The Inglorious Sixteenth.

The lake water is as tepid as a cup of tea that has been left to stew. A cacophony of birdsong fills the air, a chorus of excitement and expectation. The air is heavy with the heady smell of spicy hempseed and the strawberry flavoured sweetcorn that has stained your fingers blood red. The oddContinue reading “The Inglorious Sixteenth.”

Lake Of The Dead.

It is a few minutes after five o’clock on the last day of July 1991. The air is still, humid. That stifling torpor of mid summer lethargy. Slowly, I am making my way along a narrow spit that juts out into the lake. I am already sweating and the sun hasn’t even begun to lightContinue reading “Lake Of The Dead.”

Spring; the season of hope lies ahead.

The river Culm was raging today. An express train of uninviting slate grey water with a heavy cargo of flotsam of all kinds. All fish life had their heads down and were wearing tin helmets. The coarse fishing season is waving a white flag to nature’s relentless ravaging. On the plus side there was aContinue reading “Spring; the season of hope lies ahead.”

Winter’s Rewards

Keep it simple. Just a rod, a reel and some bread and worms for bait and a small measure of expectancy that hangs like your breath in the air. There is a strangely perverse pleasure to be had by spending a few hours on the riverbank in Winter. The coldness of the silt filled riverContinue reading “Winter’s Rewards”