In the bag

This weekend we put in and appearance at a steam and vintage rally near Chester, the weather was perfect for such an event and it certainly brought out a crowd. We wandered around, taking pictures and remembering most of the vehicles from our childhood years.

There was no such thing in those days, as "Carbon footprints" and the military truck on the left made that quite clear, with a fuel consumption of 1 mile per gallon at best we were told. We mooched around, looked at the trade stands etc. while Meg plodded along beside totally unimpressed. I paused to take a look at a stall where the guy made and sold walking sticks, I was interested to see the techniques he employed and the materials he used for making the handles. With some embarrassment I stood while Meg adopted that arched back stance that dogs do when they decide to evacuate their bowel. Now I don't remember what Meg had eaten the day before, but it came out even more quickly than she can eat. Sheepishly I pulled out a "Doggie bag" from my pocket and carefully placed my hand inside, making sure that it contained no holes and covered my hand right up to my wrist. This was not going to be nice! the offensive deposit had all the consistency and form of custard. I leaned forward, trying to keep my nose as far away as possible from the noxious substance when it happened.........My phone, leapt forward from my shirt pocket and landed right in it like a flake in a "99". With two fingers I carefully removed it and placed it on the grass while with the other hand I tried to scoop up the slippery mass into the safety of the bag. Oh my god, I did not want to do this. With sufficient content in the nappy sac, to make the recovery look effective I knotted the bag, recovered the phone in a second bag and made myself scarce with some haste. Please don't call me, I'll keep you posted.

Flushing out a breakfast

After a while near Oswestry we have now moved to the Wrexham area, not far I know, but it is a change of scenery if nothing else. This morning I had a little walk around and took a few pictures. Behind the truck is a walled garden to the old farm house and we are surrounded by open rolling fields.

At the corner of the walled garden is an old summer house, derelict now, but I would love to have seen it when it was in use.

As I wandered around I kept thinking that there had to be some fruit trees here, they did not keep walled gardens for nothing. I heard a couple of blackbirds having a right squabble and so looked in their direction, there, hanging over the wall and heavily laden, was a cherry tree. The next ten or fifteen minutes saw me filling my pockets with a free feast, Pat came along in her pyjamas to help and together we raided the blackbirds larder. Shame we didn't have any cream, but they were very nice, none the less.

We sat around as we filled our bellies and lazily enjoyed the early morning sunshine before taking a shower. With our ablutions complete, Pat set about cleaning and drying the shower, she called me in, "Have a look at this" she said. She had removed the toilet roll dispenser and beneath it, in the plastic housing was a substantial amount of water. "Where has this come from?" she asked. Well, I had no idea. For the next half an hour or so, she soaked up the water with a sponge and gradually emptied it into a bowl. "Do you know?" she said, "I had two bowls full of water from there" With everything back together, I needed the loo as the three earlier cups of coffee were flowing through my system. I tried to flush the loo but the tank was now dry. "Strange?" I thought, "it was full first thing". I filled up a water container from the tap and emptied it into the tank, which in, effect is a cistern. While I was doing that, Pat had removed the loo roll holder and was looking inside, "You know what?" she said, "I've just soaked up the contents of the cistern with a sponge". Oh well, it passed the time a little eh?

