A spot of fishing?

Back to school...

2012-02-11T17:00:00.001Z

Now then class, take your hands out of your pockets, stop talking, stop chewing, sit up straight and pay attention.
And you boy, see me after the lesson!

Now, who can explain what this simple equation amounts to; properties, components and values?

Come along now, it's simple stuff and I've been through it all before.

No takers...?
Not even a guess...?

Well I must say, I'm very disappointed.

Very well then, the answer is I am doing too much damn work and nowhere near enough fishing.

Class dismissed!

Tobacco & Alcohol

2012-01-22T20:25:00.002Z

And so to Arnfield, a trout fishery in Tinwistle near Glossop.

It was a Friday, a week or so ago and I had spent the morning at work. A couple of appointments had taken me out on the road and what a glorious day it was.
It was what my Father would call, a 'Diamond Morning'. I'm sure you know the kind. The thermometer is saluting the zero mark and there's a frost on the ground. The sky is cloudless and the winter sun is blinding and, as it's rays catch frozen water droplets, on trees and grass and hedges, they glisten like diamonds. The illuminated colours always remind me of Roy's vain battle.

Anyway, I returned to work and declared I was off fishing and, since there were no strong objections, I got the hell out asap.

A shortish drive up the M60 and right towards Glossop and yours truly was soon removing the shirt and tie and donning more suitable attire for a quick afternoon stint.

Now, I have of course read the negative reports about this place and each to their own, and all that. For my part, I always equate the costs of fishing with tobacco and alcohol.

Back in the 70's & 80's my father loved a smoke and loved a drink. He's 80 now and lost some pace, but back then he was a big man with fingers like banana's.

Anyway he'd smoke around 80 or 90 Benson & Hedges cigarettes, every day. After work and an evening meal, he'd settle down with his pipe and stuff it full of St. Bruno rough cut. (It's not and advert, it's just the names are burned into my memory). Around about nine, he'd fancy a snifter and usually sank half a bottle of decent whiskey.
Funny thing, I've never seen my dad drunk. He was just one of those guys that 'could take it'. He loved his smokes and he loved his drinks and he loved his wife and he loved his kids. And, we had a fabulous childhood and I'm a lucky boy!
Anyway, guess what - I don't smoke but I won't say no to three or four fingers of irish. My point though, is how much does it cost to buy 80 or 90 cigarettes - every day - and how much for a few bottles of whiskey every week? Answer, a lot. So, you pays your money and you takes your choice and it might be fags and it might be whiskey and it might be fishing. And if you like all three - well what the hell.
Whatever makes you happy, is kind of my point.

So a few quid spent on a stolen afternoon, enjoying beautiful scenery and chasing some trout is worth every damn penny! But, like I said, each to their own.

I met the owner, Steve, a lovely guy running a commercial operation and I'm all for that. He's even built a lodge where you can buy tackle, get a decent coffee and buy hot snacks. There's even a loo, for the more sophisticated amongst us.

Conditions weren't the best and I'm not that good but take a look around. And the air and the scenes are worth the entrance fee alone.

A few hours later and I was at one with everything (no, not the joke about the hot dog guy and the buddhist). As a bonus, there was a fish in the net. Not huge, about 2Ibs, which is average for me.

A great day a great spot and another great memory. Cheers!

Favourite Rod

2012-01-19T20:28:00.001Z

Most of us are hopeless addicts, I know I am, you are too, if you're honest. It's why you're here...old sausage.

Late 60's and I was around 6 or 7 and Dad bought me one of those dirt cheap rod and reel sets from Woolworth's. You remember the kind. They were tied to a length of cardboard carrying a 'fishy scene' and covered in plastic.

I remember the day it brought a glistening Perch to the bank and as it lay at my feet, I knew it's true meaning. That for the rest of my life I would be the one that was hooked.

I grew and so did my passion and my collection of rods and tackle and memories.

