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

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

In an age of high-tech baits and exotic additives, there is something reassuringly timeless about a simple lump of breadflake. White, soft, and humble, it has tempted fish in British waters for generations. To watch it drift in the current, breaking down into a pale cloud that roach and chub cannot resist, is to witness a method that has endured not through fashion but through quiet effectiveness. Bread has always been the bait of the everyday angler. It was cheap, easy to come by, and versatile — pinched onto a hook as flake, rolled into punch for roach, or squeezed into paste for larger fish. Many of us recall raiding the breadbin before heading out, knowing that a few slices wrapped in foil were all that was needed for a day’s sport. The tactic in different forms can range from delicate to obscene. Fishing with bread using fine lines, small hooks, and lightweight floats can be deadly on a winter canal, involving striking that must be timed with precision in order to connect with the

There was a time when angling equipment was not mass-produced carbon fibre or precision-engineered alloys, but instead handmade with care and artistry. The split-cane rod, in particular, remains an icon of traditional coarse fishing, the unmistakable honey-coloured varnish gleaming in the morning sun. These rods were not only functional but beautiful – crafted by skilled hands, each with its own subtle character. To fish with cane is to embrace both the sport and its history. The centrepin reel, too, is a symbol of that heritage. Its design is simple: a drum revolving freely on its spindle, allowing the line to peel off naturally with the flow. There is no clutch, no gearing, no mechanical complexity to separate the angler from the water. Instead, control comes from touch, thumb against rim, and an instinct for timing that only develops with practice. To hear the steady purr of a centrepin as a fish runs downstream is to hear music from another age. For many anglers today, using cane a

Angling brings with it a veritable smorgasbord of wonderful species to chase and catch, each with their own endearing set of characteristics. Some of us love the way certain species look, others become obsessed the way they fight, or the way in which they take a bait. My very first ‘favourite fish’ was the golden tench. I remember fishing a couple of lakes that stocked a few golden tench along with the more common green variety – the remote chance of catching one of these golden wonders added an additional layer of excitement… poised for that bright orange paddle-like tail to flick the surface water every time I hooked a fish! As I grew older, my local canal started producing some monster stripies, and the perch soon became my fixation. I could think of nothing better than building a swim with lovely stinky natural baits like worm, caster, pinkies (and a good helping of predator plus), with a huge snake-like lob worm hookbait suspended over it. I can still remember the float delicately

With my fishing licence renewal fast approaching, it’s a great shame that this year we will not be receiving the stunning artwork that David Miller has gifted us for over 15 years. It was always so exciting to guess what species would feature next, and for many anglers, all those cards either lived in your wallet or purse for the duration, or were stashed away in your bits and bobs drawer while you slowly expanded your sensational set of species. Of course, we can understand the logic behind not providing a hard copy licence when we need to do everything to protect our environment, but that doesn’t dispel any of the disappointment around the end of something incredibly popular which has been loved by so many anglers. With the bronze bream an absolute favourite fish of mine, bringing warm memories of stunning slabs caught from the Shannon on many visits to the Emerald Isle, the 2019-20 Environment Agency UK Rod Licence had particularly strong sentimental value for me. As luck would have