Sun. 18/09/11
Due to a birthday party on the Saturday, it was to be a Sunday session. I arrived at half-past-ten to find an angler in that peg on the weir pool. That would make catching bait a little slower, but, the best thing is I wouldn't be tempted to fish that swim. It's not that I've got anything against fishing a productive swim, I just think by doing so, I miss out on discovering other good spots. Was it Einstein that said the definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results?
A few dace and bleak in the bucket, the angler in that peg packed up. Having no will power, I dropped into that swim, there I remained until it was time to pack up! Dear me, D. Still, my main aim is to catch a PB perch , if (only) I could get that off my back I would be more inclined to explore other spots.
The swim really does scream perch. Not only have I heard rumours of large fish coming out there, it also contains several perchy features. An overhanging willow has created a raft to the left, timber used to reduce erosion is exposed creating good stalking grounds, the river bed drops sharply into 5 feet of water, then slopes down quickly into 10-12 feet and the flow is steady. Most importantly of all, it is stuffed full of bait fish, bleak, dace, roach and small perch.
My float was lowered between the drop-off and exposed timbers, and maggots were regularly fed to create interest in the area. The weather in the afternoon was grey, with the occasional light shower. The wait began.
While the sky was dressed in light cloud, the float was dragged into the depths and the strike met resistance. After a couple of moments of nodding on the rod, the line went slack. Upon retrieval of the rig, the dace hookbait had apparently swiveled around on the hook and masked the hook point. I've had that a couple of times now and it's always dace that do it!
The bait was adjusted and re-cast to the same marginal spot. It wasn't long to wait before the very same happened again - bite, strike, resistance, slack, masked point. I must look into preventing the hookpoint becoming masked.
The sun broke through, the reflection landing right beside my float, making watching it very difficult without sustaining burns to my retinas! At around 5pm I was practically blind, but no matter, my float vanished and the rod arched over upon a very aggressive take. No masked points this time, the fish was on and it was making a bid for the timbers and raft! It felt like the mother of all perch and my heart nigh-on exploded...
Of course, a small but energetic jack pike was netted, unhooked and released. Good fun on perch tackle, but the adrenaline rush was purely because I thought it was the large perch I was after.
No more bites materialised, not even in the dusk period. Maybe the feeding spell in this swim is mid-late afternoon, or maybe I should have moved after catching the pike.
This weekend - 24th/25th - I am not fishing, in order to spend time with my family. Looking out of the window, the sky is wall-to-wall cloud and the air is mild. Perfect conditions for just about everything that swims. Oh well, let's just hope the rumoured early autumn heatwave doesn't arrive....
Best wishes from me, I hope your fishy dreams come true. D.
Sunday 25 September 2011
Sunday 11 September 2011
Lost Above the Weir
Sat. 10/09/11
Determined to begin exploration above the weir, I sat facing a fresh breeze on a muggy Septembers day. To my right was a large bed of bulrushes, jutting out into ten feet of steady water. It had to be the perfect ambush point.
The wind made catching bait tricky, even then, the fish were an unsuitable size, too large for practical perch fishing. Eventually, a handful of three inch dace were collected. Among those was a couple of small-average perch and a ¼lb roach. A jack pike also took a shine to what I presume was a perch, snaffled the hooked fish as I was reeling it in, then sliced through my low diameter hook-length with those teeth.
The club chairman stopped by on his travels, carrying lure gear. He had lost an estimated upper-double / low-twenty pound pike at the net. My sympathy goes out to you, Steve.
My live-bait was put into position, tight against the rushes. As I was getting it in the perfect position, I became aware that there was a heaviness about my rig, directly under the rod-tip. Suddenly, all went slack, and I realised a fish had taken my bait, felt resistance, and let go! Upon retrieval, my hook-bait looked worse for wear, but showing no obvious signs that a toothy predator had grabbed it. In my experience, pike don't let go so easily...
After re-baiting, minutes turned to hours, sunny intervals turned into heavy showers, afternoon turned to evening.