Work and life come along for all of us and there is no escape, but a kind of freedom can always be re-visited when we go fishing. A few hours stolen by a favourite stretch of water takes us all back to the carefree joys of childhood. From child-to-man-to-child, no matter how seriously we play the game.

I got a rod from my mother (god bless her) when I was fifteen. I've got it still and it means so much more than just glass, metal and cork. Just to glance at it takes me back 35 years to that birthday treat and the fishing it's gifted me along the years. It's my favourite rod and I know now that her passion fed mine.

Here's me, at work and in the workshop, rod in hand.

It's old and scratched and marked and yet it still carries it's makers legends.

'The Carp Master'

You'll note the cork handle and metal reel sleeves - like a real rod should.

I love our time together - fellow bloggers - I share your joy and your despair (and we really should treat those two imposters just the same, for isn't it the fishing we love). I read your blogs with equal delight and the internet brings us all to together, from Manchester, to Oxford to Boulder and all the way round again.

So, now it's time to show your rods and share more stories. And go fishing...

Got an itch....

2012-01-06T01:35:00.000Z

60-odd mile an hour winds kept me awake last night. Sometime around 2 am I got itchy to go fishing again, it's been too long. May step out tomorrow....

Old News

2011-08-08T21:44:00.001+01:00

Not been out lately, too much work!

Anyway, found myself looking through one my old photo albums (pre-blog). Thought I may as well upload some of the old photies to me blog. Apologies for poor quality and the glare.

When I'm a really old git, and I can no longer go fishing, I can at least remind myself of happy days gone by. Bit maudlin maybe, but isn't it true of all our blogs, boys & girls?

Early days and it's about 1983. It was a lovely summers day and I'd chucked out a worm, ledgered with an arseley bomb, into the middle of Lymm Dam. I fixed the line into one of the new bite alarms and settled back with my second rod, catching flirters.

Hot sunshine on my face helped me to drift off with thoughts of getting to know Kate Bush a little better etc. etc.

A strange noise woke me from my slumbers as a running fish triggered my bite alarm and the biggest fish ever was soon on the bank.

(These days of course this carp would be scoffed at by a three year old).

My mate Clive drove home to get a camera to take this shot (cheers Clive). We borrowed some scales from a bloke further up the bank and we reckoned the carp weighed around 16lbs.

What a fish!

Second trip to Ireland, back in the 1990's. I took the trusty Shogun van, two mates and a trailer full of gear to Co. Cavan to have a crack at the bream. The two mates, Clive and erm...whatsisname, had been several times before and were itching to get back and fill their boots.

I gave it a go and, for about a day and a half found it interesting and fun but come on, just how many times can you pull in a slimey fat bream? Some can, of course, and go year after year and if that's your bag (chortle) then fair enough, each to their own, and all that.

Third day in found us at Garradice lake. A beautiful place in the middle of nowhere.

I was sick of the sight of bream and couldn't face another day of it. But, thank god, I'd thrown in an old spinning rod at the last moment.

It was my get out of jail free card! I left my two chums to sack loads of more bream and wandered up the bank with me rod and a rapala.

First cast and I was in to this little beauty. Small by some standards, but what a scrap on a light rod.

By the way, one of the cars further up the track belonged to an old guy who'd taken his wife on holiday for the week. The week had long gone and she'd buggered off home leaving him to his fishing. He seemed very happy!

Another little powerhouse jack. Small pike on a light rod can be great fun on a sunny summers day. Come to that, they can be great fun on any kind of day, really. Took this blighter from a small mere just through Knutsford.

Another fine day and another fine jack joins me on the bank. A little bigger and beautifully marked. It was soon back, terrorizing the smaller fish.

A new chapter began when I joined master piker, Alan Ferguson aboard his tiny boat Pugwash. I think Alan took me along as ballast.

With me onboard there was about an inch and a half of draft and just enough room left for half a pork pie.

Anyway, soaked to the skin and with no feeling left - anywhere, I'm chuffed to bits to have landed this jack after a trolling session on the mighty Windermere.

