Time for a fishing interlude?

Just a very quick post, a bit of an update if you will.

During the PAC conference on the 1st of October, I was asked to help with the running of the PAC’s Birmingham regional association… After a plethora of phone calls and e-mails, I actually took over the running of the region as Regional Organiser.

It’s taken many hours of work to get the region back up and running again and plenty of begging (actually everyone has been brilliant) getting a fabulous line of of speakers booked for a winter of talks.

So I’ve been a little busy! of course work can’t suffer as I too have bills to pay and kids to feed. So the only thing that has suffered are sleep and fishing!

However, I have managed the odd short session. landing a few pike to 14.06 and a baby Zander of a guesstimated 3lb. hopefully now that the bulk of the regional work has been done – just fine tuning and promoting to be done now, The region will have to be ran on a simple basis until next year when we can start really pushing things along.
I should be able to get a little more fishing in. And of course I will do my best to keep on top of my diary!

If you’re in Brum, or fancy a night of cheap beer and a good talk why not pop along to one of our meetings. Details can be found at: https://birminghamra1.wordpress.com/

Perch Bobs…

Well the Zander fishing may not be going quite the way I’d planned, though conversations with a few mates all have gone the same way. Nobodies really catching.

What better way to console yourself when the fishings not going to plan, but with some new tackle!

So many thanks to Andy Field at handmadefloats.blogspot.com/

For handmaking these Perch Bobs.

All Good Things…

It’s been a busy month, what with work, kids school holidays and, well life in general. There have been trips to the Mere though, while England was being plundered, I listened on Radio 4. It was quite amusing hearing that some public figure had asked "do you know where your 13 year old is?". Well yes I did, he was a few short feet from me in his sleeping bag hoping for a run…

I was quite taken aback when first introduced to the Mere, it’s a beautiful place, but I’ve fallen out of love with it quite quickly. From a distance it’s perfect but as we get a little closer, it’s perfection is muddied a little. Of twenty platforms only three are really fishable, the others are rotting or have rotted, even the new ones have parts of the old ones broken behind them. The anglers leave no litter, but it’s usual for the bird watchers, or possibly more correctly the folk visiting the pub to wander down to the lake and leave presents behind. And then there’s the weed, of the Canadian pond variety, not a problem in itself but it gets cut at the base by various home fashioned tools. The weed then rises to the surface and drifts around the lake, often choking the few platforms that are usable.

So the Mere is awkward to fish, it is but this isn’t the reason for my change of heart. I’ve fished over the years in some horrible places, the Mere, despite its few faults isn’t horrible. My problem stems purely from fish stocks;

The Mere is fed by a river, it’s a river in its infancy and a good jump would see you reach the opposite bank with still dry feet, but it’s a river that has a reasonable population of Eels (by today’s standards anyway). Experience tells me that the water should be "booted up", it was something that worried me before joining. However having two wilderness years with very limited fishing I took the chance, expecting to catch a few Eels each trip and be able to experiment with a few rig modifications. It hasn’t been like that though and the more time i spend thinking about it the more I believe that’s we have a Mere that’s very out of kilter biomass wise. A good functioning water has a biomass of around ten percent predators, the Mere’s predator biomass appears to be much greater. The Mere contains Bream, Tench, Perch and Pike, plus a few Eels and there’s rumour of a few Roach though even the long term syndicate members aren’t too sure about those! Just a few short years ago the Mere produced a pike of a little over thirty pounds, there were a few back up fish in the twenties of pounds too. However the fish departed over a short span of time, nothing sinister happened big pike tend to be old and old things have a tendency of dying. Now with the demise of the control fish there was an explosion of small pike. What do these Pike eat? Well there is only Perch and Eels. Usually a low Eel stock would equate to a high average weight, but this won’t be the case with waters that have the same problem the Eels haven’t had time to benefit from the lack of competition.

To adjust the biomass back to where it should be needs some intervention,  not with reduction in Pike but maybe an increase of Roach. As some of the Pike increase in size balance will be restored and the Pike will manage their own numbers. But intervention is unlikely, the Mere will restore its own balance eventually, but we can’t wait for that to happen our last Eel session of the year came earlier than usual it also signified the end of our time on the Mere.

