlds biggest birds nest of braid when it all went horribly wrong on the cast, which concluded the session. I must have fished 6 or 7 swims and not only were there were no signs of fish whatsoever, but the fry too, non-existent.

Still it was nice to get out and hopefully I'll get out later today as I'm typing this as some jungle drums from Buffalo Si who has been winkling out the Zander from an area that was productive last season which in his words "It's fishing better than the Hallowed !!".