(I've still got that hat!)

Back on dry land and this time it's a winter pike from the Bridgewater canal.

This one weighed in at around 16Ibs and was a welcome catch on a cold, cold November day. It took a dead bait, fished about 20 feet down the bank and only a few inches out.

I remember this one took the bait in a flash. One second the float was there, the next it had just disappeared. I struck and the fish sailed out to the middle of the cut putting a nice bend in the old rod.

That belly looks like it's full of roach and skimmers!

(Mine's full of Guinness).

Yipee! Back on Windermere and Fergie has got himself a new boat. It flew!

This was well before the present day speed limits.

This boat was purpose built for a serious pike fisher - and I quite liked it too.

It's 2002 and I'm back on Windermere and it's a cold day in March.

A short cast out into a new swim and I'm waiting for a bite. A dead sea-bait float fished hard on the bottom was enough to tempt this chubby 19lbs beauty.

Funny, but it didn't seem so cold after that!

Things really warmed up for me later that morning when the float sailed away and I was into this 'monster'. My best ever pike (so far) at 24lbs. I was always a bit rubbish at holding pike - as you can see. But, even so - 24lbs!

This is the same fish taking a little while to sort herself out.

I spent a bit of time easing her forwards and backwards pushing the water through her gills so she could get her 'breath back'.

Soon enough though, I felt a surge though her body and with a flip of her powerful tail, she nosedived down to the murky depths.

A few weeks later - Easter 2002, and this time we've headed north to Loch Ken.

Yet another beautiful spot to fish, live, eat, breathe etc. etc.

We had some great fun boating loads of pike on lures and dead baits.

One morning we were quietly motoring along, and a chuffing great sea eagle zooms over our shoulders and plucks an unwary trout from the top.

Also, pound for pound, the pike in Lock Ken gave me the best scraps, of any pike, on any of the few waters I've fished.

Later the same year and it's back to the Emerald Isle.

But this time I'm not chasing smelly bream. Oh no! It's off to Loch Derg for the 'pikin'.

These Irish Pike were long and lean and fiesty fighters. This one tipped the scales at 17lbs.

By now I was getting afloat quite often and Fergie had told me to buy a floatation suit. This was the only one the shop had in stock and I was fishing the next day!!

Anyway, the helicopter would always see me first!

January 2003 and this time it's Coniston. A beautiful lake with fabulous scenery.

This scene isn't bad either. Another fine pike and this one tipped the scales at just 21lbs.

It was chuffing freezing.

Sometimes, I'm still cold from that day!

By contrast, this is just a couple of months later, in March 2003 - and the weather's heating up.

So am I after boating this very angry 21lbs pike. This one fought all the way to the boat, it put up a fight in the boat, and it took off like a bat out of hell when I slid her back. Blimey!

My red letter day!

Earlier that morning I had cast out a dead sea-bait and settled back to wait for a cruising and hungry pike. The float sailed away and, after a spirited fight on a new 10ft boat rod, I netted this fabulous 4lbs Ferox.

Although this photo, of a photo, is pretty poor, you can just see the hook on the lower jaw.

I've caught bigger fish, but this is one that always stays with me.

Hope I've not bored you all, with my trip down my own memory lane.

Tight lines!

Best Catch.

2011-05-30T10:05:00.000+01:00

My legions of followers (joke) will have been dismayed and perplexed by my lack of postings over recent weeks.

My excuse - I got married to the wonderful Angela and have been somewhat distracted.

But fear not, gentle reader, I plan to return to the river.....at some point.

3 in 1

2011-03-30T20:31:00.000+01:00

And so, instead of my usual griping about no time for fishing, I can now report a glut - 3 days fishing in just one week!

TUESDAY.

Firstly, I received an invitation to join an 'exclusive' (I use the term advisedly) syndicate of anglers that fish the famous river Dove. Believe me, I was more surprised than you. Anyway, I bit their arm off to more or less the shoulder.

