A reservoir evening planned...a much awaited session for tench and crucians...but fate had other ideas. The heavens opened, the traffic gridlocked. A rethink was in order.
Of course I could sit car-bound in the melee for hours and then fish from the confines of a brolly, but that's not for me. I'm no martyr and would rather fish on my own terms or stay at home and save my fishing credits for more agreeable circumstances.
The rain abated, albeit at 6.30pm...an alternative plan was hatched. A few hours at the canal. But where to go? The stretch James and I had stumbled upon last Friday of course. Let's see if it could live up to all it had promised. Zander, yes. Bites a-plently at dusk...but more than that. Peace and quiet, beautiful surroundings more akin to a riverbank. Waterfowl and their broods remaining unmolested by subaquatic vermin and anglers remaining unmolested by superaquatic joyriding geriatrics. A little slice of heaven indeed.
I soon had the rods assembled and baits attached. Smelt would be this evening's sole offering, so great is my confidence in this estuarine dweller for not only zander but pike too.
I finally decided on an area where a birch reached out across the water's surface, gently touching it in places. The floats deployed as near to the foliage as I dared. Twenty minutes later with not a ripple from either of the floats I moved on...
Two bobs and away it slid. The float submerging as I picked up the rod. I wound down but nothing. Argh! Bait checked and positioned back in the exact same spot I hoped the fish would return. Five minutes later it did, the float disappearing under the cover. I recovered line and this time resistance, but then off. I sighed and chuckled to myself, thinking of James last Friday. My turn I guess.
The float was deployed again but this time with much less hope. I had felt the fish for a second. I was sure it would be too spooked to bite again. I consoled myself that one of his buddies may be lurking in the wings.
Finally a fish on the bank and a nice one at that.
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