tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1045795009333476352024-03-05T07:25:43.157+00:00A spot of fishing?Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-13315875943098894252015-10-08T21:28:00.001+01:002015-10-09T15:56:01.974+01:00A Day with Chris OgborneShe who must be obeyed had informed me that it was high time we took a holiday and, for a change, she did not fancy a trip to foreign climes. I sighed with silent relief.<br />
If in the past you have found yourself in an airport and cast a glance over at the 'excess baggage counter' and spied a poor chap handing over a bunch of notes, our paths have crossed my friend.<br />
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We decided the Carlyon Bay Hotel, down in Cornwall, was to be our port for a week. I looked forward to several relaxing days of, full english breakfasts, afternoon teas and fine dining followed by a large whisky/brandy in a comfortable and comforting bar where a chap could feel safe from the horrors that surround us.<br />
I was not disappointed, dear reader.<br />
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As ever I had packed some fly fishing tackle because, although it was very late in the season, I had recently been made aware of the art of fly fishing for Bass - Sea Bass, dear friend, not the American Bass you see pinned to a wall wagging its tail and singing a chirpy song.<br />
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One morning after a hearty breakfast as I sat happily sucking bits of sausage from me choppers, someone pulled a cord and a light came on in a remote corner of the grey matter between me ears. Eureka! I thought. Instead of flogging the water without a clue lets try and find a guide to show me the ropes.<br />
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And so it was dear reader, through the magic of modern technology, I found none other than <a href="http://www.chris-ogborne.co.uk/">Chris Ogborne</a> - fly fishing master, guide, writer, lecturer and all round very nice bloke.<br />
After a few texts we arranged to meet in the car park of the Tesco supermarket in sunny Wadebridge. Chris jumped out of his motor and, with a big smiley face, gave my hand a good shake. I knew I was dealing with a straight bat and we'd get on very well.<br />
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After a brief drive through the countryside I found meself in the briny up to my particulars casting a fly into the salty stuff. Chris patiently briefed yours truly on what to do and before too long I even collected the odd murmur of appreciation for my casting, despite the swirling winds.<br />
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At the end of our time I had not caught a sausage. It was very late on in the year, but I have to admit to enjoying every single moment of Chris Ogbornes company. I know that on another day earlier in the year Chris would have helped me catch numerous Sea Bass. I recommend Chris as a guide and as a friend, he's a very decent sausage.<br />
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Come next spring I hope to be on that beach with Chris, again.<br />
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<br />Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-6548157493737408422015-09-29T15:18:00.002+01:002015-09-29T15:18:36.568+01:00Off to my club, dear boy...Joined a rather exclusive club and what a good move it was. Beautiful place with miles of fishing. Paradise found - and all that.<br />
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After a few hours and a few fish I waded out and back to me faithful Defender to plunder the hamper. My usual fishing partner was elsewhere today so it was lunch for one, thank you very much.</div>
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Pork pie and a nice drop of 'claret' to wash it all down.</div>
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After lunch the fishing picked up and a number of hand sized trout fell to a small dry fly - despite my casting which, though I say so myself, is beginning to improve. I also managed a small trout on a pinkish nymph.</div>
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Took this photo mid-stream and far from the madding crowd...</div>
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Eventually, with an aching back and legs, it was time to call it a day. A very happy day, in fact. Loaded up the Defender and headed back to the club house for a sit down and refreshments.</div>
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I took a cold beer from the bar and relaxed in a comfy armchair and promptly nodded off.</div>
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A beautiful day.</div>
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<br />Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-6097967182731700292015-03-14T19:17:00.001+00:002015-03-17T09:30:04.166+00:00Picnic in the basket...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Went out with JT again and again we went in search of the Pike. As ever, scruffy joined us.<br />
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The first venue was a canal and very soon I was reminded that I needed to buy myself a pair of decent boots. The canal bank was full of mud and the inevitable dog mess.<br />
Me last pair of Hunter wellies didn't last long and didn't provide much support for the angler who chooses to scramble, in a chubby and wheezy manner, over walls and fences and hills etc. etc.<br />
I think Hunters have gone down the banks.<br />
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So, I've ordered a pair of Dubarry boots. Very pricey, I know, but they will (hopefully) last me for the next ten seasons or more and provide support to ageing ankles.<br />
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Anyway, we saw nothing in the canal and nothing seemed to see our fly's for they remained untouched. JT managed to snag the far bank and had to leg it down the bank, over a bridge and crash through someone's chicken pen. He's very athletic when the call comes in and, despite his age and girth, he crashed over a wall and barbed wire fence like a middle-aged bullock that's drank far too much Stella.<br />
He saved the fly but in the event we didn't grass a Pike.<br />
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Moving on we found ourselves in a very urban setting and another canal running through a busy city. We raised a few eyebrows as we crossed a busy road in full fly fishing gear - waders, boots, rods, bags, net - and Scruffy.<br />
We descended to the canal bank only to find the stretch we wished to fish had been drained to reveal the cracked muddy shelves cradling a slim channel of dark muddy water.<br />
We carried on and raised some interest from a few jacks but no proper takes.<br />
Finally, surrounded by onlookers - bored or otherwise, we quit the venue and headed off to another destination where we both felt sure we'd find Pike.<br />
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A moments reflection, dear reader.<br />
Me fishing career has, so far anyway, lasted some forty-odd years and during that time I have always preferred to enjoy some form of lunch at half time. In golden, far-away days my dear old mum would make me a packed lunch with a flask of hot tea. (God bless you, Mum). I'd put the tupperware box inside me old wicker basket and, shouldering my old rod holdall and fold-up deck chair, I'd toddle down the road to catch the bus to Lymm Dam.<br />
Time waits for no man and these days I will sometimes seek the succour and comfort of a handy pub, if the location allows. But what's to be done when the chosen venue is miles from any form of hostelry.<br />
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Well, I've discovered a solution in the form of an old fashioned picnic basket. It can be loaded with all sorts of nosh and booze and it comes complete with all the necessary crockery & cutlery to rest and chop up your grub and glasses to drink your wine from.<br />
