Hurriedly, the car was loaded. The journey to my rendezvous point, rapid.
I'd overlooked the loose top to the maggot tub so arrived with the escape committee in full flight.
Morning greetings with old friends, Derren and his father, Brian and we set off for a day of grayling fishing.
Fortunately, I remembered all the tackle, which was just as well, as I'd forgotten money and cards in my haste.
At this point one might say that it was going to be one of those days!
The river?....low, not ideal.
Trotting is a favourite method, though I always feel that I have never mastered it. Perhaps it's one of those things one never truly does.. so a lifetime as a student, perhaps?
What I really know is that a size 16 hook has a habit of finding it's way into every piece of weed, bankside vegetation, jumper cuffs, hats....and when dangled in the margin for a split second..Minnows!!
The swim in the photo above was too much to resist despite the fact that I absolutely knew that somehow, some way I would leave a float on that tree...and so it was.
Fortunately, not one of Andrew Fields' finest!
It began to rain, my back and legs aching.
The clarity of the water and the caginess of my quarry caused much frustration as I watched them time and time again rushing towards my hookbait only to turn off at the last second..I almost wished I'd forgotten the polarised glasses.
Of course, catches came. Wiry and difficult to hold, as usual; many slippery, contorting beauties...I took to photographing them as they rested post-catch, in the shallow stream. A dog walker passed to see me welly deep in the stream edge and remarked, "Just watching you makes me feel cold."
Doesn't sound like fun to many people, I'd guess.
But in this year, more than any...I was grateful for the opportunity to be with good friends and netting a few fish.
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| In Memory of 'Gudgeon Jim' (Maker of Fine Landing Nets) |
