Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.144 (Canal Perch and Zander)

There are moments in life when everything feels finely balanced, delicately poised like a well-shotted waggler on a calm canal… and then, without warning, someone boots the rod rest, knocks your tea over, and sets fire to the landing net. Last Thursday, somewhere between a mid-morning brew and a half-hearted attempt at productivity in the automotive design studio, that exact feeling descended upon us except instead of fire, it was IT. Which, in many ways, is worse.

It began innocently enough. A little pop-up. Bottom right corner. The digital equivalent of a polite cough before chaos. “Attempting to access IP address…” it said, or something equally sinister and vaguely unhelpful. Being seasoned professionals, we collectively shrugged and carried on, because if you reacted to every strange IT message, you'd never get anything done. Besides, the organisation was “blocking it,” which sounded reassuring in the same way a garden fence reassures you about an approaching rhinoceros.

By late afternoon, however, the studio had begun to unravel like a cheap spool of line under pressure. Systems started dropping out one by one. Drives vanished. Applications wheezed their last. Wi-Fi went funny. The general mood shifted from mild curiosity to that quiet, creeping dread normally reserved for when you realise you've left the landing net in the garage.

Friday brought hope, or at least the illusion of it. There were “workarounds” that marvellous IT phrase which translates roughly to “this might function if you don’t breathe on it.” I clung onto my CATIA licence like a carp angler grips his last boilie during a blank session, managing to work locally and avoid the increasingly haunted Indian network. Forty-plus hours ticked off by lunchtime, I clocked out feeling smug and slightly heroic, convinced the tech wizards would wave their digital wands over the weekend and restore order, despite the main IT guy gone AWOL.

Blog readers they did not.

Monday arrived like a damp bivvy morning grey, disappointing, and smelling faintly of something gone wrong. The systems were not just broken; they were caput. Not resting. Not updating. Not “experiencing issues.” Properly, gloriously dead. The design studio had all the functionality of a chocolate teapot. By midday, I’d been reassigned to “A2MAC1 benchmarking duties,” which is a polite way of saying “find something to do that doesn’t involve working systems.”

And then came the bombshell. IT, those brave custodians of cables and confusion, admitted defeat. “Not anytime soon,” they said. “See you next Tuesday.” Next Tuesday. As if we were discussing a casual pint rather than my entire working week evaporating like mist off a canal at sunrise. As a jobber on an hourly rate, this wasn’t a quirky inconvenience it was financial vandalism. A forced holiday, unrequested and entirely unpaid. The sort of surprise nobody enjoys.

Naturally, I approached Tuesday with a sense of purpose. By which I mean I did absolutely nothing. A lie-in, a leisurely clean of the Jimny, a bit of rod sorting the kind of day that feels productive until you realise you’ve achieved nothing of actual consequence. Still, there are worse ways to spend time than tinkering with fishing gear and pretending you’re preparing for greatness.

Sam, meanwhile, had a rare day off school with a dodgy tummy and a level of honesty that cut through the morning like a sharp hooklink. “Don’t want to poo myself in school, Daddy,” he declared. “I’d be known as the kid who sh*t himself.” LANGUAGE !! A fair point, delivered with the clarity of someone who understands the brutal social economy of the playground. Some reputations, once earned, are impossible to shake.

Just as I began to contemplate a proper fishing session the next day to salvage the week, fate intervened once more. A message from 16 year old Ben’s special needs hub in Stratford-Upon-Avon arrived the night before: boiler issues. Closed. No warmth, no learning, no peace. Plans shifted again. Fishing window reduced to a couple of hours a frantic dash rather than a leisurely campaign.

Still, a couple of hours is better than none, and with a tip-off from Buffalo Si's mate Security Neil about a local perch spot, I was off. The venue was an inlet from a lock above, a place where the water moved just enough to make things interesting. The sort of swim that whispers promise while simultaneously reminding you that gongoozlers, and the ever-present dog poo bag waving brigade are never far away.

Thankfully, there’s always a way. A bit of manoeuvring over the rather high lock paddles and I found myself tucked away from the main towpath, in a spot that felt almost… peaceful. The flow was perfect either tight to the wall or a metre out where it behaved like a miniature river. A proper little gem.

Out went the perch bobber, maggots and worms from my own wormery doing their duty like loyal soldiers. Alongside it, a sleeper rod for zander, armed with a roach deadbait and quiet optimism. The kind of setup that says, “I’m here for anything that fancies a nibble.”

And nibble they did.

