Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.143 (Canal Zander)

There are moments in angling that refuse to fade, etched into the mind with a clarity that rivals the sharpest winter dawn. This was one of those sessions. 2 years ago almost to the day. 

Now it began, as many good tales do, with a message urgent, insistent, and brimming with promise. Buffalo Si, out on the cut and into the fish, had stumbled upon something special. 

Zander, and not just the odd wanderer, but a proper shoal feeding, willing, and there for the taking. “Get yourself here now,” he’d said. And when a man like that calls with his eyes and ears to these towpaths, you don’t dawdle.

The canal, that quiet ribbon of water we so often underestimate, had come alive. I arrived with that blend of excitement and disbelief half expecting it to have all been a fleeting dream. But it wasn’t. The fish were there, just as promised. It didn’t take long before the first take came, that distinct, unmistakable zander bite indicated on the float finding the deadbait. 

A short scrap later and a solid six-pounder lay in the net, all glassy eyes and sharp intent. Another followed, then one nudging close to seven pounds a proper canal fish by any measure. There’s a certain satisfaction in such moments, not just in the catching, but in being there when everything aligns.

Those fish stayed with me. Not just their size or number, but the way the session unfolded unplanned, generous, shared. It’s the sort of angling that reminds you why you keep going back, why you endure the blanks and the bitter winds. And so, inevitably, the thought crept in during the following days: were they still there?

Anyway work finished, as it always does, with that gentle pull toward the water. The canal lay conveniently on the route home, almost inviting a detour. This time it would be a shorter affair, a dipping of the toe rather than a full immersion. Dusk would be settling in, that magical hour when the world softens and predators stir. If ever there was a chance to winkle one out, this was it.

The walk to the swim very nearly turned into an audition for “Britain’s Got Rabies” when, a couple of hundred yards off, a dog the size of a small hatchback locked eyes on me and decided my fishing rods were clearly weapons of mass biscuit destruction. Now, I’ve been barked at before, but this lad went off like I’d personally cancelled Christmas. 

The owners did that thing where they say “he’s fine” while holding on like they’re mooring a boat in a hurricane. “He just doesn’t like fishing rods,” they said. Brilliant. Of all the things for a towpath dog to dislike, he’s chosen the one thing I’m carrying that looks like a set of radio aerials. Anyway, once he’d finished his performance and realised I wasn’t invading Normandy, peace was restored and I carried on, only mildly traumatised and smelling faintly of fear.

With no boats moored towpath side I had a lovely run of cover to explore, so out went the overdepth float rods  smelt on one, roach on the other  like a man hedging his bets in a very slow, very wet casino. The banker swim got a full half hour, which in my world is basically a long-term relationship, but not a sign. 

So I started leapfrogging down the cover like a slightly overweight heron with a tackle addiction. Fourth swim finally a bite! I struck into absolutely nothing, which is always a lovely emotional rollercoaster. That could well have been my only chance, and the canal went back to being about as lively as a librarian’s tea party.

I tried a flyer beyond the bridge against some thick cover biteless. By now the light was dropping, the towpath was busy, and the nearby train line sounded like the 8:15 to Everywhere was running every three minutes. I wasn’t really enjoying it if I’m honest; it felt like fishing in the middle of a transport documentary. 

So, in true last-gasp fashion, I went back to the swim where I’d had that earlier bite and flung the smelt rod out. The float didn’t even settle properly which usually means either you’ve made a mess of the cast or something with fins has just mugged you on the drop. I gave it a little nudge and the float set off like it had remembered it left the oven on.

This time, as it headed for the cover, I leaned into the circle hook and there it was fish on, and unmistakably a Zander. It didn’t put up the full angry crocodile routine they sometimes do, but I wasn’t about to complain. Soon enough it was in the net and I may or may not have said “A fish! A fish! A fish!” out loud like a man who hasn’t seen one in several years. 

Not the biggest Zander in the world, but at that point it might as well have been a river monster. Blank avoided, dignity partially restored, and suddenly the dog, the trains, and the circus towpath all felt worth it. Funny how one fish can turn a grumble into a great evening fishing’s a strange game like that.

Eventually, practicality called time. Rods were packed away, boots shuffled back toward the car, and thoughts turned from fish to food. There’s a rhythm to these evenings effort followed by reward, even if the reward isn’t piscatorial. Tonight it would be curry, good company, and something decent in a glass.

