Learning the Canal.

Wednesday

My lad was fishing his new syndicate water for the first time. I was not jealous, I had after all, declined a ticket there myself. But, I did envy the journey, the taking on of a couple of lakes and finding the route to success. I have to admit that my days of session fishing and hoisting big carp are behind me. I shun too, the rules of some modern waters. The lake I fished for so long was a syndicate of no more than a dozen anglers, and rules were all common sense. Not being able to cast beyond imaginary bounds, you can use a baitboat here but not there, and especially, only the bailiffs can fish these swims because lost tackle had been found on the bottom. Those snags were removed and - oh yes - the weekly top-up bait for the fish is deposited there. Those 'bailiffs' had a merry old time whilst Burr juior struggled. No, not for me thank you. 

 But I wanted to fish and revisited the Brecon to Monmouthshire canal at Brecon. It was a hurried departure, and a short session. I failed to take any bread or maggots, but instead I finely chopped some Bacon Grill and took a few pellets too. 

Dace were visible on the surface as I walked to my intended area. They seem very much at home despite the lack of flow, but I was after roach, or chub, and maybe the bream that have been in the vicinity. I settled near some overhanging trees, which would hopefully house some better fish. I soon had a bait in the water.

A gusty breeze ran down the canal, giving the impression of a current. I put some free samples into the nearside and confirmed the lack of flow as they dropped the 2-3 feet to the bottom. A few boats, several groups of ducks and the annoying wind all made float fishing uncomfortable. And, I was biteless. I let my float settle under the rod top and had a ponder. It was the perfect place for a pole, but I can't use them anymore.

As I watched the world go by, I fended off numerous inquisitive dogs, each searching for the source of the meaty smell, and chatted with locals and visitors alike. I was quite content until my float shot under and I lifted into nothing. This happened again as I spoke to a lady from Halifax. This time I got to the rod but was quickly broken off at the hooklink by a rapidly departing fish. The lady apologised and blamed herself. I calmed her and admitted to my own inabilities; she left smiling.

Off came the hooklink and I went to 4lb straight through. The next bite was hit and a scrappy little chub landed. Despite a couple more aborted takes, that was all the action. I did though, plan another venture when I would fish right in amongst the foliage. I also noted that the chub seemed to be coming from under my feet where there's an undercut under the concrete wall, my own journey was taking form.

As the season goes, I've had a sort of pb silver bream, a definite pb crucian and now, a pb canal chub. All small beer but I take some comfort that my laid back approach is interesting and keeping me on my toes.

I also caught a duckling. Not a pb as have landed and released many mallards, swans, gulls, moorhens, coots, and a robin. But this little fella wouldn't give up and did its deepest dive at my meat bait and got the hook lodged in the edge of its beak. No harm done.

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Friday

Growing up, canals meant delicate fishing, light gear and usually, small fish. Yes, one could rake a ton of weed and sit it out for tench or bream, but my efforts left me with a solitary fish per trip. I'm happy to swap a netful of tiny roach and rudd for a nice tench, but I never found consistency. Take the Welsh canal for example. I rarely see anybody fishing other than those with lure gear chasing perch. The few that target the silver fish have been, shall we say, low in talent and content with a repetitive and pretty useless approach. 

I knew I could go my own way and I felt the need to return and prove that I could manage a better fish. This time I took a 1lb TC rod, some bread and the remains of the meat.

Instead of fishing 'upstream' of the trees and hoping to draw fish out, I was going to knock on their front door. I tied a size 10 hook to a 4lb line, added a swan shot 15" up the line and was ready. Out went a couple of small balls of blitzed bread and a few chunks of meat. 

First cast landed on the spot in between the overhanging branches. A slight grin of satisfaction sat on my face as I sat back and took up the slack. Soon after, 'Was that a pull?' I leaned forward, felt everything tighten and hooked into a solid weight. It was less than a minute after casting, and a bream twisted and turned, then did a strange thing: it ran and put up a fight. It kicked a lot and I made a bit of a pig's ear of it, but into the net it went.  

Soon after I had recast, I hit a very fast bite, and a running fish came adrift. The chub in here seem to have a trout-like ability to accelerate. I will land a bigger one soon. 

I cast again, but this time with meat on the hook. Another bite, and subsequently I landed an eel of about a pound. It had a huge mouth and was evidently predatory. 

After this frantic start, the swim quietened down. My free offerings close in were again disappearing but I didn't get any bites. I tried down the towpath a bit, hoping for some instant action. Alas, none came.

A point semi-proved, new ideas buzzing around my head, and another brief visit logged. Quite how often I'll be visiting the canal after the rivers open, I do not know. But I have plenty of ideas for the future. I must also add that, as one who shuns contact with most people whilst fishing, especially the non-angling ones, I thoroughly enjoyed chatting with so many lovely folk and sharing a little moment of their lives. This is what I want from my fishing - contentment.

Striking Gold

There's been very little rhythm in my year so far. I'm still not fishing to a plan, or indeed want to, but now, having transport again I can spread my wings. Of course, fishing afar means early starts or expensive overnight lodgings. It's never easy is it? I groaned out of bed, fell into the car and dodged the deer on the lane into town. I met up with Neil who was going to sit it out and fish for carp. I was chasing the crucian carp and meeting up with an old mate, Keith, for a bit of a natter. Dropping into a swim on my favourite bank, the water looked quite calm and fish were showing often. Lot's of small ones, of course, but a few carp jumped, swirled and cruised. Neil was setting up his house in short order. The sun was bright and I sheltered in the shadow of a small tree. I introduced bait close to the sedges on either side of my position and began with blitzed bread and small bits of flake. The rudd responded immediately, taking a few from one side then switching to the other. Both fished similarly, it was almost a bite a chuck and a procession of the little beauties came to hand. Next door Keith was doing likewise but he had a couple of nice roach on prawns. I changed bait. I had half a tin of bacon grill with me, fresh out of the freezer. It looked pretty awful but I chopped it into tiny cubes and put some, along with some tiny pellets, into the swim. It still produced rudd. In fact, leaving the bait in the water almost anywhere, would produce yet another rudd. It must be paved with them As midday approached, so my float stabbed under with no preliminaries, I struck. My light rod hooped over and the jagged fight told me that I had hit my target. It never ceases to amaze me just how hard crucioans fight, and by the time I had this one in the folds of the net, I had a little audience of dog walker behind me. I knew at once that it was my PB. The scales confirmed it at two pounds exactly.

I sat back and relaxed. I had taken a while to break the two pound mark, if sitting on that number is indeed breaking it? This was a fish that had not come easily yet, here I was, casually catching bits and my goal was achieved. Keith hooked and lost a crucian and was not best pleased. He also caught a tree a couple of times, just to see if his hooks worked.

I kept at it. It was much hotter now and I had lost my shade. At about 12.30 I had another unmissable bite and landed a second crucian of 1lb 12oz. I went through the motions, chatted with Keith, went to see the boy, he'd had a couple of doubles. Then, faced the two hour drive around the Midlands to home. It can't be bad can it? Two trips, the first gave me some confirmed silver bream and therefore a low pb, then a pb crucian. For somebody trying to get into the swing of his early season, I'm on a roll. I appologise for the lack of paragraphs in the above text, I've tried but cannot fix it.