A lesson in urban trouting

'A polished car and a screaming siren, pneumatic drill and ripped up concrete...' , Paul Weller's musings of city lifestyle reflect perhaps my own cynicism of the concrete jungles that led me away from the stifling atmosphere of South East England. And yet here I find myself, striding through throngs of busied shoppers, dawdling café dwellers and self-assured businessmen. Perhaps it's paranoia that leads me to see their looks of distaste and surprise as I do my best to keep my head down and slide past. Perhaps it's the fact that I'm wearing full body waders and clutching a 7 foot 3 weight fly rod. 

Okay so I'll come clean, Truro isn't particularly urban by many peoples' standards, yet for one living in simple solitude with more fields than people for neighbors, is seems more than enough for me. But Truro is also home to a delightful pair of little known rivers, made all the better by their juxtaposed location, the Kenwyn and the Allen. After departing from an all too brief meeting with friends, we parted ways: they for London, I for trout. 

I'd just clambered down the wall of the park, stripped a few yards of line from the reel and trotted my go to dirty water nymph in front of my feet, when a finger length brownie kindly came to the hand. The sun was now warm on my back for the first time in several days, and I was feeling the light relief of being free to pursue a small adventure in the outdoors. All of a sudden, I became aware of an angry voice shouting behind. On the bridge over the rolling water was a short haired lady, leaf blower in hand and high vis jacket wrapped ungraciously around her frame. After exchanging some inaudible remarks, I reluctantly climbed back out of the rich water to ask whatever the source of aggravation might be. 

A beautiful miniature trout.

The full conversation will not here be recounted, for though it is quite humorous it feels a tad petty. It apparently was of great concern that someone might be standing in water reaching 2 feet in depth, risking their delicate life in the raging torrent of the gently passing water, inadequately prepared with studded wading boots and full body waders. Being one for trying to involve our communities in valuing the natural riches that we have, for the sake of our own wellbeing and their protection, I did my upmost to explain positively and kindly as to why I was there, and why we really should be seeing more people in the river. And yet this fell onto an individual apparently so stubborn and disagreeable that I recorded her as being an 'unripe plum' in my logbook. Happily knowing that this river was public land and seeing the conversation going nowhere I headed back towards the river, which of course resulted in Miss disagreeable calling the police on me. It's not all bank robberies and knife crime for our law enforces it seems, sometimes one must step up to the mark and remove an unruly catch and release hippy at risk of maybe getting a touch damp and/or chilly should they slip. Rock and roll. 

Wanted: trout terroriser on the loose.

Happily, the police didn't further waste their time, and I continued to make my way up the life-filled water, whilst a certain figure hung around petulantly standing 50 yards away, huffing and occasionally sweeping some leaves. It is an absolute disgrace not only that we are increasingly disconnected with our natural world, but that this attempt to spend an afternoon soaking it in was met with outright irrational conflict. Recent surveys have shown that one in three British adults cannot recognise our perhaps most quintessential tree species, the oak. It doesn't seem all that far-fetched to suggest that this disconnection to the sights, sounds, smells and intricacies of our complex outdoors, and replacement with loud simplification and instant gratification of our LED screen coated modern existence, could go some way to explaining decline in our ability to focus and be fully aware of our situations. Public health hits the news almost daily (when the trifle of Brexit isn't greedily smearing it's way over again) for the tremendously sad rise in mental health illness and obesity in the UK. How can we even begin to break the exploitative cycles of the mod-cons that exploit our latent biases, to have an active and aware wellbeing? Perhaps it is worth considering whether treating our 'Nature deficiency disorder' will go some way towards this, with oases of urban rivers offering real fully immersive encounters with our charismatic British flora and fauna. I for one will be taking this medication, twice if required. 

Anyway, the fishing. The rest of the afternoon rolled pleasantly by, with the yarn indicator consistently stopping, dropping or pulling forwards to reveal a trout taking a liking to the red-tagged jig nymph. Whilst some of the culprits were mere fingerlings as per the first, there were a good handful over the 10-inch mark- a respectable size for this river. One particular pool will sit in my memory for a long time. Shuffling through a tunnel that carries the river under the pavement, I found myself before this pool, perhaps five or six meters long, bracketed on either side by large dominating road bridges. On the left, the river reached no more than 2 and a half feet deep, while the churning back eddies of the righthand side belied a depth that could be guessed at in the muddied water. Up above me mothers chatted hurriedly as they tried to still squirming children in pushchairs, whilst the dull rumble of engines and tires on tarmac hinted at the busy road traffic. But here sandwiched beneath it all was my slice of heaven. 

I was particularly taken by the number of spots on this individual, and it's no surprise that he spotted that nymph!