Zander will be our target species for the next two months before spending November through until March angling for Pike.

A Lure Fishing Interlude

Best laid plans! They never seem to work out as you intend do they?
I had hoped for a couple of nights on the mere this week but, with daughters sixteenth birthday and other commitments it didn’t work out as I’d hoped.
I did promise Caleb that we’d have a session even if it was just a short one. For a few days it looked like I might be breaking my promise, however as luck would have it a cancelled appointment meant we could manage a few hours, on my last evening off work.

Lure rods and associated tackle hastily slung in the car and we’re off! It didn’t take long before the car’s parked and we’re making our way to the boathouse. The weed is getting worse and most of the forty three acres are virtually unfishable. The problem is more the floating weed that’s drifting across the mere rather than the weed that’s still attached to the mere’s bottom. There were a few platforms almost weed free however, so we made the furthest our first port of call.

Despite producing a thirty a few years ago, the mere now suffers an explosion of small Pike. There is the odd double but for the most part the Pike are very small in the one to four pound class. With this being the case I expected to catch, though didn’t expect anything of any size.

Caleb was the first to connect, nothing new here, he’s very proficient with the lure, where as I get board very easily, particularly if there’s not a realistic chance of a double. I enjoy the moment of the take, I really don’t think that can be bettered, but I’m just not “into” lure fishing. Half an hour of casting and I’ve had enough – usually. Caleb’s Pike went around two pounds, he was pleased, as he aways is size isn’t that relevant to him at the moment.. catching however is.

Sleep, or rather the lack of it was beginning to tell, so under the warm sun I curled up on the unhooking mat and closed my eyes for a while, while Caleb cast various lures relentlessly. I must have slept for the better part of an hour, I knew we didn’t have much time left before we’d need to start the journey home. So I came up with a little plan.

The boat is only eight feet in length, really too small for fishing seriously from. But oaky for a little lure fishing. Tucking the bags beneath the bench seat, we pushed off from the platform slowly moving out towards the weed. just short of the weed the boat was set to drift. Caleb opted to stick with a small mepps spinner, hoping to connect with one of the mere’s larger Perch, I a small storm crankbait. I’m sure it has a name, but I never really take much notice of lure names but at around 4 inches in length and Perch in pattern it would do.

Cast after cast yielded nothing, until after perhaps thirty minutes when a sharp pull signalled a take to my rod. In keeping with expectations a Pike slightly bigger than Caleb’s quickly came to the side of the boat, where it was equally quickly unhooked and released. Shortly after Caleb managed a smaller Pike to his mepps. It’s a little worrying that there are so many very small Pike, I’ve noticed that waters that produce big Pike often produce big fish again some years down the line, but with this explosion of jacks it could take many years before the Mere produces something “special” once again.

Not to be out done, I catch another even smaller Pike which hit’s the lure very quickly after the retrieve is started. It weighs maybe a single pound, it’s small but perfectly formed, and released to grow a little bigger!

The sun sets slowly behind the far bank trees, it’s time to moor the boat and head home. Caleb is pleased, catching is enough. I’m beginning to think that the mere is not what I’m looking for, do we stick out for another season or begin the search for another water? Some thought is needed.

A Welcome Nuisance

I’ll be glad when I don’t have to travel on Friday afternoon’s!

Thankfully this will be my last Friday journey for awhile, my work pattern and the kids impending school summer holidays mean I will be moving towards fishing mid week again. Something I much prefer to weekends.

After last week’s farce of a journey I decide that it may be a better idea to travel on the eastern side of the M6 and head towards Stafford via the outskirts of Cannock. I’d like to leave early, but have to pick Caleb up from school first. The quick trip home so he can change out of his uniform goes unhindered, which thankfully is true of the whole trip and only an hour later having stopped off briefly to refuel and buy a few bits for the weekends fishing, we arrive back at the mere.

