After my mad evening last week pulling my teeth out over the impossible zander up the cut, I had all kinds of subtle (and crude) ideas about how best to tackle this 'funny peculiar' fish. I'd missed half of the runs completely, hooked five fish and only landed three, and that's not very good, is it?
Out of the twelve runs the biggest fish on the bank was a three and half pounder, but out of the total there must have been a bigger fish still, surely?
Keith phoned and arranged to come over Tuesday night for another crack at his five pounder, a fish that is cruelly eluding him! He's had probably twenty fish but just can't get the big one he needs for his fishing challenge. Later he asked if he could bring a mate and then Kev decided to come too, so a zander party was in the offing. Fish would oblige, as they always have seemed to, and one of us was bound to strike lucky and even get a double, perhaps!
Optimism is a great thing in fishing isn't it?
Someone once said that a fishing day was either far better than your wildest dreams, or worse than you ever thought possible, or at least words to that effect.
We camped up at the basin and threw out our baited hooks. Keith had even made up a pair of my patent zander floats, a float that is rapidly catching on, I see, but I suspect mostly because making a set involves you drinking a four pack of guinness for the precious widgets and the wife four cocktails of her choice, for the sticks!
Danny, Keiths mate, came along a little later and after we had settled down I had the first run of the evening. I hooked the fish but it promptly spat the hook. Undeterred I recast to the same spot and five minutes later the float was off again. I hooked this fish and kept it on for twenty seconds before it escaped. It felt quite a good one too...
Of course we thought the fun was about to start and as the light began to fail our optimism rose exponentially. When it was truly dark and no more runs had materialised and I was getting a bit too cold for comfort, I went home to make everyone a cup of tea. Kev arrived in the meantime so I made him one too, took some of Zenas fresh baked chocolate cakes back down to the canal, and we proceeded...
To catch bugger all that is!
And this went on and on and on, move after move after move, until we had leap frogged a mile down the cut to Sutton Stop and beyond where we found a load of moored boats to cast to. Here we fared a little better and at last a fish was on. Keith had had a run and played a two pounder to the bank. Then Danny started getting bites, but only after he had come up with a surprisingly cunning and devious plan...
Then just as we were about to pack up I had my first run in hours, but I fluffed it.
Drat!
These zeds are getting to me !
Tomorrow...
Out of the twelve runs the biggest fish on the bank was a three and half pounder, but out of the total there must have been a bigger fish still, surely?
Keith phoned and arranged to come over Tuesday night for another crack at his five pounder, a fish that is cruelly eluding him! He's had probably twenty fish but just can't get the big one he needs for his fishing challenge. Later he asked if he could bring a mate and then Kev decided to come too, so a zander party was in the offing. Fish would oblige, as they always have seemed to, and one of us was bound to strike lucky and even get a double, perhaps!
Optimism is a great thing in fishing isn't it?
Someone once said that a fishing day was either far better than your wildest dreams, or worse than you ever thought possible, or at least words to that effect.
We camped up at the basin and threw out our baited hooks. Keith had even made up a pair of my patent zander floats, a float that is rapidly catching on, I see, but I suspect mostly because making a set involves you drinking a four pack of guinness for the precious widgets and the wife four cocktails of her choice, for the sticks!
Danny, Keiths mate, came along a little later and after we had settled down I had the first run of the evening. I hooked the fish but it promptly spat the hook. Undeterred I recast to the same spot and five minutes later the float was off again. I hooked this fish and kept it on for twenty seconds before it escaped. It felt quite a good one too...
Of course we thought the fun was about to start and as the light began to fail our optimism rose exponentially. When it was truly dark and no more runs had materialised and I was getting a bit too cold for comfort, I went home to make everyone a cup of tea. Kev arrived in the meantime so I made him one too, took some of Zenas fresh baked chocolate cakes back down to the canal, and we proceeded...
To catch bugger all that is!
And this went on and on and on, move after move after move, until we had leap frogged a mile down the cut to Sutton Stop and beyond where we found a load of moored boats to cast to. Here we fared a little better and at last a fish was on. Keith had had a run and played a two pounder to the bank. Then Danny started getting bites, but only after he had come up with a surprisingly cunning and devious plan...
Then just as we were about to pack up I had my first run in hours, but I fluffed it.
Drat!
These zeds are getting to me !
Tomorrow...
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