Harry, the proprietor, is a lovely chap. You could easily lose a whole afternoon while you chew the fat as he talks about his days as a pilot and how his dear wife caught a Salmon that was so big it took him years of grim determination to beat her record - sorry Harry.
As we chatted away I spotted something that took me back thirty years or more - an old Mitchell 300 reel. The very model I bought brand new as a teenager. You see, one of Harry's other talents is the repair and restoration of old reels and this was one he'd resurrected. I handed over my cash and this lovely old reel is back in my pocket.
Some might scoff and look to their fancy, shiny baitrunners etc. etc. but what price memories - and it's still a bloody good reel and will marry up well with my old carp rod. Come the winter it will see duty on my spinning rod and the three of us will go in search of some Pike.
After leaving Harry's place I made my way to Entwistle and headed to one of my favourite spots. I cast many times as the sun bore down and nothing came to my fly. I sat and glugged some drink and remembered my previous visits over 35 years with friends like Clive and Fred and all the many fish we'd caught and the laughs we'd enjoyed. Happy days.
I stayed until nine and at the death a fish rose not four yards away (an easy reach for this duffer).
The fly landed softly upon the surface and very soon it was gone and all that was left to see was a swirl and a bend of water. I struck and was in and my rod bent into a fish that made the whole afternoon worthwhile.
Not a monster - but what beauty.