Warwickshire Avon - Flummery and Fandangle

You know something’s up when you can see the bottom of the Warwickshire Avon as clearly as the landlord’s face when you ask for another pint after time’s been called. 

Honestly, it’s been gin-clear for weeks now and while the chalk-stream dandies down in Hampshire might swan about with their floppy hats and Latin fly names, up here in Bard’s country, we’re more used to a bit of colour. Not just in the water, mind you, but in the language when the fish ignore us.

Those big old residents the barbel, the chub, the elusive pike with an attitude problem they’re no fools. In water this clear they can see you blink on the bank, let alone the lump of pellet you’ve delicately presented like a Michelin-starred meatball. 

So, unless you’ve got night-vision goggles and the patience of a heron on tranquilisers, you’re better off waiting for dusk.

Still, Friday means freedom as I finish at 12.30pm. Forty-five hours of toil done, a cup of instant coffee sloshed down the hatch, and off I went with a plan more cunning than Baldrick with a new hat. 

Three swims in mind: the first opposite the houses (which always feels a bit like fishing in someone’s living room), the second at the whirling weir (which currently whirled about as much as a puddle in a drought), and the third, the infamous Pot Hunter’s Paradise, where legends are made and landing nets are occasionally broken, and well know anglers get caught night fishing.

I’d armed myself with two rods: one set up with a dead roach under a pike float more in hope than expectation and the other, the trusty barbel rod, rigged with a pair of 14mm pellets. Back in the day this stretch was known as Barbel Alley, until the otters turned up and declared squatters’ rights. The few that survived that fur-lined invasion had the small matter of a pollution incident to contend with, so really, any fish caught here now deserves a medal and perhaps counselling.

The river was so low I could practically see my reflection on the gravel. “Crap conditions,” I muttered, deploying the kind of optimism that keeps anglers buying tackle. The first swim, opposite the houses, is always awkward — you’re half expecting someone to open a window and ask if you’d like a cup of tea or to please stop peering at their hydrangeas.

Still, I set up, pinging pellets to the far side, deadbait in the margins. After ten minutes of total inactivity, the highlight was the young woman opposite finishing her painting job, peeling off her overalls to reveal an outfit tighter than a pair of new waders. She was clearly off to the gym or perhaps trying to break into orbit. Either way, it made the lack of bites slightly more tolerable. I know anglers are meant to commune with nature, but I didn’t realise that extended to admiring the local wildlife in yoga shorts.

After an hour of absolutely nothing unless you count mild dehydration and a crick in the neck I packed up and trudged to the weir. Or rather, what used to be the weir. It was barely dribbling, like a pensioner’s teapot. Still, moving water’s moving water, so out went the rods again. Half an hour later, while winding in the deadbait, something suddenly grabbed hold. At first, I thought it was a small pike with a death wish. Then the fight went all weird not so much a run as a wriggle.

“Hang on,” I said to nobody, “this feels eel-y.”

Sure enough, up came an eel not the stuff of nightmares, but certainly the biggest I’d hooked in years. It twisted, squirmed, and gave me a look that said, “I was minding my own business, mate.” A proper scrap, too, and when I finally landed it, the hook popped out neatly in the net. After a quick photo (and a moment that resembled a Thai massage involving slime), I sent it back to terrorise the local roach population. Blank avoided! Always nice to have something other than a sandwich to show for your efforts.

On to the final swim, then the willow peg. A nice bit of depth there, with a whisper of flow and the kind of overhanging branches that scream “ambush point.” A quick underarm lob sent the pellets and a PVA bag across, the lead plopped down perfectly, and I sat back feeling quite smug.

Five minutes later, the rod nearly did a somersault off the rest. One of those bites where your brain can’t quite keep up with your reflexes. I lunged like a startled heron, somehow grabbing the handle just in time. The fish had already made ground to the right, heading off like Two Teir Keir at the first whiff of a photo opportunity.