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As I handed JT a chicken leg and a glass of Chateaux neuf du Pape, a chap appeared with a very handsome dog. We soon learned that the chaps name was Neil and the dogs name was Tess. Neil sat with us and told us of his own fishing adventures and it seemed only decent to hand him a glass and pour him a drop - with beaded bubbles winking at the brim...<br />
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Scotch eggs and chicken legs and a reasonable selection of cheeses, all washed down with a bottle of the red left us replete and, with purple stained mouths, we fished again. Sadly, and despite some considerable effort, the Pike had simply buggered off and chose not to pay us a visit.<br />
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Our very last venue of the day always reminds me of a victorian park lake. And in my minds eye, in days gone by that's exactly what it might have been. On sunny Sunday afternoons a virile young man would row his sweetheart over to the far bank for a moment of soft canoodling. Only for the dream to be broken by a loud and intruding shout from the bank; come in number 23 your time's up!<br />
Descending through a small copse we met a very smart lady walking her dog. She reminded me of my schoolboy crush - Alexandra Bastedo. Phew...<br />
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At the death, JT managed to bank a small jack. The pike from this lake are always quite pale and anemic and this little blighter was no exception. He also bore the scars of battle as a large stabbing wound was visible across his mid-flank. A diving cormorant, maybe? Anyway, he was soon returned to fight yet another day and at this final small victory JT and meself decided to call it a day and so we made our way back to the motor.<br />
A small beer each seemed an appropriate way of toasting a great day. Not much sport but meeting new people and the very lovely Tess made it all very worthwhile.<br />
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The hamper had proved its worth and will be packed to the gunnels come our next adventure.<br />
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<i>(Acknowledgements and apologies to the spirit of JK)</i><br />
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<br />Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-29846011614792195862015-03-10T20:11:00.002+00:002015-03-10T20:11:55.815+00:00Pike on the Fly...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My chum, John, had communicated his recent interest in fishing for our old friend Esox with the fly. Intrigued I got in touch with him to arrange a day together in pursuit of Mrs Pike before she got too frisky with Mr Pike - it being early March.<br />
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We travelled through blizzard conditions and heavy traffic before finally arriving at our destination - a windswept canal. The snow joined us on the bank and was soon blowing almost horizontally covering both our backs with ice and slush and freezing the old mitts.<br />
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We began casting large flies to the far bank - or in my case, halfway to the far bank. Mercifully the snow subsided and the wind dropped and a weak sun warmed us and then the Pike appeared.<br />
I've caught me fair share of Pike before, up to 24lbs, but catching a pike on a fly rod is a different kettle of fish. We were using suitably beefed up gear - 9 foot, no.9 rod and lines - but the bend in the rod and the direct contact through the fly reel was very exciting.<br />
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During the day and over three venues we both managed to bend into high doubles as well as some hard fighting jacks. We broke for lunch in a nice pub and shared a bottle of reasonable Merlot.<br />
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All in all a tremendous days sport.<br />
<br />Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-24149917153499471212014-11-25T20:40:00.001+00:002014-11-25T20:40:59.291+00:00Mud at the Dove...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjny444IPIKO_Vejrm1sDHpivGVADvm4cAbk1VgQDpfGJKav7rhERZcWx2HQ9qCbGSPB22TQbAqU8KIdRrEN4tuOKNau-EHxoX_R7OsTgoqFJL1yhDrM8ValC7FDQ5Hb5AOQg0DwiLtDOcx/s1600/Grayling+dove+24.11.14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjny444IPIKO_Vejrm1sDHpivGVADvm4cAbk1VgQDpfGJKav7rhERZcWx2HQ9qCbGSPB22TQbAqU8KIdRrEN4tuOKNau-EHxoX_R7OsTgoqFJL1yhDrM8ValC7FDQ5Hb5AOQg0DwiLtDOcx/s1600/Grayling+dove+24.11.14.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a></div>
Spent Monday on the Dove with JT.<br />
It was freezing cold and it was extremely muddy and we didn't catch the monster but, what a fabulous day it was. A few lovely Grayling put the cherry on a well iced cake.Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-11242461612893094032014-09-06T12:46:00.000+01:002014-09-06T12:52:59.196+01:00Kingfishers & Dragonflies...Made a pleasant trip with <a href="https://www.facebook.com/john.tyzack.7?fref=ts">JT</a> to another, once polluted, urban river. You know the kind of place, where the town centre has grown up around a river and over the years the burghers have used the water as a dumping ground for their rubbish. Did they somehow imagine that once cast into the murky depths their detritus would be washed away along with any thoughts of guilt.<br />
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However, as the traffic rumbled overhead, we descended into an overlooked underworld for surely the people walking around the town above us were unaware of the beauty that lay beneath their feet. During the day I saw three magical Kingfishers darting up and down the river and we both spotted a large brown dragonfly zipping overhead. It hovered for while a few feet above us but we proved of little interest to this particular aeronaut and in a flash it was twenty feet away.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJNO54Qikoj5PNERj1uPX8-Pl3whwQ2oZ8y7EGJEAp7zmKmjO7m2f4B8_9FOziYWeEzT6fb29BXeEKsJfQguqrsbAX_fRrtX3PtfhIntWuX2hzLhlqPv_qV6ciA1CgPeC4ORkEC10rliF/s1600/Brown+trout+Sept+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJNO54Qikoj5PNERj1uPX8-Pl3whwQ2oZ8y7EGJEAp7zmKmjO7m2f4B8_9FOziYWeEzT6fb29BXeEKsJfQguqrsbAX_fRrtX3PtfhIntWuX2hzLhlqPv_qV6ciA1CgPeC4ORkEC10rliF/s1600/Brown+trout+Sept+2014.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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Dry fly beetles and a bit of double-nymphing brought enough plump and beautifully marked brown trout to hand to keep us both quite happy. A quick break for a liquid lunch and we were soon knee deep once more on a higher stretch. However, the fish had faded away and after some time we called it a day.<br />
A few pints of Guinness in a pleasant beer garden - the perfect spot for the debriefing.<br />
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<br />Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-91279714915469032702014-06-19T11:29:00.000+01:002014-06-19T11:33:01.489+01:00Something old...I enjoyed an afternoon up at Entwistle reservoir yesterday, my first trip of the season. En route, I called at <a href="https://plus.google.com/114560520328971346964/about?gl=uk&hl=en">Anglers Den</a> in Darwen to collect my day ticket.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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.<br />
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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.</div>
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I stayed until nine and at the death a fish rose not four yards away (an easy reach for this duffer). </div>
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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. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOw5hCYr2wQRNmeiMvHqDuYNG22ViGez4FCyNUt4l5Rl534XfKOHU7-fXUzNo99E6V-LmEqp-3joO1Afs-ezcj6Geq3CfDbLC90x0kLNxZHvwS_UgibGupbiLvpM8Zwe6QTCIwy8-6Lz2/s1600/Brown+Trout+Entwistle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOw5hCYr2wQRNmeiMvHqDuYNG22ViGez4FCyNUt4l5Rl534XfKOHU7-fXUzNo99E6V-LmEqp-3joO1Afs-ezcj6Geq3CfDbLC90x0kLNxZHvwS_UgibGupbiLvpM8Zwe6QTCIwy8-6Lz2/s1600/Brown+Trout+Entwistle.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Not a monster - but what beauty.</div>