Perch came first six or seven of them. Not monsters, but spirited little fighters with that trademark aggression that makes them such a joy. Each one a reminder that fishing doesn’t need to be monumental to be meaningful. Sometimes, it’s just about the rhythm the cast, the drift, the strike.

Then, about an hour in, the sleeper rod came alive.

Now, a zander doesn’t do things politely at this time of year. There’s no gentle enquiry, no tentative nibble. It’s a proper take, followed by a scrap that feels far bigger than the fish itself. This one was no exception. All fins, fury, and indignation, it fought like it had somewhere important to be and I was very much in the way.

Eventually, though, persistence wins. Into the net it came a cracking fish. Five pounds on the nose, full of spawn, and absolutely brimming with attitude. The kind of capture that makes the whole chaotic week fade into the background. Even the obligatory selfie felt like a victory rather than a chore, despite the fish’s clear disapproval.

By nine, the sun crept out and, as it so often does, switched the feeding off like someone flicking a light. Bites dried up. The moment passed. Time to pack up.

Back home, it was straight into Dad mode taking Ben out for what can only be described as a “liquid lunch” in Spoons and a pizza for him while his mum handled dinner lady duties. Sitting there, pint in hand, reflecting on a week that had veered wildly from digital disaster to unexpected angling success, I couldn’t help but think… I could get used to this.

Not the IT collapse, mind you. But the fishing. Definitely the fishing.

Roll on retirement !!

The River Leam - Ogres and Organography

Angling is no occupation for the hypersensitive.

Let's face it. Some of the things we take for granted as a normal part of angling are pretty revolting.

Handling maggots. Used as we are to them as bait, it's always a shock to come across them in their wild state when we pick up a dead bird or mouse. That horrible, slimy, heaving mass, straight out of a Hammer film-surely they can't be the cousins of the little beauties we play with so tenderly every weekend?

And as for the old match anglers who kept maggies warm under their tongues in cold weather-how did they do it, Stanley?

No wonder we get black looks in the pub when we've spent an hour poking around reeking ditches for bloodworms, turning over cowpats in the hope of finding something tempting underneath, or spiking on lengths of smelly fishguts and nauseous squid.

But hold on. Hang about. Wait a minute.

Perhaps it is not we who are revolting after all. Perhaps everybody else is too refined. We do, after all, live in an age dedicated to removing all traces of our animality.

We spray ourselves all over with stuff to take away our cosy human smell. (When I say we, I don't mean us, of course. I mean them.) We powder ourselves from top to bottom, and further down than that. We shave our armpits. 

We are scared of using a toothpaste that doesn't promise a tingling fresh ring of thing in the close-up zone. We take tablets to rid our breath of unpleasant things like the smell of scotch. Our socks are treated with chemicals that leave our old plates smelling like violets. After every shave we slap on stuff that makes us smell like the Queen of the Fairies. And I do mean fairies.

Our food is bought ready scrubbed, peeled, homogenised, shrink- wrapped and unrecognisable. Even the flavour has been removed so that we don't actually taste anything resembling something that once grew in the earth or walked about on it. How many hausfraus nowadays buy a chicken with its feathers on and its guts still inside, or buy a bunny with its coat on?

Our beer has been rationalised out of all recognition. Of course it never goes off; there's nothing in the plastic gnat's hiss that can go off.

So perhaps the angler now stands for something more than just the quiet waterside philosopher. Perhaps, in staying close to the earth, in keeping contact with the creatures which swim, walk, fly, or crawl over it, we are preserving something for future generations: the ability to operate as a human animal and not as a deodorised, computerised, compliant zombie.

Perhaps we are the last of the ogres in the land of the pygmies, and perhaps we ought not to give up our ogrehood without a fight. There are very few of us left with this gift-this very precious gift-of being so thoroughly, unutterably, unashamedly and irretrievably... revolting.

Anyway to the fishing, after another day in the office after a short detour I had a couple of hours fishing time before I had to head off home. Timing, preparation and making every bite count is everything to maximise fishing time however that didn't get off with a good start. 

 You see after a bite within a few minutes of putting out a groundbait filled small feeder and a thumbnail piece of bread in to a >6ft deep swim, I struck in to a solid fish that within a second the rod went went solid. Damn It, a SNAG !!

Thankfully it was only the light hook-link so that was sorted quickly and the rig cast out again. Another bite came quite quickly casting a couple of meters to the right and I was hooked in to a small chub. Not the biggest of fish for this stretch but a blank avoided. 