It was a chub. You can always tell the head thumping fight, the solid weight, and the distinct feeling you’ve hooked something that’s just remembered it’s got somewhere better to be. A fine fish too, tipping the scales at 4lb 2oz, bronze flanks gleaming even in the fading light. Not the biggest, but considering the river looked more like a bottle of tonic than a barbel paradise, I was chuffed to bits.

That was the lot for the afternoon, as I packed up, I glanced back at the water, clear as a conscience before payday, and couldn’t help but think: we need rain. Not a drizzle, not a shower, but a good, old-fashioned biblical downpour. 

Until then, I’ll keep trying, keep hoping, and keep pretending that watching a motionless rod for three hours is character-building rather than evidence of poor life choices.

Westward Ho! - Bull Huss and Birth-Rates

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hi Ho!

Hi Ho!

Old Fred has lost a toe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A rare fishing trip for brother Chris !!

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

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

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

Question: How do skates make love?

Answer: Very, very carefully.

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

Anyone for fishing?

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

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

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

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

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.76

Spicy, well yeah, it certainly was, but the Lamb Rogan josh needed that extra chilli hit because in standard form, where in standard Indian restaurant form in my extensive experience ones taste buds need more a wakening up. It put me in good stead to tackle the canal though because with a wellbeing boost the evening before, those discarded dog poo bags, the landmines to leapfrog and the great unwashed to avoid if at all possible, at least I was in a better frame of mind. 

Now the pandemonium in work at the moment means my fishing time has seen a dent somewhat, and with the family duties only ever increasing on top of that those small window of opportunities to go fishing need to be grabbed whenever I can mange it. 

To be honest I'm looking forward to the coarse fishing close season coming to an end again because well, I've lost some of my motivational mojo of late and fishing the canals has seemed to drag on a bit. So to quell the piscatorial urge this session I had 2 hours max, so I decided to try and maximize the fishing as best as I could and that meant swapping my legs for ones mountain bike, where I could get to the chosen swim far quicker than if I was using my aging appendages. 

I cover >10k steps most days though and that needs to be continued with because it keeps my joints as well oiled, and it's about as much I can manage in my busy family predicament, keeping on top of that ever expanding and constantly leaking ceiling and seemingly a limited amount of buckets.

The swim was just shy of a mile from where I'd be parked up so ok not a huge amount of walking but it made sense for this particular short session. So travelling light was the order of the day, a small sling bag, a landing net, and ones 3.5m Drennan Acolyte Pro Telescopic Whip. Some groundbait and some maggots, that was my lot. I stumbled upon some nice roach here last time quite close in next to some reeds and I fancied in on the action again. But there one day, gone the next if often the problem fishing canals.  

Now from the Drennan bumph the Acolyte Pro Whip 350 is designed for ultra speed fishing to hand at close range. The whip is only 75g yet strong, stiff but forgiving enough to safely swing or net bigger fish. Its forward action is perfect when bagging Roach, Perch, Dace and Bleak on Rivers, Stillwater’s, Canals and Drains.

I am rarely outgunned using it but I have lost fish when the forgiving blank can bend no more and after following the fish down the canal or watching it head straight to the far bank the small hook often can pull.

But overall it's one of those rods that just makes sense for the canal for small stuff. There was evidence of boat traffic when I got there because the canal was chocolate brown, but still get some scent down for the fish to home in fish can often be caught despite the turbid conditions.

I missed a couple of bites within ten minutes and half an hour after that I managed a couple of fish the eel giving the whip a decent workout. No roach were showing though and that was why I was here really.

The towpath at 5.30pm becoming rather busy with one particular dog walker about in control of his dogs as I am with my own diary. The dogs determined to hover up whatever bits of groundbait was by my feet the owner couldn't care less what they were up to. 

In-fact when he returned his dogs made a beeline for me and then proceeded to do the same again, with my standing back a metre or so for them to get on with it. 

