Canal Roach: Trapped in a Sisyphean Loop - Pt.14

The alarm went off at some ungodly hour that even foxes would complain about, and there I was once again dragging my carcass towards the cut like a man heading for a medieval punishment rather than a morning’s fishing. Still, that’s canal fishing for you. Nobody ever skips down the towpath whistling like they’re in a toothpaste advert. You stagger there half awake, clutching enough tackle to invade Belgium, all because somewhere in that murky trench there might be a roach willing to ruin your morning slightly less than the others.Now Mongrel Mile had been kind to me recently if your definition of “kind” includes catching fish that look like they’ve been assembled from spare parts behind a pub. Hard-fighting they were, mind. Proper scrappers. But what I wanted was a roach. A proper roach. Not these suspicious hybrids that look as though two species got drunk at a Christmas disco and made regrettable life choices behind the reed bed. Some of these fish had more mixed heritage than a…