The forecast isn’t great, and for once it appears that the good people at the met office have got it right. We’re a little more organised this weekend, I always find that after a few sessions things fall into place nicely and it becomes quite a simple operation to ferry gear to the swim and set up reasonably efficiently. One thing that hampers things is rain, now I’m not that bothered by rain when I’m fishing but I hate it with a passion when trying to set up, and worse still pack up. We managed to get the bivvy up just in time but despite waiting and waiting for the rain to ease the rest of the set up had to be carried out while getting increasingly wet. Looking on the bright side a nice hot cup of tea when you’re done soon makes you forget the inconvenience of the wet stuff.

The overcast conditions and south westerly wind where all good signs for a productive weekend, however the full moon put a bit of a dampener on the otherwise positive conditions. On the subject of moon phases, I’m not sure about it all. Checking through my records most of my Eels have been caught around the new moon phase, but many Eel anglers swear by the full moon phase… indeed Barry McConnell’s 9.02 (see www.zandavan.co.uk) was caught during a full moon. Whatever the case may be with moon phases, air pressure etc, it matters not. My fishing is decided by two factors, Work and the Wife.

Red dead maggots, two pints all in the margins, a pint to the right a pint to the left, and five rods fished over them, baits are simply double lobworms. A killer for Eels on the right night. Rigs: I use two rigs both very simple, I may modify them occasionally but essentially they’re just two rigs. The John Sidley Eel rig (the JS Rig) and the Colin Dyson Rig (the CD Rig). I’ll go into more details in a later contribution, but for tonight all rods are on a simple JS rig, with the baits positioned on the lake bed. Indication is something a little bit special. Barry McConnell’s Rollover Indicators.

One of Barry's Rollover Indicators.

Designed and produced by Barry and field tested by members of the National Anguilla Club, they’re an excellent indicator for those that feel they must manage the resistance in their set up better. You can almost eliminate resistance, when set up correctly. The work by balancing on the line with a weight on the rear counterbalancing a number of ball bearings in the front of the indicator. When a fish takes they lift from the line rolling over out of the way and allowing the line to run freely from an open bail arm. I’ve used them exclusively for a number of years now, and wouldn’t be without them.

Baits cast and that imperative item of gear on… the kettle, and finally the rain stops. As it happens it’s a brief interlude, but I sit looking out of the bivvy at the rods waiting, with some expectation of a take at any second. Midnight finally comes around, and passes, as does one o’clock, two o’clock and three. The promise of a run disintegrates, and by four o’clock with the sky beginning to lighten I climb into the sleeping bag. I concede defeat.

Sleep is short lived however as odd bleeps begin to emit from Caleb’s alarms. Short twitchy runs as something small grabs hold of a worm and swims off, only to drop the worm a second later. This is to continue for some hours. I think myself lucky that my rods aren’t being pestered by what must be small Perch, and watch as Caleb becomes increasingly frustrated that none of the runs develop.

I manage to sleep for a few minutes at a time before one of the alarm sounds again. Caleb is sat permanently by the side of his rods trying to hit twitches. It’s not working however, and unless something substantial picks up his worm baits it’s unlikely to start working anytime soon. The maggots have drawn in the Perch shoals, masses of small Perch peck away at the worms the slightly larger ones are able to grab hold and run for a few feet at least in their attempt to take this large meal out of harms reach.

Yet again I’m woken by the sound of an alarm, it’s a little different this time.  the alarm has more purpose to it. It’s a steady, almost rhythmic sound, rather than the short bursts of inconsistent bleeps. And what’s more it’s the sound of one of my alarms. A swing of the legs and two steps and I have the rod in my hands. I’m using braid so no real need to strike so I simply lift the rod, and a connection is made. This is no Eel, the zig-zaging is replaced by some headshaking and lots of changes in direction as the yet unseen fish attempts to regain its freedom. And then she comes into view, the greens and yellows of her flanks are visible yet subdued by the water, but her black stripes give her identity away. She is a Perch and not an insubstantial one either.

