Karma Strikes Again

Good news, a fellow strolled into the shop today with my stolen rod. My investigations are ongoing so best not to divulge too much information. This is however a major result.
 This, of course, meant that although I gave my Allcocks Nimrod / Felton Crosswind combo its first outing on a different stretch of my little river today, the fish weren't forthcoming.
 Choosing to fish my usual banker of drilled bullet, big hook and lobworm. The crays had a field day, I soon became bored of tossing the little blighters squashed remains over my shoulder. I did catch a little perch, got wet again and went home early. Oh well, one must always take the rough with the smooth.

It's Why I Fish.

It's been a bad week, piscatorially speaking, my stalking kit was stolen whilst doing some good for the local angling club, it made me mad with rage and consider why I fish, and if it is even worth it. I pondered I might not enjoy this pastime whilst looking over my shoulder. Tackle is of high value and easily sold. It never turns up after being stolen. If people didn't buy dodgy gear, people wouldn't steal it to sell it. I find it hard to believe that a true piscator could enjoy  time spent with a rod he knew was obtained illegally. I sometimes think I may be lost, I tend to think people will treat me and my property the same as I would treat them and their's, it's not always the case though, is it? I needed a bit of traditional therapy and reached for the Lucky Strike.

 There's a stretch of river,  a colleague and I have been casing it out for a while now. It's remote, small, seemingly unfished and best of all, free to fish . We didn't know if it even contained fish, recent conditions have made fish spotting impossible, but this evening we'd hopefully find out.
 Travelling light, one bag, Lucy the Lucky Strike, my Speedia, landing net , roll mat...I arrived at the stretch just in time for the rain to start, the terrain soon becoming slippery under foot. On finding a spot that looked good for a trot, I parted the bankside vegetation and threw out a few maggots whilst setting up a small stick float, bulk shotted, size 18 hook.
 Sitting amongst the nettles on my mat, in the pouring rain, on a potentially fishless stretch seemed bizarrely normal, I made that first cast and the float settled then went off on it's merry way.....nothing.
 I batted the spool of my trusty Speedia to bring the float home and re-set the depth,  nettle stings glowing on the back of my hands. Another cast.
 The float sailed it's merry course, and just before the end of the trot, vanished. I struck and a beautiful dace soon arrived at the waiting net. I smiled to myself. A fish, any fish can produce a smile, especially when you're soaked and muddy.

 The next cast produced another and then another of these fabulous little fish. I smiled again. I'd have been quite happy to sit the evening out catching dace that made me smile.
 Regular free offerings soon brought a hard fighting roach to the net...

...soon followed by a rather lucky shoalmate who I just manged to get to the net before a pike got him.

 Old Esox had been here before, and so had I. I knew he'd be lurking in the near margin, I released the fish downstream lest he fall prey to the waiting gape of his jaws.
 A swirl, yes he was there, I saw his shadow and poked him away with the landing net handle. The wind swirled around and the rain persisted, the maggots were now sufficiently drenched and had organised an escape committee as I tried to unstick mono from wet cane. The far from ideal conditions didn't really concern me that much, despite the realisation that my poncho had also been part of the gutless crooks booty a few days previous,
 The float sank again, and then that looming pike grabbed the dace..I hung on a while, he wasn't big, but the battle was spirited on such tackle. I hoped the line wouldn't part, he was definitely holding on to that poor fish. After much spinning of reel I recalled something I'd read somewhere. I turned the rod 'reel side up', this apparently helps to negate any 'set' that may occur in the cane during a prolonged battle. It seemed to work fine enough and the toothy glutton was eventually landed, unhooked and released way upstream.