As the light was going the first of those sharp roach pulls which I can only assume were from small fish because nothing materialised in to a strikable bite. 

A switch to a lobworm tail didn't have any interest whatsoever and oddly as the torch was needed to illuminate the rod tip those bites tailed off. 

I had half an hour fishing time left but after casting straight in to a tree 🙈 where I got the whole lot snagged I decided to call it a day rather than set-up again under torchlight. 

Sadly none of the big roach showed up that swim here however next time I'll try some more swims I think. A lovely little river though, my sort of stamping ground. 

There is so much to go at and so little fishing time that is half the problem, but these little rivers I love to death despite the often mediocre returns, it's when those surprises turn up all these blank sessions and those fish nothing to write home about are quickly forgotten !!

On to the next one which I think might well be down at the Untrodden as George managed some nice chub at the same time I heading home, and with a hard frost overnight I doubt much else will be biting. 

The Tiny River Alne - Naysayers and Nincompoops

So I fancied another blank to make it three in a row 😀 so I headed to the River Alne just down the road. A river that has more busts than boom's but when the stars align it throws up some nice surprises. It fishes better when it's coloured like it was for this short mornings session.

Dace were the target and my best of any river came from here and went 12 ounces on the dials. The problem is you can catch fish one day then the following day, using the same method you won't get a sniff.

Yes that's my selfie phone mount providing the rod rest because stupidly I'd left it in the garage. I even brought a chair for this session however nearly two hours in with only a few rattly bites, I put the chair back in the car and decided to fish another couple of swims.

The same outcome though, ie no fish caught although this time not even any bites 💀.

I tried maggots, half lobworms and bread but those fish were suspicious in their absence yet again. It's such a moody river mind you, so not entirely unexpected but I felt it was a bit of a wasted session because my fishing time throughout a week is short (honest), so I should have gone somewhere else where bites would be more forthcoming.

Still as it happens I managed to go out late afternoon as an opportunity arose that I grasped with both hands !!, oh and I actually caught a FISH 🤯

Warwickshire Avon - The Untrodden Pt.13

Remember that television series Life on Earth, in which David Attenborough went through all the life forms from the primaeval sludge to brain surgeons?

What I found particularly interesting was how the marsupials, the really primitive mammals with pouches, have developed independently in remote places into counter- parts of higher mammals in other parts of the world. 

There are marsupial equivalents of mice, rats, cats, bears, moles, anteaters, squirrels, deer even a marsupial wolf which seems to be no longer with us on account of conservation-minded Aussies using it for target practice.

What these strange animals demonstrate is that if a certain physical pattern is suited to a certain lifestyle, Nature makes sure that this pattern develops.

It is a little known fact a totally unknown fact, in fact - that there is an order of British marsupial living in the Lost Islands of Lankiland, between Blackpool and Wigan, which has developed completely independently of other British wildlife. 

The Lost Islands have been isolated for thousands of years on account of being surrounded first of all by water, and then by a broad belt of agricultural land in which there is not a pub for miles.

The staple diet of these marsupials is fish, and they have therefore developed into different forms of primitive angler, with remarkable parallels to the anglers of the outside world. These bizarre creatures are to be scientifically classified as Manglers, short for Marsupial Anglers.

Most common is the Common Mangler, which possibly comes as no surprise. The male is medium-sized, nondescript to tatty in appearance, with a pair of short stubby legs for jamming in wellies.

Its prey is anything daft enough to fall for its clumsy fishing methods, and its pouch is stuffed with an assortment of maggots, lobs, bread, cheese and bits of sausage. It also carries a few spinners, which accounts for the pained look which occasionally crosses its face and its habit of suddenly leaping six feet in the air. 

Anyway enough of the distractions, something different for this session, you see I'd fish some maggots in a big flat feeder and maggots and half a lobworm on the hook for added attraction. Not my usual approach but I'd seen Martin Bowler use this rig before to target barbel in the winter where the feeder is fixed either side with some big grippa stops and it's good to tinker I say, oh and I've successfully caught barbel on lobworms before. 

Fellow blogger and YouTube content creator Eric you see had managed to hook but sadly lost, a couple of barbel trotting on this, the syndicate stretch which was encouraging signs despite losing the fish. He certainly has got a lot closer than I have to a barbus at the untrodden so maybe a maggot approach might we be worth a go as a change up from the much larger baits I use. He was actually fishing caster and hemp in the main, but maggots would have to do 😃. 

Fish love maggots and when hardly anything bites when the water temp is 6 degrees or below, mixing it up is definitely worth a go to try and make a bigger fish slip up. 

