Late 60's and I was around 6 or 7 and Dad bought me one of those dirt cheap rod and reel sets from Woolworth's. You remember the kind. They were tied to a length of cardboard carrying a 'fishy scene' and covered in plastic.
I remember the day it brought a glistening Perch to the bank and as it lay at my feet, I knew it's true meaning. That for the rest of my life I would be the one that was hooked.
I grew and so did my passion and my collection of rods and tackle and memories.
Work and life come along for all of us and there is no escape, but a kind of freedom can always be re-visited when we go fishing. A few hours stolen by a favourite stretch of water takes us all back to the carefree joys of childhood. From child-to-man-to-child, no matter how seriously we play the game.
I got a rod from my mother (god bless her) when I was fifteen. I've got it still and it means so much more than just glass, metal and cork. Just to glance at it takes me back 35 years to that birthday treat and the fishing it's gifted me along the years. It's my favourite rod and I know now that her passion fed mine.
Here's me, at work and in the workshop, rod in hand.
It's old and scratched and marked and yet it still carries it's makers legends.
'The Carp Master'
You'll note the cork handle and metal reel sleeves - like a real rod should.
I love our time together - fellow bloggers - I share your joy and your despair (and we really should treat those two imposters just the same, for isn't it the fishing we love). I read your blogs with equal delight and the internet brings us all to together, from Manchester, to Oxford to Boulder and all the way round again.
So, now it's time to show your rods and share more stories. And go fishing...