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<br />Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-55654780836089484602014-01-18T17:58:00.000+00:002014-01-18T18:04:04.922+00:00Salmon, a bit scarce in Manchester....<i>I quite fancy catching a Salmon - on the fly - using a double-handed rod. </i><br />
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The thing of it is, Salmon are a bit scarce in Manchester. It must be the rain. Well, it's the last thing you'd want after travelling so far. To reach your destination and it rains all the time.<br />
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Some speak of Salmon in the Mersey, which is only a 30 minute walk from my house. Then again, if our mutual friend, <a href="http://manchesterfishingfiend.blogspot.co.uk/2008/09/lengthening-odds-salmon-quest-pt-6.html">Mike Duddy</a>, can't tease a Salmon from the Mersey I'm sure my chances are much slimmer.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><br /></b></span>I found a <a href="http://www.environment-agency.gov.uk/static/documents/Leisure/Salmon_behaviour_in_the_Mersey_Catchment_FINAL.pdf">report</a> on Google from one, Sam Billington<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b>.</b></span></span><br />
Sam had carried out some detailed and scientific research into Salmon in the Mersey and the results were less than exciting.<br />
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Also, the Mersey, at least near me, has steep banks that would make the fishing a little awkward to say the least. Or, perhaps I'm just too fat...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkCauxyfg0HuUtrDbxG2L01XEngD-aPidWQkw5gS9JgMt9ePLuBk8dz8xgGWiYbUQKnAH-PB5bP-SQlif5Cvqf-X6zbzIutLuEcj5sOrebiVL8TUNYlqrk1vXCx64DYOJeqM1n9oJNL6k2/s1600/mersey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkCauxyfg0HuUtrDbxG2L01XEngD-aPidWQkw5gS9JgMt9ePLuBk8dz8xgGWiYbUQKnAH-PB5bP-SQlif5Cvqf-X6zbzIutLuEcj5sOrebiVL8TUNYlqrk1vXCx64DYOJeqM1n9oJNL6k2/s1600/mersey.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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So, last season I had a mooch around on Google and I found Glyn Freeman and http://www.cumbriaflyfishing.co.uk/ A day was arranged and not long after I found myself thigh deep in the River Eden. A more beautiful fishing location I have yet to discover.</div>
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Glyn, a lovely chap, took me through the rudiments of Spey casting and yes, I was pretty rubbish at the whole thing but, drawing on the same steely tenacity I regularly employ to finish a half decent bottle of merlot - I persevered. </div>
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The day was sunny and bright and quite mild and - I didn't catch a thing. But blimey, what a day! Surely some part of our greater enjoyment of fishing must be the scenery and the Eden was glorious.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnJQcBGQsTqHK38XoQKbi5uxJpX98fe7lVq4swmVGrqnCfnxxdG151PlGAPWiMnu5zaLWXrCqJt2NqEyj1T_yxV6jvrg0qFwoM6WELBLJ5pJt8bVxaMBjxgzbDQMEtNIVZxV2UekY_yn6/s1600/River+Eden+2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnJQcBGQsTqHK38XoQKbi5uxJpX98fe7lVq4swmVGrqnCfnxxdG151PlGAPWiMnu5zaLWXrCqJt2NqEyj1T_yxV6jvrg0qFwoM6WELBLJ5pJt8bVxaMBjxgzbDQMEtNIVZxV2UekY_yn6/s1600/River+Eden+2013.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Not a half capsized shopping trolley or truck tyre or french letter in sight. Just crystal clear water and blue skies and lush green vegetation - paradise, to coin the phrase.</div>
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Anyway, I've booked another day with Glyn and I'm off up to Cumbria Friday week - weather permitting...</div>
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Now, the River Ribble is quite a bit nearer to home, as is the Lune. And I remember 30+ years ago fishing the Ribble for dace and Chub (Clive and I caught more eels than anything else) while all the time Salmon were leaping in the Warrington Anglers stretch.</div>
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We'd turn off the M6 at The Tickled Trout and park the van in front of De Tabley Arms pub. Then we'd walk through farm fields - and the farmyard - for 45 minutes or so to reach our spot.</div>
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Recent reports in Trout & Salmon don't make exactly good reading for the budding Ribble Salmon angler, but I'm still willing to try. </div>
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So, if you ever fly fish the Ribble or the Lune, for Salmon or Sea Trout and you don't mind a chubby and wheezing duffer coming along. Let me know...</div>
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Meanwhile, my dreams are filled with...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidlAyV3K53_1xo50qeZoE8d1nZqpPiTmBibaPf9_jT5Pq-86myzG7m_doIBhpyj3IRjQRkHuWLZpeT09b94Klo5rABnihYzvWeW7gmYSoZHUk7s4M_FHQO9ljXfZm9DP-YAK4pIWBvX9BD/s1600/Salmon+on+the+bank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidlAyV3K53_1xo50qeZoE8d1nZqpPiTmBibaPf9_jT5Pq-86myzG7m_doIBhpyj3IRjQRkHuWLZpeT09b94Klo5rABnihYzvWeW7gmYSoZHUk7s4M_FHQO9ljXfZm9DP-YAK4pIWBvX9BD/s1600/Salmon+on+the+bank.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-59739232239866734792013-08-11T15:52:00.002+01:002013-08-11T15:52:35.076+01:00Duffer comes good....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTbcC54Dp00quLFeTQg1v4_aioVh_ds2sI7TxCZukFBm0aaxmdxR5iRqMvv8xZzdms1h5Kg3uy2P2tdPuOy7eSx6v7mIR94ASg6LEfaY2SaYv8JpBF_Pki_sSyD-o5xk9HtS4kgyAND16Z/s1600/Ab+Brownis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTbcC54Dp00quLFeTQg1v4_aioVh_ds2sI7TxCZukFBm0aaxmdxR5iRqMvv8xZzdms1h5Kg3uy2P2tdPuOy7eSx6v7mIR94ASg6LEfaY2SaYv8JpBF_Pki_sSyD-o5xk9HtS4kgyAND16Z/s320/Ab+Brownis.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I joined <a href="http://www.johntyzack.co.uk/">JT</a> for more urban river explorations. We waded into what used to be a veritable sewer running through a local town centre. The water was largely very clear but the banks still spoke of the years of neglect. No manicured lawns or carefully tidied banks. Instead, we stepped over bricks and tyres and shopping trolleys and god knows what else.<br />
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Still, two drifted nymphs brought us some beautifully coloured brown trout, their bellies sporting a dash of butter gold.<br />
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Even I managed to persuade the lovely brownie above to leave the river and spend some time aloft. 2 and a half pounds was the guessed weight - good enough for this duffer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHgcW9J8G_ir8isfYcPWjwqtaAVgtRD_-kT-ElwiL5KyOaSmir1ArX-bbz41Nkx5-cehvDdlOgFD5Iw-fwq8qtfkvOe3uOKocaujFkp3oUUJfO9xsChCwLLcEFUergaTWidJQQIfqqEqEr/s1600/+AB+Brownie+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHgcW9J8G_ir8isfYcPWjwqtaAVgtRD_-kT-ElwiL5KyOaSmir1ArX-bbz41Nkx5-cehvDdlOgFD5Iw-fwq8qtfkvOe3uOKocaujFkp3oUUJfO9xsChCwLLcEFUergaTWidJQQIfqqEqEr/s320/+AB+Brownie+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A few quick snaps and the fish was returned to fight another day.Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-47042653450919507142013-03-07T18:00:00.000+00:002013-03-07T18:01:36.566+00:00<h2>
Fixing the odds.</h2>
She who must be obeyed said Boundary Mill was calling her name...<br />
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What the hell. I dropped her off and headed up to <a href="http://www.roughleetroutfishery.com/">Roughlee</a> once more. Terry, the previous owner, had buggered off and a new boy, Mark, was now running the show. He seemed keen, pleasant and eager.<br />
