Artificial

 Lite

From the water’s edge

August 2014 - Wringing out a result

I hope that you find my journal interesting and entertaining. If, having read this, you think that I am talking rubbish then at least you have stopped and thought about it long enough to come to that conclusion which is something of a result in my book. If you would like to comment on this article or anything else relating to my website, please feel free to contact me using the adjacent form. Feedback is always greatly appreciated and very helpful when it comes to improving both my site and my angling. Thank you for looking.

This is a difficult time of the year and no mistake. I was going to suggest that consistent results are hard to come by in midsummer but that would not be true. Our fishing of late has been very consistent. Consistently hard and consistently unproductive. It’s results that have been hard to come by.

We have caught on every trip, but you would not have been wildly impressed to see how happy three grown men could be scratching tiddlers from beneath a canal bridge like a bunch of eight year olds.

Three gnomes in a row, taking the piss, tweaking a few tiny Zs from a ribbon of liquid sh**e carrying a seemingly endless parade of jolly boaters happy to inform us that the zander have eaten everything and are now presumably breeding prodigiously and thriving on..?  Ummm. Well, you know the story.

We shouldn’t have been here at all, but the once in a hundred year weather events that we get every other week have taken their toll on the river and the canal seemed like a handy saviour. We were all happy to be here again, for half a dozen casts anyway.

As soon as our minds were made up, I knew what the job required. Baitcaster, big baits, crays and shads, some spinners and plugs and in my mind’s eye the net was working overtime. I put the spro back on the shelf and was never better prepared to lay waste. Except....

Except that after two hours all we had to show for our efforts was a couple of small perch that had fallen to Pete’s tiny baits flicked along the margin. This was no good, so we swapped canals and just knew that we couldn’t go wrong. Last time we came here terry had caught the big Z and I was armed to the teeth with everything necessary to make that one look like bait.

I don’t suppose I will ever learn to wait until I get there before deciding what will work best, because the baitcaster turned out to be the wrong reel and the lures, the wrong lures. I needed to go small again.

Another fruitless hour and a blank was coming up the towpath at a rate of knots. The sun came out to emphasise the superfluity of my waterproof coat, tempers frayed, sweat glands were working overtime and it was frankly not that much fun. In the distance, a small, pretty standard, ropey old brick farm-bridge offered potential to dibble out a lifesaver, and I notice that persuading the other two to give it a go wasn’t all that hard.

Shade, deeper, faster water and a handful of takes saved our day as we wrested a handful of minor successes from the jaws of defeat.

Ok so it was difficult. We (ok, I) sweated in heavy clothes while more sensibly clad tourists giggled at us and took the piss but we caught fish. We had stumbled on a nest of little zander and it was good fun provoking them with lure changes and different tactics to get up to ten or so. Only one thing went wrong really. Terry caught on one of Pete’s flies and despite my threats, let on. Now I shall have to pay for it by listening to an endless litany of success stories about the damn things. The tarpon that wadey lost on one, the permit that John had on one, the day they saved Terry’s bacon on a summer’s day in august 2014. Oh and the day I caught my biggest ever chub on one. There is always a price to pay I guess, but I can cope with that. We wrung ten fish from an unlikely day on the canal and had a great time fishing with our mates; now you can’t ask for any more than that can you?

Eventually, the bolt went back on the alehouse door and we retired for a well-earned meal. Pete and I played safe and had the beefburger and chips. Terry went up market and had the belly pork. Pete had most fish, I had biggest fish (just) and Terry had biggest piece of fat I have ever seen on a plate. Good job he never caught it on a lure or he would have had the top weight by a country mile.

artificial lite
Home.

journal 2014.

Previous.

Next.

Home.

journal2015.

journal 2014.

journal 2013.