Hi All
Thanks to Jons kind reminder (Article, No fish no matter ) I readdress my views of how serious it can get, when the going gets tough. At the end of the day hours spent in grizzly weather for little reward takes a toll. But what a wonderful world we are privileged to borrow for some precious moments. That in mind Im afraid this is not a post for the hungry Barbeler, tiz about not catching fish ! and Im sure there's snippets we all associate with. This is nature, a pleasure beside that of sharing the bank with wonderful companions.
Once again, all Disney, nicey nice.
Stood talking things fishy with a great mate the other day, before setting up for a session. Some hundred yards upstream, some boaty folk chatted same but different. There words carried on the wind, the conversation easily deciphered. Id heard them earlier, apparently longboat man had fished a Fox from the river in miserable repair. He told of how hed given sanctuary to the wretched creature overnight, it seemed fine now and would release it, later. Later had come whilst we stood chatting. I told the earlier tale, whilst unbeseen to us Raynard was released. As he came into view , he ran off across the vast sea of fields. A curious gallop, front like a Tennessee trotting horse, a bold high trot, extended neck, desperately seeking friendly landmark. The rear, tail between his legs at the very indignity of it all. some three hundred yards into the great escape, a mob of Crows spied his progress, and mob they did. Swooping down around his ears in a cacophonic din. Amazing spectacle, we watched the barrage continue to the far distance, where the movement all melted back to the English countryside.
Sitting watching my amazingly ridged, sensitive rod ! on another wonderful Thamesday afternoon. I amused myself with the beauty of the surroundings. Pity was offered to my plight as a fisher.... not, a Kingfisher alighted my rod. Creatures of marvellous beauty, up close and personal their size depleted to the lie their bright iridescence offers in flight. The keen beady eye missing nothing ( except this less practiced angler) a Turn whistled over head in iritic flight, oblivious to either me or King. Little Kings head swivelled in alertness to watch his feathered cousin. I have had Kingfishers settle many times before. Slightly unusual as the do have set perchs they attend. But this chap stayed a full 10 minuets, preening, always alert, squirting waste, still alert, shrill whistle, full of life, still always alert. 10 minuets in a vacuum where the world dissolved, a privilege so few have seen. I then sat motionless for an hour, camera ready in hand should my pointy friend return. No he didn't, but looked as if he might, hes on the right flight path as my rod went hell bent at the angry attention of a Thames Barbel. Low mellow pulse swept into bedlam at it all, quite a shock.
Dont matter what it weighed ha ha.
Severnday, late afternoon, with a collection of good buddies, having travelled the hundred miles for breakfast that morning. I sat tired behind the ridged, sensitive rod, yet again. In fact a perfect two pound specimen had added another river to my tally of rivers, so nearly all motionless. I dosed, finger triggered on rod and line. Not a spectacle befitting a coiled sprung Barbel God, but hey ho, human I am. My minds eye set in some curious house, familiar rooms and faces, which never would or will mix. A surreal pleasure drifting in space on dream. THUMP, jiggle buzz, my auto repose activated rod rudely swept in the air as eyes snapped open. Shock, the familiar resistance lacking, I caught sight of missile entering tree left. The feathered projectile, bereft of deportment, collided with the scrubby twigs then tumbled some three stops groundward before acquiring perches on a lowly branch. Dishevelled the Longtailed tit unscathed but embarrassed, flicked a few vital feathers in place, before rapid depart, issuing a warning to his luckier brothers twitting and flitting, almost like butterflies in three previous bushes.
Moleday afternoon, chatting with a great new mate, whilst I sat coiled, Barbel God like. Ridged sensitive rod for once boinking inanely at the attentions of many Moley minnows. Our discussions were rudely punctuated by the crashing in far bank undergrowth, some 40 yards downstream. A resounding splash as a Deer crashed to its Knees some feet into the river. Springing to balance, proceeded majestic fast trot across the shallows. The expression, Im in control, the body language, like child running from cold waves up the beach. She disappeared from view, and up our bank, in split second our world returned, left wondering had it ever happened.
Wyeday 26th Nov, that's tomorrow, more magic what ever happens.
