Excalibur - A Rest For The Lucky Strike

A quest, a quest to find it forked

within a native tree

A noble quest indeed to find

A rest for my Lucy

Let me hark back to a post I made before Christmas. I have felt uncomfortable using modern rod rests for my cane rods for a while, it just doesn't seem right. A wooden fork just seemed the natural partner for 'Lucy', my Lucky Strike.

 I have searched ancient woodland that once belonged to kings, hedgerows and the periphery of every water fished, in search of the perfect forked limb. I've always believed that 'the one' will be given up to me freely, so, upon seeing many perfect forked branches actually growing, they have been overlooked. To remove them forcibly, almost an act of sacrilege.

 I've become obsessed, looking at every native (for it must be so) tree and shrub in a different light, searching for my very own Excalibur.

I happened to be angling at my beloved river Ouzel the other day, I had a wonderful day, it was perfect in every way. By the end of the session I was relaxed and content and I slowly packed up, having fed the remainder of my bait to the swans.

 I turned, and there, just feet from where I'd sat, lay a pile branches, willow branches. One of them was looking at me, it was indeed 'the one'...and so I walked to it,  and held it aloft triumphantly, my quest was over,

Behold........Excalibur!



Hot To Trot

With the arrival of the cusp between winter and spring, the time is nigh for the concluding chapters of the traditional river season.
I always use this most special time of the year to just get out and enjoy getting out, I actually don't even care if I catch any fish, which sometimes is just as well!
 Arriving at the little plot of a farmer's field that the controlling club would have you believe is a car park, I carefully took out my gear.
 On closer inspection I realised I'd brought along my Chapmans 500 instead of my, as yet, unchristened Lucky Strike. I was intending to do a bit of trotting, oh well, 'keep calm and carry on'.
 I was on the bank of a little river that has a big place in my heart, the Ouzel, a tributary of it's more famous bigger sibling the Gt. Ouse.

With so many swims looking like they should have a sign saying 'A Big Chub Lives Here' I was almost tempted back into specimen hunter mode and to chance my arm.
 After a short walk I found myself sitting aside a nice trottable stretch with a nice snaggy area downstream. "That'll do nicely", I thought, and the sun started to rise up enough for me to feel a little of its heat.
 These days mean so much to me, I talk to anglers all week at work, about baits, methods and product, each has so much to say. Today I'd hear nothing about angling, I'd just be angling.

Having baited the swim with a few maggots and a tiny bit of crumb down by the 'killing zone' and being reluctant to fish straight away, hoping to give the fish some time to find the free offerings, I made tea.

Up and away from the swim I gathered up some of last years dead nettle stems for kindling and. with the help of some firewood I'd brought along, within no time at all the Kelly kettle was starting to 'rattle and hum'.
I wasn't too far away from home and work, but my mind was.
 Laying on my  back in a field looking up into the welcomed blue of early spring, what a treat. Things just happen at times like this, memories are made, so how delightful that four Red Kites soared above swooping and rising on newly found thermals.

Truly majestic birds, they really seem to making a comeback in the Chiltern Hills area, I felt blessed to see them.
 Back in the swim with tea beside, I tendered a first trot. That first cast is usually one I send out with trepidation as it gives a clue to way the day might progress. Today, to be honest, I only really cared that I might not happen to find that overhanging branch with my end-tackle.
 After a satisfying 'plop' the float set off on it's merry way and it was not long after that it bobbed under. A first cast fish, a lovely little Perch, he looked at me, as if to say, "Nice to see you, thanks for the free maggots, can I go home now".

He was soon back home, none the worse for his excursion.
 Then, suddenly my first Kingfisher of the year arrived in the swim, shouting about like an adolescent punk rocker, he even snaffled a small fish from my swim,
 I didn't mind sharing, and neither did he...I went on to catch quite a nice amount of Perch and Roach, none of them big, all of them welcome and appreciated.

These days have a grounding effect on me, they calm and recharge me..What more could we ask from a pastime. I fed my remaining groundbait to a lovely pair of Swans and headed off home.

After such a fine day, feeling the heat of the sun on my face and not  speaking to a sole,  I felt that it couldn't get much better. It did though........I found Excalibur...Some of you will know what this means, I'll write of it in a future blog.

 As I strolled back to the car, I pondered that I was a lucky man and that I might be back next week, with Excalibur....and the Lucky Strike.

Fennel's Journal - A Review

It lay on the kitchen table for over a week before I picked it up and looked inside.....

