The Midlands Mission: Species Hunting with Jack Perks

 

 The Midlands Mission

Species Hunting with Jack Perks & Leigh Clifton

 

For a few months myself, and the one-and-only 'fish twitcher', Jack Perks, had been planning a species hunting trip in his neck of the woods, Nottingham. Quite frankly, Jack had been overstaying his welcome on several occasions when he'd come to crash at mine in Cornwall; drinking my rum, scoffing our pasties, and ravishing our women—admittedly, I seldom got time off work, so I can only assume this is what went on 9–5. It was Jack's turn this time, and luckily, I was only interested in the fishing! 

The (rather insane) plan was, to catch a 13-hour, overnight coach in mid-Cornwall with 2 changes, after work on Tuesday; I don't drive myself, so this probably screamed desperation to catch a few fish to you, reader... I know, I know; that can't actually be the case—but I assure you it is. We had planned all manner of fishing, so in a successful effort to be compact, and a fruitless one to be prepared: I brought two 8ft, 3lb tc Sonik Xtractor Recon rods, as they pack down to a dwarf 76cm in their sleeves, which also held end tackle, reels, banksticks and alarms. I knew I'd need these rods for some coarse fishing, and I regularly use them for estuary/harbour fishing too. In addition, I brought a 5–25g,  5 piece travel spinning rod, which compacts down to 47cm; it's got a bit of backbone for predator lure fishing, but maintains sensitivity for the micro-fishing. Lastly, I took a tanago rod, as it's perfect for rockpooling! The latter two rods all fit into the third Sonik sleeve, which velcro chain together, and I can carry on my back with a strap. I'd also brought a powerbank with me on my carry-on luggage; this little, country boy, scared of cities larger than Truro, is getting the hang of this travel malarkey.

 Ahead of the journey itself, we needed some structure. Jack suggested the first day (Wednesday) we try for Chub, Bleak, Ide (aka Orfe), and perhaps some of the freshwater mini-species if time allows; Thursday, a coastal trip for Dab, Eelpout, and one of the Rockling species; Friday, Barbel and Zander; Saturday, the enigmatic Prussian Carp; then finally, Sunday, refocus on species I might not have caught the first time around. We thought five species new to me (lifers) would be achievable, so as a little thank you, I brought up a bottle of Red Leg, which we polished off nicely, and some proper Cornish pasties (none of this Ginsters sh*t).

The first coach took me to Plymouth, where I'd wait 2 hours 20 mins before changing onto a long coach to Birmingham (where I caught 3 hours of broken sleep); I'd then wait another 2 hours 20 mins before changing on a coach to Nottingham. I forgot to download The Lord of the Rings Extended, but mustered up enough connection to get through the first season and a half of Norsemen on Netflix. A total of 13 hours travelling later (I think my assicle has fallen asleep), I spot Jack in the car park, and overhear him on the phone (probably to Leigh Clifton): 
    "Why doesn't he use a regular guide? What does he need us for?"
I shout "Cause some damn fool accused you of being the best!"
    "...Pickett!... You son of a b*tch!"

 

Just like that, with no time to waste, and fish to catch, we're immediately driving to the canal to fish for Chub and Bleak. Now around midday, pumped and ready to go, like we're about to battle with Tuna on a plastic Barbie rod, I unpack my gear and swing out a little waggler float with a size 18 hook and a single maggot, under a Willow tree—BOSH, a clonker of a Chub comes out; pushing 7cm. People do say they are the Tuna of the canal. Who says that, you ask? People do... I'm pretty sure. With target #1 in the bag, Jack teases me by catching a sole Bleak, and claims the canal is teaming with them—this would be Jack's first lie. 

Lifer #1 and my 78th British species, Chub Squalius cephalus

With an impressive haul of zero Bleak later (and many chublets), conscious of the day slipping past us, we head to a nearby venue that holds Ide and Barbel in a couple of their waters. I wasn't interested in my first Barbel being from stillwater (beggars can be choosers, it seems), but I definitely wanted to try for the Ide. The lakes were classic match waters, with many close pegs, very few features above and below the water, and no surface cover. The sun was out, and the clarity was dire; as if a muddy hole was just filled with water and the dirt didn't have time to settle; then the temperature dropped, what felt quite suddenly—God, this is Orfele. There seemed to be a good head of carp, though, with them grubbing all around the margins. With our light tackle, left on from the Bleak fishing (1lb line, size 18 hooks), the carp might be a problem. Amazingly, we managed to land a few carp (in the region of 3–6lb. Jack catches himself an Ide; proof of concept, they're here! Then hooks into another carp, which snaps his rod in two (landed it though), it was only a 3 pounder, but we refuse to admit that; you should've been there, Internet Person, it was an absolute monster of a mud-pig; too big to fit in the camera frame. After Jack's definitely, guaranteed British record, and amateur hour over, I hook into a fish that had a lot of energy, but didn't fight hard. With only carp, Ide, and Barbel in the lake, this has to be the target; then I saw it surface—Ide never doubt you again, Jack! When we get home, Jack introduces me to his wife, and two sausage dogs, one of which loves to steal the slippers right off his feet, the dog that is (that definitely won't become important later). 

