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I hope that you find my journal interesting and entertaining. If, having read this, you think that I am talking rubbish then at least you have stopped and thought about it long enough to come to that conclusion which is something of a result in my book. If you would like to comment on this article or anything else relating to my website, please feel free to contact me using the adjacent form. Feedback is always greatly appreciated and very helpful when it comes to improving both my site and my angling. Thank you for looking. If this form will not work for you, please e-mail me at editor@ericweight.co.uk
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First of the winter.

Somewhere else in this ever-expanding compendium of angling irrelevance, you may find reference to the fact that Pete and I went lure fishing again the other day, and shock, horror, I didn’t do too bad. Not as bad as I have been doing at any rate.

I had a great day, sorry morning but it was badly tarnished by the now regular appearance of back and neck ache. Fishing short lure rods has always played my back up, but usually it takes all morning to really put me off track. This time, sadly, it took barely an hour before I was trying to bend my spine straight again and failing miserably. Pete was no better off, spending half the morning sat against the fence and the other half fishing with that pre-occupied look that tells me that he isn’t really giving it his best shot.

That’s it, we are going to be sitting down next time with coffee and cake to hand. At last I can see a really good reason to use the dropshot looming up, but if one is going to stay in one spot, then one might as well use bait anyway. I couldn’t wait for Wednesday, I decided to sneak out before dawn today and fish the cut for the first time in a while.

Very little had changed. The first bites came within half an hour, in the dark, by the light of my head torch, but as usual I bumped one and missed a couple before setting the hook properly. A nice hybrid, 1-13, followed ten minutes later by another of about a pound. A few more missed bites and then nothing.

Followed by more nothing. The rain stopped, it got light and I stuck it out until eight fifteen. That’s it, I’d give it ‘til half past unless any more bites were forthcoming and then stretch it out a bit. For a change, I moved the float to a much closer line where it was easier to see and treated it to a hazelnut-sized ball of feed. Eight twenty-nine, the float leaps out of the water. I grab for the rod, miss the reel altogether and it goes into a free spin. No pressure on the hook, no fish.

Maybe I’ll give it until nine then. I flicked the float back out, carefully set it just so and tossed another tiny ball of crumbs vaguely in its direction. What passes for accuracy with me is generally treated as random, broadcast sowing by Pete and George, but I get by. Five minutes later I got a satisfyingly text-book lift and set the hook this time.

Not a big fish I felt, and began dragging it in. Somewhat casually, it has to be admitted, until I saw that glorious silver-blue flash at the surface. I do love roach. Always have, always will. They are the girl next door. A bit annoying and taken for granted when young and surprisingly attractive when they get older. Bang on a pound again, it is beginning to look like the average around here, which suits me fine. Now I just need the girl next door’s milf, or big sister at least. I aim for one and a half but dream of a two. I’m really looking forward to this winter on the canal now.

 

 

artificial lite