Short casts were made with the nymph up into the head of the pool, trying this back eddy and that, under a tree branch and then into the shallower rapids. I was happy to complete a trio of wild brownies from the pool with a particularly plump 10.5” individual which gave a merry little dance in the deep water of the pool before sitting proudly in my hand. Not willing to yet give up on the pool I made another cast at the head, watching the indicator struggle in the turbulent water. Though it had worked this far, I wasn’t quite happy with this set up- in the quick flowing river it felt that even a heavy nymph would struggle to reach bottom with the added hinderance of the indicator. Yarn removed, I cast again at the same spot- making sure to keep slack to a minimum and stay in touch. Pluck, pluck. I struck- good fish on! Almost immediately this fish rushed to the surface and made a spectacular leap, one that revealed the identity of its performer. I was hesitant to jump to conclusions, but something about the forked tail and silvery flanks seemed to just fit the bill for a sea trout. Without a net and using a barbless hook, the fish was played most gently to avoid a gutting loss, and despite a couple more spirited leaps, it too met the embrace of my palm. I was giddy and trembling a little, my first sea trout- and from a small urban Cornish stream at that! Released back to the depths of the pool, I continued to wander up the river, delighting in each precious twist and turn that it made on its course. 

By no means the biggest one out there, but absolutely brilliant to see! Here's hoping that it makes many return spawning trips over the years. 

There’s a glorious natural world out there to explore, and it doesn’t have to consist of tropical megafauna. Right in the bustle of a small city, a remarkable migrant was seen on its quest to spawn, and its watery home understood just a little bit better.

Ups and downs of Autumn bass fishing

Since my last post I have been out fishing quite a lot, although unfortunately not managed to write anything up. Now that the winter swell and storms have made coastal fishing unsafe and impractical, i'll be trying to catch up on the backlog of unwritten tales.  

The second half of September was pretty good and almost every session yielded some fish, bar that week of awful stormy weather where I didn’t bother to lure fish. 

Sadly, I forgot to give my Sustain any attention after submerging it in a rockpool the day before that storm set in. A week later the winds subsided, and I went out to fish, only to realise at the mark that I could not turn the reel handle- it was totally stuck fast. Some frantic switching of the ant-reverse freed it up and I managed to get it turning, sadly sounding very rough. Didn’t want to send it away for a service as I’d miss out on valuable fishing time in prime season. I did however replace the line roller bearing and carry out some basic maintenance and cleaning so it’s not quite as rough now.

Dan and I managed to get out on a weekend camping trip to the far west, (detailed in his last post) to explore some new ground and hopefully find that elusive 60cm+ I’ve been looking for. We managed around 25 bass over the weekend but nothing bigger than about 52cm. Dan had his first on a soft plastic and a good number on the tailwalk; a tasty looking resin jig that casts like a missile and wobbles like a wounded sandeel on a straight retrieve. Replacing the standard treble with a decoy plugging single managed to convert the hits he was missing, something I'd definitely advise doing to any metal lures when targeting bass. 

I also had a first, in the form of a bass on a freelined live-bait. As there was so much bait in the water, I feel like the bass were so spoiled for choice (countless mackerel/scad/sprats/sandeels/launce everywhere) and weren’t so keen on taking lures. The other issue was that the bait fish would take any lures, I think I managed about 20 mackerel on the 140mm Patchinko in late September. One morning when surrounded by a feeding frenzy of mackerel and sprats, I sent out a mackerel on a circle hook into the fray and was soon rewarded with a nice plump bass! I tried again straight after and had a take, but sadly didn't hook up. It's definitely a technique i'll be experimenting more with in the future. 

We also noticed that there would be two very distinct periods of feeding, one at sunset till 19.30 and the other around dawn till about 8am. In darkness the sea has seemed totally dead in usually productive areas. I'm still wondering why this was the case. Perhaps the mackerel are most active at these times driving bait shoals around, and it’s the most efficient time for the bass to feed? We also came across mackerel driving sprats ashore, so took advantage and collected some to eat- delicious when coated in flour and fried.

Fresh sprats driven ashore by mackerel and bass

The week after our trip the conditions were suitable for one of my favourite stretches of coastline so made the most of them and fished 4 times. Headed off after lectures ended at 4, the sea was calm and could see plenty of signs of life. Lots of gannets both close to shore and far out, the odd seal and a few cormorants harassing sandeel shoals. Things looked promising, and a bass cautiously inspected my patch 100 on the first and second cast. I then cast a savage gear seeker out far to where the cormorants were working, and promptly hooked a schoolie. A couple garfish and launce followed. As the sun was still fairly high in the sky the bass weren’t too active, had a few half-hearted swirls at surface lures but nothing really committing. Once the sun dropped a bit the fish seemed more active and I hooked three small bass in quick succession (taking the tally to 100 bass since coming back to Cornwall in September!) and then a decent wrasse which took a fancy to the savage gear seeker.

