COOL PERCH.

      After a long, dry summer levels had been low everywhere until last week when, in true British style, the heavens opened and the rivers burst their banks. My Barbel fishing friends, startled from their slumber, made autumnal hay; while on historically low stillwaters, my dismal performances continued unabated. Something needed to change and it did last night. My pre-dawn foray on the club lake was postponed by the scraping of ice from my windscreen and excessive, late-start traffic. It looked likely to be another grueller. 

     North Easterly winds and low temperatures mean a sheltered swim accessible to whatever sun the elements might muster. My days of fishing into almost any wind are becoming an ever more distant memory. Should I fish the top lake with its greater population of decent Tench, Bream and Crucians? It was tempting but the main lake produced some nice Perch last winter in ferociously cold weather and when the going gets tough, the Perch at least can usually be persuaded to get going so that was my choice made. 

     Maggots come into their own in winter when even the smallest fish is welcome, but ironically as those tiddlers become less enthusiastic they will catch more than their fair share of better ones too. I fished them today on an 18 hook beneath one of my loaded peacock insert wagglers taking just 2 no 8s and 3 no10s. I'm not sure how much difference shotting patterns make to a bang average angler like myself but for what it's worth I used a bulk and two droppers in my 7ft deep swim. All the features on these lakes are close in so I fished just one rod length out and poured myself a coffee.

     It wasn't long before last winter's lessons began coming back to me. Lesson one; a very small cup of coffee will generate at least half a litre of wee that requires unloading the moment the cup is empty. Two; when God created man he made his dick (or at least mine anyway) a good six inches too short to wangle clear of four layers of heavy winter clothing and two zips with any sort of ease or safety. Three; within moments of that precious and unstoppable release commencing, a lady dog walker will invariably come round the corner; and most importantly, Four; and this one is the most important, winter Perch bites on this lake are leisurely affairs and hookholds, fragile. 

     I missed a fair few before I got to grips with them. None were subtle, the float going under and staying there for at least 3 or 4 seconds. Eventually I left them so long that the line was pulling tight and hit every one from that moment on. They came pretty regularly until a Cormorant surfaced by my float and things went quiet for a while. Fifteen minutes later, I took a phone call and then lost the first of five in a row before I started catching again. Any kind of distraction always seems to kill sport for me, rhythms are lost along with concentration and lessons forgotten. By the time I had got back to some kind of normality bites were fewer and farther between but it was still a good morning. By the time I packed at 11.45 I'd had a dozen Perch, several around the pound mark, best a pound and a quarter; not earth shattering but enormously enjoyable all the same.