There's always one breakage on these trips, glad we've got it out of the way early... 👀

 

Lifer #2 and my 79th British species, Ide (Orfe) Leuciscus idus

With the first day out of the way, we got chatting with Leigh, who was keen to join us on the East coast in the morning, and was kind enough to book us on a lake with Russian, Siberian, and Beluga Sturgeon for the following day (species neither myself or Jack has caught before). We take the 2 hour 40 minute drive , where we burned each other's ears off talking fish and fishing, and arrive to meet Leigh, where we'd spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon rockpooling. There had been reports of Butterfish, Eelpout, and Rockling here, so we spend, arguably too long fishing the pools; being graced only by tens of Long-Spined Sea Scorpions, which far outnumbered the shannies! Jack was also turning up some rocks, looking for something interesting for his new rockpool aquarium, and loses the only Butterfish of the day; only a small one, but it would've been perfect for his aquarium. Not really getting anywhere, and after I spent far too long sight fishing a micro goby that gradually swam into more and more awkward spots to fish, we decided to move to the harbour. 

Definitely not grumpy fishing Willy Wonka's Chocolate River Harbour.

As we get parked up, Jack says we'll do some LRF first, then come back to the car for the bait rods as we move to the next spot (save us carrying too much). The tide was slowly coming in, but it was still quite low in the harbour itself, but we pressed on underneath the pier where we had a few feet of depth at least. It was the brownest water I've ever seen, the colour and opacity of gravy! I was coming to terms with not adding anything to the tally today, but the guys explained that the clarity is always like this here—I guess the fish are used to it then. If the water looked like this in the southwest, I'd be packing up and going to the pub! We drop down between the posts, starting off with pieces of mackerel, which didn't do much, so I then tried orange Isome, a colour I've not used before. Leigh brings in one of his largest shannies, then I catch a couple of Sand Gobies; I love that my 5–25g travel rod can still detect bites from such small fish! Jack came prepared, so in addition to his LRF rod, he has brought a slightly heavier rod to drop some bait just below us (sneaky, I thought we were leaving those rods in the car), a few minutes later, he's getting bites—it's a couple of Coalfish! Being a species I've not had yet, I adjust my rig and see if I can catch one... no such luck. The jammy expleting expletive first catches the Bleak I needed, then a Coalfish; I hope this doesn't become a trend. Both Leigh and I recall that Jack is the only person we know who can rock up to a spot with the most mismatched rods and end-tackle, piece together some sort of Franken-rig, and either out fish everyone, or get his target lifer. I remember fishing for the Ringneck Blenny with him, and he shows up with some heavy beachcaster-style rod, big lead, and what I'm pretty sure were swivels for shark fishing. It was certainly an imposing rig whose presence was known, but to my surprise, it caught plenty of shannies, Tompot Blennies, and the target species, Ringneck Blenny—finesse fishing fears this man. 

 

Lifer #3 and my 80th British species, Dab Limanda limanda

 

With it turning a bit quiet on the pier, us three Stooges pick up the rest of the gear from the car, grab the last portions of sausage & chips left from the chippy as it closed, and fish the outer harbour wall just before the high tide. There was a chance of one of the rockling species, Dab, and in theory, more Coalfish. Leigh was kind enough to offer me a couple of pre-tied rigs; as we had such varied fishing plans, there was only so much gear I could bring on the coach. I whack out both of my Sonik Xtractor Recon rods just on the edge of the boundary between the muddy and clear water, with the small pre-tied hooks tipped with mackerel. Bites came in thick-and-fast for all three of us... Dab, Dab, Dab, and more... Dab! I was amazed at how fast they found the bait; the seabed must've been thick with them. With all these flatties, Jack expressed how he has never caught a Flounder, his nemesis species, and theorised that what is good for Dab, is surely good for Flounder too, so that then became his focus. However, as the sun starts to vanish beyond the horizon, on Jack's rod with the smaller hooks for the Dab, arrives a bite from a small, silvery fish. As it comes in, we suspect Whiting, as we have already had a few alongside the Dab, but as it gets closer it dawns on us. Jack has only gone and caught a Sparling, aka European Smelt; a species closely related to the Salmoniformes—they even have an adipose fin! We both jump for joy, as over the decades, their numbers have sharply declined, so it was incredible to see one in person. Sparling are now a protected species, and you're not supposed to fish for them, so to make sure it swims back strong, we made sure it recovered fully in the bucket. But before we could let this capture sink in, I have a similar bite, and to my shock, it's a slightly larger Sparling; a shoal must've swum through our rigs. With both fish fully recovered, we were proud to say they swam back strong! If you accidentally catch a protected species, the advice is to return it as quickly as possible with as little harm as possible. It's worth first checking to see if the fish is ready before release, by resting it in a net or bucket, until strong enough to swim away (good advice for any catch, honestly). 