A quiet period followed, but as the sun started to set the fish were becoming a lot more active. Most casts would result in either a mackerel/gar/pollack or small bass. Eager to find some bigger fish I opted to move on, to a shallower rougher area. First cast with the patch 100 and I was into a small bass. Next cast a slightly better fish at 45cm. Then another at 48cm. I then took another cast, and realised the lure wasn’t working properly, a small crack that I had previously fixed had reopened so water had flooded the lure. I quickly changed to the big patch in the same colour and cast out. Almost instantaneously a fish swiped at the lure and I instantly knew this wasn’t a schoolie which usually just thrash about on the surface. Would it be the 60cm + bass I’ve been searching for so long for? I managed to guide the fish into a gully and slide it onto the rocks, with some tense last-minute head shaking in the shallows. A beautiful gold flanked bass lay before me. On the ruler it went 57/58 cm, so not quite there but the best I’ve had this year.

So close, a fin-perfect unit of a bass which I hope to catch again next year! 

The light was fading fast now, and from the past weeks experience the fish would switch off once the light faded so hoped to get another cast in. I cast out to a similar spot and was hit again almost instantaneously, with this fish feeling even bigger than the last. I was convinced this would be over 60, but it turned out it was just a very fit mid 50’s fish. I had some more casts into darkness, but it was if a switched had been flicked- nothing was active, not even a small pollack. Very pleased with the session I went home feeling elated, and already planning my return visit.

I think that was possibly the high point of my season, from then it’s all sort of gone downhill. I returned to the area later in the week with a friend and we each caught 6 or so bass up to 52cm in daylight, even having a couple of double hook-ups. Just before sunset when anticipating a bigger fish, I got hit by what I’m sure is the biggest bass I’ve ever connected with. It took a burst of line from the tight set drag as I’m aware how shallow and rough the area is, and that was it. I was cut off above the leader. I have caught a fair few bass but have never been snapped off by one ever, so I was gutted to lose this one and my only large patchinko. I hope the fish managed to shed the lure as it was rigged with barbless hooks.

Double hookup's on surface lures with Robin

With conditions remaining favourable I decided on another trip the following day. Again, I managed to catch 4 bass in daylight, and as the sun started to set put on the patch 100. What followed was incredible, 15 casts with 14 of them resulting in either a mackerel/bass/pollock or garfish taking the lure. I wished that I still had the big patch as it’s a little harder for garfish to take it and gives the bass a bit more of a chance. I cast out for a 16th time, slightly to the right of where the main action had been taking place and saw a few fish swirl near the lure and then suddenly it all went slack! I wound in and found the fluorocarbon leader clean cut- I can only presume a bass swiped with its gill plate and cut the line.

This was a particularly sad moment as this lure was rather special to me. On my first lure fishing trip in Cornwall when I moved here 4 years ago I found this patch 100 in a rockpool. 

It was already a well used lure, with a fair bit of hook rash and the previous owner had replaced the original y-w77’s. I changed the rusty hooks and the next session out I managed to land my first Cornish bass on that particular lure. From then on it has always been my top lure, certainly catching me in excess of 100 fish. It’s been to Tasmania and New Zealand and lured Australian Salmon, hooked small tarpon in Panama and been worked across the great barrier reef. It developed cracks, lost both eyes, but kept holding off buying a replacement. I just hope someone else finds this lure and that it’s just a lucky for them. (A few days I also lost some other lures in an unfortunate accident involving a wave and an open lure box...)

One of the last bass this ledgendary lure caught

Gutted to lose my last surface lure I stuck on a 7.5 inch sluggo on an 8/0 and twitched it back across the surface, which resulted in a 52cm bass and three nice pollack around the 50cm mark. The sun had fully set now and the bass switched off, but the pollack seemed to stick around this evening and I caught a few more, replacing the sluggo for a 6 inch senko.

This week I then went out to explore a new stretch of coast but annoyingly slipped whilst crossing some rockpools and somehow managed to break my rod. Again, I’ve had it 7 years, taken it all over the world and caught countless species with it. I once chipped the insert of a line guide but aside from that it’s always been fine. I guess I just hit a spell of bad luck? I headed off to Wadebridge later that week to browse the selection of rods at The Art Of Fishing and found a suitable replacement so I could continue my quest for the 60+ once the storm passed. 

By this stage it really felt like a quest- every day I would wake up and check the conditions, and find a way to get out in any free time I had. Often i'd prepare my gear to be able to leave just after lectures ended, or head out at dawn to be back on campus for 9am. I felt like I was in a constant state of exhaustion, from lack of sleep and spending up to 9 hours a day out fishing and walking the coast path. Surely I'd come across the big bass soon?