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I cast a few lines without success but was happy enough just to be out and wetting a line.<br />
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Then, another fisherman turned up. He was one of these geezers dressed in a flashy red jacket, jaunty baseball-cap, track-suit trousers and a pair of white pumps. Being the boring fart that I am, this disco-desmond (DD) rather jarred my senses. In my book fly fisherman, even stillwater types, should be wearing mainly shades of green fishing kit, or dark blue at a push. To add insult to injury (DD) threw out a long, beautiful and effortless cast and began catching fish straight-away.<br />
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I continued, rather heroically, making a total arse of meself with my usual sub-standard casting. My back cast resembling a ball of string found in a corner of the shed and my forward cast looking like I'm trying to lasso a duck.<br />
Even so, by the end of play 3 trout were on the grass - 2 rainbows and 1 blue. All were returned and I was rather chuffed.<br />
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Driving home, the motor loaded with Angie and numerous bags full of shopping, I thought it was about time I sought out some expert tuition on the casting front.<br />
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After a bit of waffle on the blower I found myself in a sitting room belonging to <a href="http://www.johntyzack.co.uk/">Mr John Tyzack</a> (JT). A Mr Glen Pointon was also in attendance and he provided a most amusing floor show as he described recent events leading up to him almost being chomped be a shark.<br />
<a href="http://glenpointon.blogspot.co.uk/">Read more here...</a><br />
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Later, I found myself in a local park, rod in hand, under the surgical eye of JT. After a few attempts, my casting was officially stamped 'poor'. JT pointed out my various errors and how to improve them. Patiently, he demonstrated a number of techniques which, hopefully, will help to improve my casting.<br />
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Im hoping this new season will see my casting improve and my trips to the river increase.<br />
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I wish you well, my friends. Tight lines.<br />
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<br />Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-54721153304074142352013-02-24T14:14:00.000+00:002013-02-24T14:19:33.940+00:00Going urbanComrades....<br />
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Finally, I return to you after stepping off the merry-go-round of work for a change.<br />
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I'd texted my chum, one <a href="http://www.johntyzack.co.uk/">John Tyzack</a> (JT), a few days earlier and arranged a day on the river. It was time to get the old waders wet, if I could fit into them...<br />
Waders, as we all know, have the nasty habit of shrinking, especially around the areas of ones botticelli and midriff. Dining out twice a week and enjoying the odd bottle of half decent merlot or <a href="http://www.majestic.co.uk/find/product-is-14254">rioja</a> have little or nothing to do with it....<br />
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The day got off to a good start when my dear wife presented me with a plate of succulent bacon-butties liberally dashed with HP sauce and two nice cups of tea to wash them down. She persuaded me to also consume a fruit slice, just to keep me going you understand.<br />
<br />
Feeling prepared, I climbed into the motor and headed off to meet JT and before long we found ourselves in JT's motor, tootling along heading towards a days fishing. Much fun was had along the way as we both waffled on about this and that. I pointed out to JT that I was half-way though an excellent read; Hooked, by George Melly. Georgie boy regales his reader with various memories and ribald tales of his fishing exploits. I recommend it to the broadminded, over eighteen, fishing enthusiast. (RIP, Georgie).<br />
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En route to our destination we found ourselves in a delightful market town. Feeling the need for further refreshment I requested JT pull over so we could both enjoy a coffee. The needle on the thermometer had only just crept past zero. Perfect for Grayling but a bit nippy for yours truly.<br />
We sat outside a cafe sipping our hot coffees. JT's dog, Scruffy, had been tethered to our table and was looking rather unimpressed as we enjoyed our drinks. However, her spirits lifted somewhat when the proprietor of the cafe appeared with a juicy sausage in her hand. 'Scruff' made short work of the snack and cheered up considerably. I felt a tad peckish...<br />
<br />
We drove on a quarter of a mile until we found a car park, here we could dress for the occasion and leave the motor. Me worst fears were realised though, as I tugged on me waders - they had shrunk!<br />
Anyway, after much puffing and cursing I was suited and booted, but only after having made a mental note to return to my local <a href="http://www.flyshop-online.co.uk/">tackle supplier</a> to purchase a new pair of waders, marked with sizing code XXL!<br />
<br />
A short walk through this busy town led us to the riverbank. We must have looked a very strange pair as we mingled, rods in hand, with shoppers and people in their working suits and clothes.<br />
Quite soon though, we were climbing down a riverbank towards what appeared to be very clear water. The banks may have been littered with all manner of debris and detritus, but the water was gin clear. Further testament to the fact that many of our once stone-dead and polluted urban rivers have now been reborn. Nothing short of a miracle, for me, dear reader.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTqQrnwb6Ck86UHHawxgEXWHNZc80QxCMHFjnvz22SUr2cFxaSMM3zcmVmDrAvk3OWJ8DZ7PYTDhNlK0KfKhydpd9cTMTj2oCpRcCQts6A1KkTXhrCfgDWupyUPNiENBbISL2ioEXVwoOJ/s1600/river+colne+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTqQrnwb6Ck86UHHawxgEXWHNZc80QxCMHFjnvz22SUr2cFxaSMM3zcmVmDrAvk3OWJ8DZ7PYTDhNlK0KfKhydpd9cTMTj2oCpRcCQts6A1KkTXhrCfgDWupyUPNiENBbISL2ioEXVwoOJ/s320/river+colne+02.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Iron Blue?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Fishing two nymphs, the point fly being weighted, and with the traffic roaring across the road bridge over our heads, my indicator stabbed down half an inch. I struck and my rod hooped over into a very fit, pound and a half Grayling. Soon, she was brought to the net and what a sight. A length of glittering silver brightened the bleakness of the grey environs. Chubby, is a polite way of describing her as she was slipped back into the water.<br />
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After a few more fish we moved up the riverbank towards a weirpool. I always think - Pike, when I meet a weirpool. Something dangerous about their nature, I suppose. You just don't know what lurks beneath the swirling blackness. Slowly, we stepped deeper into its depths and began to fish.<br />
<br />
We spent about an hour in the pool and we must have brought dozens of fin-perfect Grayling to hand. Each one carefully unhooked from our barbless fly's and slipped back to join their friends. I caught two biggish males, again around the pound and a half mark and each a very splendid sight.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5meY2nMavNL4zOGNC1IPFH-o5Ohjdd-kf9Pw8RoO_fdbfY22VkrywSDx8DJxU7pDJ5ZdZN9NGv_JEhiddhVOHc6R10gDTQ4uuoqds-IzmJeComFokoDyCAoVtrbUYt3zgzKfNHvhsn0tQ/s1600/river+colne+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5meY2nMavNL4zOGNC1IPFH-o5Ohjdd-kf9Pw8RoO_fdbfY22VkrywSDx8DJxU7pDJ5ZdZN9NGv_JEhiddhVOHc6R10gDTQ4uuoqds-IzmJeComFokoDyCAoVtrbUYt3zgzKfNHvhsn0tQ/s320/river+colne+03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We decided to move on from the weirpool, JT had another spot in mind. So, we waded back to the bank and trekked back along the river and on reaching the road bridge, scrambled back into civilization.<br />