Aware of my long list of limitations, I booked an afternoon with JT to give me some expert advice on this hallowed water. Despite it all, I still managed to catch sod all!

The water was gin clear and some of the fish I saw that day were monsters, but then other eyes have seen real leviathans.

JT managed three fish without even trying and, believe it or not, that was enough for me. The end of the day saw us climbing the hill to the Izaak Walton hotel and a welcome pint of Guinness in a snug bar surrounded by stuffed fish, deep leather chairs a large fireplace and a happy and attentive barman - paradise found.

THURSDAY.

I arrive at work and the sky is cloudless and blue and the early morning sun warms the soul. My brother, Steve, and I both have the same idea - shut the shop and enjoy the day. Soon I am waist deep in a shaded pool of the river Goyt. A far greater talent has shown me a great technique - double nymphing. One on top to catch the eye and one below to make a meal. It works, even for me, and soon I've brought a few small wild brown trout to the net.

The Goyt reminds me of my bedtime mug of drinking chocolate (with a large drop of Bushmills) as I read of Capt. Burnaby's, adventures through Asia Minor, but it doesn't seem to matter with a trout on the line.

I walk upstream to discover a new 'technique'. An old wreck of a guy is casting his fly to the far bank and I stand and watch without him seeing. His hand reaches into his battered coat pocket and he fetches out a fistful of maggots. He sows them across his swim and then casts in again. I say hello and he spins on his heel caught off-guard, he struggles for a word and so I leave him and move along. No more fish come to my nymphs and now the school kids are about and a dog swims by, chasing a stick thrown into my swim. Time for tea.

SATURDAY.

Ayesha, she who must be obeyed, sniffs the air and declares it's time for another shopping expedition to the living hell known as boundary mills. Rather than reach for my trusty Beretta (over and under) I recall Colne water. All is not lost and I suddenly develop a huge desire to head to Colne.

A few hours later and I drop Ayesha at the gateways to hell, a bit of kissey-kissey and she is away. Impervious and immune she disappears into the melee. I on the other hand come out in a rash, foam at the mouth and bite anyone too close at the mention of a shopping-trip. Strangely enough I quite enjoy a shopping trip to a fishing tackle shop, don't ask me why.

Minutes later and I am on the banks of Colne water, a delightful stream, small river, call it what you will. It's mainly ankle to knee deep and so I follow the masters advice and opt for the Duo - a dry fly on top and a nymph below.

As Ayesha heads up the aisles I head upstream and several fish fall to the nymph. Along with rocks, trees and sunken twigs but what the hell!

The day ends with around half a dozen small brown trout caught and released. My best 'shopping-trip' yet!

3 days fishing in one week, that's my kind of record.

Cheers and tight lines!

ps. I'll post pics when I can.

Attention All Bloggers

2011-03-18T19:26:00.001Z

Like many others, I found the post below on Mike Duddy's excellent Blog, Manchester Fishing Fiend. I have copied his post to my blog and would ask you to do the same.

Hi everyone,

Will you please take a look at the following link,

http://www.ourrivers.org.uk/

Please complete the letter to Richard Benyon, the minister in charge of Defra and tell him what you think. It takes less than 5 minutes to complete.

If you have a blog, would you also copy and paste this and post it on your blog.

Thanks

Mike

Preaching to the converted.

2011-03-05T17:18:00.000Z

I made it to the river Goyt, last Tuesday. I fished most of the day with little luck, mainly due to my lack of knowledge of this branch of our beloved pastime.

A few dog walkers and joggers were my only companions, until two American boys stopped for a chat. Suited and booted they looked an incongruous site on the muddy banks.

They asked if I could be sure I was going to heaven. They were kind enough to point out that if I joined them, and their fellow Mormon's, I would be given a free pass... I declined their offers and pointed out I was already following another path. They went on their way looking for more to convert.

