It came and went. That day that seems to be so far away mid march. There’s nothing you can do. Tackle stowed solemnly behind the tench rods, metaphorically speaking maybe. Looking back at my past records though, the first day of the river season is never a good one for me. Even so, without a car for the main event, I could only dream about what could have been. A fistful of plump chub would have surely made their way into the net, falling for the old favourite way of catching them; trotted bread flake. Or maybe a barbel would have took a static bait presented daringly close to an overhanging tree. And how could a day fishing a waggler shallow for the prince of the stream go without a mention. A huge shoal of hungry dace devouring any maggot hitting the surface within seconds of it doing so.
With the car returned and running ‘like new’, a few days had passed since that important date in the anglers calendar. It might not have been the national opening day but it didn’t matter. This was my opening day. I knew I couldn’t get out until evening so I planned to fish as close to home as possible and fish well into darkness. This meant the river I would fish was not an easy one. Not to worry. Once more I would be a part of a beautiful picture of lush river banks, dark deep pools and skylines of blue. Here I could drift in and out of my thoughts and share a few hours with nature. This picture didn’t need fish to complete it. I wouldn’t turn them away, however.
I hedged my bets and baited two swims hen I arrived around eight o’clock. Both very different from each other. One with a gentler pace and deeper in depth and the other faster and shallower. Into each was fed 3mm halibut pellets, and palmful of 6mm pellets and a selection of hookbait sample. In this case, 10mm halibut pellets. Did I mention I was using halibut pellets?
I set up the rod back at the car before making my way to the first swim. The run itself was on my own bank so I could gently flick out the rig with minimal disturbance. I fancied it here less so I planned to fish until a little before dusk then move to the second. As I expected little happened for 90 minutes. Not a pull or a twitch on the tip. I always had the next swim though. If one thing can be said about anglers we are an optimistic bunch. So whilst I watched the tip for the last ten minutes before moving on, my mind was filled with the impressive fish that could be potentially be gaining in confidence a little up river.
A while later I was settled into my second swim. Rigs in position, I sat back silent as a statue. As still as one too. With the dropping light levels so the sounds around me became elevated. Everyday noises began to seem alien. Heightened by the fact I was becoming less dependant on my eyes. It’s amazing how at moments like this the world around you transforms. It’s one of the reason I love fishing at into night. A totally unique experience all round. And when that isotope stutters into life, the feeling is something else. Unfortunately on this occasion that never happened. At one o’clock I called quits and vowed to return soon. Another ‘opening day’ disappointment then? Not at all. As I said earlier the fish would have been the icing on the cake. But this cake tasted sweet enough on its own. I was treated to a glorious sunset, glimpses of tiny mammals venturing out for a night of foraging, and when I got home I slept like a child. What more could you ask for?
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Until Next time tight lines