The perch fishing that never was (Entry 217)

The majority of this blog was written four months back now. For many reasons I never got to continue with what I had planned out so carefully. With my most recent set back of a lost (or stolen) car wheel, I couldn’t get out fishing last weekend, so I thought I would share the start of the adventure that never was. Back when summer was just about to break. Hey, it’s better than nothing.

Instead of my usual canal haunts, and yes I’m aware that last statement makes me sound quite the dubious character, this year I’m going by a different route on my way to (hopefully) catching some perch. One of stillwaters and managed fisheries. I’m determined to catch one. A big one. But, as we all know what plays out in the small time we are on the bank, can be very different from the daydreams that make up large parts of our day.


I began by fishing a commercial stillwater, one that see’s a fair amount of match activity, and is rumoured to hold perch of silly sizes. They are not prolific in number but they are there. Apparently. I fished, float rod in hand, sleeper rod on rests, presenting prawns in three or four likely looking swims over the course of the day. From dawn until dusk I tried, and I caught plenty of fish, carp, F1’s and loads of barbel. It’s amazing just how crazy fish will go for a prawn, and when bites dried up, a lobworm presented over the marginal shelf picked up some extra carp. Not one perch came to the bank though. Not even fingerlings or palm sized examples. I am repellent to perch. 


The next day saw me at a similar water, less commercial and more managed, with a distinct ‘natural’ feel. I fished as I had the previousday, and from the off I caught fish. Goldfish, small carp, a few late season tench, and even a pound plus rudd. All, again, on floatfished prawn. The ledger rod remained motionless all day. Not one perch came my way. No fingerlings or palm sized examples. Perch near enough detest me it seems. 


I enjoyed catching plenty. I near enough filled my boots over those two days and there was always a chance my next strike would see lunging power feed back through the line as a big perch struggled for freedom. And I guess that happened each time I struck at a bite. They just all began and ended with everything but a striped and bristling adversary. I suppose there’s always next week.


But as it turns out there wasn’t a next week, or the week after that, and so on. That is life, I guess. Encapsulated in a modest little fishing blog. There’s always going to be set backs, dead ends, and stolen car tyres but theres always something good on the horizon.

See you in two weeks, 



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