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A brief drive took us to an industrial estate on the edge of the town and we parked outside a pub. A few moments later we were once again descending towards the river. This time the river snaked its way through the buildings that formed the industrial estate. Sitting on top of the river banks were the sheer cliffs of large units housing noisy saw mills and the like. Funnily enough, we found the best beat on this urban river ran along the side of a very noisy commercial enterprise. Machines whined away behind us as grayling came to the hand before us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTiWxgHamEs0hxOitC4D0f5BAL1qO2bgJNb3LqISNkIciaGlPebdKW_t4oxWMchTOdikfo1mmSJbW_vWQnuZ-QR2B0JEkyGbTLaq7M7HrEknIjQrsmBJjeeYd_DjIoE1e2zvg7mkeN5Yih/s1600/river+colne+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTiWxgHamEs0hxOitC4D0f5BAL1qO2bgJNb3LqISNkIciaGlPebdKW_t4oxWMchTOdikfo1mmSJbW_vWQnuZ-QR2B0JEkyGbTLaq7M7HrEknIjQrsmBJjeeYd_DjIoE1e2zvg7mkeN5Yih/s320/river+colne+04.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I waded a little deeper into the river and suddenly felt an icy grip on the back of my leg, the tell-tale sign that I'd sprung a leak! I mentioned this to JT and he said <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/wadersrepairs/">Diver Dave</a> was the chap to call on.</div>
I'll be posting the waders off to Dave asap.<br />
<br />
We caught a few more grayling but the cold of the day was gnawing away at both of us and we decided we'd had our fill.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9LuZr4P68JcyjXREfw87m9rCq5hFoNc6iSri2utBjqy89X2OC_69kOazgbkeMCbnRtuxL2nK3l6ojrob7gJ0zPA-JHJWzqrxGzPB-NB0NO3vzEr0kmlMUGZ-03hHm57WNupq79_oodM7/s1600/river+colne+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9LuZr4P68JcyjXREfw87m9rCq5hFoNc6iSri2utBjqy89X2OC_69kOazgbkeMCbnRtuxL2nK3l6ojrob7gJ0zPA-JHJWzqrxGzPB-NB0NO3vzEr0kmlMUGZ-03hHm57WNupq79_oodM7/s320/river+colne+05.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A Red Letter Day, for me. Cheers JT!Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-493146252812541042012-03-10T16:41:00.001+00:002012-03-10T16:44:20.183+00:00Taking it where I find it...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9EH8bWAB5-s4iHqPCbOwLVqWk1BmoP6S110wgMT1ZiJaV8k20E2sIbs7wtXj31xceeKxJSBqTR1ASmMlMMURIVvCljB2Jbn-PQ22bhf3w3FNuekhI-TC-L5GY0PDoeMTI9_-sORJEU2l/s1600/water+shot+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS9EH8bWAB5-s4iHqPCbOwLVqWk1BmoP6S110wgMT1ZiJaV8k20E2sIbs7wtXj31xceeKxJSBqTR1ASmMlMMURIVvCljB2Jbn-PQ22bhf3w3FNuekhI-TC-L5GY0PDoeMTI9_-sORJEU2l/s320/water+shot+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A work call had taken me to Bacup in Rossendale, Lancashire. Before I left I had a quick mooch around on Google and found <a href="http://www.hillsidefishery.co.uk/">Hillside Fishery</a> and noted it wasn't so very far away from my call.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQJpvHFb50rlgNRyTjujNH6Y6AZSUqGP2TYC0mLYaQFLhOyrsoFAsUZkhXV8wiLcB8Z5uBROAflf8wKstn4VjYRfSfz41zYtGFUKuFiphc7lElImHWekCLkLekx_yKke6DPhifalGx022U/s1600/boot+shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQJpvHFb50rlgNRyTjujNH6Y6AZSUqGP2TYC0mLYaQFLhOyrsoFAsUZkhXV8wiLcB8Z5uBROAflf8wKstn4VjYRfSfz41zYtGFUKuFiphc7lElImHWekCLkLekx_yKke6DPhifalGx022U/s320/boot+shot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I took the trusty Shogun and filled the boot with some gear. A funny mix, briefcase and fly tackle!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDmVs2O4T4hiESaHjv0ghMXboCpx0Vybf4m_Oi_h-DsLO1Dvhg0jiMAOlyNV8Buy6AZf9GxnY_QJgvTI7qb1VCDoGD1g57dR9BwqnD-1yEwj3CPWxnbe4c__j-RnvqLUrxwO4e6gTnxeG/s1600/shogun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDmVs2O4T4hiESaHjv0ghMXboCpx0Vybf4m_Oi_h-DsLO1Dvhg0jiMAOlyNV8Buy6AZf9GxnY_QJgvTI7qb1VCDoGD1g57dR9BwqnD-1yEwj3CPWxnbe4c__j-RnvqLUrxwO4e6gTnxeG/s320/shogun.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Hillside was a rather bleak and unromantic place. A number of coarse fishing holes-in-the-ground with a separate, small hole in the ground for the fly fisherman. But, during my current attempt to "catch-up" and do rather more fishing than last year, I'm not adverse to, dare I say it, slumming it.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKJEpJMTJtLkfc9uZyV3RnCDK1EteFMP7Kn8o1Bsl2JUYhNXw2yN0EnG7I2S9fYSyO0JZHRBdLAjC2W9j9ZnefuRPasjHR3pKxlQwW9H9mhuga-g8dEs5e6cMPG8oTifMe-grJDKo2juq/s1600/trout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKJEpJMTJtLkfc9uZyV3RnCDK1EteFMP7Kn8o1Bsl2JUYhNXw2yN0EnG7I2S9fYSyO0JZHRBdLAjC2W9j9ZnefuRPasjHR3pKxlQwW9H9mhuga-g8dEs5e6cMPG8oTifMe-grJDKo2juq/s320/trout.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
I fished from a couple of the fishing stages, without luck. Somewhere I'd read that the fishing was considered easier at the "top-end". I moved to the "top-end".<br />
<br />
A few casts later - a solid take from the bruiser above.<br />
One or two of the larger Pike I've caught, on feeling the hook, went deep and then shook their heads from side to side in an attempt to shake free. This blighter did exactly the same. I hooked him and he sped to the deeps (all of 4ft.) and held firm just shaking his head from side to side. Good prevailed and after a bit of surface thrashing, he was in the net.<br />
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I'm sorry, dear reader, that I didn't take a very good photo. I'm always anxious to get whatever fish I'm lucky enough to catch back in the water asap. Rather than spend time setting up the perfectly placed rod, reel and fish shot.<br />
Anyway, I'm tempted to say that this, rather thick bodied, Rainbow was just a smudge under 3Ibs.<br />
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A lesson to me, as if I needed reminding, that it isn't only the nice looking fishing venues that can provide some joy<br />
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Until next time...<br />
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</div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-50096157772263592902012-03-07T20:12:00.003+00:002012-03-07T22:00:54.672+00:00Taking Mick's Advice...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMtXkLBV5YtGWd60Nn5lEi59ZC4re5eE7sCgZbOeVv-Izd_YimVBJ3b6C24eibaczhtxseetwtFnU3PbbBlP5B-PSeY8oeOqlF2PAs7yOR0q8ySlhshRm2rFwAyrETYxHXK5KcxPyqykf_/s1600/rolling+stones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMtXkLBV5YtGWd60Nn5lEi59ZC4re5eE7sCgZbOeVv-Izd_YimVBJ3b6C24eibaczhtxseetwtFnU3PbbBlP5B-PSeY8oeOqlF2PAs7yOR0q8ySlhshRm2rFwAyrETYxHXK5KcxPyqykf_/s1600/rolling+stones.jpg" /></a></div>It was Mick Jagger, and his chum's, who said, "You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you will find, you get what you need". And with that in mind...<br />
<br />
I'd love to catch a 2Ibs Grayling, from the River Goyt, on a nicely drifted nymph, on a crisp winters day. But so far, that goal remains a dream. So, in the meantime I enjoy whatever comes my way.<br />
<br />
Angela declared she wanted yet another shopping expedition to Boundary Mill, my mind turned to <a href="http://www.roughleetroutfishery.com/">Roughlee</a>, a fishery I always enjoy visiting.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCOcKDUd0S75Nz4FjyrJcw9pnVbHAYTfblUg7Hf__tvx1NUhZe-Z9-czyGFJKjyen41JRJAgG3evBabeDt1DGcIKX1UQ0KysjTQ6TRMUFy6El6v6fQp8cnKd7vFfQiB2PcXjFclk8xhd0/s1600/b+mill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCOcKDUd0S75Nz4FjyrJcw9pnVbHAYTfblUg7Hf__tvx1NUhZe-Z9-czyGFJKjyen41JRJAgG3evBabeDt1DGcIKX1UQ0KysjTQ6TRMUFy6El6v6fQp8cnKd7vFfQiB2PcXjFclk8xhd0/s320/b+mill.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
After a 40 minute drive, we arrived at Boundary Mill - it's not the best photo I've taken but my heart wasn't in it... I deposited Angie and headed toward the fishery, which is only a 10 minute drive away.<br />
