The end of May saw me and my family take a short break away to the coast; time for fish and chips, a bit of sun, and some much-needed relaxation by the sea. As always, on any trip, I was compelled to sneak some fishing gear in to the car as the beach was literally yards from the front door and it would have been rude not to have a go! Having never beach fished before, I did a bit of research and bought a few basic bits of tackle to give me a reasonable chance of catching something. Fortunately, on the first day walking along the shore, I met a fisherman who was happy to share some local knowledge on baits and tides, which set me up for a couple of short session over the next few days. With my son having his nap, and my wife having a rest too, it was time to head over to the beach with my gear and have a dabble, catching it perfectly an hour before low tide so I could get a couple of hours in. My nephew, who is a keen angler, joined me for the session, which was great, and my parents, s

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

A few years back I was fishing on a local pond for some crucian carp – possibly the prettiest of all coarse fish with those stunning butterscotch scales and blood-red fins. The sport was going well by midday, with three in the keepnet over the pound mark and several other palm sized fish to back them up. I struck into what I thought was another of these little gems but lack of movement indicated the snagging of some sort of weed or debris. As I slowly wound in, I noticed I had hooked a small black plastic bag. I netted it carefully and gently removed it from the hook. Curiosity got the better of me, so I whipped a pair of scissors out of my tackle box and cut it open to reveal the contents. Was I about to peer in and find a large wad of cash, some expensive jewellery, or perhaps a little trinket that I would treasure for life and pass on down the generations? Unfortunately, none of those were even close to the actual contents. The lake was beside a well-used path, and what I had just c