I had some trouble with my new, finer, Stroft line. Being more used to the 6Ibs Maxima I normally use for reservoir fishing, I found the new stuff difficult and fiddly to tie knots in. More practice required.

The two American boys returned and one of them was kind enough to take the shot of me in the river. I wished them well and they were away.

I continued upstream and found myself waist deep in the clear water and under a tree. All the cares of everyday life and work had dissolved.

A tug on the line and I was into a fish, it held itself against the flow of the river and for a moment wouldn't move. Then it was up on the surface, jumping and flirting around. My barbless hook held, until I caught my rod in the tree above and the line went slack. My Grayling sank from sight. A schoolboy error, but, if you will pardon the pun, I am hooked and will return.

Rain & Ecologists stopped play...

2011-02-06T17:04:00.000Z

Thought I'd give the Mersey a go this weekend. Recent posts have been encouraging. Plus, there's a stretch of the Mersey down the road and across a field from my house.

The rain came on Friday and got steadily worse overnight. What the hell, I went anyway.

Didn't manage to wet a line as the water had risen a good 6 foot. My picture doesn't give justice to the flow, but it was almost fast enough to appear on Top Gear!

One me way home I stopped at Chorlton Water Park. Maybe a Pike or two would be tempted by a juicy lure on a wet Saturday afternoon.

Helpfully though, someone had posted 'No Fishing' signs everywhere.

A chat in the Wardens hut and I discovered the local 'ecologists' had imposed a closed season from December until April.

I gave up and did the weekly shop with Ayesha. I'm sure a trout in the freezer aisle gave me a wink...

Anyway, on a brighter note I've just bought myself a new centre-pin reel. Never used one before, just fancied trotting a worm down the Mersey.

The reel is marked with the name Marco Cortesi and it cost about £40. Some may say it's a pile of rubbish but I'll be happy enough if it gives me a season or two. Most online comments were generally positive.

Any thoughts?

A Job for Dad!

2011-01-08T12:04:00.000Z

It's horrible outside so I sat down to read my Christmas present to myself, Trout from Small Streams by Dave Hughes.

He talks about keeping all your gear at hand so you never find yourself missing that vital piece of tackle at the river, stream or lake etc.

It made me think how most of us just chuck rods, bags, tackle and wellies etc in the back of the motor and head off to the water with all our gear rattling around. I was sat doodling away when I came up with the idea of a small wooden cabinet to store all my fishing gear in the back of the car. I could keep a selection of gear in the motor at all times - just in case.

3 narrow top drawers to store fly & spinning rods - all in their cordura rod tubes, nets, reels, lines, tackle etc. etc. etc. 3 larger drawers to store waders, boots & jackets. Plus dry gear like socks, thermals, jumpers etc.

My Dad, Roy, has been addicted to woodwork all his life. He made a spokeshave aged around 14, and he's still at it now - he's 80 next month. If you feel so inclined, you can read some of his musings here. Anyway, I think this is cabinet might become his latest woodworking project.

I'll keep you posted...

Flies of fancy

2011-01-05T20:49:00.000Z

So, happy new year to my tiny band of followers. I hope we all enjoy a fruitful 2011.

Anyway, here is my starter for ten, the flies that will lead me in a new direction during the coming season. I hope to see more of my new friends the Grayling and the Brown Trout, and I hope to find myself more on the riverbank and a bit less anywhere else - especially work.

I will share all of my triumphs and disasters with you - you have been warned!

A new direction...

2010-11-03T17:37:00.000Z

Work (what the chuff else) has once again kept me from the water. Managed two trips since my last post, shameful really. One trip to Lymm Dam saw me tease a 10lbs (ish) Pike from the depths. The next saw me blank, and get soaked.

Like others, I've been keeping a close eye on the posts from our mutual friend , Mike Duddy. His superb Blog, Manchester Fishing Fiend is a must read, especially for the 'urban' fisherman or woman. Anyway, his tales of pulling Brown Trout from local rivers that not so very long ago were little more than open sewers or chemical baths, are inspirational.