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Terry, who lives in the house below, owns and runs the fishery and is very accommodating, but today he was nowhere to be seen. No one else was fishing and the place was very quiet. Terry's dog was in the house, but he never has much to say. I was alone.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3HTWh2-3USFamuzOOvvn2h9YHcEKJfwOsUpeg3G0c34eJkG8BLrWlyQu6a4iHAbZ54fMrH51Jrruso5_u3kpeGrKqpwS3YXxDLCgVU59Ri-lYS9jmaVtHsfgUMZlysZdmUtbLtaCvYZk/s1600/house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3HTWh2-3USFamuzOOvvn2h9YHcEKJfwOsUpeg3G0c34eJkG8BLrWlyQu6a4iHAbZ54fMrH51Jrruso5_u3kpeGrKqpwS3YXxDLCgVU59Ri-lYS9jmaVtHsfgUMZlysZdmUtbLtaCvYZk/s320/house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Thankfully though, the fishery was open and after signing in, in the "signing-in-hut", I tackled up and cast my first line of the day. Temperature was around 4C but a strong wind off the hills made if feel closer to 0.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSBVdMgi_KDrj2MwcqdpkfBnzYbXwE249NW-V7D0QtJqvz1zG90q9HoP6QdZ_KHNTpZyZ1-3KgnTQnrkeVIxElGfKH4fv7AJOq0fwvLhq_HGQ3VMcu2VgbZ1Z-fo6Ac0f-Ap-pshfxXRcX/s1600/landscape+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSBVdMgi_KDrj2MwcqdpkfBnzYbXwE249NW-V7D0QtJqvz1zG90q9HoP6QdZ_KHNTpZyZ1-3KgnTQnrkeVIxElGfKH4fv7AJOq0fwvLhq_HGQ3VMcu2VgbZ1Z-fo6Ac0f-Ap-pshfxXRcX/s320/landscape+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hills</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbBGx5H0U_tB174bnKjhwt_kwhjV0qFKvHRRMkepRfRMgMz1FAe_g_uSQ-9k3DEnJGOq3Q8YUUggewMzXmDHeI2wKlpZ02EN11Xk32ov___Vl_QD1eugbj40A9ypsTHCbF-GnGRFLaUVy/s1600/first.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbBGx5H0U_tB174bnKjhwt_kwhjV0qFKvHRRMkepRfRMgMz1FAe_g_uSQ-9k3DEnJGOq3Q8YUUggewMzXmDHeI2wKlpZ02EN11Xk32ov___Vl_QD1eugbj40A9ypsTHCbF-GnGRFLaUVy/s320/first.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>I was fishing a large and weighted, dark green nymph. Drawing the line in from my third cast met with a gentle nibble, then a pluck and then a solid take and it was good to see a bend in the old rod. After a short, but spirited fight, I was joined on the bank by the chap above. A nice, silvery Rainbow weighing in at around the 1Ibs mark. He remained quite still for his close up and then I slipped him back to live another day.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Bolstered by my early success, I was expecting another fish straight away. I saw neither hide nor hair of another fish for at least another hour. I fancied a break, so I toddled down the bank to the "cabin". </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8QdVYFQEX2dOD3XYBWTkYKLrctG2fgfLvKpBl5HRYmR_up2gasnqpCVJn5DTWKS5tBbq3WQ22R53mO6xSTdDj1rkuvoNWm3HLlWfFZkTQtiEOFRIuBNPJ_DimR9LijdgYOe3w3JXcxCn5/s1600/inside+the+cabin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8QdVYFQEX2dOD3XYBWTkYKLrctG2fgfLvKpBl5HRYmR_up2gasnqpCVJn5DTWKS5tBbq3WQ22R53mO6xSTdDj1rkuvoNWm3HLlWfFZkTQtiEOFRIuBNPJ_DimR9LijdgYOe3w3JXcxCn5/s320/inside+the+cabin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
Terry leaves tea and coffee and fresh milk, and there's even a microwave for those who may have brought food with them. I never feel the need to display my cordon bleu skills, by heating up a three course meal. A coffee usually does it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC42W1lz1xkiwBSqx2LxkQJyVhzEhpGcoMfPlnrxZwRzHeM8uAQ-vWKVT4g3H8xvNy8FT26tReHyk3msSReT9nrTzBPBZ4CWB3AP7qLAYQbyw21uxoQlZkmw2bd2iSL_iO7e2Re7Mbm28_/s1600/pictures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC42W1lz1xkiwBSqx2LxkQJyVhzEhpGcoMfPlnrxZwRzHeM8uAQ-vWKVT4g3H8xvNy8FT26tReHyk3msSReT9nrTzBPBZ4CWB3AP7qLAYQbyw21uxoQlZkmw2bd2iSL_iO7e2Re7Mbm28_/s320/pictures.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcyP_J26CkLaWRx6pO1AVqXnHdm_TyFt6WG0h4NoqG2LzIij3myYmuJ6wbaWOxw4AfFDY-WAyXdx16l59oPukvwBTq-fLO01jL_tclKY73NKUsyXTQ3TjDXin6wvM8kRgfWxdr36G7zpn/s1600/coffee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcyP_J26CkLaWRx6pO1AVqXnHdm_TyFt6WG0h4NoqG2LzIij3myYmuJ6wbaWOxw4AfFDY-WAyXdx16l59oPukvwBTq-fLO01jL_tclKY73NKUsyXTQ3TjDXin6wvM8kRgfWxdr36G7zpn/s320/coffee.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I normally work on a Wednesday (yes, it's Wednesday, today) but continuing with my plan to try to fish a little more and work a little less, I had taken the day off. A friend of mine, John Tyzack, was a high flier in the world of I.T. He got sick of the job and became a fishing guide (and a very good one at that).<br />
<br />
I doubt if I ever could give up my job completely, and I would never make any kind of guide. Our family business will always have a strong hold of me, but its nice to daydream of maybe's.<br />
By the way, take a look at J.T.'s website, but be warned, it could make you very jealous.<br />
<a href="http://www.johntyzack.co.uk/">Click here for the link</a>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGD2reJogjI63zkqO34Qg_mE6WwZZCGVQe_N0Qled-Osq77atPP6ot8_1slrVBJhRSk_CX11mKMSOBrvyq2ci45S_VnEHOO7bYt6Xc84aPZLtIRkqfw6CTE6bNs-5NNh773IqkXt_gfyM/s1600/middle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGD2reJogjI63zkqO34Qg_mE6WwZZCGVQe_N0Qled-Osq77atPP6ot8_1slrVBJhRSk_CX11mKMSOBrvyq2ci45S_VnEHOO7bYt6Xc84aPZLtIRkqfw6CTE6bNs-5NNh773IqkXt_gfyM/s320/middle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>After my coffee break, I headed back up the bank for another try. Within a few minutes I was into fish number two. Again, another nice Rainbow that gave a very good account of itself. A quick snap and once again it swam off to join in the fun underwater.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2IkpQGY-RbPwChhea4m_x8ZJHxyE6V981N1B1Yx_ag9R969S3Ad2GsprJiFACbVaoAtoEGEA5KhxNpbyzUDwNdXzbezBO-_CTkbmvRP3TkQt__2ud4xVcoivrVIsw1ELztQC7zDZzsW_/s1600/largest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2IkpQGY-RbPwChhea4m_x8ZJHxyE6V981N1B1Yx_ag9R969S3Ad2GsprJiFACbVaoAtoEGEA5KhxNpbyzUDwNdXzbezBO-_CTkbmvRP3TkQt__2ud4xVcoivrVIsw1ELztQC7zDZzsW_/s320/largest.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I cast an eye at my watch, Angie had said she'd be finished by five and it was just after four. I'd had a number of nibbles and plucks, but no solid takes. I cast another line out and it was nearly pulled from my hand by the fish above.<br />
<br />
It must have taken my fly, turned in a flash and bored away at top speed. A good scrap ensued with plenty of diving and thrashing and finally, we were together. I loved the look of this rainbow; very healthy, very clean and a blush of deep purple on the flank.<br />
I thanked him and slipped him back.<br />
<br />
I wasn't in my office, or in a school, or in a motel, or stuck in a jam on the M25, M6, M11, M40 - take your pick, dear reader. I was a part of the world again - my world - my fishing world.<br />
It's a beautiful place to be.<br />
<br />
I broke the rod and wound the line back on the reel, it was time to go and collect Angie from her shopping.<br />
<br />
Within the precincts of the shopping centre is Barney's, a fish & chip cafe/restaurant...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1sc74mPr8Gf6d9ljc6JwtbARzBAl8IoZVHONTp0RLtVSICgC4BAW5IV0Asl_iwLSoJ6XZ1_J954dqMSJLf9bVmwIWbhT_KwNE_vFhOP14MRtwnc-PWt2mmLSxcvfV_aJyUpPJ6IFBaodh/s1600/angie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1sc74mPr8Gf6d9ljc6JwtbARzBAl8IoZVHONTp0RLtVSICgC4BAW5IV0Asl_iwLSoJ6XZ1_J954dqMSJLf9bVmwIWbhT_KwNE_vFhOP14MRtwnc-PWt2mmLSxcvfV_aJyUpPJ6IFBaodh/s320/angie.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angie was happy....</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0DDZi4r088-hlO2JtTYmZQSWkpBg2bjHF4D2vJ-OkDFhVGcYIVlJ7AQ1IcZ_7TFQsAErrdNbXKMxEeSu-oXVcTRZNBhLhk3EyP-DZoOeSHfAMdoBoIRgg9J6m6AClWXKwgRPJ8uDWRr7U/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0DDZi4r088-hlO2JtTYmZQSWkpBg2bjHF4D2vJ-OkDFhVGcYIVlJ7AQ1IcZ_7TFQsAErrdNbXKMxEeSu-oXVcTRZNBhLhk3EyP-DZoOeSHfAMdoBoIRgg9J6m6AClWXKwgRPJ8uDWRr7U/s320/me.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And I was happy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Until the next time...<br />
<br />