The Craftsman provided the latter, as it often does. A place of many taps and varied temptations, but one in particular stood out. VAULT CITY’s DDF MARS DOUBLE DEEP FRIED IMPERIAL STOUT an unapologetic mouthful in both name and nature. 

At 15.5%, it demanded respect before the first sip was even taken. And yet, it delivered not with brute force, but with surprising finesse. Rich, warming, with that almost rum-cask character lingering at the edges it was a drink to savour rather than sup. Not cloying, not overly sweet, but balanced in a way that made you pause and appreciate it.

Sitting there, 1/3 pint in hand, the evening seemed to settle into place. The earlier question were the zander there? felt less pressing now. Perhaps they were, perhaps they weren’t. Fishing, after all, isn’t always about certainty. It’s about the pursuit, the possibility, the stories that emerge whether the nets are wet or dry.

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.141 (Canal Zander)

The canals again. Of course they are. Like a bad kebab or an ex you swore you’d never text, they have a funny way of pulling you back in. Not that I’m complaining (I absolutely am), but when you’ve spent years chasing Zander, you start to realise yesterday’s hotspot is today’s fishless trench. The fish haven’t disappeared they’ve just moved, probably laughing at you while doing so, fins up, watching you stubbornly cast into the aquatic equivalent of a deserted car park.

And the thing is, you know this. Every logical part of your brain is telling you, “They’re not here anymore.” But logic doesn’t stand a chance against angler optimism. 

Because the next cast could be the one. It’s always the next cast. It’s never the last fifty you’ve just fired out with all the conviction of a man slowly losing the plot.

Still, there’s something oddly satisfying about leapfrogging along a stretch of canal like a slightly unhinged heron. 

One minute you’re convinced this is the swim you’ve analysed it, felt it in your bones, practically written the catch report in your head. The next minute, nothing. 

Not a twitch, not a knock, not even the courtesy of a missed bite to keep the dream alive. So off you go again, marching down the towpath with all the grace of a man who’s just realised he’s been casting into absolutely nothing.

But that’s Zander fishing. They could be anywhere and usually are just not where you are.

You start noticing things you’d normally ignore. The way the light hits the water. The subtle changes in depth. That one overhanging bush that looks fishy but has betrayed you more times than you’d care to admit. You tell yourself this time will be different. It never is. But still, you cast there anyway. Tradition, at this point.

Boats, mind you, are a different story. Most anglers curse them muttering under their breath as the peaceful canal turns into a churning mess. Me? I welcome them like a long-lost mate. Honestly, I’m half tempted to wave them down and ask them to do another pass.

Nothing gets the canal stirred up quite like a narrowboat chugging through, turning the water into a murky soup of opportunity. It’s chaos but it’s productive chaos. The silt lifts, visibility drops, and suddenly everything feels alive. It’s like someone’s flipped a switch underwater. Dinner time.

In my head, the Zander are snapping into action, darting about like opportunistic little thieves, picking off anything that looks remotely edible. Meanwhile, I’m stood there trying to look like I planned it all along, as if I personally arranged for this boat to come through at precisely the right moment. In reality, I’m just as reactive as the fish scrambling to get a bait back in the water before the moment passes.

Timing, as always, is everything. And I’m usually just slightly off it.

So for this grand return to canal life, I opted for convenience. No big expedition, no overthinking—just simple, efficient fishing. Four-minute drive, short stroll, rods out. Done. The kind of session you tell yourself is “low pressure,” which of course immediately turns it into the exact opposite.

I’d even splashed out on £40 worth of deadbaits—a serious investment, or so I thought. The sort of purchase that makes you stand a little taller, like you’ve properly committed. No shortcuts today. Premium bait. Premium results. That was the plan. 

Turns out, they were basically free.

Courtesy of what can only be described as a floral disaster of Olympic proportions.

Now, I’m no flower expert but I know enough to recognise when something meant to impress has gone catastrophically wrong. What arrived looked less like a thoughtful gift and more like the aftermath of a long-distance desert crossing. Limp, lifeless, and about as inspiring as a blank session in January. Even the wrapping seemed embarrassed. There’s a particular kind of disappointment when you open something expecting a reaction and instead get… that. You can’t even fake enthusiasm. You just sort of nod, like, “Yes. These are… definitely flowers.”