 My colleague 'Paulo' appeared, an accomplished angler and good friend, I told him that I was disappointed to have not caught a gudgeon yet, he soon settled some way downstream of me. I chatted with him a while, resting the swim, letting it calm down.
 I really was drenched by now, right through to the skin, not because I was ill prepaired. I forego much for lightness and moveability, sometimes it has it's drawbacks.
 The next hour or so saw the swim quieten down a bit, the odd perch just about keeping it interesting. Footsteps behind me signalled the arrival of a triumphant 'Paulo', gudgeon in hand. I called him a rude word and proclaimed him 'gudgeon king', how I wish it had been me, I love them the most I think, even more than bees.....and I love bees.
 I tried so hard to catch a little gudgeon, the conditions worsening by the minute. The line often sticking to the cane despite the high bridge ringing. Wind and rain, the trotters nightmare! There were the hooks as well, stuck in everything from submerged twigs and bankside nettles to my tackle tin and hoody cuffs.
 The float vanished again, this fish stayed low, so low I thought I might have snagged a passing branch, but no, fish it was, I suspected a pike. Slow, methodical but deliberate, I saw the shadow of a sizeable fish as it suddenly shot across the narrow flow. My thumb tried to slow it down and it was subdued just before reaching the only snag in the swim. What was it ? I saw it there, hanging a while in the water, carp?...no chub...big chub. I yelled to my friend to come quickly, this might need assistance.
 As the fight continued we both peered down at the fish before us, I thought of the cane rod, the light line and the size 18 hook that held the single white maggot the fish had taken,"Please don't come off" I pleaded.
 The beast chugged off upstream and out of view, I held on, the rod performed majestically and after a few hairy moments it gradually came back to me and after a few attempts the biggest chub I have ever caught was in the net. We looked at each other in wonderment and a little disbelief. It was now that I remembered that my scales had been stolen, 'Paulo' hadn't brought any along either, we seriously didn't think there would be a need. A phone call was made to another colleague Dan, who heroically drove some distance with scales and a camera (mine stolen) as the fish recovered in my net..what a legend....and what a fish..

...and what a way to catch it,  I still can't quite believe it. What am I to make of the great karma roller-coaster of life and angling? I go from despondency to elation, my worse angling experience to one of my best, all within a week, and shared the moment with two good lads...That is why I fish.

Paradise?..........Lost?

