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.