To their credit, the M&S customer service team sorted it sharpish. Refund on the way, apologies made, crisis averted. And just like that, those £40 deadbaits transformed from a questionable financial decision into what felt like a gift from the angling gods themselves.

Funny how quickly perspective shifts.

Anyway, back to the fishing.

The canal looked… well, like a canal. Slightly questionable water colour, that faint earthy smell you pretend not to notice, the odd ripple that could mean everything or absolutely nothing. Classic. There’s always that feeling when you arrive the quiet uncertainty. You’re either about to have a session you’ll talk about for weeks, or you’re about to spend several hours politely pretending this was “still enjoyable.”

There is no in-between.

I set up with that cautious optimism every angler knows. Not too hopeful—you don’t want to jinx it—but not completely defeated either. Just enough belief to keep you casting. The first few casts felt good. Always do. Everything’s fresh, the bait’s perfect, your confidence hasn’t taken any hits yet.

Then time starts to stretch.

Ten minutes. Nothing.
Twenty minutes. Still nothing.
Half an hour… and now you’re starting to think.

Was that a knock? Probably not.
Should I move? Maybe.
Are they even here? …let’s not go there yet.

Then, just as doubt starts creeping in properly, a boat appears in the distance. Slow, steady, inevitable.

Perfect.

I reposition slightly, get ready, make sure everything’s set. As the boat pushes through, the water transforms clear lines replaced by swirling clouds of silt, the whole canal suddenly alive with movement. This is it. This is the window.

Cast out. Let it settle. Wait.

Every second feels louder now. You’re tuned in, hyper-aware, watching for anything. A tap, a twitch, the slightest sign.

And then—

Maybe something. Or maybe not.

That’s the thing with Zander fishing. It plays with your head. Half the battle is figuring out what’s real and what’s just you wanting it to be real. You convince yourself you felt something, strike into nothing, and stand there hoping no one saw.

Still, you keep going. Move a little further. Try another spot. Adjust, adapt, repeat.

Leapfrogging down the canal, chasing that one moment where everything lines up. Where instinct, timing, and a bit of luck finally agree to cooperate.

Because eventually, it does happen.

Not always. Not even often.

But just enough to keep you coming back.

So… how did I do?

I pulled up at the swim full of optimism, only to be immediately greeted by what can only be described as a thoughtfully pre-packaged gift from the local canine community. Nothing says “welcome back to the canals” like a dog poo bag just slung on the floor the bag swinging gently in the breeze like some sort of grim bunting. Ah yes, the great outdoors nature at its finest, lovingly gift-wrapped by strangers.

Anyway, plans changed quicker than a politician’s promises, and my grand 2.5-hour session was ruthlessly trimmed down to a measly 1.5 thanks to last-minute domestic negotiations (which I lost, obviously). Still, rods out, dignity slightly dented, and spirits cautiously high, I got down to business.

Then bang! Ten minutes in and I’m into a fish. Not just any fish, mind you, but a Zander with the temperament of a caffeinated ferret. It went absolutely berserk the moment it felt steel, thrashing about like I’d insulted its entire bloodline. After a brief but spirited argument, I managed to persuade it into the net.

I gave it a quick eyeball estimate 3lb 8oz. Turns out I was only an ounce off. Frankly, I’m considering a side career as a human weighing scale. Job done. Efficient. Clinical. Almost suspiciously competent. Buoyed by success (and clearly now an angling prodigy), I spent the rest of the session rotating through four more swims like a man convinced lightning would strike twice. It didn’t. Not even a sniff. The fish had clearly clocked off early, probably laughing about me somewhere underwater.

Still, one lively Zander, a bit of sunshine, and only minor psychological damage from the dog poo incident overall, a solid return to the canal. Back on the scoreboard, dignity mostly intact, and with just enough success to guarantee I’ll be back for more punishment soon.

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.140 (Canal Zander)

It was one of those mornings when you wake up earlier than intended, stare at the ceiling for a bit, and think, “What the heck am I doing with my life?” Well, that’s a bit dramatic, but you get the drift. It was Sunday, the day of rest unless, of course, you’re an angler, in which case it’s the day of trudging about in the damp, lugging tackle that weighs roughly the same as a baby elephant, and convincing yourself it’s “relaxing.”