Come with me anglers, come to the lake with me....Through the entrance gate, lightly laden. The lush new growth of grass, fringed with bramble, rose and daisies, decorate the trail to the steaming mass. I can't see it yet, I smell it though, this aged and historic water. I feel blessed.
 Onwards, through ancient oak, hawthorn and willow, the sky strobing down through the canopy. Twigs snap underfoot, my attempted stealth advertised to the deer, squirrel and badger. Bramble grasps at my ankles as if begging me to stay a while, I proceed.
 Before me, this pool, a secret delight, a new world, with discoveries yet to be made, my angling future.
 Pigeons flap in low branches, a moorhen shreiks to break the silent spell, she strolls through rushes, repairing, fixing. A heron, stance statuesque, tries his early luck and 'fishers dive at abundant fry in competition with jack and 'swaggers'.
 I gaze past padded green, deep into the depths , the weed cables tickle the surface tension but can't quite push through. Insects and snails go about their daily routine hoping that today the food chain will spare them.
 From beneath an overhanging mass, tell-tale ripples decieve the presence of the carp.
 The sun breaks through intermittently and I sit, wait, watch. I find myself doing more sittting, waiting and watching than fishing, I like it that way. Tucked beneath a willow, with the red ants and woodlouse, I'm happy. The shrill sound of the 'fishers regularly bring me from a semi-meditative state. My eyes are tranfixed though, on a small side bay, next to the pads......a carp.
 He waddles around, searching the surface, that first tentative investigation of the bait. A swirl, then around again, his top lip just breaks surface as he quietly sucks one in. He's cagey, he moves out of the bay. The ever hungry mallards move in, hastily consuming the rest of the bait. I try to lure them closer and feed the off.
 The fish returns, more bait, more eaten. He's big, a mirror, I chance a cast. Free offerings taken, then again, again and again. He's in line with my hook bait....approaches, avoids, again, again and again.
 I know now that other fish have started to cruise the upper layers across the lake, I want this one though, so persist.
 An ongoing pursuit, involving myself, the fish, the ducks and two swans that are not really sure if I'm a human or a shrub.
 In front of me the fry are molested regularly by an unseen predator that strike fear into the tiny shoal at regular intervals throughout the day. A hoverfly drops down to eye level and looks into my eyes, he moves as I move as if spying on me, sent  by the damsels to case me out, no doubt.
 The day rolls on, my attempts of entrapping a cagey carp becoming more intricate and experimental, failure becomes cosy.
 He needs a friend to dine with him, some competition. It doesn't arrive, I persist stubbornly, happy with the futility.
 I have not seen nor heard a sole of humanity for most of a day now. For someone who talks angling all day, most days, the chance to actually partake, in silence, is a delight.
 I gaze at my rod. I've owned it for nearly twenty years. It has served me well, personal best carp, tench and barbel...all on this one rod. I know its limits, but most of all, it's capabilities.
 The day rolls ever on. I am aware that this evening there will be a work party, organised to clear some of the abundant weed growth. With the carp having won the day, and distant, boisterous voices growing louder and closer, I pack up for the day and set out to assist.
 I love the 'work party', a group of like minded soles, always a minority, who join for the common good and make things better for the majority.
 At first, banter, you know the sort of thing, "My rake's bigger than yours", then the striking of a bond, through real hard graft. That sense of achievement, a band of brothers.
 We managed to clear two or three swims of a lot of weed, it was done responsibly and efficiently. It's amazing what can be achieved with a boat, a bloody great rake and a winch....and teamwork.
 When it was all done, the aire was self congratulatory and high. One of the lads offered me a lift home, I'd been dropped off earlier by Lady Sarah. I went to collect my tackle......It was gone!
 Returning to the group I asked who'd hidden it, but nobody had. The aire turned to one of anger, bemusement and disbelief.
  We searched for an hour, or more. It was fruitless, my gear had be taken, vanished. Many theories retold, re-thought.
We reluctantly left, my day ruined, my feelings for this wonderful lake in tatters. I'd mistakenly been seduced into dropping my guard and made it easy for them. I am still angry as I type, that someone thinks it's fine to relieve a hard working individual of his belongings by just taking them with malice. God, I will miss that rod. I hope they rot in hell.....No photos... camera stolen.

Surface Success

Awake, alert, it was a day to idle a few stolen hours at the lake. No lay-in on my day off. I had to go. I knew where they'd be, and when they'd be there. I wanted one.

The lake is exactly two miles from my home, and with no transport today, I set off on foot, carrying everything I needed.

 Crossing the familiar river bridge, the air seemed as flooded with dampness as the plodding flow beneath. Onwards, I detoured the engulfed areas of water meadow with squelching footsteps, past white campion and wilting forget-me-nots. Up onto the canal, early boats chugging past still sleeping ducks, the smell of bacon from floating abodes.

 On I went step by step, no anglers, just everyday folk on their way to work and school children engrossed with Blackberry and I-phone.

 I finally walked down the little track to the gate. My heart sank. I knew that the lake had risen with the floods and that one, maybe two swims only would be accessible, but someone else was there.

 Through the foot gate,along the boundary fence the dog roses cried out to me," Please let me in, please".

I walked to the end of the track, to the swim I knew they'd be, there were people there, a couple. I knew they wanted to fish there, but they had no tackle. "This looks like the only swim fishable", he said " Do you want to go in it?" ..Having walked two miles with my kit, I didn't need asking twice . I did point the two of them towards an area were they both might be able to set up together, this eased the undercurrent of guilt somewhat.

The first thing I noticed was a pair of Kingfishers, I see them so often now that you would think I would tire of them. It is of course impossible, they are such interesting as well as beautiful birds and a sighting is always a delight. I sat and watched a while, no rush, now that I was where I wanted to be.