A few days passed since buying the new rod, and set out one evening hoping that the water clarity had improved and swell dropped enough to be fishable since the storm. I had been down at Porthleven that weekend to see the swell smashing into the breakwater and showering the town in spray.. 

I arrived at the spot to find some very lively conditions, lots of white water and thankfully little floating weed. Some sets were huge, meaning I had to fish back about 5 metres from the shore which made things a little tricky. 4 casts into the churning water I had a solid hit, the first bite on the new rod. As i was unfamiliar with how the rod would perform I opted to back off the drag from my usual setting as it felt a little more fragile than my previous rod. This was probably a bad idea as this fish stayed deep and kited to the left, peeling line. Although I knew it wasn't a schoolie I couldn't really judge how big it was, but pretty sure 55cm+. Ended up getting it in close but to the left of me, and as I tried to move to get into a better position to try and land it with the help of a wave the line must have gone slack and I lost the fish. Pretty gutted, I carried on and a couple casts later had a very fat 48cm fish as a consolation. Considering how much easier it was to land this fish, I wonder if the lost one was the 60+ i'm still searching for.. 

The rest of the session was very productive, nothing huge but 13 bass up to 52cm and a modest pollack in under two hours was good fun! Mostly used the westin salty 18g and a white shad on a 12g /16g jighead, but also caught a couple on a new metal I picked up in Wadebridge. Interestingly, as soon as the sun set around 18.45 the action died off completely, as has been the case everywhere I had fished throughout September and October. 

After that action packed session, something changed. I headed out around the 18th October for a dawn session in what i'd call "perfect" conditions for bass fishing, full of confidence. I arrived at the mark before dawn, and as first light approached I started to make some casts. Fully expecting to get hit on my first cast I was surprised that nothing had had a go at the lure. This continued for some time, and I couldn't quite believe it. I should have had about 8 fish by the time I made a move to another spot as the tide was pushing up. In about 4hrs I managed to catch only 2 very small bass, a single garfish and a solitary mackerel, it all felt very strange. 

Since the 19th October I have only caught 4 bass, all of which were smaller than 45cm. I am usually eagerly awaiting November's arrival as I have had some of my most productive sessions at this time of year, I remember the late autumn of 2016 being particularly good. 

Perhaps it's been the relentless storms and cold winds, cooling the inshore waters and forcing the bass to head offshore to find stable temperatures, to allow their eggs to develop before spawning in the spring? Perhaps the baitfish were swept away from the south coast by the notherly and easterly gales? Were there too many garfish denying the bass a look-in at my lures? Were the bass gorging themselves on the abundant squid shoals ? Some even speculated that the bluefin tuna may have been eating the bass..!  It's almost impossible to know which natural  variables caused the bass to vacate the coast so early this year, and i'm pretty sure that they did. I had numerous outings in "perfect" conditions, to just blank time and time again, in places there should have been fish. One thing for sure though, is that despite there being increasing effort to protect bass stocks, irresponsible and illegal commercial fishing still takes place. Although it has recently been banned to use fixed nets to target bass, inshore fishermen still have an "unavoidable by-catch allowance", creating an easily exploitable loophole. As it's impossible to prove someone was deliberately targeting bass, nothing can currently be done about a net being set close to shore, killing migrating, pre-pawning bass, which can then LEGALLY be landed and sold. How is this legislation protecting bass? On many of my trips this autumn, I saw many nets set in areas inhabited by almost exclusively bass, with the odd pollack and wrasse thrown in. It's so disheartening to arrive at the cliff top, full of excitement, and to then look at the water you're about to fish, only to see two markers outlining a net stretched out in-front. I often wonder how many of the 156 bass I had over the past three months will survive till next season. 

I urge you, if you haven't already, to head over to "www.saveourseabass.org" and have a read of their blog, and perhaps send an email to your local MP to put pressure on the decision makers to choose the best possible legislation to ensure our fish stocks have a chance to recover. By removing fixed nets from inshore waters, we not only help conserve bass, but also seatrout, mullet, pollack and a plethora of other species which so often end up as dead bycatch or discards as a result of a the monofilament curtain of a gillnet. 

I imagine I won't be targeting bass again till late spring now, but looking back in my diary shows that there's still good fishing to be had before then for other species. I'm hoping we'll have some opportunities to take the kayak out in february and march, to see if I can finally catch a herring and find Dan his first ray. After Easter, we then have the start of the trout season to look forward to, and the wrasse fishing will start to warm up too. We'll also try to get out before the new year for a river session for pike/perch and chub over in Essex, something I grew up doing but haven't had a chance to go for a few years now.

Looking back, it's been a fantastic year of fishing, with many a great session in the company of  friends, as well as a whole array of new species both at home and abroad. Hopefully 2019 brings more the the same!