The nearby village had a Remembrance Parade later in the morning. I fancied a nose at the preparations  there’s something solemn yet heartwarming about seeing everyone line up, medals shining, the band warming up, and the vicar trying not to look too annoyed at the teenagers vaping behind the bus stop. 

Sadly, a prior engagement meant I couldn’t stay for the event itself, but it got me out of bed at least, which is half the battle on a Sunday.

Now, what to do with this unexpected slice of morning? The rivers are, to use the technical term, pants. Low, clear, and about as inspiring as a lukewarm cup of tea. 

Still, as I write this, there’s been some heavy overnight rain, and the forecast promises some proper downpours in the week ahead. Maybe, just maybe, those fickle drops will find their way into our local waterways. 

We’ve somehow managed to be in that annoying meteorological bubble that avoids every bit of rain the rest of the country gets. Everyone else is out there moaning about floods, and we’re stood on dust-crusted banks praying for a drizzle.

But hope, as they say, springs eternal. A bit of colour in the river would do wonders for the fishing  get those wary barbel and chub to stop skulking about in their hidey holes and start behaving like proper fish again. In the meantime, though, I needed something to scratch the itch.

So, I thought canal Zander! The fanged marauders of the cut. They’re never too fussy, right? Always up for a snack, especially on a gloomy morning. There’s a marina just down the road where the water’s usually a murky brown stew of diesel, duck poo, and dreams. Perfect habitat for a Zed.

Except, of course, today it looked like the Caribbean. Honestly, I could see my deadbait over a metre down a shimmering silver slab of nothing-happening-ness. Zander love a bit of murk, that mysterious twilight zone where they can ambush anything foolish enough to blink twice. But this? This was gin-clear, mirror-calm, and about as inviting as a swimming pool at a naturist camp.

Now, usually, the place is a hive of activity. Holiday boaters coming and going, diesel fumes swirling about, and the occasional argument about mooring rights drifting across the water — all the lovely chaos that stirs up the bottom and makes the Zander feel right at home. But today? Peaceful. Too peaceful. Like the set of a crime drama where the detective’s about to find a body in the reeds.

Still, optimism intact, I set up two deadbait rods. Nothing fancy an overdepth in-line float set-up on both, because, well, I like to keep it traditional. Maybe a Zander sleeper rod and a bream rod would have been more sensible, but when did sensible ever feature in my fishing decisions? Exactly.

Two hours later, the only thing stirred was my coffee. The sun crept up, the water sparkled mockingly, and I started to realise I might as well have been dangling a Mars Bar on a shoelace. Not a tap, not a pull, not even the half-hearted nudge of a suicidal perch. Nada. Zilch. Nothing.

I even tried to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, I’d missed a subtle tremor on the float. You know that internal argument you have where you’re desperate for any sign of life? “Did that just twitch? No… probably wind. But maybe?” You end up staring so hard at the float that your eyes start to water, and you convince yourself it’s all part of the plan. It wasn’t.

Eventually, boredom won. The sun was now properly up, the dog walkers had started to appear, and I could feel the judgement radiating off them as they passed that look of “he’s been there for hours and hasn’t caught a thing.” Which, to be fair, was entirely accurate.

So I packed up, trudged back to the car with that special combination of disappointment and mild self-loathing that only anglers truly understand. The best part of the morning? The bacon sandwich waiting at home.

Still, I suppose that’s fishing for you all hope, no guarantee, and a constant reminder that nature has a sense of humour. Next time, though, with a bit of rain and a tinge of colour in the water, I reckon the Zeds might just come out to play. Until then, I’ll just keep lying to myself about “enjoying the peace and quiet.”

Canal Roach - The Sisyphean Task ? Pt.4

I had a small window of opportunity as usual and to honest it wasn't the best time to go fishing because the narrowboats would likely be a pain (fingers crossed I'd be ok), but I planned to fish close in anyway where hopefully the dreaded tow would be less of an issue, oh and do give Wild Garlic Way a much needed rest.

A while ago now out of the blue I caught some nice roach on this particular stretch of canal using maggots as bait and I'd always wondered if I upscaled the bait abit and if the roach were still around, were there any biggun's lurking in these turbid shallow depths. So it was back to the bread fishing and lift method that George has successfully shown to work really well, and my best canal roach to date of 1lb and 12oz also came on similar tactics. 