 It was then that my eyes settled on a familiar bow-wave, only one fish makes them like that...carp. One, then two, then three. I fired out some riser pellet and flavoured mixers. then set up the rod.

 A battle of wits commenced, I'd seen them. They had , for sure, seen me. There's always one though. He circled each bait, as if feeling for line. He could smell the mixers. and then, that first tentative taste as some lips barely broke the surface. It seemed he liked them and proceeded to consume more. All this, of course, provoked more fish into feeding and before long I had achieved a confident feeding situation. Nearly one and a half hours after arriving, I cast a bait.

 More fish moved in and as usual they took all baits bar the one with the hook in. The joy of surface fishing is the trade-off between frustration and excitement, the fish tantalising, yet cunning. You place a bait in an ambush position and they change course or they miss baits completely. The first bait and rig was being avoided, I changed to another method, re-baited and recast.

 It was about this time that I sensed I was being watched and turned around to see a fellow club bailiff. I had carp feeding very close in so signalled for him to be quiet as he approached.

 He fishes mainly for catfish so watching all these fish cruising and feeding had him spellbound.

 One of the greedier fish came around, bang on line with my hookbait. He sucked it in, the controller dipped, I struck, then fell backwards off of my bucket, headbutting the bailiff in the process. No resistance, no fish.

 The greedy one soon came around again, but this time, before he could take the bait, it was snaffled by a previously unseen fish which appeared from nowhere, I struck, this one pulled back and my delightful 1.75lb Shimano Twin Power arced over as the fish made haste away from the feeding fish towards the snags.

After a real tussle, and with the fish beginning to tire, a problem occurred. I would guess that it's more common than most of us admit. I'd snagged the rod tip on an overhead branch. Fortunately, the bailiff came to the rescue with my landing net pole, unwrapping the line from the twigs. After a few nervous moments the fight was back on and before long she was in the net. A beautiful common, rarely caught, she fought like she'd never been hooked. I hope she is the first of many.

With the fish safely returned and fish still feeding in the swim I added more feed and set about recasting. I quickly noticed two things, to opposing things. The fish I have previously named 'Black Cheeks', a koi, in fact a very big koi, had moved into the swim just as I noticed a regulation bird's nest in my reel line. The next few minutes were horrendous, as Black Cheeks proceeded to come within three feet, chomping on the surface floaters, searching out every single one whilst I failed to untangle the line. The fish ate every floater and I had no option but to cut the line and re-rig, just in time to see a koi with a full belly waddle off out of the swim.

 I cast past two feeding commons and slowly pulled the rig in front of one, it took the bait immediately and I was soon scrapping with another hard fighting fish. Fortunately for me it ran out into open water where it could be played out safely and with not much drama was in the net.

Having caught these two wonderful fish, and having seen the rest drift away, I thought I might go home, then I thought I might not, thinking maybe I might get one more chance.

 The sun went in, and despite persisting with feed for another hour and a half, I never happened another cast. The fish had wised up to my presence and the lake had offered up two of it's treasures to me, and given a tantalising glimpse of what may come.

 I finally strolled off home happy with my lot, my first fish on the new syndicate. Every thing is coming up roses.

The All-England Angling Championships, Ely 1912 Footage.

Here's a nice little link to some fantastic vintage angling footage and a cracking website.....Those weighing scales look decidedly dodgy.

Link Here.

"Study To Be Quiet"

© The Art Archive/Corbis

I had the chance to grab a cheeky overnighter on the new lake on Saturday. It would be my second night on there and though I try to avoid weekends it was too much to resist.

  Lady Sarah, who has taken a shine to joining me, and I arrived at an empty lake. Our solitude didn't last long as soon another two syndicate members turned up behind us as we passed through the secure gate. They stopped to chat to each other and we sloped off to bag a swim at the windward end of the lake, a swim in a hardly fished corner.

