TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS
Some days just refuse to go to plan and everything I touch goes wrong. It doesn't help that I'm just so fed up with this weather. Yet again the forecast was rubbish, threatening rain all day. As an angler, I still have to get out there and to be honest there is something very special about sitting under a brolly in the rain. I find a real satisfaction in defying the elements. On days like that, I turn my back on the weather and watch the quivertip for bites.
I arrived as dawn was breaking and the rain was starting, raced to my swim, got the umbrella up, dragged all my gear beneath it and was fishing within ten minutes. It was very cosy, I was dry, the tip wasn't unduly affected by the wind and was quickly showing signs of activity around the bait. All was well, I even had a four or five ounce roach out on my second chuck.
It didn't last though. The wind got stronger, the rain got heavier and I kept missing bites. Then, in moments, the wind switched direction by a full 180 degrees. By the time I had moved everything around, me and all my gear were soaking wet. In the space of five minutes, I had gone from warm, dry, comfortable and in control to wet, miserable and demoralised.
A cup of coffee was definitely in order. I pulled the flask from my bag, unscrewed the top and watched it roll across the towpath and into the cut before sinking like a stone. No amount of fishing about with the landing net would find it. Five minutes later, a dog ate my bait. It was all getting a bit wearing to be honest.
I arrived as dawn was breaking and the rain was starting, raced to my swim, got the umbrella up, dragged all my gear beneath it and was fishing within ten minutes. It was very cosy, I was dry, the tip wasn't unduly affected by the wind and was quickly showing signs of activity around the bait. All was well, I even had a four or five ounce roach out on my second chuck.
It didn't last though. The wind got stronger, the rain got heavier and I kept missing bites. Then, in moments, the wind switched direction by a full 180 degrees. By the time I had moved everything around, me and all my gear were soaking wet. In the space of five minutes, I had gone from warm, dry, comfortable and in control to wet, miserable and demoralised.
A cup of coffee was definitely in order. I pulled the flask from my bag, unscrewed the top and watched it roll across the towpath and into the cut before sinking like a stone. No amount of fishing about with the landing net would find it. Five minutes later, a dog ate my bait. It was all getting a bit wearing to be honest.
This small rudd had seen some action by the look of it,
I had loads of bites but could not find a decent fish. I had one rudd, three roach and a hybrid all in the four to eight ounce bracket and two skimmers around the pound mark. It wasn't a total disaster and on a nice day would probably have been a very pleasant morning's fishing but it wasn't a nice day. I dropped my notebook in the mud and left at about eleven o' clock.
It looks like the HS2 closure is over now, judging by the arrival of a boat just as I was thinking about packing up. Obviously somebody else's boat too judging by the lack of concern shown by the guy on the tiller as he ripped the whole side against the bridge without making any effort to avoid it. He raced through my swim at twice the speed limit and past the moored boats leaving them all rocking violently in his wake.
We've had a few bream now around the two to two and a quarter pound mark from this spot and a single one pound plus roach but to be honest it's not really worth the best part of an hour's drive for me anymore. It's fine if I've picked Pete up en route but I couldn't help thinking that I have more and bigger fish to catch from the Ashby, five minutes from my door. I doubt I'll be back there any time soon, not on my own at least.
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