The thought process is to feed those spritely smaller roach on the bread mash smörgåsbord until they are full which then will leave those bigger specimen roach in the swim which then can get their fill. You can see why it would work to be honest, even though it goes against convention. 

However no canal is the same and the fish decision makers can react differently that's for sure, a little like those making the VAR decisions in football 💩, you see the other day I fished without even a nudge or a bobble on the bread, then I switched to maggots and it was a fish a chuck.

Now I rigged up one of the future contraband Drennan Glow Tip Antenna floats and would give it a couple of hours in two different swims to see if I could snare a roach or two. I've had some nice hybrids on this stretch as well to be fair, so those would be most welcome if the roach were not playing ball. 

Those that haven't fished this canal would be amazed just how coloured it is, I'm talking milk chocolate brown when the boats have been moving throughout the day. You would wonder if it was ever worth bothering for anything other than Zander if it's that coloured, but there are still fish to be caught if you know where to look.

These reeds for example, there is a nice gap between them and even when the canal is flowing left to right like it was for most of the time here, fish are often tucked up away in here for sanctuary, away from the boat track and also those Zeds.

The first swim was fruitless though so after about an hour it was on to the next as you can see here. Easy enough to drop the float right next to those reeds.

Nice and simple fishing this and the float couldn't be more sensitive. It still took a while to get the first bite mind you after baiting the swim with bread mash that put a scent trail down. The classic lift bite where I thought I'd hooked a nice roach but it was actually a roach bream hybrid.

Still I'm not complaining with a blank avoided and the spare bottle of Champion I had laying around in the garage only helped with that, especially when the sun was rather pleasant too. 

A number of fish were caught until curfew called time however nothing big sadly, the 25 minute walk back to the car didn't help, however I did stop to watch a duck with her 12 ducklings. They seemed to be chilled too rather than in manic mode like they usually are.

I can stack up a few sessions now and I'm lucky despite the long walk to this spot, there are many more convenient stretches where I can get my fix. 

Canal Roach - The Sisyphean Task ? Pt.3

I was back at Wild Garlic Way to see if I could pick up a roach from these moody turbid waters, and to also forage some more leaves for some pesto I'm going to make.

The mushroom and wild garlic cream sauce with some vermouth went down rather well I must admit so I needed to replenish the reserves whilst the leaves were still young and pungent. 

The wind was due to drop a little verses the last few days which is why I decided to head down for a couple of hours early doors, where hopefully after the overactive tiller twisters would be way off from having their fun. So fingers crossed that meant I could get some float fishing in without any tow on the water. 

Now in Greek mythology, Sisyphus or Sisyphos was the founder and king of Ephyra (now known as Corinth). He was a devious tyrant who killed visitors to show off his power. This violation of the sacred hospitality tradition greatly angered the gods. 

They punished him for trickery of others, including his cheating death twice. The gods forced him to roll an immense boulder up a hill only for it to roll back down every time it neared the top, repeating this action for eternity. Through the classical influence on modern culture, tasks that are both laborious and futile are therefore described as Sisyphean.

The Double Figure Canal Zander Quest was concluded after 6 years of towpath trudging but oddly especially with fellow Blogger and WBAS syndicate member George Burtons success for roach over 2lb on the local canals, I'm hoping this won't be as challenging but just as rewarding. There is one big problem and that is the amount of sessions that may lead to success, you see I was head down Zander, Zander and Zander previously however I'm not sure this new quest will be of the same vigour. 

These sessions will be little but not often, because I've other fish that I want to target as well, such as canal Tench, Carp and even Big Rudd, and when the rivers are back open again, that's where my allegiances are if I'm honest with myself. The closed season for me however is a blessing really, as it does force me in to doing some different which is good for the mind, body and soul I'd say. Talking of which after losing a carp here last time, I'd have a carp sleeper rod out with a yellow pop-up tipped with a tigernut. 

Now as anglers we are lucky up these parts though, we shouldn't forget that, other areas of the country don't have the canals that we have and have to fish commercial lakes dread the thought, learn to knit or join the local bridge club as their distraction from not being able to fish all things flowing. Where the heck are all the other anglers though ? the canals I fish it's rare to see another angler and those that I do see are the like-minded I often already know anyway. 

 

With the success on maggots on another stretch I was going to stick to the maggot approach but fish time to time with bread if bites were forthcoming, to hopefully home on in to a bigger fish ( a roach hopefully). 