In issue 1 Nigel 'Fennel' Hudson reveals the beginning of a chain of events that led him to produce 'the journal'.
It seems that Mr. Hudson, embroiled in the alien, greed fuelled rat-race that most of us have encountered, had lost his way. Putting behind him, the values and beliefs he held inside, suppressing them, in search of fortune. The stress of, and his commitment to this life, lost him his fiancee, job, and ended in breakdown.
It seems that only then did the way of life he truly believed in start to emerge from a pipe dream, to something that was possible.
 The writing meanders river-like, straying up tributaries now and again, before re-joining the main flow. We wander through the months of the year as 'Fennel' gives us a snippet or two of the rural idyll.
 I find myself being second-guessed, my cynicism being rebuked.
   A few sentences on the different stages of an angler ring true to me and I feel myself being reeled in, 'Fennel' gives out a rallying cry for to the traditionalist and I find myself wondering just why was I so busy that this journal was left unread for a week
 This is an emotionally purging venture for Mr.Hudson. Will I be following it? Am I in?..For the time being, I think, Yes!
http://fennelspriory.com/journal/index.htm

Alive

The conditions for fishing down on the beautiful little River Ouzel really couldn't have been much worse.There's been no rain to speak of, a hard frost last night.

The sun was rising as my mate John and I pulled up on the grass verge and opened the farmers gate.

 Dropping the tackle off in the first swim, we set about baiting  swims with the stinky cheese paste I'd made the night before, Chub being our quarry.





The glory of these winter mornings, the tingle of the fingers, the frosty sheen of the fields and hedges. Sheer beauty.

 John headed towards the weirpool and I wandered downstream, every swim looked inviting.

 When I finally started to fish, I received a visit..Now, I don't mind sharing a piece of paste or half a lobworm, little fellow......



.....but please keep your dirty feet off of my rod.

The rod in question today was my Chapman 500, with a vintage quiver tip attached and my trusty Mitchell 300. Five pound line, size 6 Super Specialist hook. Paste or Worm. Could I fail ? The swims cried fish.



I met up with John for a progress report, no fish. We ate and drank, then moved on. I returned to a jungly swim I'd baited and positioned myself down by the cat-ice. A cast was made into an area of around two square feet among the snags. The rod tip went around and it was fish on. In such shallow,confined conditions I held on, just enough to see a chub of around two pounds shake off the hook and dive back into the tree roots. 

Strolling back upstream, I took time to take stock of my surroundings. How fortunate I was to be able to take up a rod and angle, away from the masses, at peace.

Every baited swim had 15 minutes with paste and another 15 with worm, I strolled on, breathing the cool air and shielding my eyes from the low sun, even though I had my polaroids.

I eventually found John, back at the weirpool, he was fishless. We smiled and chatted, ate and drank. Recalled times past and future plans.."We'll give it another hour", he said optimistically. I cast a worm into the pool and was able to sit on my seat for the first time today.

Just as the water over that weir, the time rolled on, we weren't going to catch today. John called time and we gathered up our tackle for the short walk to the car. John smiled again, and we both looked over at that weir again.

You see, my mate John had a heart attack three months ago, it was the first time he'd been out fishing since then.

 We didn't catch a fish, it's true, but as we strolled off, we both shared the same feeling..We were glad to be alive.







Angling Art - Eelus

I thought I'd share with you this lovely stencil and papercut artwork by my favourite urban/graphic artist 'Eelus'. I believe it was a commission piece, not commissioned by me unfortunately.
The man is incredibly talented and I have collected his work for a while now and was lucky to receive the following piece as a gift with another purchase. It hangs above my angling bookcase and always makes me smile.

Check his website Here.

Another urban artist who most will be familiar with, Banksy, has also, in the past, taken to spraying fishy themes.This little fellow was found beneath a bridge by the canal at Camden.

Redmire - Phone Wars.

Redmire Pool.... To many, just the mention of the two words is enough to send them into another world, even another time. I openly admit, the place has me entranced, a love affair that started when I was just a boy. A copy of the Angling Times annual fell open to reveal a black and white photo of Richard Walker holding that most stunning fish, he named 'Ravioli', others named her Clarissa. I have been hooked ever since and have found myself in the most fortunate position to have fished at Redmire for a weekend in each of the last three years, and have had the honour (for that is what it is) to capture two of its residents.
 With all this in mind, today is quite a stressful day, it being the day upon which all devotees of this small farm pool, take up their phones and dial one single landline number in the hope that a certain Mr. Bamford will answer in his own affable style and grant access for an allotted time to that paradise on the England/Wales border.
 At Gurney Towers the day, that has become known as 'Phone Wars' to regulars, is planned with military precision. Lady Sarah on one landline and me on another. I'm not sure if this doubles or halves our chances of getting through but it is a formula that has worked well up to now.
 The whole business is a bind, but seemingly fair and the whole sorry episode is forgotten about when one is at peace on the pool.
 Well, once again, I am happy to report that our planning and persistence has paid off. Lady Sarah ,once again coming up trumps and getting through quite early (after fifty minutes) to secure for my party five days in September, which was my preferred choice..I am, as they say,"As 'appy as Larry"...That Lady Sarah has strange and wonderful powers indeed..

'Nothing For A Pair, Not In This Game!'