I've been tempted to join Mike along the banks of the Irwell, but never quite made it. So, not having much of a clue about river fly fishing I thought I should get some expert tuition.

Cutting a long story short, a little while ago I found myself on the banks of a local river with none other than John Tyzack. An expert in the art of fly fishing, a great guide and generally all-round nice bloke. The only blot in his copy book - he supports City. Ah well, can't have everything.

John took me through everything I needed to know (and more) to get me started - choice of rods, lines, leaders, fly etc. etc. etc. He took his time in explaining how to start to read the river and where I should place myself, and my fly. I lost count of the times he pulled the leaves from my fly or waded into the depths when I got caught up, or got stuck in a tree!

John gave me an awful lot of help and advice, some of which I'm still digesting. Needless to say, I'd recommend his guiding services.

We ended the day with a number of fish, including my first Grayling - about 1lbs (ish). Hooray!

Actually, we really ended the day in the Pub, the best place to end any days fishing. John went over the day with me, gave me even more advice about nymphing for Grayling and left me chomping at the bit to get out there and begin a new chapter in my fishing life.
Cheers John.

Enty after work...

2010-06-17T16:45:00.001+01:00

And so to Enty,
A busy Wednesday at work was good enough reason to head up to Turton for an evening spell.

On arrival the usual hordes of joggers, walkers, and combo's of joggers & walkers with dogs were everywhere. The sh*t situation is getting a bit out of hand with most owners letting their flea-bag pooches relieve themselves all over the show, without even attempting to clear up the foul mess. Even those that do quite often bag it and then shove it into the walls, do they imagine someone will come along and clear it all up?

Anyway, rant over.

A few nights ago, the reporter on Look North said we were in the middle of a drought, she was right. Walking round to the far bank it wasn't hard to see the levels had dropped quite a bit and quite a long stretch of the stones were exposed.

At least it afforded a long space between me and all the dog walkers. Gradually as the evening wore on the all the doggies were taken home to stink out their owners places and a kind of peace was restored.

Almost flat-calm, I decided to try a few of my favourite buzzer patterns - all to no avail, not even a take. A change of plan and out came my current favourite dry-fly pattern. I've no idea what it's called, it came in a bit of a luck dip bag I picked up at a game fair a few years ago. (Answers - please).

Five minutes after tying it on the fly disappeared into a splashing take and a nice pound and a half Rainbow was soon on the bank.

As the sun began to fall the Herons flew home to roost in the trees just behind me. Their chicks kicked off with a terrible screeching din. It didn't put the fish off and soon number two and three were on the bank. Another fish rose about 10 yards out, I cast to it, (not a bad effort for a change) and head and fin appeared as it took my fly. The last of the night was about the best, not far off two pounds.

Time for home, just be careful I don't step in any dog sh**!

2010-06-14T20:32:00.001+01:00

For the last several weeks I've been grounded from fishing activities. We've had a new kitchen fitted and other general building works have kept me away from the waters edge. Finally, the builders have gone and the job is all but finished and Ayesha (she who must be obeyed) informed me a shopping trip to Boundary Mills was on the cards.

Of course, I thought back to my recce to Roughlee Trout Fishery as previously mentioned in this blog.

So, to Boundary Mills in Colne. After dropping Ayesha so she could buy more stuff, I turned the trusty Shogun towards Roughlee, a short ten minutes drive away. Yippee!

Roughlee is only 2.5 acres, but it's the perfect oasis for the fisherman (or should that be fisherperson? Answers on a postcard, please). Terry, who owns and runs the fishery has provided every comfort, including a small lodge complete with coffee and tea making facilities as well as a microwave to heat any food you might bring with you. There are also toilets on-site, which is of course, very convenient.You can only fish from one bank, but there's plenty of room for your back-cast and every few yards there are chairs and benches to take the weight off, again, most convenient.