My rods aren’t as powerful as some use for Eel fishing but at two and a half pounds test curve, they are more than adequate for dealing with the largest of Perch. Coupled with fifty pound power pro, it’s game over before it’s started. The only real hope the Perch has of avoiding a brief trip to the bank is a hook pull, but it wishes remain un-granted and within just a brief moment she’s in the folds of the landing net. My best Perch, caught many years ago is three pounds, six ounces. She’s not going to be that big, but whatever the weight she is impressive, as are all big Perch. I think it was Dick Walker who stated that the Perch was the biggest of fish, and he knew what he was talking about! Scales readied, and she’s placed into the weigh sling, I’m silently hoping she goes to three, but it’s not to be as the scales settle fractionally over two pounds and fourteen ounces.  A few quick photo’s and she’s slipped back to control the hoards of Perch fry that inhabit the lake.

2lb 14oz Perch, The biggest of fishes.

I really should had rebaited and tried to catch another, but didn’t. instead I decided to return at a later date armed with more suitable tackle. Bacon beckoned, and then sleep. Caleb continued to try for a big Perch his frustration replaced by excitement at seeing the biggest Perch of his life. It wasn’t to be however, as the light values changed and the sun rose higher in the sky the Perch moved on. The bleeps stopped and his worms where left unmolested.

The rain had stopped, finally. The boards of the platform dried and generally the weather became more pleasant. Chilli for supper again, I really ought try something else from the selection of meals ordered from look what I’ve found, but the chilli’s good and Caleb had decided that was going in the food bag for the weekend.

Finished up, cleaned the plates with a foam anti bacterial cleanser – what is this fishing lark coming to? I can remember spending nights on the bank with little more than pot noodle! Tidied the bivvy, it’s imperative to be as organised as possible when fishing from stages. Mess just creates havoc, and either the fishing or the fish suffer when you struggle to find items, and recast the rods.

There’s something special about the recast just before the sun finally escapes your view when fishing for Eels. Some waters will produce Eels before dark, though these tend to be waters that have either no Pike, or very few. Waters where the Eel is the apex predator, and they have little to fear apart from maybe the black death or the otter. This cannot be said of the mere, there are many Pike present. I’m surprised that we haven’t caught any Pike yet, in the past I’ve caught many Pike on lobworms. Particularly when fishing them suspended on a CD rig. I like to sit next to the rods for at least an hour or two into dark, then if no runs occur I’ll retire to the bivvy and lie for a while on top of the sleeping bag. My bivvy doors are never close, and the zip on the sleeping bag remains unzipped. I remember talking to a Carp angler, on another water talking the walk of shame back to the car following a blank night. He retold the story of a big carp he’d lost during the night after he could not extract himself from his bag after the zip had become stuck. He’d managed to pull the bag from his bed chair and attempt a bizarre sack race to his rods, but alas while he felt the pull of the carp for a brief moment, the carp escaped the hook and the Carp angler added an unnecessary blank to his long tally.

By midnight I’d rejoined Caleb in the bivvy, boiled the kettle for the last brew of the night and sat watching the rods from the edge of the bedchair. There had not been a sound since the locals had departed the pub, more than an hour ago. Isn’t it always the case that just as you have given up hope and start to think of the next trip that you’re senses are jump started by the wail of the alarms? I looked up from the cooling mug of tea and noticed the rollover flipping backwards with the familiar sound of the bearings rolling down the hollow alloy tubing. I started towards the rods, part thinking it was a line bite, but the fox alarm and it’s continuous bleeping suggested otherwise. I lifted the rod still with the bail arm open and felt for any movement. Sure enough a slight tug was felt, and the hook was set.

Interestingly this rod had not been placed in the margins like the previous night, it had been the only rod that had been cast out to a mark left by the Bream anglers at around sixty yards. I half expected to find a Bream on the other end. But the jagging pulls on the other end of the line told me that this was the target species. It wasn’t the huge Eel the Mere promised, and I half expected to not need the landing net. The fight was uncharacteristic of the Eel, I essentially just wound it in. There was a brief fight just before Caleb expertly slipped the net beneath it. The Eel was indeed small,  in the two pound bracket, perhaps but certainly no more. Trace unclipped and the Eel was placed in a sack to allow it time to rid itself of the hook, and of course to prevent it from spreading unsafe messages to its brethren.

