Mooching on the Monty

I approached the ridiculously steep hump backed bridge very cautiously, which was just as well, as I had about two inches clearance on either side of the van and a fraction of that underneath. Oh well, the hazards of of having a big old lump of a camper.

I pulled in to a lovely little campsite on the banks of the Montgomery canal which was surprisingly deserted.

Very little boat traffic here and on the stretch five minutes walk away, absolutely none, as that bit is classed as unnavigable. The difference between the two bits is amazing.

The unnavigable bit full of reeds, lillies and generally overgrown and the adjoining part is well, like a canal. As you might expect.

You can guess where most of the fish are.

No signs that anyone had been fishing this part so in the evening I chose four swims and put in plenty of seed, corn and mash . Putting bait in overnight is always a strange one, will the fish clear it up and then bog off elsewhere before you arrive in the morning ?

In my experience this doesn't normally happen, they seem to linger around hoping for more or are after any remaining morsels.

About six ish the next morning first drop in and the float shot off. Foul hooked bream. Then another. I changed to the lift method, purely to avoid false bites. If the float lays flat something MUST have lifted the shot. It does work.

With that adjustment I started catching bream, not what I wanted but a bit of action.

After a while I let the hooked fish plough about the swim hoping it would scare the others and give my intended target, tench, a chance to get on the bait. Strangely enough this seemed to work, about twenty  minutes after the bream vanished the float laid flat and my first Monty tench was boring around the swim leading me a merry dance. A litlun but in immaculate condition.

As an aside, Field Marshall Montgomery splits opinion amongst military historians. Many feel he was far too cautious, too defensive, not gung ho enough.

Others think he was a meticulous planner and took the well being and lives of his troops very seriously. Which is probably why is men liked him.

Everyone seems to agree he was an insufferable, egotistical little twerp.

What has this got to do with fishing ?

Anyway, I was well chuffed as I always am when you go somewhere new and get what you wanted.

I love this type of fishing, little pressure, space to rove about, using a bit of  observation to work out where the fish will be. Working it out for yourself.

Putting a bit of bait in an hour or so before fishing really does improve your chances. Often you get a bite first chuck as the fish are settled and feeding.

I had several more tench and far too many bream before heading back to the camper for cheese, cheese, cheese and a damn fine glass of Fitou.

The ( not so ) Grand Tour

Posh Victorians used to do "The Grand Tour", checking out Europe's top cultural cities like Paris, Rome, Madrid and Florence.

I'm doing something similar at the moment, a tour of English canals in a 25 year old camper that stinks of fish, farts, cheese and  clothes that should have been washed days ago. Anyway, I'd rather catch a few fish than check out Michelangelo's David.

First stop the good old GUC. I love this section of the canal, you just don't know what's going to turn up. I fished for a couple of days and as usual was tempted to stay longer, the campsite is the dooh daahs too and right by the canal. In addition to being a stone's throw from the water, it's got the best worm heap in the midlands and fresh eggs. I'm a man of simple pleasures as you may have guessed.

I had a nice tench of 4lb, some clonking hybrids to 2lb 4oz, two silver bream over a pound, best 1lb 5oz, lots of decent perch, plus the usual rudd and bream. Not a single roach. Spawning perhaps ?

I wouldn't say it's an easy stretch of water but at the moment it's about my favourite.

As I say, I was tempted to stay on a few days but for once I showed that old fashioned British discipline, the bulldog spirit that made this country great, blah blah blah ( refer to the Daily Mail for more of the same ) Anyway,  I upped sticks, gritted my teeth and headed the van north westwards towards the Welsh borders, next destination the Montgomery canal.

Stay tuned for the next thrilling instalment.

A Mullet on the Mudflats

I've been walking past the mullet mark every day for weeks. They're strange fish, most mornings you won't see a single fish at the moment but come back later in the day and it's loaded with them.

I dug out my fly gear, a nice five weight brook rod, an old Intrepid Rim Fly and a NEW fly line....."mill end" of course.

When I arrived they were there, sitting on the shallows with their tails out. Lovely.

Bit rusty on the casting, I drifted the fly over them in maybe eight inches of water. After a while I had a take, the fish simultaneously jumping as I struck. Missed, damn it. 

Encouraged I carried on and ten minutes later I hooked into a nice fish. It bored around doggedly until I beached it on the mud, a clean looking fish around 3lb.

I really don't buy this "British bonefish" tag that they've been given. They go well and offer unrelenting resistance, to my mind similar to barbel but very few of the fish I've had have torn off on long runs. That's not a complaint, just an observation.

They disappeared shortly afterwards and I walked home with the smug glow you get on such occasions. Or I do anyway. Well chuffed.

Pioneering

We've just been for a trip way upriver for bass and roker. When I say upriver I mean upriver, I was expecting to find Colonel Kurtz holed up along the banks of the Colne.

The spot is a place where years ago as kids we caught huge amounts of eels and flounders at this time of year.