</div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-44427325379555560822012-03-03T19:01:00.004+00:002012-03-03T19:12:54.147+00:00Return of an old flame...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOHcs21SOEbc-X48WoiDvBL6PvW_5bS1PcnS8px3fUZLtBIGWYxOqlnAvMRZe6yd4BHdVHSGnk2GENWQF2ZG5R8vQaAzET0RAiG5ORO8u9ubD4-6VjPqq-rR-QEPB119T8rYj_kl783nh/s1600/shot+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOHcs21SOEbc-X48WoiDvBL6PvW_5bS1PcnS8px3fUZLtBIGWYxOqlnAvMRZe6yd4BHdVHSGnk2GENWQF2ZG5R8vQaAzET0RAiG5ORO8u9ubD4-6VjPqq-rR-QEPB119T8rYj_kl783nh/s320/shot+9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Last year I was working none stop, and I went fishing 6 times!!!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCytZnBYw4Gk72jnrbdp51vX7tzMTxjw6_-31rAFXDNCKhvSAK7tKAPKGGj0aoyqa2MhxgeZ5iOQMTmYlG-zyyolo_xht8zB86HwhFirkLFFalSghiPmpODwkyz34vacmwhw4ylgVhtMp/s1600/shot+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCytZnBYw4Gk72jnrbdp51vX7tzMTxjw6_-31rAFXDNCKhvSAK7tKAPKGGj0aoyqa2MhxgeZ5iOQMTmYlG-zyyolo_xht8zB86HwhFirkLFFalSghiPmpODwkyz34vacmwhw4ylgVhtMp/s320/shot+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>This year, I want things to be different....I want to go fishing a hell of a lot more. The main reason I started this blog was for my own satisfaction. So that when I'm confined to a home for the elderly, or the insane, or both, I can look at my blog and remember all those happy times when I was out there in the world, becoming some small part of it.<br />
<br />
But if I'm not careful, I won't have too many posts to read while I'm being spoon fed sago by an eastern european nurse who began life as a man called George but after some strong medicine grew breasts, became a "woman", changed her name to Magdalena and won an olympic bronze in the shot putt.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>With that in mind I cleared my diary for Friday and got the hell out!<br />
I fancied a trip to the River Goyt in the hunt for some of the Grayling. If you can see beyond the rubbish littering the banks and the odd shopping trolley that lies in wait on the river bed to snag your fly - it's a lovely little river with lots of features and twists and turns.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw9CsySThuawpHqlqM0blJ0WkbWrgFLuIUwrycJP68U_w3RAez6kHeyv8_ThAyqbLRlXclDETxbto4VQD_yytDPeD3rQ05lUVqvUoHfm27isdaEKj6SfuWMz69HPEinSJFLrwVuzwPiJ9J/s1600/shot+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw9CsySThuawpHqlqM0blJ0WkbWrgFLuIUwrycJP68U_w3RAez6kHeyv8_ThAyqbLRlXclDETxbto4VQD_yytDPeD3rQ05lUVqvUoHfm27isdaEKj6SfuWMz69HPEinSJFLrwVuzwPiJ9J/s320/shot+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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With hope in my heart I struggled into the chest waders. Excessive feasts and parties and a few dozen bottles of Merlot over christmas made the task that bit more of a struggle, but finally, suited and booted I made off for my favourite pool. The river was a bit low and still quite cold, but I didn't give a hoot and tied on a couple of heavy nymph's. (Thanks J.T.).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzc0MGUdj7-RnmWlQCCZ64iItu-blqgJnV_hDgxC0l5wG3VOOrdm2-QM82OQPFz4p8cKesrU91Goq-9_7xq6_RImeQvAmbvu-hFHeoI1p5OGD2zC61hqVUyctBAU3vyQsprrJAYhKIyZQ/s1600/shot+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzc0MGUdj7-RnmWlQCCZ64iItu-blqgJnV_hDgxC0l5wG3VOOrdm2-QM82OQPFz4p8cKesrU91Goq-9_7xq6_RImeQvAmbvu-hFHeoI1p5OGD2zC61hqVUyctBAU3vyQsprrJAYhKIyZQ/s320/shot+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I waded out a few yards and fished about 20 yards of the far bank, wading gently and following the flow and the bubble-stream, letting my fly's drift down with the current. I didn't get so much as a pluck. I repeated my efforts a few more times but then I was joined in the swim by a large black dog. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjii9Lf_diKRJT2xfZRLZo96z0a0gaXQLcypc5HqGzEveU75HhtOezCB-Ship-30JvEO8V0kX1IRo4lwaCUAIiytJaT4Zf_vGOCHhtNzTbzuSQ6yJCqBK7clxijKhtjVXAcwhoHk9F3R55U/s1600/shot+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjii9Lf_diKRJT2xfZRLZo96z0a0gaXQLcypc5HqGzEveU75HhtOezCB-Ship-30JvEO8V0kX1IRo4lwaCUAIiytJaT4Zf_vGOCHhtNzTbzuSQ6yJCqBK7clxijKhtjVXAcwhoHk9F3R55U/s320/shot+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
A man appeared, dressed in running gear, he announced that this was the dog's favourite pool. Mine too, I replied. The dog emerged from the water and before he had time to shake, the man threw a hefty branch into the river a few yards from where I stood. The dog launched himself into the water in a way that reminded me of the launch of the QE II. All the scene lacked was the Queen, a Mayor and a bottle of champers tied to a length of ribbon.<br />
<br />
In his excitement, the dog (I didn't ask his name) was breaking wind from his rear end. And as he swam to retrieve the branch the farting gave the illusion of some kind of jet propulsion system.<br />
Aaawwh, cried the man, he just loves a good swim. I departed, somewhat miffed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQdorEVLpmT8mWmuxcxRf0Z1us8FQbANK1FsPNtEggAGQY6z0t_HROucbelheKexfAxcz8MrQcUwIfs2e9oDi9Wu1tkMwgeJy-N5aIZdXNT4ttdAZpKJyfXaj4zTVUPLI-mdOGfyUepNNE/s1600/shot+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQdorEVLpmT8mWmuxcxRf0Z1us8FQbANK1FsPNtEggAGQY6z0t_HROucbelheKexfAxcz8MrQcUwIfs2e9oDi9Wu1tkMwgeJy-N5aIZdXNT4ttdAZpKJyfXaj4zTVUPLI-mdOGfyUepNNE/s320/shot+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Further upstream I came across a few boys scaling the wall of one of the many bridges that cross the Goyt. I stopped to take the photo, but didn't stop to chat. It seemed a dangerous way to spend an afternoon but each to their own and all that.<br />
Quietly, I wished them well and hoped they get their hands on the Eiger, one day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuRQAUktKCn3TnS2yH7V9EPe_QBnvCB7nOUyJITUINjxxGRyEL8zjSpWq7yBCBf3yD2uX8g2XfMQMDZg2XxLMjeqjQ5b9TLaqPOEdHQ45XdmCFOw3zS7_d01msc0pKWwq5r1kj-HVNcmD/s1600/shot+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuRQAUktKCn3TnS2yH7V9EPe_QBnvCB7nOUyJITUINjxxGRyEL8zjSpWq7yBCBf3yD2uX8g2XfMQMDZg2XxLMjeqjQ5b9TLaqPOEdHQ45XdmCFOw3zS7_d01msc0pKWwq5r1kj-HVNcmD/s320/shot+5.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-3C74utEfPR3dlabrUcjPLISRuUQZBp6L1IWAR6JThkJotBA1JjqZWz3UKc8Fi5HNNxd6kz3wxUgZnf8LUfLfZsxof6sBPufxxxG4Ob9o9K6xKvplSIqRCHCm5kN_zXfmcd8TYGVDO8l/s1600/shot+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-3C74utEfPR3dlabrUcjPLISRuUQZBp6L1IWAR6JThkJotBA1JjqZWz3UKc8Fi5HNNxd6kz3wxUgZnf8LUfLfZsxof6sBPufxxxG4Ob9o9K6xKvplSIqRCHCm5kN_zXfmcd8TYGVDO8l/s320/shot+6.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I fished several more of my favourite places, a twist here and a turn and a glide up there there but, again I didn't see a single fish. The sun, which had fought all day to break through, had reddened my face and the cooling breeze had chilled me a little. I thought of home and a meal and three fingers of irish but still, I had enjoyed the best day of this young year and I want to do it again and again and again.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DKJEadIvOdUJNp325Zxmtvrl-9RS7iS8OP7bgVHBhu4l50om2U5Lzuk5_AiYeKfet9XtmJV9pUFhQxnj0GK5DltSERgfFXLyv1UR5fXrC1VC9V7bbahRJ9Ra3J7oNEi04HD0haX0oPK5/s1600/shot+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DKJEadIvOdUJNp325Zxmtvrl-9RS7iS8OP7bgVHBhu4l50om2U5Lzuk5_AiYeKfet9XtmJV9pUFhQxnj0GK5DltSERgfFXLyv1UR5fXrC1VC9V7bbahRJ9Ra3J7oNEi04HD0haX0oPK5/s320/shot+8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-5992337498225115162012-02-11T17:00:00.001+00:002012-02-11T19:03:08.653+00:00Back to school...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZGb3oeSbxbAn-_MfucES7w45Bxzw3BvJUGFdEW7kiruMyePAl2B4dCwkplQ1hpzPOSx9Xlp-azguCQuDNOrQU8dqB3PIX_z_2rObAzb4MSkiT55sOe6cTtklflKTw0aSvUw4c91oG7od/s1600/equation.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZGb3oeSbxbAn-_MfucES7w45Bxzw3BvJUGFdEW7kiruMyePAl2B4dCwkplQ1hpzPOSx9Xlp-azguCQuDNOrQU8dqB3PIX_z_2rObAzb4MSkiT55sOe6cTtklflKTw0aSvUw4c91oG7od/s320/equation.gif" width="302" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Now then class, take your hands out of your pockets, stop talking, stop chewing, sit up straight and pay attention.<br />