 It was some time later that a car passed behind us down the track to other end of the lake. One angler remained though, dwelling. We set up quietly, I had a lead around and found the swim was dense with weed except for one small area, just enough room for the placement of my two hookbaits. It was then that the slamming of a van door began, my swim being near to the gate being within direct earshot,. Slamming, crashing, over and over.

 The chap in question then proceeded to make several journeys to a swim directly opposite me, speaking very loudly on is mobile as he went. It was only once he'd concentrated all his kit in the swim that he noticed me. I saw him ponder, he then had the decency to allow me the water in front, but only moved to the next swim, still loudly conversing to a family member in TriggerHappy TV style! He had the rest of that side of the lake, but no, he thought he'd stay at my end. He then proceeded to stroll around to me and bellow that it was OK as he was only staying till midnight.

 I suspected that he had blocked me into my corner, but at least he had the decency to move from the opposite swim(above), albeit to the swim to the right, he's a good guy though and I thought I might get an opportunity after midnight.

 I endured quite a bit of inter-family chat from the other bank until that time, whereupon my bivvy became illuminated by sporadic bursts of his overindulgent headtorch, followed swiftly by a couple of direct hits through the bivvy door. Much noise ensued and at least six slams of the van door completed his blank session and I was at last in peace..Within an hour a fish rolled over my baited area and another two hours later my right rod was away to a single toner. I was soon holding the rod, but, on the strike, instead of connecting directly to the fish, I struck through thick weed. I felt the fish, definitely a carp, for around twenty seconds before the hook pulled. I was gutted.

 Sometime later, I was abruptly awakened to the sound of two very loud voices. They were catfishing for the day and by the time they had unloaded the car, made their way, three times there and back to the swim opposite, dumped their kit, malleted their banksticks in and cast either side of me I knew their names, what bait they had and how long they were staying. I have to say I have never witnessed such a selfish display in all my years angling and I lost it. I yelled at them to please be quiet, I actually said something a little different to that but I won't write it here.

 They did oblige, that is, up until the time the spod came out.

This fella, bless him, proceeded to place baits either side of mine, whilst his mate whacked another three to my right margin, he's actually spodding to his mates area here!!..They had the whole of the rest of the lake.



His mate, having cast to the snags on the far side, then went and sat in his swim to smoke a cigarette of dubious nature whilst the rods fished for themselves (probably not locked up) in his swim. Needless to say, I finally had enough and reeled in, strolled round and had a word in their shell-likes, they genuinely had no idea that they were doing anything untoward. Let's just say that they were 'educated' quite vigorously despite their reluctance to 'study to be quiet'. Lady Sarah, a non angler, has more stealth in her little finger than the other 'anglers' on the lake that night.

 In conclusion, I had a small window of opportunity in which to catch, I got the bite, I lost the fish. I may have re-evaluate the merits of weekend angling.



Still Waiting

It looked serene, it smelt of summer. To my mind summer is now here, I've heard the Beach Boys on the radio, I've seen a dog hanging out of a car window with its tongue out and Lady Sarah is partaking of the Pimms......it's summer.
 I am entranced by this water and up till now it has spurned my advances, but Lady Sarah and I were there and we were to do the night. We had one side of the lake to ourselves and as I set up for the night I imagined ol' Dick and Fred sitting there on a night such as this smoking, cooking and chatting. This lake does that, it takes you somewhere else. Escapism in its purist form. It's what I like, what I crave.
 Working on a weekend limits my fishing to grabbed moments. I take it when I can. I find myself fishing in less than ideal conditions. The carp seem to have finished spawning but the resident catfish were hard at it, some of them were huge. I managed to get some footage of the smaller ones.

Once set up, we ate and drank in the fading light. The good Lady gave a patient smile, my mind distracted from her temporarily, fishy thoughts dominating.

 I was fishing two rods, same bait on each, to a clearish area not too far from the bank. The rigs ? Simple, but effective, no need to overcomplicate on this lake.