You rarely see either at this spot now but it is a good place for bass. Usually.

The deal was I'd dig the lug and supply the squid-herring and Cocksy would drive.

After sweating my gonads off digging bait he said he wasn't picking me up as the venue would add ten minutes to his journey. Poor show eh ?

Anyway, we got there a bit late, joined by a non fishing mate who had the first bite. With the rod on the way into the briney he pulled into and landed a nice skate of 6 or 7lb.

Cocksy's turn next with a litlun, then I had one half decent one.

Made a change fishing for them with 9 foot spinning rods and braid 😆

No bass though...

Absolutely no pull in the tide.

Beautiful calm evening with a nightingale singing non stop behind us and munty's calling on the distance. 

We had several more skate and good old whiting before heading home, with Cocksy having a small schoolie.

Are eels and flounders in the old days better than skate and bass we have now ? No, give me skate and bass any day.

Cocksy continued into the night when I think he had a few more before being jumped and abused by the bogie man on his long walk back.

A beautiful evening to be out.

Wunderbar

I was on the mudflats digging for worms "early doors". Cocksy needed some ragworm for his upcoming match, so being a fine fellow I helped him out. Obviously I dug some for myself too.

I watched scores, maybe hundreds, of sand martens nesting in the soft, eroding sand cliffs, chirping and twittering as they did so. In the distance I heard a nightingale calling in the thick blackthorn, now in full blossom.

After digging, I headed to Harwich. Much maligned, poor old Harwich. Well, I like it. Old Harwich, around the pier area, has several really good pubs and some excellent restaurants and loads of history.

More than that, Jack's Snax, a mobile breakfast van on the front does a fanfeckintastic monster French stick with whatever you want. And what I wanted was two eggs, two bacon, two sausage, loads of fried onions and brown sauce. Mmm.

I had my light eight food spinning rod, small hooks baited with scraps of rag and lug. Plenty of unwanted dogfish, whiting and dabs but no mini species, which is what I wanted, so I moved to some steps by the posts and pilings. Loads of cover.

I dropped the bait straight down and maybe ten minutes later had an aggressive take which turned out to be a pollack. A very rare catch round these parts and the first I've ever caught locally. Lovely.

Next cast the rod whacked round and was heading seawards until I trapped it with a desperate boot on the rod butt. Turned out to be a keeper sized bass. That'll do nicely.

Next cast a crashing bite which I somehow missed. Then an eel. Then a pout. Then a whiting. Seven species in all and a nice, pleasant unspectacular day.

Wunderbar. 

(Not) Working It Out

More canal fishing.

Yes, I caught some fish. Some decent ones. Had some poor sessions too. At no time did I have any idea what was going on.

You'd catch a few fish, then nothing. Move, another couple. Stay on, build up the swim. Nope, didn't really work.

I ended up pre baiting a couple of swims one evening. The next morning one produced quite well and the other was dead. 

Had some rudd and perch well over a pound, some decent silver bream, lots of skimmers and roach and "we" also had a ruffe ! Decent one too.

In football terms it was a draw, "We're happy with a point Brian".

Thoughts and Reflections

I've just finished working three days a week in north London. I started in late November and it got some cash in over the boring winter months. I was lucky, I made a phone call and started the next day, no contracts, work as much or as little as I like.

It wasn't glamorous. Early starts, long days at the hairy arsed end of the industry. But I got something out of it. I don't mean only money.

I didn't "enjoy" it but at the end of the day I was glad I'd done it, although I was pleased the day had finished. Bit of cut and thrust sales type stuff, banter and a go on a modern fork lift type thing.

It's a funny old business. I spent twenty eight years at the same company. Good times, bad times, poor pay, excellent pay, but often felt like an imposter. What was I, a bloke that couldn't wire a plug, doing in a job as a "Technical Sales Engineer" ?

I was good at the sales, shite at the technical bit.

I stayed there that long because, I suppose, I never believed anyone would pay me to do anything else. Sounds pathetic, but I think that's what happens when you stay in the same place too long.

Anyway, on the day of my 50 th birthday I handed my notice in. No job to go to. I gave up a job that paid over three times as much as I earn now. I was not stressed, just bored.

In the seven plus years since, I've been self employed and done bits and pieces in sales for some old mates, gardening, some house viewings ( I can't bring myself to say estate agency ), taught English to refugees, picked up and driven cars and had a few days labouring.

Something always turns up if you don't mind a bit of hustling. Yeaaahhh boiiiii.

Best thing is that you paddle your own canoe. Nobody allowing you "annual leave" ( sorry Waaaaak) or telling you what to do.

Drawback is not so much money. Not if you spend lots of time not working like me.

Its April now, the camper is packed with food, tackle and bait. Next week on the canal again, then at the end of the month a trip in the south west somewhere. A big European trip being planned too. Who knows, stuff happens, plans change.

No proper work until November hopefully.