A Fairham First

I cross Fairham brook, the tiny stream that skirts Clifton estate every day on my way to work. I dont think there are many fish in it, and I'd be even more surprised to catch anything of any size, but as I'd never yet wet a line here I decided to go for a roam and see what I could find. I'd done a recce with the polaroids back in the spring and found a small group of chub along with plenty of minnows but overall less fish than I was expecting. On this occasion the water was fairly clear, yet I saw no sign of any aquatic life for the first couple of miles. Trotting through the slightly deeper water brought no bites and it was well into the afternoon before a movement in the stream caught my eye and I realised I had found some fish.

this 10 yd stretch held a mixed shoal of chublets & dace along with a few roach. As the light was fading fast I moved on after a dozen of so, with a last chance saloon trot on a deeper bend a short way upstream. this yielded another baby chub. Another box ticked at least, taking fish from yet another of the River Trents tributaries, still plenty of virgin water to go at later in the year too

Soar swansong

After ten days of mojitos in the sun in Cuba I was itching to get back on the river bank, I was still looking for some decent roach, and havn't fished for pike yet this winter so I thought  that I would combine the two activities in a brief session that would probably prove to be my last of the year. I had spotted a pike swirl though the slack near the dace swim of a few weeks ago , and though that it might still have something to offer.
Pulling up near Ratcliffe church a couple of cars hinted that I wouldn't have the stretch to myself, though as I neared the stile the sight of two pikers ambling towards me on their way home would confirm my solitude. A brief conversation revealed that they had seen a single pike but caught nothing.
Bites were slow coming at first, a single minnow was the sole reward for the first five minutes, though as I progressively increased the depth I began picking up more takes, chub at first, all quite small, before a tiny roach of less than an inch found the hook (with its belly), and was then followed by a bleak.
I took this as my cue to give the pike rod a go, mounting the bleak on a wire trace with a single size 1 hook on a 2 oz paternoster and fished at the tail end of the swim. Back on the flot rod I continued to catch the occasional chub. Maggots seemed to be the only bait working, casters and bread failed miserably and even with the maggots bites would dry up from time to time, sometimes a change of depth might yield another, and after a lean few minutes a switch to laying on hard on the bottom produced a succession of gudgeon.

The pike rod remained untouched throughout, and a switch of swims as the light faded would produce no further fish. with my freezing toes burning their way through my waders I wandered back to the car and scooted back to the warmth of a centrally heated house - a few hours in the cold is just the thing to make you appreciate creature comforts...

Lugg Grayling

Trekked back to Herefordshire this weekend, I still had 10 or so Wye and Usk passport vouchers, and the office had said that I could send them back for credit to fish one of the booking office beats.  I had invited Phill to join me, our first outing together since the grayling trip back in Feb. With the days so short a long journey seemed like a poor choice, and Phill had heard that the Lugg was in the best form it had been in all season. We therefore plumped for The Bodenham beat, two stretches of the river Lugg in the shadow of Dinmore hill.
 The day was bright and fresh, with a bit of wind which made it feel a few degrees cooler. There had been some rain during the week, but it had barely changed the level of the Lugg. We started off at the downstream end and worked our way up, leapfrogging  as we tried out any likely looking swim. Phill was fishing with maggot feeder and I was trotting maggots or breadflake, generally giving each swim a couple of trots with each bait before moving on. The lower section of the beat is quite a nice water, with variable depth and some good bankside cover, though access isn't that easy and in places I spent as much time untangling the termial tackle from the shrubbery as I did dangling maggots. At one stage, I was using the landing net to coax the float down from the branch it had tangled on, and which was frustratingly beyond the reach of an outstretched hand and tiptoes, Phill leapfrogged past... "If you like... after you've got that down, drop by my peg and I'll show you a thing or two about how to avoid getting tangled in trees!..."
We worked our way upstream without any sign of fish, eveutually reaching the top peg, where a fallen tree pushed the current over to the far side, creating a large back eddy. I liked the look of this spot, in particular a point about 8ft out where the float would sit virtually static, and fancied that the float had dithered a couple of times during the first few minutes. Striking the next imperceptible movement of the float yielded my smallest ever minnow, too tiny to even register on the jewellery scales. It was not fairly hooked though so I cant really count it as a personal worst.

I fished on, striking into thin air on a more definite bite made me begin to suspect that my minnowy nemesis had tracked me across the country, however, the next time the float dipped the strike was met with more solid resistance and a silver flash three feet under got my pulse racing. "Grayling!" I called out  to Phill once I'd got a clear look at the erect dorsal. a minute or two later the fish was in the folds of the net and Phill rattled off a couple of snaps using my phone.

 I had fished the Lugg from time to time during my teenage years but never caught a grayling, yet here I was, on my first trip to the river in over 20 years with a 1lb 3oz lady. To say I was happy is understating it a bit.

We fished on in this spot until about 2pm before returning to the cars and moving half a mile upstream to the upper section. Access to this section was much more difficult due to the steep banks, and there were comparatively few tempting spots to run a float through. If i'm honest we would have been better off sticking to the lower section.  Phill however did a bit better, managing to lose a chub he estimated at about 4lbs which had chased his feeder in before taking the maggot. As the sun set the wind had stopped and it seemed to warm up. I had managed to find the ubiquitous shoal of minnows, Finally Phill came out of the gloaming with a big grin on his face, "caught something then..." I questioned "...if theres no photo it doesn't count"... "Oh i've got a photo alright" he said getting out his phone, getting more interested I turned away from my float to vew the capture...

a minnow, still if he hadnt brough me a pic I'd have insisted forever that he blanked!