 One of the Neville alarms gave a bleep, then again. I looked up to find that a log, about twenty feet long had drifted into my swim, taking out both lines. It was just a case of wind in and wait until it had drifted through. This took around half an hour, by which time it was dark. It was about this time that the good Lady though it might be a good time to bed down on MY new Nash Indulgence bedchair, she gave it the thumbs up. I was consigned to my old Terry Hearne X-lite.

 I soon started to get line bites, I knew they were from feeding fish because I was fishing a slack line and fish passing through wouldn't register. I soon found out that the cause was Bream. I actually like them. Many don't, but I've found over the years that they are a good way of judging the effectiveness of a rig and whether carp will feed on a particular spot, they will usually muscle the bream out and feed on their patch. When I hooked the first one I viewed it with optimism.

 The night progressed and after a few more up to around eight pounds my optimism began to wain. I hardly slept a wink. Some have told me that nights on this lake have spooked them so much that they will no longer fish there. To me, the moonlight, the nocturnal sounds and the anticipation give me a natural high. I really love it.  Alas the morning came all too fast. The water in front of me covered in weed, thrown up from the bream shoals night-time troughing and the catfish's courtship.

 It's my theory that the bream were taking advantage of the semi-spawny carps disinterest in food at the moment. Gorging themselves on the bait while the bully boys were away. I will persist will the chosen method on the next session and see what happens...until then I'm still waiting to connect with one of those carp.
 I enjoyed the overnighter, I don't really show how much I enjoy the company of Lady Sarah, I'm in the zone you see, I'm a different animal on the bank. It's not easy to explain.
 Her views on this idyll are somewhat different,"I read my book, ate burgers and slept a lot."..Haha

A Peek Over The Edge

The carp where in full spawning mode by midday and I packed my stuff away and made my way round to the birch spinney. Shafts of light pierced through the canopy like lasers onto the green vegetation below.

I love this part of the bankside, it is unkempt and mystical, dark and magical. It's home to many creatures, birds and bugs.
 I could hear the splashing of spawning fish getting louder and louder as I approached. As the birds sung I took a little peek over the edge......you can just see one pass through at 15 seconds.

I thought I'd have a closer look. This big fella' scared a very big bream.

You can just about see the spawning tubercles on one of the large bream I saw. They were being chased by carp in cases of mistaken identity.

There were a few big girls in the mix...The Scaley One..

The Pale One.....



Of course every lake must have one mythical creature, a leviathan that is bigger than the rest. There was one fish. Every time I stopped filming he came through in front of me, it was as if he knew. He was larger than Pale and Scaley by quite a bit. I was minded of Eddie Price at Redmire Pool who took the following photo back in the day of a Redmire monster.

This photo has caused much conjecture over the years regarding the size of the fish. The answer will never be truly known.

 Here then is my 'Eddie Price Photo'. I am in no way saying that there is a fish in the lake of the size of the fish above (there isn't), but all things are relative, your opinions will be welcome...



Thwarted Thrice, But The Day Was Nice.....And Spawny!

My two previous attempts to fish the new lake had been non-starters on account of flooding and marauding bovines. Today, as I cycled with minimal gear alongside the Ouzel and Grand Union, half of me had almost accepted that they would be spawning, but on I went.
 The only rod I carried was a 1.75lb Shimano Twin Power, I have two, they have been customised by my old friend Mick Willis, handles shortened and corked. I use them for barbelling and surface fishing for carp.
 The sun started to peep out as I arrived and I was soon through the padlocked gate.
 I was in no hurry to fish and went for a mooch about.
 As I sit here now, typing, my legs are still glowing from nettle stings having worn shorts and I am also sporting a puncture wound to my left eyelid from a dog rose thorn which has turned into a nice shiner. Parts of this lake are wild and a full cicumnavigation is a perilous journey.
 There were four other anglers on the lake, that's a lot for this place. The fish weren't where I thought they'd be so I primarily settled for quiet area away from everyone else and tackled up.

This was the view ahead as I fired out a few PVA bags of riser pellets and mixers and sat back.

