Preaching to the converted.

I made it to the river Goyt, last Tuesday. I fished most of the day with little luck, mainly due to my lack of knowledge of this branch of our beloved pastime.

A few dog walkers and joggers were my only companions, until two American boys stopped for a chat. Suited and booted they looked an incongruous site on the muddy banks.

They asked if I could be sure I was going to heaven. They were kind enough to point out that if I joined them, and their fellow Mormon's, I would be given a free pass... I declined their offers and pointed out I was already following another path. They went on their way looking for more to convert.

I had some trouble with my new, finer, Stroft line. Being more used to the 6Ibs Maxima I normally use for reservoir fishing, I found the new stuff difficult and fiddly to tie knots in. More practice required.

The two American boys returned and one of them was kind enough to take the shot of me in the river. I wished them well and they were away.

I continued upstream and found myself waist deep in the clear water and under a tree. All the cares of everyday life and work had dissolved.

A tug on the line and I was into a fish, it held itself against the flow of the river and for a moment wouldn't move. Then it was up on the surface, jumping and flirting around. My barbless hook held, until I caught my rod in the tree above and the line went slack. My Grayling sank from sight. A schoolboy error, but, if you will pardon the pun, I am hooked and will return.