The work party ethos is one of camararderie, of team building. A place for men to bond whilst sloping off and dodging the hard work that the few seem to do each year. Why then did I find myself alone this cool, damp morning with a shovel and a barrow. Fact is, all bailiffs must attend a mandatory pair of work parties. I had already put in one good shift. I'd even tried to save a few trees from the bloke on every syndicate that can use a chainsaw (because it makes him a man). Alas, the trees fell in my absence. On a brighter note, the willow he 'took out' last year 'because it was rotten' has made a miraculous recovery.
 I received the text a couple of weeks ago "work party 29th jan plz atend", fact is, I can't "atend". I have a very important task on Sunday, more of which I will divulge next week.
 There I am then, cold handed, creaky backed, humping barrow loads of finest CEMEX gravel along the tracks to fill in the ruts and puddles.There's a pair of anglers on the opposite side and I recognise them as regulars as one raises an arm aloft...My toil continued, back and forth with a full load, I questioned my offer to put in a solo shift.
 After about 3 hours my body told me that enough was enough...Now it was time for the reward.
 I'd brought along a bag of bits, a landing net and The Lucky Strike.
 As I strolled round a pair of magpies flew into view, a good omen? I chatted to the anglers,they informed me that they had not caught a fish in six sessions and couldn't believe how they had just switched off.
 Oh well, I settled at a nice snaggy swim. there must be  Perch or something lurking.

The Lucky Strike, I think I will call her Lucy, looked resplendent, paired up with my trusty wonky handled Speedia. Small waggler, size 20 Drennan hook, single red maggot, pinkies as feed.

 I cast out and poured some tea from the flask, no kettle today, I was travelling light. No bites were forthcoming, but as I sat there, contemplating my surroundings, I couldn't help but wonder about the fish that Lucy had landed in a former life, many years ago, and the gentle men at Allcocks who'd cut, planed and glued, I really did get lost in another place for a while. This is the magic of cane, I never wonder or indeed care, who, or what, has built my modern rods, they don't have the same aura..Lucy, however, is alive again.

 A while later, a pair of swans paddled into the swim, why do some anglers tend to flap and flail at them? They were most welcome visitors, even if I wasn't sharing my sandwiches. One took quite a shine to Lucy.

I continued to spray a couple of pinkies at regular intervals, hoping for that first magical bob of the float. A pair of green woodpeckers flew into a nearby bush, making a right old noise. I'm not sure if they were a male and female having a row, or two males arguing over territory, but eventually one told the other to 'do one', so it did, swiftly followed by the other. They are quite splendid birds, their garish colour and gangling flight makes them proper characters.

 No bites then ? This needed investigating, I had a hunch. I climbed the bank behind me and put on the polaroids. Yep, there they were, two Jack Pike, sitting mid-water in my swim. No Roach or perch here then. I decided to move to the other side of the bush.



Now although I was away from the Pike, I did feel a tad blatant in this swim, the gin clear water allowing maximum visibility to my scaly mates. At this point pair of pheasant clambered through the undergrowth, I was now wondering if the bird population was getting that springtime feeling early.

 The two anglers walked past on their way home having not had so much as a bite. I was now alone.

 It might now be a good time to tell you that about a week ago I saw three police cars and two vans on the small lane behind the lake. Lady Sarah and I wondered what the fuss was all about. Now I'd mentioned this to my father at the time. It was only this morning, however, whilst kindly dropping me off at the lake, that he told me that a big cat, described as puma-like had been spotted in the vicinity...I WAS NOW ALONE!!

 He was driving back this way soon, so after another hour and no fish, I called it a day.

 The rod is a dream, I already know she's a goodun, I will have to wait for that special first fish though, because despite seeing a pair of magpies, a pair of anglers, a pair of swans, a pair of pike, a pair of woodpeckers, a pair of pheasants, and doing a pair of work parties. Apparently, you get nothing for a pair in this game!

Oh well, at least I didn't get eaten by a puma.

The Perfect Cuppa ?

"Tea is drunk to forget the din of the world."

The elixir of the Englishman, that marvellous pick-me-up, the drink that fuelled an empire. Of course, there is tea , and then there is Tea.
The good Lady Sarah, in her infinite wisdom, knows that ol' Gurn enjoys the finer things in life. I am becoming more and more likely to be taking tea on the bank these days, with either my trusty sidekick Steve or his reliable rival Kelly. With this in mind she has brought me some fine Miles' Ceylon loose tea.
 Neatly packaged in its own mini tea chest caddy, well I just cant wait to brew up. I even have a tutorial from His Noble Yates-ness to aid me.....

Many have waxed lyrical about the magical ritual of 'taking' tea....I think my favourite quote is..

"Meanwhile, let us have a sip of tea. The afternoon glow is brightening the bamboos, the fountains are bubbling with delight, the soughing of the pines is heard in our kettle. Let us dream of effervescence, and linger in the beautiful foolishness of things."

Miles Tea and Coffee Merchants

Another Winter Project - Wicker Seat

I saw this on eBay a while back and just had to have it. The thought of sitting aside a small willow fringed pool on a balmy summers eve with a glass of finest red in my hand, waiting for a bite. Well it was just too much.
 In some quarters they are described as 'canoe chairs' but the portability, compactness and it ability to hold various bits and bobs in that underseat compartment lend it perfectly to piscatorial pursuits.

On the whole it is relatively tidy, so just a general tidy up and application of lotions and potions to wood and leather should suffice. I'll post some pics when it's finished.