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.