Lifer #4 and my 81st British species, European Smelt (Sparling) Osmerus eperlanus

 

As the sky turns a deeper red and darkness approaches, we have a few final chucks, to see if we can find something different. I hook what felt like a larger Dab, but when it gets closer to the wall, Jack shouts "IT'S A FLOUNDER!" Ha, the trend is broken, and I definitely didn't rub it in. I hadn't yet caught a Flounder this year, so that was a nice add to the tally. Of course, the stubborn son-of-a-f*sh caught one just eight days later, though. We parted ways with Leigh and made the long, and admittedly less chatty drive back to Nottingham in the dark, to salvage what we could of an 'early' night sleep. 

Look at those teeth, very predatory!

Another early start, and this day was set to be more relaxed, as Leigh had got us on a popular venue for sturgeon, one that I've wanted to fish for years, thankfully this drive wasn't quite as far as yesterday! Leigh was arranging to take Jack one day, and the stars seemed to have aligned when I was visiting; I've been worse third-wheels. The swims Leigh wanted were taken, but explained that it really doesn't matter too much, as the sturgeon circle the lake regularly anyway. We found a few swims together on the opposite side of the lake, and got set up. Sturgeon fishing wasn't in our original plans, so I didn't have the correct hooklink material, though I had everything else. Despite that, Leigh suggested I use the rigs he pre-tied for us (always happy to default to the guide's advice). The rigs were effectively just beefed up hair rigs with a lead clip and 2-3oz weights, and a small piece of luncheon meat on the hair. Very simple fishing, and exactly how I fished for carp before I started species hunting. Leigh decided not to fish, and instead made it a fun social with brief intervals of laughing, watching us unhook sturgeon. It was far from a slow start, with plenty of carp in their upper-teens coming out to Jack, and then a Russian Sturgeon to me, at 11lb; very happy to see this bucket list fish of mine on the bank! These fish didn't really fight too much, which surprised me; they felt a little like a big ball of weed coming in, that would occasionally pull back. It may have had something to do with my Sonik Xtractor Recon rods, which seem to be able to bully 50lb catfish, making them run out of gas a bit sooner. Jack catches some more carp, which are dropping our fast-decreasing supply of leads. I didn't think this was too much of a problem, as when fishing luncheon meat for catfish, I'd freeline the meat out (we're not casting far either). The hookset was near perfect every time on the catfish, and the lack of resistance stops the hook from catching on their pads and pinging out; my thinking was sturgeon's mouths are a lot softer than catfish, so freelined meat should work a treat still with sharp hooks. The only time I'd fish a lead for catfish, would be a 1oz with worms popped up by foam, and that's only to keep the worms two or three inches up from the bottom, instead of floating to the surface; a technique that would probably transfer well to the sturgeon too. The freeline method worked a treat, as I went on to catch a further three sturgeon in the next hour, with the biggest being 21lb. I don't think freelining gave me an advantage or disadvantage here, but likely shows it doesn't matter if you use a lead or not. A few more carp, and a couple of sturgeon to Jack later, we decide to call it quits. We put in a little more time than planned, as we hoped one of us would catch one of the venue's few Siberian Sturgeon. 