I would be fishing in to dusk and in to dark for an hour so the witching hour would hopefully also increase the probability of putting a decent bend in the rod. Ok a barbel might feed for an hour or have its fins up conserving energy but at least they also like a maggot or ten. Now the river was higher than I thought and banging through in most swims but there are thankfully a couple with more calmer water where I'd drown the maggots.

With a frost overnight the water temperature had now dropped below 6 degrees which was one of the excuses already lined up. 

2 swims fished feeder filled with grubs and cast out every 15 minutes or so in to dusk and an hour and a half in to dark...

....no bites 

....no nibbles, nada

Oh well, it was worthwhile going out to try and catch something, even though I probably knew the outcome before I started the session. On a more positive note, one of these Imperial Stouts was enjoyed like an fine wine later with a fire, 👌. 

The River Arrow - Interlopers and Infundibuliforms

I wouldn't say I sneaked out the house, but I felt a bit guilty when I closed the door at just gone 6.00am to head down to the river Arrow. There was no way Sam would get up at that time, but he was up for going again and was a little peed off when I came in to our bedroom to see I wasn't there.

I could have twiddled my thumbs for an hour I suppose but last time here Sam did most of the fishing and I hardly got a look in !!!

Armed with some lobworms I fancied to see if they would tempt anything other than Chub that we've been catching using our standard breadflake approach. Perch being the obvious culprit to take the humble worm, but maybe even a long extinct barbel if there was one still lurking on this stretch.

The river was low and gin clear in places but small rivers like this often have deeper areas and obviously lots of cover where the fish can get some sanctuary. 

I started at the downstream pegs and worked my way up where I'd finish up in one of the deeper swims above the weir that is much wider and slower. The lobworm was getting interest straight away in most swims but the bites were just coming from the chub.

Not the bigger ones that reside on this stretch but a next year or two group down. 2-3 lbers but in lovely condition like most of the chub are on this stretch. I thought I'd have a perch or two, but they were suspicions in their absence even though I'd spotted a decent fish here the other day that was almost by my feet. 

I caught a 3lb 6oz trout here back in March and I was always wondering since that capture if there were still some milling about. But no it was chub all the way for this short session, I'm sure when there is a little more colour in the water that would help, or maybe I'll try an evening in to dusk instead.

I do love catching chub though and I finished off on 7 of them so plenty of bites. Even the weir didn't produce a bite on the lobworm which I was surprised about. 

For the part of the session I gave a swim above the weir a go but not even a bite up there when downstream I was getting little indications on the tip there was small fish nibbling at the worm. I'm a rather impatient angler though as I'm sure if I move the bait around the swims a bit I'd have managed to get a bite.

I got home to Sam having a moan 😝 but then he had a right to do so. I promised to take him later anyway, unless he changes his mind that is. !!! So a little disappointed with this trip but I'm sure the conditions didn't help. There is a match on here tomorrow so hopefully they will fair better than I did.  

River Arrow - Mojo's and Mogigraphy

Now perhaps like me at the moment your fishing mojo has gone missing of late, to give you a chance for pause and reflection ?, this lull in your energy and enthusiasm might be a sign to take stock of what's going on for you.

Instead of becoming frustrated by your change in mood, take a large spoonful of self-compassion and allow time to do its thing.

It hasn't helped that after returning from sunnier climes the countdown to the closed season is on big time and the rain well, it has been relentless hasn't it. 

Those days are flying by, and sadly dog poo / tramp alley beckons, a busy stillwater, or dread the thought a commercial fishery which will obviously be the last resort.  (Sam keeps on asking to go to Tunnel Barn !! 😭)

 
With the closed season being less than a month away now it hasn't helped that many of the local rivers have been over their banks again, so I've not really had the urge to get out there fishing, even though I've had the odd gap in my busy schedule. 

Work, life Blah-di-Blah etc etc all get in the way don't they, it's not like I can just decide to go spur of the moment, the diary makers as I refer the aforementioned too, have had their say much of this week. 

But then I've only added to that, because with a window of piscatorial opportunity (only the cut sadly) I decided to meet up with some friends for a big fat curry in Warwick and a couple of beers instead, rather than hit the river bank. To be honest my options were seriously limited anyway, some spice serotonin was the obvious choice, this garlic chilli chicken one of 5 main dishes shared between the group. 

Anyway a new river stretch to fish felt the best way to get back in to some fishing where this was merely a reccy really to try and winkle out a fish, but to also check some of the swims out.

