Melting Pot (Entry 130)

As I made my first cast, one that was severely blown of course by the wind, I really began to question my sanity. Why was I sat in the middle of a windswept field, under the cover of an umbrella, waiting for a bank of heavy rain and snow to blow in? Or should that be waiting for a bite? I reeled in my waggler rig and attempted another cast. This time the float landed slightly more accurately. It began to settle before pulling right at a rate of knots. Well this wouldn’t do. That hookbait was behaving as natural as Katie Prices’ significant assets. As I reeled in, again, deep down I knew that the chance of a fish today was very, very slim indeed. Impossible? Probably but as every true angler knows, thats no way to think at all. There is always a chance. That’s the mantra. Even as the heavy rain and snow began to fall, no make that cut in from the left, I knew I needed to fish on. There is always a chance.

A mesmerising sight for a fishermanI balanced the rig out, eventually, nailing it hard on the bottom. On the hook, a double caster. I possibly should have fished a single but thought that if the float was to slide under, I may as well give it every chance of being from a substantial fish. I got into a rhythm of feeding with the catapult. Every few minutes with just two or three casters. I was only fishing two rod lengths out and can usually feed this by hand but today the wind dictated otherwise. I cast fairly infrequently, say every fifteen minutes or so, and the time in between was spent drinking warm tea and getting lost in my thoughts.

Bait and feeding method

Maybe, just maybe this was the reason I was sat in the middle of this field in the inclement weather. Without any distractions, apart from the contrasting orange beacon being buffeted just metres away from me, you can literally transport yourself anywhere. My thoughts first strayed to the fish that could be swimming around in front of me. Maybe laying up rather than swimming. It’s the first port of call when fishing somewhere for the first time. An obvious one but one that definitely needs entertaining. The mystery. Something too good to ignore. It certainly warmed the fingers up a little or at least took my mind off them. Before I knew it I had graduated from the tench I’d imagined were present to another tench water, I have had so many good times on in the past. Recalling the sweet, earthy fragrance of a summer morning. Looking to the margins for a sign of a feeding tinca. Dampening a fizzing spool as a fish makes for the weed beds. I wondered if the venue I was currently on would provide me such memories in the months to come.

Past tench times

Back to the now, I started to get ready to face the elements. Four hours had already passed by. Sandwiches long since eaten. Tea now in short supply. In that time though, I had revisited many places and there had been many plans made. But not once had the float vanished from view. I became aware that my hands were actually frozen. Possibly frostbite? Well ok, maybe not, but I had a hard time moving any of my digits. A blank session. If measured in the amount of fish gracing the net, that is. A very fruitful one if judged in other ways. Yes, this was definitely the reason I had been sat in the middle of this field. A place where past and future melt into one.

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Until next time,

NorthwestFisherman

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