A WRONG TURNING
The long and winding road is tortuous to say the least. Friday's weather was, in meteorological parlance, shite. In May we had a 30° heatwave; sun cream, sunglasses and sweaty armpits. Flaming June, so far, has been a flaming misery and today it culminated in heavy rain, irritatingly cold winds and leaky boots. To pile on the pain, one of the tricks up my sleeve was about as effective as any modern government's efforts to achieve anything worthwhile.
What was this potentially devastating trick chafing away at my arm you may well ask? Well it was nothing new but it had proved very effective elsewhere with Crucians in particular and Tench in general. I had every reason to expect it to work in a swim that had seen me attached to eight Tench in the last two mornings. Not only that but it was just the other side of the bush from which the only Crucian of the season so far was caught just a few days ago by the Reverend John.
Am I waffling here? It's not intentional; luncheon meat was going to be the stick of dynamite that would open the pool's safe full of gold discs. Not just any old lump of the stuff but tiny, tiny cubes fished as a particle. As I've said it has worked very well elsewhere even catching the occasional better Roach and Rudd but not today. Despite my confidence, not even the silliest little Rudd was prepared to venture so much as a taste and I was left to squelch my way back to the car with my bright idea but a feint glow, dismal as the weather.
I have one more idea to put to the test and then I'm on a level playing field with everybody else that fishes there.
What was this potentially devastating trick chafing away at my arm you may well ask? Well it was nothing new but it had proved very effective elsewhere with Crucians in particular and Tench in general. I had every reason to expect it to work in a swim that had seen me attached to eight Tench in the last two mornings. Not only that but it was just the other side of the bush from which the only Crucian of the season so far was caught just a few days ago by the Reverend John.
Am I waffling here? It's not intentional; luncheon meat was going to be the stick of dynamite that would open the pool's safe full of gold discs. Not just any old lump of the stuff but tiny, tiny cubes fished as a particle. As I've said it has worked very well elsewhere even catching the occasional better Roach and Rudd but not today. Despite my confidence, not even the silliest little Rudd was prepared to venture so much as a taste and I was left to squelch my way back to the car with my bright idea but a feint glow, dismal as the weather.
I have one more idea to put to the test and then I'm on a level playing field with everybody else that fishes there.
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