I've fished the Arrow plenty of times and it's a lovely little river that suits my roving style. I fancied trying for something to give the string a pull for this session so the plan was to try for a proper pull on the rod using lobworm, cheesepaste or pungent meat as bait, and roving around to check some of the swims out too. 

Now a hard frost greeted me when I woke up and after de-icing the car and debating whether or not to go back to warm bed with overly large plump pillows, I headed to the river where the wife let out a breath in a sigh of relief. 

The river was still motoring through but despite that these small rivers there is always somewhere to fish so I got on the rove to try and find the fish. I started at a convenient point swim that looked good for a bite with two merging columns of water where there was a nice slack and some depth too, it looked a perfect swim to start my campaign on the new stretch. 

I gave that a good half an hour with no bites so made my way down the stretch where I'd fish the slacks and any likely looking fishing spots. I bet it looks completely different in the summer so I'm looking forward to that.

The water temperature was 6.5 degrees which I didn't think was too bad but swim after swim there wasn't much doing whatsoever. I even tried some bread at one point to no avail but then out of the blue a fairly open swim with a back eddy produced a bite using lobworm as bait.

The problem was they were fast rattly bites that I just couldn't hit and none of them developed in to a proper bite a chub or barbel would give. Small fish I assume, but at least it showed I should stick to lobworm.

There was only a couple of inches of visibility and the river was still strong tea coloured but I thought a chub might be up for biting. Sadly it wasn't though and after giving probably 5 or 6 swims ago and falling arse over tit at one point when I tripped on a partially trodden on fence 😆, I decided to call the session half an hour early.

So a blank but the session wasn't all bad because when I hacked out one swim to get close to a snag in the process I managed to bag myself a nice little stick float. A well worthwhile reccy though and I'll be back when the river is in better fettle. 

The Tiny River Alne - Drakefords and Daceatoriums

Well not a good start to the morning you see I went to the boost the heating for an hour and the digital programmer was dead, proper dead. Hmmm....I go downstairs to find that for some reason the power had tripped. Reset the trip switches and....

....sorted, fires up no problem, well I thought was all good until Sam pointed out that the garage door was open a couple of foot WTF !! On closer inspection the cause of the power tripping was all to see, you see some scumbag had cut through one of the outside security lights cable and obviously forced the garage door open somehow. 

Now my fishing chair was on the floor so I assume that was dislodged and hopefully dropped on their noggin.  Thankfully nothing was stolen or damaged from what I can see. That was the only the 2nd incident in 15 years but still very concerning, luckily my TFG River and Stream was still there. 

I've had to add another couple of security measures just in case they come back, hopefully they have looked what's inside the garage and that was good enough. 

I've actually left the whole garage door open for 3 nights by accident and it's such a quiet area and not had any issues. 

Anyway to get that fishing fix I had such a short window of piscatorial pursuitablity available to me I did wonder if I should bother or not. But the Alne has been pulling at ones angling strings of late and such is the convenience I might as well seize every opportunity I can.

That 12 ounce dace I caught may not be huge in many specimen anglers books, but for me fishing where I do, it was a clonking dace especially when there could well be some even bigger ones milling about.  

Apart from a handful of syndicate matches throughout the year I've got the stretch to myself, which means especially when certain swims are earmarked I know for sure there isn't going to be anyone in it. Now the 'daceatorium' swim not only threw up a nice fish for me, but one of the rare anglers I bumped in to here outside of the matches, said the match was won on that peg, yeap you guessed it with decent sized dace added to the winning seat box frequenters tally. 

Now with the fish hopefully getting back to some sort of normality having had to deal with not only flood water but also chilly water too, so I was hoping I would fair better this time in purist of these larger silver darts. Now this swim offers some shelter away from the flow, where right out in front of you it's almost static, so this time I decided to scale down a little and fish a pole float rather than a feeder. Some groundbait with a few maggots as feed and either bread or half a lobworm on the hook.

I was hoping fishing more match style might suit the intended quarry a little better and also concentrating feed around a tighter area was another change of tactic. What next live baiting with minnows ? Various angling literature I have mentions live baiting specifically, method in the madness ?

To be honest there is plenty of minnows here that's for sure, so that may well be worth a dabble in a future session if traditional tactics are not forthcoming. Now draconian rules here either and meddling Mark Drakeford's to worry about, so I could give it a go. Incidentally some roads in Stratford-Upon-Avon are now 20mph, I had two cyclists pass me the other day like I was standing still. I was in the Jimny after all to be honest they could probably muster up more horsepower. 