Dusk was upon us, with not a sniff to show, the take on the first cast was to be all I had to go on. As the light failed, the river came alive with fish activity. I noted that the roach/bream were topping mid-river, the small dace were topping one-quarter across and began packing away.
It seems that there are too many potential fish holding features on the stretch to spend a whole session on one spot, especially at this time of the year. A more mobile approach is needed. Or maybe I should stick to the weir for now.
Best wishes and keep searching those deep pools. D.
Determined to begin exploration above the weir, I sat facing a fresh breeze on a muggy Septembers day. To my right was a large bed of bulrushes, jutting out into ten feet of steady water. It had to be the perfect ambush point.
The wind made catching bait tricky, even then, the fish were an unsuitable size, too large for practical perch fishing. Eventually, a handful of three inch dace were collected. Among those was a couple of small-average perch and a ¼lb roach. A jack pike also took a shine to what I presume was a perch, snaffled the hooked fish as I was reeling it in, then sliced through my low diameter hook-length with those teeth.
The club chairman stopped by on his travels, carrying lure gear. He had lost an estimated upper-double / low-twenty pound pike at the net. My sympathy goes out to you, Steve.
My live-bait was put into position, tight against the rushes. As I was getting it in the perfect position, I became aware that there was a heaviness about my rig, directly under the rod-tip. Suddenly, all went slack, and I realised a fish had taken my bait, felt resistance, and let go! Upon retrieval, my hook-bait looked worse for wear, but showing no obvious signs that a toothy predator had grabbed it. In my experience, pike don't let go so easily...
 |
| Bobbing away in the lair |
After re-baiting, minutes turned to hours, sunny intervals turned into heavy showers, afternoon turned to evening.
Dusk was upon us, with not a sniff to show, the take on the first cast was to be all I had to go on. As the light failed, the river came alive with fish activity. I noted that the roach/bream were topping mid-river, the small dace were topping one-quarter across and began packing away.
It seems that there are too many potential fish holding features on the stretch to spend a whole session on one spot, especially at this time of the year. A more mobile approach is needed. Or maybe I should stick to the weir for now.
Best wishes and keep searching those deep pools. D.
Sunday 4 September 2011
A Step in the Stripy Direction
Sat. 3/09/11
After the previous sessions success, my enthusiasm was on full tilt for more perch fishing. The forecast looked spot on, with a breezy yet largely overcast day predicted on Saturday. So it was, that I found myself on the weir pool again, fishing for bait. I didn't fancy the arduous task of tracking down the monsters above the weir yet, more confidence in my approach was needed.
Isn't it always the way, that you can never catch the perfect sized lives? They are always too small or two large. I was looking for silvers in the 4-5inch bracket, but I eventually had to compromise and kept a couple smaller and a couple larger, of dace and bleak.
The facing wind made proceedings a little less smooth, but eventually I had a bleak fishing near the drop-off. The procedure of feeding red maggots enticed a group of average sized perch to feed, but they were far less interested in my hookbait this time around. In addition, the bait fish managed to slip the hook from their top lip on more than one occasion, the risk of using a barbless hook. As such, it took six hours to get any real interest from a perch.
With steady feeding, I had encouraged a sizable shoal of bleak and dace to take residence on the crease, so confident were they that maggots would be nailed immediately they hit the water. The group of small perch seemed reluctant to rise as high as the silvers, who must have been constantly at the surface. I decided to fish my bait a little deeper, and lowered the bleak into the zone where the perch looked most comfortable.
As the sky thickened with leaden cloud, I noticed a couple of better perch - certainly over a pound - prowling along the top of the drop off. They looked well worth catching and they looked interested in something. It was like watching the riverine equivalent of a big cat stalking through the long grass, about to go in for the kill.
My float was yanked below the surface aggressively and the strike met a heavy resistance, punctuated by the knocks and bangs of vicious head-shakes. The fight was surprisingly energetic, putting my through action rod into an exciting curve, as the fish made a bid for the snags to my left. After a spirited battle, the fish was netted safely, the hook falling out of the fishes lip as soon as the line went slack - phew!