As he walks past not a word uttered to apologise and after a light tap on one of the dogs butts he was on his way again. One of the reasons why I don't like fishing the canals. I'm one of the politest canal towpath sharer others, well I'm sure they think us anglers are a nuisance. 

Take this boater he could see me fishing for a good distance back but still proceeded to carve through my swim full throttle turning it in to a turbulent mess.

Thankfully there are boaters that slow down and I'm sure many of those are anglers too. After the carnage the canal was almost like a river and despite giving it another half an hour that was my lot and my curfew had arrived. The bike did a sterling job of transporting me there and back I need to do it more often as it does save a lot of time. 

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.67 (Carp)

The problem with fishing for canal carp in these neck of the woods is locating the fish in miles and miles of water. It can be such a time consuming exercise and not for the feint hearted. Spending so much time on the canal towpaths during my double figure Zander quest however eventually in the odd one or two areas, carp were spotted.

In one of those areas there was a few carp grouped together tucked well away from sight underneath an overhanging bush. They only revealed themselves seconds at a time before heading back under the water never to be seen again, well not for the next hour anyway. 

One was >20lb or so but they never ventured out away from the cover so I actually lost two carp to hook pulls because once hooked within a split second they would swim in to the tangle of branches.

The cover was hacked back sadly so those carp are elsewhere now, but more recently having eventually catching a small one (7lb 6oz as pictured) on another stretch a good while ago, fishing for bream using bread I hooked in to a surprise carp that did me over good and proper. 

Fishing light I could literally do nothing about it and after a proper battle the small hook pulled and the carp was gone.

Even with the sun blaring down they don't often show themselves it is almost always a surprise sighting.

Anyway I've tried a few times now without success, without another bite and to be honest I'd largely forgotten about them until a message came through whilst bashing the CAD machine.

There are Zander here as well though and bream and hybrids so to try and cover all bases I'd have my usual overdepth deadbait rod with a 'pimped' up roach, and then have a float rod with bread that I could adapt to fish off the top. 

Headed in to dusk and beyond I'd change the tip for a bright green chemical light and fish tight to the reeds where I and others have seen the carp reside. 

They don't appear to be big carp, but any carp would be a nice change from the slimy landing net tainting bream that also share these turbid waters. So to 'CARP CORNER' forthwith better get fishing. 

Before I got to the set of reeds where they usually hand out I noticed the spindly reeds moving quite a bit, not just in one area either, in a few areas.

Yup, carp, at least 3 that I could see. One looked a good double. A few bits of bread thrown their way, and yes before you ask they obviously ignored it. I also cast out a float with some slow sinking flake bu they ignored that too.

After a boat went through they disappeared so I decided to unsticks and move up to 'carp corner' to settle down for the session.

The Zander rod went out and before I would fish the reeds in to dark I decided to fish in the middle of the track for anything that would like a large piece of flake on a size 10 hook tied to 10lb line. It didn't take long to get a bite either in-fact I was getting plenty of bites but I was missing them. 🤔

The first fish was a foul hooked eel that could have well have been the culprit for the missed bites. Soon after a few small bream and I bet if I fished maggots rather than crudely how I was fishing I'd have banked some more fish.

I've never been here when there was so much fish activity, bream rolling, predators chasing bait fish and almost by my feet some huge boils on the surface. It only increased towards dusk and yet nothing big wanted what I was offering on the hook.

After missing a run on the Zander rod which was most likely a small schoolie that picked up the bait and dropped it, so I decided to fish tight to the reeds with some bread mash as feed and a large piece on the hook.

Oddly the activity all of a sudden seemed to stop and I did contemplate packing up and going home but then to my left a huge surface disturbance I lifted out the float and dropped the bread down where it happened and what I didn't expect that within a couple of seconds the float buried and I had hooked in to a fish.

The first bend of the rod whatever was on the end went on a mad run with the centrepin ratchet audibly struggling, with me trying to calm the chaos. The problem was I was fishing at the start of the reeds so the fished managed to literally swim right in to the thick of it.