After a brief chat with Terry I was fishing and there were fish showing everywhere. Ten minutes later Terry shouted over and asked if I'd like a cup of tea, I did, and a few moments later he carried it over to me. Now, I ask you, when did you last visit a fishery where the owner not only made you a cup of tea, but carried it down the bank to you?

I remember years ago (1980's) traveling down the M6 with an old fishing chum for a day on a commercial coarse fishery, something quite new in those days. You bought a ticket and found your peg.

An hour or so later the fishery owner appeared on the far bank riding a quad bike. He stood up and screamed "Get your f****ing tickets out, so I can f****ing see them". It was the weekend, and the place was full of Dads with young sons. It put me off the commercial match type fishery, and I never went back. Call me old fashioned, if you will.

Anyway, pretty soon I was into a nice Rainbow, no monster, but it put in a nice performance and christened my new light fly rod, so I was happy enough.

I got the rod from a site on eBay for £50.00 (including the reel) with the idea of a bit small river fishing, hopefully I'll get round to giving Mike Duddy (he of Manchester Fishing Fiend, fame - a wonderful blog) a call for a few tips on his beloved River Irwell.

He seems like a very knowledgeable type, even though some of his 'friends' say he isn't - plus, I'm not sure about that hat he wears. (Just joking Mike, honest).

Anyway, I reached the 'top-end' and after yet another cup of tea was carried down the bank to me, I took Terry's advice - 'they like a big white dry-fly'. I found such a fly in my box, tied it on and chucked it out. Two fish saw it straight away, one won the race, sucked in my fly and once more a nice Rainbow was on the bank.

All too soon I knew I had to leave, Ayesha would be pushing a trolley full of stuff towards the exit and expecting me to be on the other side. I called it a day for Roughlee and headed back down the bank. Back at the little lodge, I broke down my rod, put away my reel and made myself a brew. I sat down and basked in the sunshine for ten minutes and drank my tea.

The fishing cost £10.00 (a sporting ticket is always my choice). An oasis, indeed. I'll be back, just as soon as Ayesha needs to buy more stuff - thanks Terry.

Enty Delivers

2010-04-09T13:17:00.001+01:00

Entwistle Reservoir

Arrived to find 'Enty' ice free, reasonably mild and just a light wind. What a change from the last few visits.

With no sign of any other anglers I headed up to one of my favourite swims. Nothing was showing on the surface so I plumbed for an intermediate line and a black, gold-headed lure. And, within a few minutes I was into a very lively Rainbow. Safely landed and around 2lbs.

Moving around to the far side I ended the morning with three fish, all returned, I lost a few too. Hopefully, this sees the start of another season and all the snow and ice is behind us!

Pikin on the Cut

2010-04-07T16:07:00.000+01:00

Every morning, as I drive to work, I travel over the Bridgewater Canal in Stretford. This morning I'd thought I'd stop and chuck a few lures around, just to see if I could tempt a Pike or two. No such luck.

A couple of jacks snapped at my lures and I even hooked one for a moment or two, until a leap from the murky (and I do mean murky) depths threw the hook...ah well, there's always tomorrow.

A fox’s nose touches twig...

2010-04-03T19:54:00.000+01:00

So, there I was, watching John Bailey on the Fly on Discovery Channel, happy as Larry. Suddenly, there was a scream from upstairs. Angie (she who must be obeyed) had shouted - Fox!

We live in Chorlton, a busy town not far from Manchester city centre, and here is the much talked about urban fox. He, or she, seems to have set up home just above the shed.

Bold as brass and totally unconcerned about all around.

Blimey, is that Simon King in the foliage, camera at the ready!!

Shopping can be fun....

2010-04-01T20:22:00.000+01:00

Angela (she who must be obeyed) had decided it would be nice to 'spend' an afternoon at Boundary Mills, which for those who may not know is a big shop in Colne.

Obviously, I was chuffed beyond words at the prospect of 3 - 4 hours of elbowing my way through hordes of shoppers.