A few ounces shy of 2lb, this gorgeous dark perch really made my day.
As dusk approached, I was hopeful of more action, but feel that the fish were more interested in the huge shoal of bait fish, than my hookbait. A last gasp attempt to catch more baits saw perch chasing hooked dace into the margins. Alas, it wasn't to be, my float sailed away on dark, but the strike failed to connect.
Pleased as punch with the days endeavors, I made my way home. I hope your nets are never dry! D.
After the previous sessions success, my enthusiasm was on full tilt for more perch fishing. The forecast looked spot on, with a breezy yet largely overcast day predicted on Saturday. So it was, that I found myself on the weir pool again, fishing for bait. I didn't fancy the arduous task of tracking down the monsters above the weir yet, more confidence in my approach was needed.
Isn't it always the way, that you can never catch the perfect sized lives? They are always too small or two large. I was looking for silvers in the 4-5inch bracket, but I eventually had to compromise and kept a couple smaller and a couple larger, of dace and bleak.
The facing wind made proceedings a little less smooth, but eventually I had a bleak fishing near the drop-off. The procedure of feeding red maggots enticed a group of average sized perch to feed, but they were far less interested in my hookbait this time around. In addition, the bait fish managed to slip the hook from their top lip on more than one occasion, the risk of using a barbless hook. As such, it took six hours to get any real interest from a perch.
With steady feeding, I had encouraged a sizable shoal of bleak and dace to take residence on the crease, so confident were they that maggots would be nailed immediately they hit the water. The group of small perch seemed reluctant to rise as high as the silvers, who must have been constantly at the surface. I decided to fish my bait a little deeper, and lowered the bleak into the zone where the perch looked most comfortable.
As the sky thickened with leaden cloud, I noticed a couple of better perch - certainly over a pound - prowling along the top of the drop off. They looked well worth catching and they looked interested in something. It was like watching the riverine equivalent of a big cat stalking through the long grass, about to go in for the kill.
My float was yanked below the surface aggressively and the strike met a heavy resistance, punctuated by the knocks and bangs of vicious head-shakes. The fight was surprisingly energetic, putting my through action rod into an exciting curve, as the fish made a bid for the snags to my left. After a spirited battle, the fish was netted safely, the hook falling out of the fishes lip as soon as the line went slack - phew!
A few ounces shy of 2lb, this gorgeous dark perch really made my day.
 |
| Exquisite markings |
As dusk approached, I was hopeful of more action, but feel that the fish were more interested in the huge shoal of bait fish, than my hookbait. A last gasp attempt to catch more baits saw perch chasing hooked dace into the margins. Alas, it wasn't to be, my float sailed away on dark, but the strike failed to connect.
Pleased as punch with the days endeavors, I made my way home. I hope your nets are never dry! D.
 |
| A step closer |
Saturday 3 September 2011
The Hunt for Perch Begins
Wed. 31/08/11
Having spent the spring and some of the summer targeting carp, more of that later, I was keen for a change of scene. I had grown weary of the inescapable commercialism of the carp world. Oh, and my luck had run out!
By chance, I saw a couple of episodes of Catching the Impossible on the TV which contained some truly inspiring footage of perch. It was a breath of fresh air to my soul, conjuring thoughts of bullrush lined river banks, disappearing floats and those enigmatic packs of stripy flanked hunters. For several years I had a theory that a local river would be ideal habitat for large perch to reside, it was high time to give it a go.
With broken cloud overhead and the rush of the weir in the air, my float-fished maggots were swung onto the nearside crease, followed hastily by a pinch of loose-feed. The orange tip ambled it's way with the flow for a short distance, then vanished from sight. So it continued until enough bait fish - dace and bleak - had been caught for a few hours fishing.
The hook bait was lowered into the water next to a steep marginal drop off, the float beginning it's drunken dance. Loose-fed maggots were introduced and before long a group of average sized perch were hungrily taking them, competing with the dace and bleak. I decided to hold back the feed, it had done it's job, fish were active in the area.