And yeap, you guessed its efforts to get to safety sadly the hooked pulled and the fish was gone. It could well have been foul hooked, I'd never know because I never got to see the carp. Damnnn It !!!! I might need to change tactics because I've been done twice over twice here now. 3rd time lucky ?

Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.47

As anglers we all hate losing fish don't we, you see a few days ago you see a zander gave me the middle fin and went back to whatever it was doing probably not even realising I had the net ready, so sadly another to add to the extensive selection. Circle hooks are my main attack these days, they have been for a while for Zander, and you usually know when you have a decent hook hold quite quickly when you first tighten up to the fish once that bite is received.

Zander have always been tricky to hook properly they just have those sort of bony mouths and unlike pike can nibble at the bait rather take the job lot. I felt this fish on for a few seconds but then when it realised it was hooked the first bend of the rod it must have let go of the bait and it was off.

It felt half decent for that split second though and it left a significant wake in the surface only culpable only by a half decent fish. Now I use Sakuma 440's in size 1 and after trial and much error they have certainly improved my hook-ups. Still you still lose fish from time to time though and sadly I never got to see it which is a shame considering how tough I've been finding it.

With spawning on the horizon my theory is those feeding spells will be short and the fish as the water is still cold'sih, are most likely not that eager to get moving so are most likely laying up to keep themselves fit for the upcoming revelries. Always an excuse isn't there, still Soooooo quiet, and so little action but Nic from Avon Angling had been messaging me throughout his session and his outcome for canal zander on two different stretches was very similar indeed. 

So I was back for another go along the same area, this a short session after work in to dusk and a a little beyond to hopefully cross paths with it again. I'm running out of past their best deadbaits so will need to get some more sorted, especially in a couple or three weeks when the water has warmed up a bit and fish are moving more when they do start biting, it's surprising just how fast you can get through them.

 After arriving at the parking area the rain was hammering it down and I did think about sacking it off altogether and head home instead (5 mins) but within 5 minutes it has stopped to almost nothing, so it was out with the rods and out with the wellies. 

The water had coloured up considerably since the last session here so I was hopeful for a bite. 4 swims down and also the lock covered without an indication whatsoever this wasn't looking good again

I decided to stick it out for the last hour in the swim I lost a fish 3 sessions ago and as dusk approached I was watching the right hand float when after half an hour, out of the blue it sharply bobbed and the buried right under the surface in a split second and before I had time to pick up the rod it popped up again a metre closer towards me. 

Certainly not a Zander, an Eel quite possibly, but at least some action. I scaled down that bait to a single whole 3 inch roach and got the float back out. Soon after this a pull on the left hand rod turned in to a proper bite where the float was moving left to right and then stopped and it was headed towards the cover over at the far side. 

I wound in to the fish and felt some tiny resistance and assume pulled the bait out of its mouth. A small schoolie most likely which fits as a friend of a friend had caught some here recently.

A pull on the right hand float again didn't develop in to a bite, however with all this action I thought I was on for a fish and a blank avoider. But with the torch now illuminating the floats and the rain started up again the swim went dead, proper dead.

So after 10 minutes past curfew time I left the damp quagmire with ones tail between my legs again. So 4 sessions, 4 blanks, I'm starting to lose the will !!!!

On to the next one !!!!

Canal Zander - The Hallowed II Chronicles Pt.6

One of the biggest problems on the canals towpaths is other people. To the casual wanderer, with nothing better do, the angler is there for the specific purpose of being pestered, chatted up, argued with or borrowed from. Complete strangers think nothing at all of pawing, through all of his personal belongings while rabbiting on about the weather, the state of the economy, the price of fuel, or the futility of an occupation which involves sitting for eight hours drowning worms.

He is approached by screwballs, layabouts, lurkers, peeping Toms, meth drinkers, religious maniacs, vegetarians, bovver boys, and old ladies with strong views on the dreadfulness of it all. Curiously, in my own experience he is seldom approached by a beautiful nymphomaniac heiress whose old man owns a brewery.

