A strange week for me. Lots of fishing, but only because my work rota has more holes than a packet of polos. Better than moping around at home I guess- but no less than three sessions in a row have been dissappointingly slow-come-useless.
Ok, so I sometimes aim for a big result and you have to accept that sometimes blanks are a fact of life. Earlier in the week, big commercial fishery perch proved elusive, whilst two shots at the Taunton to Bridgewater canal have been surprisingly quiet too. Its amazing how in fishing a stretch of water can be so productive one session, so utterly dead the next- confounding our best laid plans. Perhaps in all honesty I have failed to follow up my initial success on the canal, which is admittedly a part time haunt for the odd spur if the moment trip. I have yet to beat the fifteen pounder taken on my first ever visit almost two years ago. Sensible types would probably be elsewhere, but I have a thing about canals you see; they suit my long legs and restless nature.
So where am I going wrong? I thought I had found the perfect area- a little boat yard, teeming with fodder fish. However, everything from decent sized deadbaits to wobbled roach and even throwing a few lures around have seen nothing break the stalemate. Around two miles adjacent have also been searched, with one jack to boot, not much longer than the lure it took. Plan C this weekend is most definitely the pub. Sometimes you really can try too hard- far better to have a break and return fresher.
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