Groundbait as before Supercrush Green from Sonubaits with a few micro pellets and a handful of hemp to try and get the fish grubbing around. Another change was to fish an antenna float and the trigger shot method. 

The insert waggler actually worked pretty well last time but the bite registration was a little cumbersome I fancied something with a little more finesse. (Yes alien to me I know ) 

Nothing new in this but I first read about it when Jeff Hatt off of Idlers Quest wrote and article about it....

...Back in 2013 apparently it certainly doesn't seem that long mind you because I've used the method in my canal fishing ever since (Have a look at George's YouTube vlog here too). Get the set-up right and it works very well indeed. Go and have a look at Jeff's article above, essentially the bulk BB are pinched on 12-18 inches from the hook depending on depth, but the trigger shot just an inch from the knot. 

'The (antenna) float is held on the line by a couple of float stops so depth variations can be quickly and accurately adjusted to. The object is to have the trigger shot anchor the buoyant bread at dead depth and bring the antennae down in the water till just the red tip shows above. 

Over-depth there's too much showing, under-depth there's too little or none at all. It is absolutely depth-critical, takes a lot of work to get perfectly balanced and is no method for the lazy. Then, as a fish picks up the bait the weight of the trigger shot is subtracted when the antennae lifts registering the bite in the most dramatic fashion'. (Jeff's words)

Sometimes you need to play about with the bulk shotting as well to get the trigger shot to work so sometimes those 5bb needed for this float could mean 4 initially. Thankfully the canals are pretty uniform which helps however if you find it's difficult to achieve then move all the bulk shot near the hook and then fish it overdepth by tightening down to the float so a small amount is showing, that works very well too. 

I didn't expect to be scraping a thin layer of frost off the car when I left the house at a cup of tea past 5.30am but wow what a lovely morning and it got better and better. I was expecting it to be a big fish day because when I got to the swim two big fish showed themselves quite early on.

One was definitely a bream because I saw it roll, a nice one too. Anyway I fed some hemp and corn next to some reeds and placed the carp rig over the top and then left that to do its own thing.

I started off on maggots and it took a while to get the first bite and it was a roach. I missed a clear bite or two before that which were really fast bites which I missed.

The bites started to come thick and fast when I started to feed maggots and that was the key.

Assume there were fish competing in the swim because a few of them grabbed with maggots as soon as the float hit the surface.

I wish I had my Zander sleeper rod with me because I bet the Zander were not far away with the amount of small roach in the swim, which I reckon there was because all of a sudden the bites stopped so much so I went for a move.

The next swim I was getting a few nibble quite quick but after half an hour without the sun to warm me up, I went back to the original swim where again the roach seemed to be on to the maggots.

I did try bread from time to time but not even a bobble, so maggots it was. When I did switch swims I placed the carp rig on the spot again and after half an hour a huge wake right next to the reeds where I assume the carp had been spooked on something.

It's barely even 2 foot deep there and it's surprising carp even venture there but it's exactly the spot where I managed to catch one from this stretch before. 

So a few roach caught, but nothing big showed at all. Once the first boat went through at 8.30am and it turned in to a river I decided to call it a day. What amazes me about this moody canal it is more hit than miss, but one day if you get one of the rare good one's it's bream all the way, and then only small fish, and then if you're lucky a decent roach. Looking back at the picture one of the fish might have even been a small dace, not 100% but there is chub in here as well so you never know. I should pay more attention next time shouldn't I 😀

Oh and the water temp has been given a hot, only 11.2 degrees this morning

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.91 (Tramp Alley)

Now the Livens Large Gallery Flame Projector was a 60 foot behemoth buried undeground and hidden from view that could engulf targets 300 feet away in flames. The terrifying weapon was deployed at the Battle of the Somme, one of the bloodiest battles of the First World War.

It was invented by William Livens, an officer in the Royal Engineers determined to create something even larger than the individual flame-thrower something large enough to destroy an entire trench system. The final product was an impressive 56 feet long, 14 inches wide, 2.5 tons and needed a crew of seven men to be used.

The weapon was powered by air pressure, which would push it out of the ground once it reached a certain level. A mixture of kerosene and diesel would then be ignited and shot towards the German lines. While there are no records that state how effective it was, historians believe that it was very effective where used at the Somme.

Some even argue that the Livens Flame projector was the reason by the British managed to break through at Mametz and Carnoy on the first day of the battle, despite losing 60,000 soldiers to injury or death.