Good fishing
Cheers Dick
Thanks to Jons kind reminder (Article, No fish no matter ) I readdress my views of how serious it can get, when the going gets tough. At the end of the day hours spent in grizzly weather for little reward takes a toll. But what a wonderful world we are privileged to borrow for some precious moments. That in mind Im afraid this is not a post for the hungry Barbeler, tiz about not catching fish ! and Im sure there's snippets we all associate with. This is nature, a pleasure beside that of sharing the bank with wonderful companions.
Once again, all Disney, nicey nice.
Stood talking things fishy with a great mate the other day, before setting up for a session. Some hundred yards upstream, some boaty folk chatted same but different. There words carried on the wind, the conversation easily deciphered. Id heard them earlier, apparently longboat man had fished a Fox from the river in miserable repair. He told of how hed given sanctuary to the wretched creature overnight, it seemed fine now and would release it, later. Later had come whilst we stood chatting. I told the earlier tale, whilst unbeseen to us Raynard was released. As he came into view , he ran off across the vast sea of fields. A curious gallop, front like a Tennessee trotting horse, a bold high trot, extended neck, desperately seeking friendly landmark. The rear, tail between his legs at the very indignity of it all. some three hundred yards into the great escape, a mob of Crows spied his progress, and mob they did. Swooping down around his ears in a cacophonic din. Amazing spectacle, we watched the barrage continue to the far distance, where the movement all melted back to the English countryside.
Sitting watching my amazingly ridged, sensitive rod ! on another wonderful Thamesday afternoon. I amused myself with the beauty of the surroundings. Pity was offered to my plight as a fisher.... not, a Kingfisher alighted my rod. Creatures of marvellous beauty, up close and personal their size depleted to the lie their bright iridescence offers in flight. The keen beady eye missing nothing ( except this less practiced angler) a Turn whistled over head in iritic flight, oblivious to either me or King. Little Kings head swivelled in alertness to watch his feathered cousin. I have had Kingfishers settle many times before. Slightly unusual as the do have set perchs they attend. But this chap stayed a full 10 minuets, preening, always alert, squirting waste, still alert, shrill whistle, full of life, still always alert. 10 minuets in a vacuum where the world dissolved, a privilege so few have seen. I then sat motionless for an hour, camera ready in hand should my pointy friend return. No he didn't, but looked as if he might, hes on the right flight path as my rod went hell bent at the angry attention of a Thames Barbel. Low mellow pulse swept into bedlam at it all, quite a shock.
Dont matter what it weighed ha ha.
Severnday, late afternoon, with a collection of good buddies, having travelled the hundred miles for breakfast that morning. I sat tired behind the ridged, sensitive rod, yet again. In fact a perfect two pound specimen had added another river to my tally of rivers, so nearly all motionless. I dosed, finger triggered on rod and line. Not a spectacle befitting a coiled sprung Barbel God, but hey ho, human I am. My minds eye set in some curious house, familiar rooms and faces, which never would or will mix. A surreal pleasure drifting in space on dream. THUMP, jiggle buzz, my auto repose activated rod rudely swept in the air as eyes snapped open. Shock, the familiar resistance lacking, I caught sight of missile entering tree left. The feathered projectile, bereft of deportment, collided with the scrubby twigs then tumbled some three stops groundward before acquiring perches on a lowly branch. Dishevelled the Longtailed tit unscathed but embarrassed, flicked a few vital feathers in place, before rapid depart, issuing a warning to his luckier brothers twitting and flitting, almost like butterflies in three previous bushes.
Moleday afternoon, chatting with a great new mate, whilst I sat coiled, Barbel God like. Ridged sensitive rod for once boinking inanely at the attentions of many Moley minnows. Our discussions were rudely punctuated by the crashing in far bank undergrowth, some 40 yards downstream. A resounding splash as a Deer crashed to its Knees some feet into the river. Springing to balance, proceeded majestic fast trot across the shallows. The expression, Im in control, the body language, like child running from cold waves up the beach. She disappeared from view, and up our bank, in split second our world returned, left wondering had it ever happened.
Wyeday 26th Nov, that's tomorrow, more magic what ever happens.
Good fishing
Cheers Dick
Finish: Wow what a wonderful experience of nature, can I come with you sometime