Now no matter how far away from human habitation the angler sits, it seldom takes longer than half an hour for a speck to appear on the horizon, homing in with the unerring accuracy of a moonshot. The angler cannot get away. The very immobility which often the pursuit demands (I had a chair with me for this session 😵) makes him the perfect target and gives him no opportunity or excuse for flight. The only defences the verbal squelch. 

Most of us can think of it but only ten minutes after the interrogator has gone. The solution is to rehearse, to have the answers ready before the relationship becomes too involved. To this end, the Piscatorial Quagswagging Institute of Verbal Studies has issued a leaflet which lists the most common approachees. 

'The old boy' who remembers a time on the river that never was (not in his lifetime, anyway) when worms were tipped in by the sack full and Barbel pulled out by the hundredweight, is really too nice to be given the straight brush-off. Even though he may be talking a load of absolute codswallop, he probably believes every word, and it would be a cruelty to disabuse him. 

So you can tell him that you really regret the ‘passing of those marvellous old days, that you are after the only carp left in this canal, and that the next few minutes might see the realisation of 5 years of hoping and dreaming. 

He will understand completely and will sit down, under your direction, in the wettest, windiest, coldest and most uncomfortable place on the bank, just so that he won't be a nuisance or get in the way. After ten minutes his rheumatism and gout will start playing him up and he will suddenly remember that it’s time for his morning coffee back home. 

Am I helping ? more whenever I get bored next. 

Anyway a trip back to the Hallowed cannot be taken lightly because, boy what a variety of fish to be had and predators of Stoltman proportions. For this extended session it was out with a method feeder sleeper rod where I'd fish some pellets with an eye catching band'um wafter for the Tench and fish maggot and groundbait as the main line of attack. 

Rudd, silver bream, roach and whatever else came along on would be nice and naturally the predators wouldn't avoid my attentions and from time to time I'd swap the method feeder rod to a deadbait set-up. To be honest I wanted to try out some small floats I stumbled upon that should be more visible when fishing this much larger venue than I'm used to. 

Anyway best laid plans and all that, what a really odd session, you see when I got there the fish were biting. All silver bream mind you with the odd rudd in-between but once the boat traffic got moving the usually green canal went chocolate brown.

Not only that but the canal was moving one way and then the other. The method feeder rod as well that didn't get any bites whatsoever, not even a pluck, pull or an enquiry.

Once the canal settled down for a while bites again were forthcoming but they came in fits and starts. The tench were nowhere to be seen and oddly the bigger rudd didn't show either.

Eventually some small perch and the odd skimmer, hybrid and proper bream turned up. Nothing like the sort of weights than can be achieved here if the fish are in a feeding mood.

In the end I got a little bored with the lack of bites and decided to go on the rove to try and pick up a predator. The float was certainly a good choice as cast over to the far bank against some cover the float stood out brilliantly. 

Three sections of cover without a bite though even the predators were having an off day. But when the fish are not up for a feed there isn't a fat lot you can do. So with boats every few minutes, 1 out of 5 easing off the gas when they went by, I wasn't enjoying it and decided to call it a day.

I suppose with the schools finished for half-term much of it was holiday traffic but there was also a fuel narrowboat and what looked like a tug of some sort.

Still a few bites initially and all caught on the whip which I've really enjoyed off late. Only 75 grams in weight it's a joy to hold too, just don't Sam as it is his really. Anyway with a busy weekend on the cards where I'd struggle to get out I'm glad I made the effort to come over even if the results were not as expected. 

What I didn't expect either was to see a decent size eel drift on by as I was packing up. Not nice to see. Not a massive one but looked a metre or so long which to be honest would have certainly been a PB eel for me. 

How it died is anyones guess, but boats, otters and all manner of other predators live here as well so it could be any one of those or even natural causes I suppose. To be fair not the first dead one I've seen here, the other by some lock gates, let's hope it's a rare occurrence, anyway on to the next one.