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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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Nothing day.

 

Having seen the last of the recent snow finally disappear, we headed back to the area that had produced last time out. I wasn't that confident to be honest, but that is neither here nor there to either of us. If you are an angler, you have to go, otherwise your just another bloke who does a bit of fishing. It's our life and not being able to go for much more than a week could and would lead to a bad bout of misery and frustration. All the same, there was that snow to worry about.

As recently as yesterday, my local cut was frozen over although the ice had become a lot thinner. Today it was gone altogether, but of course that means that all that meltwater would still be working against us.

I'll say it again, "I was not confident at the outset", but the prospects always look better with water under the rod tip. It looked ok and takes came pretty quickly, a lot faster than the hook-ups did. We started in the dark and within an hour and a half, I had three Zs on the bank, all small, as was Pete's singleton. I'd expected maybe a small perch or two at best, but it was to be nothing but zander.

At least that would be better than the next three hours would give up. They would produce nothing but, well, nothing. Not a dicky bird, not a twitch, a tap, an ambiguous dragging sensation or a single 'I'll hit that anyway, just in case'. Nada, zilch, the square root of sod all, however you care to describe it, it was crap. Demoralising, tedious, disappointing and frankly boring.

At least the first hour had kept us entertained with a series of subtle but definite bites. With bites, with indications and failed hook ups the mind is kept busy. Yellow, maybe, or a dark colour, or a three inch bait or a one inch bait, shad, curly tail, crayfish or ned rigged stick bait. A fast retrieve or a slow one, up in the water or on the bottom. Just here or just there.

Things to work on then, results to improve on. But once those variables are exhausted and the takes dry up, I revert. Two inch yellow kopyto, slow and low, cast out, wind in, drop it on the bottom twice en route, take a step, repeat. My brain is away with the fairies. The birds are more interesting, even the boats are more interesting. Nothing but nothing.

With boredom comes pain. Back, neck and shoulder pain. What shall we do next week? Wishing the pub was open now and not in half an hour. Even dibbling this 1" yellow kopyto doesn't work any more. There, see, the dull, dead weight of a stick on the end and only the excitement of bending the rod into it to catapult it to hand... Christ, the net, dropped it, shit, anti reverse off pick up the net you prat. Oh God that big golden boil at the surface, the zizzing of the clutch and the bend coming off the rod as it come back to the top. Don't cock it up, yes, yes.

Lift it onto the bank and all the morning's despondency leaks away like the air from a badly tied balloon. There is nothing, nothing more beautiful in the whole world today than a one pound ten ounce perch, this one pound ten ounce perch. I love perch, so much so that I catch two more much smaller ones in the next ten minutes. Nothing but perch now.

Nothing but zander, nothing but nothing, nothing but perch, nothing more beautiful and nothing to moan about now the pub opposite is open. Nothing to do but wonder, should I have been dibbling all morning? I remember what it is now, that so enthrals me about lure fishing.
 

 

 

artificial lite