Anyway, a quick flirt through Google and I found a new prospect, Roughlee Trout Fishery. Leaving Angie to her shopping, I headed off for a bit of a recce. At only 2.5 acres you shouldn't get lost at Roughlee, and you can only fish from one bank, but there is a decent car park.

I had a chat with a local guy, you can just see him - top right, and he said it wasn't a bad little spot and had caught 5 that morning. At the end of the day boys, which would you prefer - a shopping expedition - or an afternoons fishing?

I must get myself a travel fly rod to leave in the boot, any recommendations?

Curley's Saves the Day...kind of

2010-03-31T21:48:00.000+01:00

Ever the optimist, I took another trip to Entwistle, I needn't have bothered.

The snow began to fall as I climbed away from Bolton town centre, great! Then, as the wind picked up it decided to 'fall' horizontally, double great!

Pulling into the car park at 'Enty" the omens weren't good

The walkers, ramblers, dog-walkers etc. were all dressed for the Arctic. Even the dogs were sporting this seasons latest hot numbers, in quilted overcoats.

I only needed a quick look to see 3 foot waves, white horses and not another angler in sight. So, back to the motor for Plan B.

I ended up at Curley's, a commercial trout fishery in Horwich, Bolton.

They have a cafe and a tackle shop on site, lovely. After a quick cup of coffee and a chat with Steve, I bought a ticket and got stuck in, despite the snow and the wind chill.

Anyway, a few hours later I'd had a few missed bites and one Rainbow, around a pound and a half. It was freezing day, and I'd not done much, but, I'll be back!

Fish Supper

2010-03-13T19:59:00.000Z

Friday:

The plan had been to take a day away from work and try to catch a Pike or three from the Irwell. Some of the swims I've seen look very 'Pikey'.

However, it all went pear-shaped and I soon found myself behind the wheel, not en-route to the river, but to work!

When I returned home that evening, Angie (she who must be obeyed) thought she'd have a laugh.

It was fish for tea.

I've confined her to the shed!

The MerseyAll you ever gave me was Scarlet Fever!

2010-03-04T16:59:00.000Z

The picture at the top of my embryonic blog shows the confluence between the River Mersey and the Manchester Ship Canal in Irlam.

(I copied it from Wikipedia, so I hope that takes care of all acknowledgements etc).

Anyway, any lad who grew up near the river and who'd caught the fishing bug back in the 70's used to look at the Mersey and think, if only this was a half decent river what a time we'd have. I'd daydream its deep pools were full of Barbel and the long glides were full of Chub and Trout.

Instead, of course, all it was full of was........ a lethal cocktail of god knows what and usually it had about 3 foot of foam on top. And just to top everything off, it was quite often on fire!

Titter ye not, for it is true.

These days the Mersey has improved and we've all read the reports of growing fish stocks and even Salmon leaping, for god's sake. I wonder though, if I were to cast my lure into these waters, would it be a nice fat Pike that I'd pull from the depths or a trolley from Tesco.

Only one way to find out boys.........

By the way, can anyone tell me how to align the image at the top?

First Day and where are my skates?

2010-03-03T22:15:00.000Z

ENTWISTLE RESERVOIR: Turton, Bolton.

Fly Fishing Venue.

I started fishing Entwistle Reservoir back in the late 70's and early 80's and the 'first day' was always a highlight in my fishing calendar. After some years away, (work, life etc. etc.) I returned to the fold.

Monday the 1st March, and I was up and away to 'Enty', only to arrive at a skating rink. As with so many waters this winter/spring, the whole place was covered in an inch or more of ice!

Anyway, it was the first day, so I setup and headed for the top where a small stream runs into the reservoir, where I hoped I might find some clear water. Up at the top I met the secretary who told me no stocking had taken place yet, not exactly the news I wanted to hear.

I did find some areas where the ice hadn't taken hold and gave them a go for a few hours. And a few hours later, with no sign of a fish and not one pull on my line I called it a day.

I'm looking forward to a bit of milder weather and some ice-free water.