Some carp soon moved in from the right, two small commons waddled straight through my feed as if it wasn't there. Then one of the ghosties did the same.Hmm!

 They were clearly pairing up,my suspicions were confirmed by that glorious whooshing sound of spawning fish from the other side of the lake. I have to admit that I persevered with the feed for much longer than I should've, they were in full thro for at least two hours before I pondered that I might as well pack up.

In these parts there is saying that goes along the lines of, "Cast not a clout, until may is out". Well may is out, I might well have 'cast a clout' but I definitely didn't cast a bait.
 It occured to me that I might not really seek to catch fish, being just happy with solitude and beautiful surroundings...I like it here.

Of course I didn't go home, oh no, I had to go around to have a look at what was going on. I will let you know of my discoveries in my next post, but here's a little taster.......

Nice Things, Nice Times and Observations of Ego.

The sun shone brightly today, it was nice to open doors and windows and actually feel the heat.
  I strolled along the Grand Union Canal earlier to the smell of Lilac, Horse Chestnut blossom and barbecues. It doesn't take much to make this land of ours come alive. People cycled and jogged their way around, and drank alcohol and chatted loudly. Birds sang, I am sure a blackbird did a rendition of 'Barbie Girl', that timeless classic! The swans have four newly hatched cygnets and proudly showed them off to me. Flowers bloomed, I'd almost forgotten about the little blue flower with the yellow middles. Buttercups, campion and bluebells also on display.
 The sun also shone on my recent visit to norfolk. I knew it was going to be a good trip when all of the following items were purchased within an hour of arrival.

Two vintage banksticks, efgeeco maybe? With attachments...lovely. Also a fine Dundee cake and some local ale, I was happy. I also bought one of these...

Now, to most of us that's an old Oxo tin, I can feel my fellow blogger Paddy getting excited at the prospect of it being full. However, to anglers of a vintage before myself, that thing there is a tackle box. I've seen photos of many of the old time greats, Walker included sat heron-like aside a pool, with rod and oxo tin. It'll fit nicely with my traditional kit.
 Of course, Lady Sarah wasn't left out, I bought her a nice vintage ring and strolled along the deserted beach pictured above and tried my utmost not to laugh when she was engulfed by a stealthy wave, even the seal thought it slightly amusing.

Later, in a local hostelry known for its fine cuisine, I found myself enjoying a few glasses of Nelson's Revenge and perusing the ceiling.....

Just how much valuable, and to my mind useable fishing tackle must be hanging up in public houses?

 Back at home I was pleased to receive my confirmation to fish that hallowed pool on the English/Welsh border.......

 There's a nice map of the swims on the back. In the past year or so, it seems that there has been a move towards re-naming The Willow Pitch as Walker's.  I know it has always seemed strange that, shall we say, lesser anglers, have swims named after them. However, for me, despite Walkers undoubted part in the pools history, I prefer the name 'The Willow Pitch'...there's no willow anymore but the very name somehow encapsulates the magical aura of the place in a timeless way that 'Walker's' just doesn't.
 What about angling then? Well I have planned and re-planned trips,only to be scuppered by various things from floods to marauding friesians.I will have to go soon though, the term 'climbing the walls' is starting to ring true.
 The time away from angling has given me much room for thought and I found myself contemplating the angler's ego. It's something we all have to greater or lesser degrees. It drives to the core of manliness, and the majority of anglers are men. Has angling, to some, become an extension of "Mines bigger than yours"?..On our favourite social media site I find that certain names will regularly put a biggun up for display, often the first comment will be "How big mate", like it really matters. Are we obsessed with numbers? Is it not just about 'being there'?
 Even one of my favourite places to be online, a place of purer thoughts regarding the noble art is holding a big fish competition.
 Of course, blogging can be classed as egotistically saying, "Look at me", we are all guilty. It's not so much a complaint, just an observation. You will never see another catch weight on this blog though. With luck I might even get out to try to catch one by the time I next post.