Saturday, 27 September 2014

When Your Lucks In

I've not seen my local river so over grown at this stage of the season, the other side of this little lot hides a favorite pool of mine well I'm assuming it still does, but after spending the summer cutting and hacking my away along various beats, nature will have to take her course. I'm done with the path finder routine for now, it's just to much like hard work.

Remarkably like my last session, the large Perch were hard to find, plenty of little Jacks to keep the rod bent, but not what I was really after. I had a little think about where to go. Not driving does make these snap decisions a little harder, your on a particular stretch of water, so you can get lazy. Not today though, rucksack on and  a very long walk of about fourty minutes to where I've had some large Perch in the past. That is the problem you don't want to hammer the same places week after week, seek out new areas. But like many rivers, certain places seem devoid of fish, the water seems to hold no life, no fry scatter, it may as well be the river Styx. We may as well fish the Styx, if we do not get some rain soon, the bloody river is drying up.

Walk over, stiles and barbed wired fences negotiated, no tearing of the trousers today ,Christ my bollocks have come close to being taking off a few times over the years. One style in particular holds fond memories in that the Sussex Hermit got caught up in it, flung him and his tackle on his back, his spindly little arms and legs waving in the air like an upturned beetle "'elp me, elp me you pair of bastards". All we could do was cry with the laughter.

Anyway switching over to crank baits, soft plastics seem to catch me more fish, but fishing hard baits is more fun to me, don't ask me why it just is. No joy what so over from anything. Last role of the dice and a spinner was clipped on. A recent article in the LAS mag mentioned that if your struggling try a spinner, you may save a blank.

Bingo, a little cheat though. I fished the same pool that saw me bank  a 3.10 in June. Flicking it past some decaying weed on the far bank, it was hit almost straight away on the retrieve. I knew just knew this was a good Perch, that jag, jag of a fight. No matter how many good Perch that grace my net, it's always a nerve racking affair. Get the fish landed as quick as you can.

Another good 'un. Tipping the scales at 3.4. I did at first think it was the same fish from June, but a distinctive little mark on the underside was not to be found. Imagine if your a small fish and this mouth is the last thing you see, prior to going down the hatch. Pleased with that, making the effort to move and not get stuck in a rut. You have to make it happen, sure it does not always work out that way, but when it does you have a grin like a wanking Jap.

Could you honestly see this clown ever running the country? I was going to use the strongest of expletives to describe him, but then thinking about it, why waste such a good word. Watching his speech in the week from the Labour Party Conference, left me dumbstruck. He is a totally odd wanker, he must be from another planet.

I care not for his policy's or what his speech contained. The problem for me is the man himself, he makes my fucking skin crawl. He has absolutely no gravitas what so ever! Cameron is a mug too, smarmy. To say the Queen "purred" after the recent referendum vote, makes me think of a little clique of old Eton boys in a tuck shop. All nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Suits you sir.

But it's the lesser of the two evils. I simply dread to think if this prick wins power, the mind boggles at who would want to see this man in number ten. Ed and Ed, yeah what a right win double they would be.

A little bit of a rant I'll admit, but that is just me. Climb up on my little soap box and get things of my chest. Time for some Ryder Cup now, a beer or three and feet up.

Be lucky

Monty D

Monday, 1 September 2014

If You Buy One Book This Year

Do yourself a favor and get this one, written by Helen Macdonald. This totally, totally grabbed me around the throat and would not let go. I was supposed to save this, to read on the plane this coming weekend. I thought I would take a cheeky dip in, late on Friday night. A big mistake, the book enthralled me all weekend. It is one of those books that you yearn not to end.

Helen writes a beautiful tome about nature, falconry, the use of love and training of a Goshawk to help her move on from the death of her father. The chapter where she relates to receiving the phone call from her mother, informing  Helen of her father passing away, was brave as it was brutal. To lay bare the depths of your soul like that, takes some doing. You could feel the raw angst like a nail being driven into your skull.

It moves on, at pace. Taking you through the trials and tribulations of training a "Gos". The sheer folly of taking on such a task, the bond between human and bird. I know very little about raptors, but what I do know, is that when out fishing they are always a pleasure to see.

Recently I saw our local Peregrine, soaring above the tree tops. That piecing call on the breeze, like a mournful cry, going down the valley. It never ceases to bring a smile to my face.

This book  has opened up a whole new world to me, for those that are as passionate as the author in there love for these birds. It's a look into her world, her life and struggle to move on, as moving as any book that I've had the privilege to read. At times seemingly, I was face to face with those soulful amber eyes, as if I was being dismissed, totally and utterly by a glaring Hawk.

Buy it, open the cover, sit back and read something that is very special, uplifting and like no other book that sits on our book shelf.

Be Lucky

Monty D