Despite renewed expectation, no more Eels where caught. The rain reappeared during the dreaded packing away of equipment and row back across the Mere. Though before the rowing, which much like the fight of an Eel was a zigzag affair! The Eel was weighed, and as expected she came in at one pound fourteen ounces. A beautiful narrow headed feeder of the mere’s crustaceans carefully released to the enchanting waters of the mere. Does she contain the monster of six pounds plus that I dream of? Who knows. But we shall return shortly to renew our quest to find out.

 

A Steady Platform…

Thanks to a jack-knifed articulated lorry on the M6, the 40 minute drive to Staffordshire took a little longer, two hours longer to be exact. I took the decision to drive up through Wolverhampton rather than deal with the chaos of Cannock (actually Cannock may offer quick passage now that the highways people have dug up the old roads and re-laid new ones).Wolverhampton was a mistake, for miles I sat behind various cars, vans, buses waiting for opportunity to find second gear. Occasionally it would come, but all too briefly, I would return to first gear. I wasn’t until the final turn off the main road and “Stafford 9 miles” appeared at the roundabout. That I managed to work through the gear box on the old Skoda. Soon the roads calmed and the scenery began to change from its semi, to proper rural state. The roads narrowed, became twisted and then as we negotiated the last bend there where the cross roads.

At 43 acres the mere is large but by no means the largest of the north west meres, she sits at the crossroads opposite the pub. She’s been there for the past ten thousand years born of the retreating ice at the end of the last ice-age. The pub… well maybe one hundred odd years. I indicate right at the crossroads not that there’s anything around to witness my intention. Just a few yards after my venture right, I come to a halt. You can just make out the faint reflection of the mere’s surface through the thick trees. A none angler would miss her driving by, however an angler would know she was there, maybe because of the tell tale signs of reeds through the tree’s. the stream running under the road from the corner of the mere. Or maybe the angler just hears her beckoning?

I’m mindful of the threatening rain clouds above, how long have I got before the air becomes wet by millions of droplets? And more to the point how long have I got to sort tackle before I get a soaking, we have spare clothes but not many and I’d rather not use them within the first hour of a two night session.
Within minutes the boat is unlocked and dragged to the bank, she’s carrying a little water from earlier downpours so needs emptying. At only eight foot long carrying the mountain of gear to one of the platforms set out in the reeds is going to take more than one trip. It’s quiet amusing that I’ve cut back my gear for this reason. The trips back and forth with my usual kit does not bear thinking about! Bivvy first, it’ll be easier and quicker to erect the bivvy on an empty platform and should we not beat the impending rain (which is looking less likely by the second) we have somewhere to stash the gear out of the rain while we prepare ourselves for the weekend ahead.

I can’t row, no idea why but whenever I’ve had the misfortune of rowing, the boat steadfastly refuses to travel in a straight line. So we zigzag across the mere in the most ungraceful manner possible, but finally the first trip is complete. The BIC 252 is tethered to the side of the platform and quickly almost robotically such is the amount of times we’ve performed this task before, the bivvy is erected. The only difference between this erection is the tethering, fishing from a wooden platform rules out the use of pegs, instead these are substituted for cup hooks, they take a little longer to secure than a bivvy peg but they do the job admirably.

Bivvy up and the rest of the gear is loaded into the little plastic boat, for the final trip to platform number 9. and this is where the problem started, in my enthusiasm to get all the gear into the bivvy soonest, I over loaded the boat! thankfully only by volume rather than weight, but such was my overloading that I could only move my oars eighteen or so inches. It made for a long tiring and slightly embarrassed row!

Bivvy up, rods out and the rain starts. Not too heavy at first and there where breaks, but the rods baited with lobworm and cast a little in front of the reeds, where still. And so they remained all night the rain returned for the last time at 04:00, I sat in the bivvy door smoking a cigarette, drinking a nice warm cup of tea staring at the mere. Sometimes catching can be just a small part of fishing and when the quarry are Eels catching is usually a very small part.

Caleb woke as I cooked bacon on our small camp stove, the Perch had moved into our swim and he was having some fun with the whip catching Perch after Perch to around six ounces. He’s serious about his fishing too, but it’s not all about catching big fish. He’s as happy snatching gudgeon on the canal as he is attempting to catch that elusive big Pike in the depths of winter. His enthusiasm seems endless, though I wait for other distractions to take his mind elsewhere. Though at the moment I’m just thankful of the time we spend together in the pursuit of fish of whatever the species.

