Flying the canal

Sunday, I went fishing. I met Dean and Dave at about 07:00 am and after scraping the ice off the windscreen we were on our way to a nearby canal. I had toyed with the idea of taking my SLR camera along but decided against it because I felt it would distract me from fishing, that was my first mistake. We had only been driving a matter of minutes and I cursed leaving the camera behind. The weather was perfect, frosty, still, and enough mist to give some superb photographs. We parked up at the canal and walked a few hundred metres, I was distracted by the mood of the morning, as was Dave. For the first hour neither of us fished with much enthusiasm, instead we were clicking away with our cameras trying to capture the scene. People on the boats were beginning to stir, the occasional bump from on board, the gentle rolling of the boats as people inside moved about and smoke spiraling from the small chimneys on the roofs. Dean was fishing away, oblivious to the surroundings, concentrating on the task in hand, fishing. "What sign?" He said.

Dave wandered up to the next lock, trying to wear out his new camera as I made a few casts of the fly, but it was cold on the hands and I was focused on the peace of it all. The world was waking slowly, the occasional dog walker strolled by, whispering quiet "Good mornings" and ducks quacked noisily in protest as the dogs herded them into the cold black water. We remained in this first spot for about half an hour and with no fish, slowly walked back towards the next lock down. The sky was getting brighter as the sun cut through the silhouetted trees with light sabres that cast bright shafts of gold through the mist. The constantly changing light display called for quick action with the camera and even with my little point and shoot compact some times I was not quick enough.

Poor Dean became our caddy, loaded up with our rods as Dave and I fired off shots while we walked.

We spent a further hour or so fishing this stretch of water before changing location completely by driving about ten miles in search of some fish that were a little more interested in playing along with us. At this second venue, I became a little fixated on a fish that I had seen rise by a submerged branch. For half an hour or so I tried to tempt this fish with my fly before finally he very gently, took it. It felt like a good sized fish, heavy and without panic, he played along with me until the net was raised ready to land it and then he was off. In a state of disappointment and depression, I pointed out to Dave where I hooked it, my second mistake, who then nonchalantly cast his fly to the indicated spot, hooking and landing the only fish of the day. A lovely zander, of about four pounds or so. Well done Dave, ya bugger! It was a great morning, I really enjoyed the company, thanks guys.

My pleasure

One of our daughters had a couple of operations in hospital last week, so for the time being we are staying close at hand in case we are needed. She has three children of her own and also looks after her nephews and nieces for a couple of hours most days. Being female, she is very independent and so we have not done a great deal to help out at the moment. The river trout season is over for another year so with the exception of taking two of the grandchildren for a couple of hours on a local canal my fishing tackle remains unused.

The recent spate of dismal, overcast days has made it difficult to carry out any close work but still I have tried to produce a couple of items in leather. Some months back, I made a fairly basic fly case which has worked very well and I now felt that I could do a better job so I passed a few hours by making a second one. The functionality of the first case was good, it was the appearance that I was not happy with. On this latest item I added some leather sides which needed to be "box stitched" in place, I have never box stitched before so it would be good practice I thought. I had a trial run with a couple of bits of scrap and then set about things for real. I took my time, cursed a lot and ended up with this. For a first attempt, I was quite happy with the outcome, it is both strong and neat. Because the light was so poor I decided against hand carving (or incising as it is also known) and stamped a trout design along with my initials.

I continued the stitching all around the edge of the pouch, this serves two purposes, the first is to stop the leather from stretching so much with use and the second, to enhance the overall appearance. The inside contains a piece of dense, closed cell foam to accommodate the flies. Our oldest granddaughter is now a "Guide" and she asked if I could make a woggle for her. Having three daughters, I understand the importance of fashion accessories so I made a small selection in order that she could vary this most prestigious of Guide uniform items. She seemed suitably impressed and I was rewarded with thanks and a big hug. Molly, it was my pleasure.

Boys stuff

As we are not far from the family at present, we asked if our two oldest grandsons would like a weekend in the truck and maybe, do a spot of fishing. Well, of course they couldn't get here fast enough, armed with sufficient bedding, clothing, goodie bags and fishing tackle for a fortnight. All week the fishing had been quite fair but Friday it rained heavily all day and the river resembled a chocolate fountain but none the less, half hour after their arrival we went fishing. The evening was warm, and the light started to fade but both boys managed to catch a couple of minnows each in no time at all. It soon became evident that there was a pike close by, little fish making frantic darts to escape this marauder, getting airborne and landing on the water like a handful of thrown gravel. Imagine my surprise, when following a large splash "T" shouted "Grandpa. Help." His little four foot rod bent almost double as he wrestled with a pike. In no time the fish was off but the buzz and excitement that it caused continued well into darkness. Saturday, the weather was much more pleasant, it was warm with long sunny periods but sadly the river was still virtually unfishable due to its colour. That said, the boys had a fantastic day, pulling minnows from the water one after another, from about 08:30am until 6:50pm with only short breaks for essential things like toilet breaks and food. In the evening we all sat and watched "Merlin" on TV as the boys slowly unwound before bed. Sadly, most of Saturday night it rained again, making the river rise significantly and the daylight hours saw no break in the deluge. Fishing would have been both fruitless and dangerous and by midday the boys were on their way home, eager to do the homework that they had put off all week. So, to their Moms, sorry about all of the washing, and to the lads, hope you had fun, we'll have to do it again one day.

Strange feelings

Yesterday the truck had it's annual service, oil, all of the filters and the timing belt were replaced, we always use the same mechanic because he is good and his pricing is fair. Due to our circumstances he usually carries out any work while we are on a campsite and can stay in the truck. Yesterday however, he did the work in his unit, because of the timing belt change, not a pleasant job, as access is difficult, rather like wall papering a hall way through a letter box. The weather was good and we took ourselves off into nearby Burton upon Trent to pass the time. We enjoyed the morning mooching around looking at things that we could not afford etc. and on the return journey we called in at Barton marina. We had a walk around the shops there and of course, the trout lakes that could be fished for a price beyond our budget limitations. All morning I was distracted, it's the truck you see, being in the care of a different custodian, however careful and well trusted was not conducive to a settled mind. It was rather like a close relative having some minor surgery and just waiting for it all to be over and that they are well again. It was 1:00 pm when we got back to the truck and what a relief, like coming home after an enforced absence. We both commented about our feelings for the truck and the unpleasantness of being parted. How does this happen? Feelings for inanimate items that are so strong. Is it the journeys we have all made together, the great places that we have seen, the good times we have had, the friends we have made and the problems that we have had to overcome. Or the comfort it provides, the shelter from the cold, the shade from the sun or all of these things married together. I'm sure many people would not understand, but we have a relationship with and an affection for our truck that is difficult to describe and I hope it continues for many more years.