Mick, back to the fishing !!!!

Well ok, but a good reason for a history lesson because a trip up 'Tramp Alley' cannot be taken lightly. 😁

You have to have your wits about you and need to react quickly when something dangerous or difficult happens unexpected. A Livens projector stealthily positioned would be perfect especially when it could be activated remotely. 

Hey maybe I could consult Colin Furze from YouTube as shown above (subscribe if you haven't he produces some great content), I'm sure he could create a compact version ready to tackle 'Tramp Alley' issues. Rabid dogs, waifs and strays, landmine creators, narrowboat dwelling stoners, tent frequenters (3 there this morning) and those generally up to no good !!!

Luckily it was safety in numbers because Nic from Avon Angling was already planning to visit the stretch and I thought why not, I'd give it a go too. I've had some nice fish from here, even some tackle testing chub and roach bream hybrids, but also a couple of clonking roach which would be my target really. A small buoyant and visible Guru 2SSG foam pellet waggler seemed to work really well, with more luck than judgment to be honest.

The bulk of the weight is towards the hook where a decent piece of flake would be fished close to the far cover. The set-up allows positioning of the bait tight to any feature where often the fish are holding up. 

It allows roving as well which is more my thing, I'm not one to be sat on a chair waiting for a bite. Because the float is really light the 2SSG's bulked near the hook do all the work, and the set-up is a precise as Jon Arthur on one of his bad days, pretty good let's put it that way. 

Obviously I'd have a Zander rod out as well, because there is some Zander here albeit, I've not caught anything of significance on this stretch. In-fact it tends to hold some of the smallest Zedlets I catch. Still you never know, there could be a big'un lurking in its turbid depths that has been feasting on these tasty morsels ....

....best laid plans and all that, how did it go !!!

Well I got there for just gone 6.00am and I didn't realise Nic was already fishing as I didn't see his car, however when I headed up to the area I've had some nice roach from, the angler there fishing was Nic, well who else would be stupid enough to go fishing at that, on this stretch.

He'd had a few nibbles but that was it. The rain started in angler and with the cold wind it wasn't exactly pleasant. Anyway we both got fishing and it was clear the fish were not interested in anything we threw at them. Looking back at my blog it's always like this until post spawning and then the canal warms up a bit (was around 9 degrees)

In the end we both decided at the same time to head back because with the towpath now becoming busy and the road noise on the increase our time here was up. But we are anglers after all, and after a break in the rain decided to fish the last section which has some reeds in the near margin.

I've had Zander her before and sure enough about 20 minutes in with nothing doing on the bread rod for either Nic or I, eventually the deadbait had some interest and it was off on a run. Only a small schoolie but at least not a blank. And that was that, anyway with the Zander more interested than anything else I might give them a proper go in the morning again. This time where I'm likely to catch something a little bigger. 

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.90

A small window of opportunity, rain on the way, the diary full until after work Friday !!!

Better get fishing hadn't I...

...chop chop

Now as I parked up a lure angler was back at his car to get some bits and pieces to go fishing again and he'd been struggling. I actually bumped in to him on another stretch the weekend and he is up to visit his parents so was on a mission to fish the local canals to try and catch some predators. 

Anyway another angler on the stretch has just packed up and was making his way to the car, and this was the third session where he'd blanked. Not good at all and despite their being fish movement and bubbles galore in places nothing fancied the worm on the end of his hook. 

Not just him though many are finding it tough at the minute, me included, so after a natter I got fishing and the lure anglers was to follow and fish the same stretch. I stumbled upon an abandoned wellie, I could find the rightful owner mind you, hope he is ok 👀

Within 5 minutes of getting the roach dead baits out I had a run and actually was playing the fish as the angler was making his way down the stretch. I was just about say, "hey come of a look at this" when the small schoolie came to the surface and ejected the bait 😁. Typical !!!

With the countdown now on to catch a fish at least I knew if I fished enough swims and stumbled on a zander they would be up for a deadbait. A good hour in to the session though we were both blanking and then the rain started in angler.

I was going to stick it out in to curfew but the other angler had enough and left me too it. Literally 10 minutes after he had gone another bite and this time I managed to hook-up. Only a small fish but they pull back when they are this size and at least I caught a fish. And that was my lot, the next session is in a few days.