Mixed feelings

The slow heavy tapping of raindrops on the roof woke me early on Sunday, but I didn't mind, another fishing trip had been planned. At 06:00am I was sat in Kristan's car with my brother Ian and Kris's friend Mervyn, all bound for Llyn Crafnant in Snowdonia. As you would expect at this hour, the roads were quiet and we made good time, arriving at the fishery before the gate was unlocked. We booked in hurriedly and made our way down to the waters edge. This is a stunning venue and even if the fishing was poor, I new that I would enjoy being close to the mountains again, I miss our once frequent climbing trips. We all got togged and tackled up ready for a day of action, within minutes lines were cast and chairs were put in place, but I was not at all comfortable with the prospect of sitting still for hours. I cast a fly several times and despite being in great company, decided that I was off, I had to walk the shoreline, I needed to feel the solitude that I only ever experience in the mountains. The lake is nestled in a steep sided valley, covers an area of about 63 acres and is 3/4 of a mile from end to end. I filled my pockets with food and headed off alone. As I walked, I watched the water looking for signs of fish, casting occasionally into likely looking spots and continually being distracted by the crags that towered all around me. Sadly, the further I walked, the more annoyed I was getting, mans lack of respect for the environment was everywhere. Items of discarded clothing, bits of angling equipment, beer bottles, tin cans, plastic wrappers and the like, were commonplace. It hurt me to realize once more, just how little respect so many individuals have. I walked on, across the pool tail and onto the far bank, now moving up the valley. It was approaching 10:00am and on the other side of the lake cars were arriving, the sound of high speed tyres on gravel carried across the water, the familiar thump, thump, thump of audio equipment invaded my ears. I didn't want this, there was no solitude and I fought hard with my thoughts of discontent. I continued on for another half mile or so to the most inaccessible part of the lake. I fished with more concentration now, my thoughts more settled and soon I was playing a brown trout into my net. I dispatched the fish and stowed it in my bag before pressing on a little further. Movement to my left caught my eye, it was Kristan, I know he thinks a little like me and I watched him as he cast his spinner a couple of times. I sat down on the waters edge and waited for Kris to catch up. We rested and chatted briefly and watched Merv on the far bank land a fish and continued to make our way round the waters edge. We spent a few minutes fishing a brook that ran into the lake and stumbled across the marsh land which was carpeted with cotton grass, we came upon a solitary wild orchid and bent down for a closer look. Few fishermen came here, it would be too difficult to access for many to bother about, but the fishing looked good. Kris caught a couple of nice rainbow trout and I missed one or two. My belly was persistently telling me that it was lunch time and we made our way back to the others where we chatted and joked whilst refueling. I was impressed with Mervyn's earlier catch, it was the largest fish that had been caught between us and weighed about 3lb. The cloud slowly engulfed the high ground and the wind speed increased, bringing a 15 minute downpour that had us all stood under the trees with hands deep in pockets and shoulders hunched. As the weather cleared I got ready to return to our previous spot, Merv decided to stay put and Ian followed several minutes later leaving Kris to bring up the rear. For a while the fishing was difficult, the wind still gusting made casting somewhat entertaining. Quite unexpectedly my fly was suddenly hit by a small brown trout and just as Kris voiced his encouragement it leapt clear of the water by several feet and shed the hook. A few more disjointed casts and the wind dropped, the water settled and I saw a fish rise within my casting distance. I placed my fly right on his nose and teased it slowly across the surface, whack! he was on. I savoured the fight for a few minutes, letting him run, before bringing him in slowly and carefully to the bank. This was a nice rainbow of around two pound and he was going in my bag. Ian managed to haul in a minnow, that was dwarfed by his worm bait, taking the prize for the days smallest fish and Kristan landed his third two pound rainbow. Before we knew it, time had closed in and the process of packing up had to begin. I took a couple of pictures prior to loading up the car. I certainly enjoyed the day, as did I think, everyone else, which leaves me once more to thank the guys, for another day that I will not forget. On the journey home I sat quietly in the back seat and reflected on another great day, but I was troubled by an uneasy feeling, a feeling related to the ethics of this kind of fishing. Fishing that is fueled primarily by the desire for profit and secondly for mans pleasure. You see, I have no problem with fishing for food and I really do enjoy it, the hunting, the battle of wits, the need to eat and living closely with nature, but is it right for man to impose his desire on every last thing that we encounter? I am not saying it is wrong and I have played my part, I am just asking the question, but this is an issue that will always disturb me and I know I will never be completely comfortable with should I continue along this newly encountered, commercially driven trail.

Bank holiday Monday. A day out with the boys.

I was very kindly invited by my nephew Kristan to go fishing on bank holiday Monday and not having the chance to fish much just lately, I couldn't wait. Four of us left the camp site, my brother Ian, his son Kristan, Kris's friend John and I, bound for some mystery location in the welsh hills. The journey in itself was interesting with the bumps lumps and tight twisty turns, fine; if you are up front in a nice comfy seat, but I was in the back of the van with John travelling economy class. The location was really quite tranquil, no traffic, no people just mountains and two pools. Now I have never fished in a fishery, in fact I have never fished a pool and things are different. Casting was so easy, no trees or bushes or bank side vegetation, just a gentle breeze to bear in mind. The ripples on the water made it difficult to see any gentle rises so I chose a spot facing into the wind where I thought any natural food would get blown towards. The other guys walked passed me and round to the far bank, maybe I had chosen a bad spot. I fished for an hour or so, spotting the occasional fin breaking the surface of the water. Ian and Kris walked over to the next pool leaving John and I with the pool to ourselves. Soon I began to notice a little fish activity to my right, I moved round the bank keeping well away from the edge and then stalked my way forward, keeping low so that I didn't spook the fish. Three or four casts to a spot four foot from the bank and bingo. My little rod bent well over and the fish set sail for the middle of the pool. I let him run a little, I wanted to savour playing the fish and I didn't want to break my light tackle. Slowly I coaxed him back to the shore and picked up my net in readiness, I was expecting him to lie on his side as he gave up the fight. But he was a long way from finished with me yet, down he went like a bungee jumper, testing my rod to the maximum, I eased off the pressure and he took me from side to side seeking sanctuary from his captor. He was shrewd, because now he made a hard fast pull for the bank by my feet, where there was a small clump of reeds. Try as I might I could not stop him and there he sat, solid, like a concrete block. No amount of bullying was persuading him to give up his stronghold, "What do I do now?" I thought. Several minutes he stayed fast, just like he had dropped anchor, resting and regaining his strength, I eased the pressure right off in the hope he might think he had won, sure enough, slowly, out he came, I put the tension back on and for a few more minutes we wrestled. With my rod in one hand held high and net in the other he flopped on his side and into the net. What a beauty, I was well pleased. My biggest brown trout to date, I unhooked him and returned him safely back into his world. I continued to fish the same area for a while longer but the wind had increased a little and I saw no more fish. I decided to join the others on the larger pool and as I was walking over I could see Kris into a full scale battle several rod lengths out. By the time I got to them he had landed the fish and was ready to cast again. His face said it all, sporting a large smile from ear to ear, "It's a blue" he said. I didn't know there was such a fish. I took Kris's picture holding his prize. For another hour we fished on, swapped rods with each other here and there, trying different set ups. I lost one good fish on John's gear just short of the net and I missed a couple more. All too soon our time was up and we had to leave, but I must say, it was a really great day out and one that I am sure I will never forget. Thanks guys. When can we do it again?