Lifer #5 and my 82nd British species, Russian Sturgeon (Diamond) Huso gueldenstaedtii

Just after midday, we pack up, and are already onto the next species, Zander. To save another long round trip, Jack found a nearby stretch of canal which hosts some smaller Zander. It was 50/50, as this stretch gets regularly electrofished and Zander removed, so if this happened recently, we can kiss our chances of Zander at this spot goodbye for today.  We set up a couple of predator floats each, with some small, chopped, fresh deadbaits at varying depths, and cast out to the middle of the canal. The first canal boat passed by, so I brought the rods in closer, and immediately something is pulling the float along. These bites were certainly that of small Zander, taking their time to articulate the food in the mouths, opposed to the fast, reactionary bites of Perch. I gave it some time before lifting, but no hookset. I decide to keep one rod close in, in case it comes back, and get the other rods out into the middle of the canal. Jack said for me to use all the rods, until the first Zander comes out, and just like that, a float starts moving, and a wide-eyed Jack exclaims "GRAB MY ROD", with Leigh's voice echoing in the background "grab his rod". I don't think any innuendo was meant at the time, more fear that we might lose the only fish in the short time we're here. This time, a fish is on the end, it feels on the smaller side, but puts up a good account for itself. As it breaches, we see it's a Zander; Jack quells the premature celebrations... "We haven't got it in yet". Just as soon as I do get it in, the endorphins vanish, and I'm already thinking about catching one on my own rod; the next big hit—at what point should I accept I have an addiction problem? I continue to get bites on my margin rod, so we all give it another hour. In that time, Jack catches a Zander, his first of the year, and double the size of mine. I must've only wanted to see a larger one come out, as after seeing Jack's beauty, I was happy to call it a day! Loving that we're averaging two lifers a day, and it seems likely we can keep this pace up too... 👀

Lifer #6 and my 83rd British species, Zander Sander lucioperca

 

Saying our goodbyes to Leigh, and feeling positive for tomorrow, Jack checks the tide times, and sees a shore competition was on a couple of days prior. Every member of the comp caught Haddock, and this was nearby to the Prussian Carp venue, so if we fished around high for the Haddock early morning (seems like a good chance), we'd have the rest of the day for the Prussians. With a solid plan in action, and nearly hom—*ding*... *ding*... Jack's dashboard pings battery, and power steering red warning lights, and his steering locks up. Luckily this happens only round the corner from his house, so we manage to get the car back on the drive. With the garage not open until Monday (and today being Saturday), the rest of the trip has been scuppered. It's a long drive tomorrow, and we need a car to get there. We settle down at the dining table to formulate a backup plan over dinner; to add insult to injury, the dog runs off with the slippers he was wearing. Jack, refusing to be beaten, looks for nearby venues where we could fish for Barbel, at either walking or taxi distance. However, I, the man who makes poor financial decisions, suggested if I could pay for a hire car. Just like that, we're back on—*CRACK*... Jack's slipperless foot smashes into the counter and his toe starts to turn black. I'm starting to think that this man is trying everything to avoid spending another day fishing with me. In the legend's defence, he wasn't going to let a poxy broken toe stop him from fishing. 

As picking the hire car up early wasn't an option, we had a well-earned lie in, and then caught an Uber to town just before the car hire opened, discovering a nice little greasy spoon in what looked like Fort Knox. With the car loaded up, and Jack adjusting to driving a vehicle that's not horse drawn, we make haste to the Prussians. Unfortunately, we would've missed the tides for the Haddock, but that's not a problem, as Prussians were higher on my list anyway, and Jack has already caught Haddock before. I have to say, the venue was stunning, with plenty of mature trees and coverage around, it was a pleasure to fish. The lake manager said six Prussians had been caught earlier in the morning, so things were looking positive. I fished a variety of tactics, from light method feeders, to stick floats; and baits included bread, maggots, micro-pellets, sweetcorn, and luncheon meat; whereas Jack was fishing specifically for the Ruffe, as he has not caught one in years. In classic fashion, I was plagued with bream after bream on the method feeder, and Jack had a Pike and massive Perch under his peg, grabbing all the silvers he brought in. They shifted his focus, so he planned to catch the lurking predators and move them into a different swim, so hopefully he can pull out a Ruffe or two. My float rod with some bread on the bottom would get the occasional bite, one of which fought like big goldfish I've caught in the past, before pinging off; it seemed likely to be the Prussian I was after. Frustratingly, no Prussians were caught since around dawn, and even the carp in the lake weren't very obliging. Jack did manage to catch the Pike and big Perch pestering his swim, while no Ruffe came out, they were certainly catches of the day, beating both my PBs at least! The two lifer per day goal was doomed to fail anyway; we had such good luck in the first few days, it was bound to run out eventually. Being another long drive back, and Jack's toe looking a bit worse-for-wear, we pack up mid-afternoon, and head home. Jack teases that I'm mad for getting a hire car, then paying a year membership to fish this lake for just one day, to catch a single species "You've got to be in it to win it" I say, fighting back tears as I'm £200 down without the target.