There’s nothing quite like a bacon roll, cooked and eaten out in the open. Simplicity itself, but quite delicious…

I used to worry about boredom while Eel fishing, not during the night but during the day, though I’ve never suffered it. My son would argue that it’s hard to be bored while asleep, and I will confess to doing my fair share during the day light hours. Of course working nights sleeping during the day isn’t much of a problem, but I excuse my laziness, while the sun is high by staying awake for much of the night. Even while tucked inside a sleeping bag, I rarely do more than a snooze. Waiting ever expectant for the sound of an alarm alerting me to the Eels interest.

I managed a few hours sleep, but I wanted to check out the village. It’s always handy to know what’s available locally, especially a I have a habit of forgetting things. Usually it’s just minor items like milk! So at a little after midday Caleb and I made our way back across the mere to the boat house. It’s only a 5 minute drive into the village, and after quick walk around and the purchase of cakes (I’ve a very sweet tooth) and we’re back in the car and heading mereward. We hadn’t had the mere to ourselves last night there were three other anglers all fishing for the meres outsized Bream and Tench. Two had, had a successful nights angling with three eleven pound plus Bream caught. On arrival back at the mere Mick, captor of two of those bin lids was loading his van. It was the first time I’d had opportunity to speak to one of the other syndicate members, and we spoke at length about various angling related topics. But there was one important thing I had to do before rowing back to the platform.

The mere, sits on the North side of the cross roads, to the south sits a few houses and a pub. Now I can’t be bothered with larger, the odd glass when the weather is warm is fine but I much prefer a nice pint of real ale. I’m no big drinker but it would be wrong of me, to not make a visit (purely for experimental purposes) to the pub and sample one of their ales… and this we duly did. By now the rain had long gone replaced by a blazing sun which warmed us, nicely as we sat enjoying a pint (okay it was just a coke for Caleb, but he is just thirteen). Just one, I won’t drink much when fishing and rarely overdo it even when drinking socially. As I drained the dregs the lake beckoned, and it wasn’t long before we were back in the boat and heading back across the mere once again.

Saturday night, and we’ve now the lake to ourselves. We bait the margins with more dead maggots, something which is well known for drawing Eels into the swim. It hadn’t worked last night but fingers crossed the little red grubs would do the trick tonight and bring the Eels into contact with our lobworm hookbaits.
It was the perfect night, I’m done with living off rubbish food while session fishing and fortunately came across some product from look what we found. A decent order went in some days ago to stock up for the summer nights Eeling. With the sun falling from the sky leaving a slight redness to the few clouds as it does so, I sit on the platform with a steaming plate of Fellside Beef Chilli Con Carne. Sometimes things just feel right. And this was one of those occasions.

We had to wait quite a while for that first take, and when it came at a little after midnight it was to one of Caleb’s rods. I’d like to write about an epic fight before a huge Eel was netted. Unfortunately there wasn’t much of a fight to write of, and then just a few seconds later I slipped the net under a small but perfectly formed Eel of a one and a quarter pounds. Due to the proximity of the Eels vital organs to their mouth parts we don’t bother unhooking unless the Eel is hooked in the lip, this Eel had taken the hook right into its mouth. Not necessarily deeply, but removal would have caused unnecessary faff. So as is our standard practice we placed the Eel into a carp sack, pulled the draw cord and tied a simple over hand knot in the top – Eels are well known for escaping from sacks!

Rod back out and we wait for the next take, confident that it won’t be long in it’s coming. After an hour or two the confidence slowly erodes but hope is never lost, misplaced often but never lost. Tonight however it’s just one Eel that puts in an appearance. Before packing away all our paraphernalia we pull the sack from the water and as usual the trace complete with its size 6 barbless hook is sat awaiting recovery from the bottom. The Eel is gently return to the water hopefully to grow on a little before returning via the stream that leaves the mere to its spawning grounds in the Sargasso, to mate and compete it’s most fascinating circle of life. And with these thoughts and those of bigger Eels we leave the mere till next week when we will back to commence our game of chance.