The shoal of perch turned their attention to my hook bait, visible in the low, clear water. Fascinating! There were half a dozen perch, from 2 to 12 ounces approximately. They proceeded to harry and hound the bleak, chasing and pecking it. Perch are such an interesting species, using various methods to catch their prey. Eventually, one of the larger fish took the bait, I struck but did not connect. This was repeated a couple of times - exciting yet frustrating.
An hour or two passed by, uneventful, when the float sank with purpose. Strike! A fish was on. The fight was typical perch, a quick dash for cover, then the usual nodding and head shakes. The fish went into the landing net without fuss. Not a monster, but a good start at about twelve ounces, the colours vivid in the late summer sunshine, stripes bold and fins red.
For the rest of the afternoon, I decided to explore above the weir, a deep, slow flowing stretch, with steep, weed fringed margins, punctuated with the occasional overhanging willow and small rush bed.
My bait was lowered into a deep, slow bay, tight against bank-side foliage. Some time passed, before the float vanished, but the strike met thin air. I retrieved my rig which was missing a hook - a pike had obviously taken a fancy to my bait, biting through the nylon instantly. I have no doubt the pike will rid itself of my barbless hook with no trouble at all.
Some more spots were explored, but to no avail. I feel this section of river needs a different approach. Either locating the bait fish then building a swim, or a highly mobile approach such as lure fishing to track down the perch. An ambitious undertaking, but the rewards are surely there. Another day perhaps.
Until next time, keep searching; the next bite could be the fish of your dreams. D.
Having spent the spring and some of the summer targeting carp, more of that later, I was keen for a change of scene. I had grown weary of the inescapable commercialism of the carp world. Oh, and my luck had run out!
By chance, I saw a couple of episodes of Catching the Impossible on the TV which contained some truly inspiring footage of perch. It was a breath of fresh air to my soul, conjuring thoughts of bullrush lined river banks, disappearing floats and those enigmatic packs of stripy flanked hunters. For several years I had a theory that a local river would be ideal habitat for large perch to reside, it was high time to give it a go.
With broken cloud overhead and the rush of the weir in the air, my float-fished maggots were swung onto the nearside crease, followed hastily by a pinch of loose-feed. The orange tip ambled it's way with the flow for a short distance, then vanished from sight. So it continued until enough bait fish - dace and bleak - had been caught for a few hours fishing.
The hook bait was lowered into the water next to a steep marginal drop off, the float beginning it's drunken dance. Loose-fed maggots were introduced and before long a group of average sized perch were hungrily taking them, competing with the dace and bleak. I decided to hold back the feed, it had done it's job, fish were active in the area.
The shoal of perch turned their attention to my hook bait, visible in the low, clear water. Fascinating! There were half a dozen perch, from 2 to 12 ounces approximately. They proceeded to harry and hound the bleak, chasing and pecking it. Perch are such an interesting species, using various methods to catch their prey. Eventually, one of the larger fish took the bait, I struck but did not connect. This was repeated a couple of times - exciting yet frustrating.
An hour or two passed by, uneventful, when the float sank with purpose. Strike! A fish was on. The fight was typical perch, a quick dash for cover, then the usual nodding and head shakes. The fish went into the landing net without fuss. Not a monster, but a good start at about twelve ounces, the colours vivid in the late summer sunshine, stripes bold and fins red.
For the rest of the afternoon, I decided to explore above the weir, a deep, slow flowing stretch, with steep, weed fringed margins, punctuated with the occasional overhanging willow and small rush bed.
My bait was lowered into a deep, slow bay, tight against bank-side foliage. Some time passed, before the float vanished, but the strike met thin air. I retrieved my rig which was missing a hook - a pike had obviously taken a fancy to my bait, biting through the nylon instantly. I have no doubt the pike will rid itself of my barbless hook with no trouble at all.
Some more spots were explored, but to no avail. I feel this section of river needs a different approach. Either locating the bait fish then building a swim, or a highly mobile approach such as lure fishing to track down the perch. An ambitious undertaking, but the rewards are surely there. Another day perhaps.
Until next time, keep searching; the next bite could be the fish of your dreams. D.
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