What a pleasure to see these fish come out!

Thus comes the final day, and I'm nervous. We're fishing for Barbel, the main target I wanted to catch, and we only have the hire car until 2pm, when they close for the day. Jack insists his toe is fine, so we both leave as soon as we're able; he has a spot in mind on the Trent, that might produce a fish or two. We approach the spot, and he realises he has forgotten the gate keys for the backup marks; so if this spot wasn't free, we'd have to take the 40 minute round trip to grab the keys. Thankfully it was free, as we'd spent the last couple of days thinking all the good Barbel pegs would be taken, being a weekend. As we unpack, it dawns on us... we forgot the net (it's been a long week). There's an Angling Direct only 10 minutes away, so if I buy one, that's only a 20 minute round trip, and we can get fishing sooner... wait, no, Sunday, it's not open for another hour. Jack instead rushes home to grab the net, so for the next 40 minutes, I set up the rods, and continually bait the swim. Jack later rings to say he's "pulling up with the net now, get the rods cast out"—finally, Barbel fishing. It's a fresh, dew covered morning, with atmospheric, low hanging mist; it was grander than how I imagined my first time fishing for Barbel would be. Over the next half hour, I curiously watched the Minnows and what looked like small Dace or Bleak push into the fallen leaves in mere millimetres of water; they were being hunted by some larger, predatory fish. I never saw what they were, except for seeing the glittery shoal disperse when they were struck—then the lefthand rod whacks over. Distinctively a Barbel take, but the fish felt very small. Jack mentioned there are some Chub in this part of the Trent, but they're seldom caught Barbel fishing, unlike in the Wye. A couple of minutes later, the fish was more honest with me, and it played deep. It wasn't stripping line like others had described they do, but played similar to carp I've had in deep quarries; remaining in the same area, only pulling down. I played the fish quite light, I didn't want it to ping off over a silly mistake; it'll come in when it's ready. Approximately seven minutes later, it's in the net! Jack mentioned earlier in the day, that every time he takes someone Barbel fishing, they catch a double-figure fish, beating his PB, and now I've continued this trend. It was a big fish, the largest Jack has seen come out on the sessions he's joined or been on. In typical fashion, we forgot the scales, but at a guess it was a mid low double, somewhere in the range of 11–14lb. To play it safe, we just called it 11lb. Incredible, not even an hour into the session, and I catch my first Barbel, and it's a double figure! I'm on Cloud Nine now, "Jack, you can have the rods, I'm not beating that". We gave it another hour, and with that being the one and only bite, we rush home to sort my luggage out, say our very quick goodbyes, and return the hire car. 

Lifer #7 and my 84th British species, Barbel Barbus barbus

 

Paired with suffering in silence with that toe, and the throbbing pressure making it difficult to stand; it's now becoming too painful to bare as the week went on, so Jack has the stubby, little appendage removed... by leaving me in the middle of Nottingham... I throw up my fist and shout I'm a respectable 5'8" as his bus drives away. 

This supple, young, west country boy in his early 30s is now left to fend for himself in the big city... alone (for the next five hours). Pub it is. A stone's throw from the coach station was a pub where the canal runs right through it; I had to check that out, and they serve a Sunday roast too—jackpot. With some extra time to kill before my coach, I make another attempt for the Bleak on the canal. I didn't have any maggots on me, but I had plenty of Isome, which I threaded onto a small hook on a slow sinking splitshot rig. The water was crystal, so it was perfect for sight fishing. It was almost a fish a whip, with at least 50 Roach, a few Chub, a Dace, and a Silver Bream, but typical... no Bleak. With an impressive seven lifers over the last few days (and group tally of 24), I really can't complain that I was defeated by the most common one—just relieved I didn't break my rod, car, or toe; could you imagine?

What a magical pub to end on

 

The total species tally was: 

1. Chub
2. Rudd
3. Bleak (only to Jack)
4. Roach
5. Dace
6. Common & Mirror Carp
7. Ide
8. Long-spined Sea Scorpion
9. Common Blenny
10. Sand Goby
11. Coalfish (only to Jack)
12. Pollack
13. Dab
14. Whiting
15. Sparling
16. Lesser Weever (only to Leigh)
17. Flounder
18. Common Bream
19. Russian Sturgeon
20. Zander
21. Perch (only to Jack)
22. Pike (only to Jack)
23. Barbel
24. Silver Bream

 

Massive thank you to Jack for having me, and Leigh for helping with the sturgeon and being all round great company!