Anyway not happy that I got out far later than expected with Sam missing his bus meant that I was a good forty minutes later than expected. I had to get back in an hour and a half so not exactly a huge amount of fishing time,

It was clear from the first cast there were minnows in the swim and despite using a size 12 hook in the time I was there, I must have caught 5 or 6 of them and also a small gudgeon that despite the size of the bait, were determined to it in their gobs. 

I couldn't believe how much the water had changed since I was there last. Not only was it back to it's normal colour but it had dropped considerably and the water felt cold when mixing the groundbait. A quick measure, yeap it has dropped a considerable amount from 16 to just over 10 now.

I alternated between worms and maggots and the bigger fish were just not showing at all. The sensitive float picking up any indications from the minnows in quite a visible fashion.

The dace and chub for that matter just didn't seem to be in the swim. The problem was with my cerfew time (Wife going to Yoga) getting ever nearer I was hoping with the light now starting to fade, that the bigger fish needed to show up sooner than later.

And one did, you see the float slowly drifted from right to left and eventually dripped an inch so I decided to strike. Then all hell breaks lose because the fish on feeling the hooks bolted off downstream as a rate of knots with me trying to restrain its initial run. After turning it, oddly headed towards me and then turned and did another powerful run where this time the trout launched clear of the water, where the next bend of the rod it came off !!! 👿

I've mentioned before I've hooked and lost decent trout down here and this was another one of those. I've caught them to 2lb here but the more elusive bigger fish are easily twice that. 

2lb River Alne Trout - Warwickshire

So this was another one to add to the big trout lost tally (story of my life !!). And sadly that was that, you see after making carnage in the swim and with the light almost gone nothing else showed up apart from the pesky minnows again. 

After packing up and the rather lacklustre walk through the field back to the car all over a sudden to my left a noise in the thick grass where an otter was disturbed legged it past me straight in to the drink where at one point it was probably only 8-10 foot away. 

A decent sized one as well, hopefully the same one I saw the other day, however that one was more inquisitive where after popping its head up beside some lily pads, it proceeded to swim towards me and eventually went back under the water and made its way upstream. 

The Tiny River Alne - Death Bridges and Deambulatory

 A rather later start than expected this morning, but with rubbish sleep the night before I woke up at 7.00am rather than my norm which is usually an hour before that. With the recent rain the Alne had risen to over 2 meters in height which would mean it would be teetering over the banks in places, however the Alne drops like a stone so it would be perfectly fishable for this 3 hour session.

Usually when it's coloured the Alne fishes far better than when its clear and especially with some ectra water on. One big problem though with a frost overnight and the daytime temperatures plummeting would the fish be up for a feed ?

It was certainly a rather pleasant morning when making my way through the sodden grass through to the first swim. When the sun rose above the trees thankfully it warmed up a bit because it was rather cold initially I must admit. 

'Jacks' peg was the first port of call for the groundbait feeder approach where bread and lobworms were going to be used as bait secured to a size 12 hook. Usually fish are on the baits straight away but it took an age to get the first sign that there were fish in the swim.

Use maggots in this swim minnows can be a nightmare, however what I didn't expect was after loads of tiny rattles on the tip an unfortunate imposter decided that it wanted to get in on the act. My PB dace of 12 ounces came from this swim however after an hour or so fishing alternating the baits I only had one proper pull and that was it.

So there was only thing for it and that was negotiate the bridge of death to get to the other side of the river where usually the fishing is more productive. 

Again an hour fishing not even a single tap in this swim, the fish just didn't seem to be there or, up for a feed, hmmmmm...So I decided to dump the chair back in the car and get on the rove where after another 4 or 5 swims I was scratching my heads.

Still what a lovely morning though and it's not all about the fishing now is it. Once the sun was glaring down it lifted my spirits even though the fish were not up for playing ball.

In the end I decided to finish the last half an hour in the same swim where I started where after one proper pull on the lobworm, the recast brought another bite within 5 minutes where this time I connect in to a fish.

I initially thought it was another decent dace but it went mad when it broke the surface where a small trout revealed itself. Damn it !!, not what I was after but at least it was a blank saver.

Not even one of the vibrant coloured ones that reside here either, a washed out one that could do with some sun like I was enjoying. That was my lot sadly where I'm sure the drop in water temperature would kill the sport. 

Hopefully with some more settled condition the fish will get accustomed to their new environment and get back to feeding and getting back on the munch. On a positive note at least we now have some colour in the water, that's most welcome I must admit.