I set my gear down by a very clear stretch of the River Avon at the start of the winter season, with a five-hour match ahead of me. The week leading up to the competition saw some hard frosts – plummeting the water temperature – setting us up for a pretty tough morning. My initial tactics for the day involved using very little bait, casting all over the swim to find a match-winning bonus fish – switching between a tiny maggot and groundbait feeder with big baits like lob worm and luncheon meat on the hook. Two hours in and I'd not had a single bite... It was now time to completely forget chub, bream, and barbel, and go super light for something a bit smaller. I made up a lighter feeder outfit with a 1oz tip, 3lb mainline, and 1lb 7oz hooklength to a size 20 river hook. With a few old dendrobenas in a pot on my tray, along with some caster and pinkie that I could offer through the maggot feeder, my new goal was to try and find a rogue perch. No sooner had I chucked in on the lighter out

Having started my barbel fishing journey around 15 years ago – when the allure of specimen hunting started to edge out match fishing – I’ve seen many changes in my local Warwickshire Avon. This venue has always been my regular choice when chasing barbel; and while I have never experienced days of 10+ barbel in a session there, I have been lucky enough to enjoy a few days where select stretches have delivered multiple good barbel in a single session, including the odd double-figure specimen. Taking you back over a decade, I targeted barbel for around 15 to 20 sessions a season. Of those sessions (all on the Warwickshire Avon, split between 4 or 5 stretches) I’d expect a couple of red-letter days where I’d catch between 3 and 5 barbel. Just under half the sessions rewarded me with 1 or 2 fish, and the remainder (approximately 50% of sessions) were blanks. While this many blanks does not read well, those days always taught me way more than days where I caught, and certainly heightened the

When frost stiffens the ground and breath hangs white in the air, the hardy angler often turns to roach. Few fish are as obliging in the cold months, and few offer such satisfaction when the world is stripped bare by winter. The pursuit is simple, but its rewards are profound. The classic method is bread punch — tiny white discs of bread presented delicately on fine tackle. A dainty float, dotted with just enough shot to cock it, sits on the icy surface. The angler must watch closely, for the bites are often delicate — a tremor, a hesitation, before the float slides away. In such conditions, even the smallest Rutilus Redfin feels like a triumph. Winter fishing demands stoicism. Fingers grow numb, and banks feel otherworldly when the wind cuts across the water. Yet this starkness sharpens the senses. Every dip of the float feels magnified, every fish a prize wrested from the stillness of the season. There is also a beauty in these cold sessions. Bare trees reflected in glassy water, the

Each September, the Canal & River Trust hosts the UK’s largest fishing event for young people, the National Celebration of Young People & Fishing. The aim of the event is to bring together budding anglers from across the country for a weekend of friendly competition, skill-building, and – most important of all – fun! Unlike other angling events aimed at the younger generation, the ethos is less around winning and more about falling in love with fishing – encouraging young people aged 6 to 20 to enjoy the sport, improve in confidence and technique, and connect with peers. Having fished (and won an individual, and two team) Junior National Chapionships, I remember the buzz and thrill of competing when I was a youngster. Months of practice, trials to make the team, squad strategy, and hundreds of miles driven all around the country (chauffeured by our Mums and Dads) was compulsory if you wanted to stand a chance of winning. As amazing as it was to fish and win National Championships, it a

Coarse fish such as roach, perch, bream, and carp may appear ordinary at first glance, yet their anatomy reveals clever adaptations for survival in Britain’s waterways. One of the most intriguing features is the shape and position of their mouths. Species like chub have forward-facing mouths designed for snatching food drifting in the current, while bottom-feeders such as bream and tench possess downturned, extendable lips, perfectly engineered for sifting through mud and silt in search of worms, larvae, and detritus. Another fascinating aspect is their use of taste buds. Many coarse fish have sensory organs not only inside their mouths but in a multitude of other places on their anatomy. Carp, for instance, can use this superpower to detect flavours in incredibly dilute concentrations, giving them an edge in murky waters where sight is limited. Swim bladders also play a role beyond buoyancy control. In some species, the bladder is connected to the inner ear through tiny bones called t

The fishing rod rest, a seemingly simple yet essential tool in angling, has undergone a fascinating evolution in the UK. In its earliest form, anglers relied on natural features like forked sticks cut from hedgerows or branches, pushed into riverbanks. These rustic solutions were practical and easy to fashion on the spot, but they lacked durability and consistency; the last thing an angler wants is to be spending 20-minutes of valuable fishing time looking for a stick! By the 19th century, with the rise of recreational angling as a pastime, more refined rests began to appear. Crafted from wood or metal, they often had decorative finishes and were sold alongside other fishing tackle in specialist shops. These early commercial designs laid the groundwork for what would become a heavily evolved piece of kit. The mid-20th century saw a shift towards lightweight, portable designs. Aluminium, steel, and plastic components allowed anglers to carry collapsible or screw-in rests that suited bot