The striking fisherman

Well, today was the day of the big strike.... I had a last minute change of heart yeasterday afternoon and decided reluctantly that my students would have to take the hit, and that I would not disrespect my striking colleagues by crossing the picket line. They are of course right... the government has got this one wrong...the public sector have already renegotiated pension benefits downwards, and whichever way you look at it the cost of public sector pensions as a percentage of GDP will be much lower in future than it is today, so upping contributions ( by over £100 per month in my case) while reducing benefits is simply a goverment heist that they think they can get away with.
Anyway this left me with a choice, join the demo or take the opportunity to go fishing. if i went to the demo I just get even more wound up about the injustice of it all, so I decided that relaxing by the river would be best for my general health & wellbeing

Beeping encouragement to the Environment Agency picket at Lady Bay on my way to Matchman Supplies for a pint of maggots, I was soon south of Nottingham and pulled into the carpark near Kegworth top lock at around 1pm.
The long walk to the weir was rewarded by... minnows... once more hundreds of them. Standing knee deep in perfect trotting water the float could only travel a few metres before dipping, as yet another minnow ragged the maggots. I persevered, feeding regularly in the hope that something bigger would push the minnows out, but after 20 mins , and at least 50 minnows, admitted defeat and moved downstream, fishing the slack water alongside the near bank of the island. I took a handful of perch from the first peg, nothing large but still feisty.

Moving downstream the next peg had a shoal of baby chub in residence, I took half a dozen of these before things quietened down, and after ten biteless minutes I moved downstream again.

Next up were a couple of roach, just as I was thinking how segmented all the species were, the pattern broke down, as this swim produced a few small chub, another couple of perch  and some minnows. I found a few more bits from the remaining swims on the island before crossing deep lock and working my way  downstream towards the car park. I caught nothing for the rest of the afternoon, I had a couple of tentative bites about halfway down the section and what I'm fairly certain was a bullhead dropped off as lifted out. It was a reversal of Sundays experience, whereas all the fish were concentrated at the bottom of the section there, here they were concentrated at the top.

The place for dace

A change of river again today, as I headed down the A453 to Ratcliffe on Soar. After parking up by the church I hopped overthe stile and headed upstream towards the weir. I realised upon reaching the Deeps that without the far bank tree cover I would be fishing into a fierce headwind... not conducive to happy trotting. Retreating back to the weir I began running the float though, but after 10 minutes hadn't had a bite so began to work my way downstream. In the next peg I began to pick up the minnows which have plagued my trotting for the last month. The first minnow casualty became a hookbait, and for the rest of the session I alternated trotted maggot with trotted dead minnow in every swim. two hours later I had reached the bottom of the section , the minnow was still untouched and I'd got nothing bigger to show for my efforts.
Finally, in the last peg, fishing a patch of dead water below an overhanging tree the float dipped and a small perch was brought to my hand, this was followed by another and another, then a roach...

There was a large mixed shoal packed in into this slack and I was picking up small chub, perch or roach every minute or so. Every one gave a good account of itself as I had to steer them out into the fast riffle and move them upstream to avoid the branches of the tree.

After a while I tried running the chubber down the far edge of the slack, just running down the crease with the swift main flow and holding back gently. About 10 yards downstream of the tree, and on the first run through, the float dipped, and a succession of dace followed, all taken from the same line, and fighting extremely hard for their size as I brough the upstream against the swift flow. It has taken me a month to find them, and as the sun set and I released the final silvery bar back into the river I spoke my thoughts out loud... "What a great way to end the day..."

Petite Pope

I was on my way to Toton to fish the 'wash again, but had a inexplicable last minute change of heart and hung a left at Beeston, intending to see if the canal roach were shoaled up against the lock. The weren't, and neither of the old boys fishing the canal had had a bite, so I hot footed it over to the river. It was suprisingly busy, I spoke to six other anglers while I roamed, three had caught,  small chub for two of them and three decent chub with the biggest knocking at the doors of five to a guy fishing near the bend, all taken on meat. I found that I was struggling, of course the now obligatory minnows put in an appearance, but I couldn't find any of the roach or dace I had hoped for.
I spent more time walking than fishing, and its possible that some swims might have been woken up with more concerted feeding, but the joy of roving is to go seeking the fish, rather than waiting for them to come to you. After three hours of wandering, and as the last light of the light faded I found myself back below the weir, paddling 50ft from the bank with the maggots in a 4ft deep hole. after a couple of timy perch I was happy to catch this seasons first Ruffe, a tiny one, but at least another species for my season tally. I tossed it on the scales, at 3.9g it would certainly be my smallest weighed of the species... so an achievement of sorts!

Sturdy Stickleback

I returned to the Erewash, this time fishing the stretch from Stanton bridge downstream towards Sandiacre. There is a great looking pool just below the bridge, with my cut down waders I could paddle the shallows and run a float down tight to the far bank, along a great trot to overhanging bushes. Great looking, shame thats once more minnows were the only prize. It was the same story in almost every swim, every now and again a small perch or baby chub would break the minnowy monotony, but more often than not the float would dip withing a second or two of hitting the water, and another minnow would be swung to hand, ready to be shaken free of the size 16 barbless hook. I weighed a few to calibrate my estimates, generally smaller than further upstream, they averaged about 9g, with the best minnow weighing in at 12.6g
I also caught more sticklebacks, including a hefty 3.5g specimen

as I reached the railway bridge at the bottom end of the section a guy on the opposite bank called across to say he'd spotted a "huge" barbel beneath the far bank cover. I wasnt really tackled up to land one, but I made a few casts while he watched, just to be polite really. Once more darkness halted my progress after two and a half hours of maggot drowning. But a personal best (weighed) stickleback seemed like an appropriate reward for surviving the minnow onslaught...