And you boy, see me after the lesson!<br />
<br />
Now, who can explain what this simple equation amounts to; properties, components and values?<br />
<br />
Come along now, it's simple stuff and I've been through it all before.<br />
<br />
No takers...?<br />
Not even a guess...?<br />
<br />
Well I must say, I'm very disappointed.<br />
<br />
Very well then, the answer is I am doing too much damn work and nowhere near enough fishing.<br />
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Class dismissed!Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-19527031726241720942012-01-22T20:25:00.002+00:002012-01-22T20:52:19.827+00:00Tobacco & Alcohol<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikoinMSWG7DU-B9gUGl0V5rOpQeIiuYmghTqtxFGcZbQIXQBx1oPYRuqioOzHDTjBd4KujFdxhZcBCp1F7rgrFc_OEFzxKui0M_gADhnSFr6T_7VyQ9AJugqu-RlUDD27OuSISe6o0eFX7/s1600/cash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikoinMSWG7DU-B9gUGl0V5rOpQeIiuYmghTqtxFGcZbQIXQBx1oPYRuqioOzHDTjBd4KujFdxhZcBCp1F7rgrFc_OEFzxKui0M_gADhnSFr6T_7VyQ9AJugqu-RlUDD27OuSISe6o0eFX7/s320/cash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And so to <a href="http://www.arnfield-fly-fishery.com/">Arnfield</a>, a trout fishery in Tinwistle near Glossop.<br />
<div>It was a Friday, a week or so ago and I had spent the morning at work. A couple of appointments had taken me out on the road and what a glorious day it was.<br />
It was what my Father would call, a 'Diamond Morning'. I'm sure you know the kind. The thermometer is saluting the zero mark and there's a frost on the ground. The sky is cloudless and the winter sun is blinding and, as it's rays catch frozen water droplets, on trees and grass and hedges, they glisten like diamonds. The illuminated colours always remind me of Roy's vain battle.<br />
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Anyway, I returned to work and declared I was off fishing and, since there were no strong objections, I got the hell out asap.<br />
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A shortish drive up the M60 and right towards Glossop and yours truly was soon removing the shirt and tie and donning more suitable attire for a quick afternoon stint.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1VhrPbVi2HH1U4LnEPVEIs1afSti63fh2j11KcnGcAVvGC85B7FMzuPYvdKDDVAn_w5IFWPSZh0Qz7TGio8jq9ZKyxjlMrZTlOE8eXLK6kpxQqtzdLpT_zRf4I9zFb3sl9_M0tnsyKtH/s1600/arnfield+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1VhrPbVi2HH1U4LnEPVEIs1afSti63fh2j11KcnGcAVvGC85B7FMzuPYvdKDDVAn_w5IFWPSZh0Qz7TGio8jq9ZKyxjlMrZTlOE8eXLK6kpxQqtzdLpT_zRf4I9zFb3sl9_M0tnsyKtH/s320/arnfield+01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Now, I have of course read the negative reports about this place and each to their own, and all that. For my part, I always equate the costs of fishing with tobacco and alcohol.<br />
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Back in the 70's & 80's my father loved a smoke and loved a drink. He's 80 now and lost some pace, but back then he was a big man with fingers like banana's.<br />
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Anyway he'd smoke around 80 or 90 Benson & Hedges cigarettes, every day. After work and an evening meal, he'd settle down with his pipe and stuff it full of St. Bruno rough cut. <i>(It's not and advert, it's just the names are burned into my memory).</i> Around about nine, he'd fancy a snifter and usually sank half a bottle of decent whiskey.<br />
Funny thing, I've never seen my dad drunk. He was just one of those guys that 'could take it'. He loved his smokes and he loved his drinks and he loved his wife and he loved his kids. And, we had a fabulous childhood and I'm a lucky boy!<br />
Anyway, guess what - I don't smoke but I won't say no to three or four fingers of irish. My point though, is how much does it cost to buy 80 or 90 cigarettes - every day - and how much for a few bottles of whiskey every week? Answer, a lot. So, you pays your money and you takes your choice and it might be fags and it might be whiskey and it might be fishing. And if you like all three - well what the hell.<br />
Whatever makes you happy, is kind of my point.<br />
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So a few quid spent on a stolen afternoon, enjoying beautiful scenery and chasing some trout is worth every damn penny! But, like I said, each to their own.<br />
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I met the owner, Steve, a lovely guy running a commercial operation and I'm all for that. He's even built a lodge where you can buy tackle, get a decent coffee and buy hot snacks. There's even a loo, for the more sophisticated amongst us.<br />
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Conditions weren't the best and I'm not that good but take a look around. And the air and the scenes are worth the entrance fee alone.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0DBK3Lu2ssvLHjNeMxw-ISox3MgDSTckmZAGUSUrJ1Qy8SmIRiisAkXKKr03Bg0bRulDW4PjzC0fBWuZsh6QpqdV2tvS70AGMi11rUYtAU9bYWUSQFL2xkvCuIXB8OXRYSQcAbEImoeC6/s1600/arnfield+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0DBK3Lu2ssvLHjNeMxw-ISox3MgDSTckmZAGUSUrJ1Qy8SmIRiisAkXKKr03Bg0bRulDW4PjzC0fBWuZsh6QpqdV2tvS70AGMi11rUYtAU9bYWUSQFL2xkvCuIXB8OXRYSQcAbEImoeC6/s320/arnfield+02.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
A few hours later and I was at one with everything<i> (no, not the joke about the hot dog guy and the buddhist)</i>. As a bonus, there was a fish in the net. Not huge, about 2Ibs, which is average for me.<br />
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A great day a great spot and another great memory. <i>Cheers!</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCca3IIhuJEI0KmEuFsQnpycIurzhRJqFZY_kklsOBKzd7Czq5jgx4FCzhd-7WscZVFGGVti10dj6-QIISV6ps-myPKWOGqMMLbS3XNcbBx2TuVav1K0_M1VmAKl-FVwajAdzRgZ9XGYp/s1600/arnfield+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCca3IIhuJEI0KmEuFsQnpycIurzhRJqFZY_kklsOBKzd7Czq5jgx4FCzhd-7WscZVFGGVti10dj6-QIISV6ps-myPKWOGqMMLbS3XNcbBx2TuVav1K0_M1VmAKl-FVwajAdzRgZ9XGYp/s320/arnfield+03.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-82941813133497820202012-01-19T20:28:00.001+00:002012-01-20T23:25:49.812+00:00Favourite Rod<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokMCKC7R2ftT6T5K-9XMrNUl4IGGJNENHV2insUuIqS0kPt1eJdNuBksNfwUu1SS1rk0yH2RDXAEPkj_bwEU0nS3kWByz8DlGmi-gBmaM0NxNR3q9LP0hIrLMdZmEF_fHRSSxyO-aXDqD/s1600/boy+and+girl+fishing.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699822346351641874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokMCKC7R2ftT6T5K-9XMrNUl4IGGJNENHV2insUuIqS0kPt1eJdNuBksNfwUu1SS1rk0yH2RDXAEPkj_bwEU0nS3kWByz8DlGmi-gBmaM0NxNR3q9LP0hIrLMdZmEF_fHRSSxyO-aXDqD/s320/boy+and+girl+fishing.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 263px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a>Most of us are hopeless addicts, I know I am, you are too, if you're honest. It's why you're here...old sausage.<br />
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<div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I grew and so did my passion and my collection of rods and tackle and memories.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>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.</div><div><br />
</div><div><i>Here's me, at work and in the workshop, rod in hand.</i></div><div><br />
</div><div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699820320054173666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNZ6IIJm64z_6VoFvJVvSEVIITN0MteTQ8bZdCsLe7W4qzSG_gFV8EexcTDlEkc6uYK1Kh4Vl-4d9Z2NcWyCo2-WsFLvY9Sg2VuenFhQf0paj5NvhiOMTaLdGHr2HcA-W3isw2DUzNgPh/s320/fave+rod+01.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 240px;" /></div><div><br />
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</i></div><div><i>It's old and scratched and marked and yet it still carries it's makers legends.</i></div><div><br />
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</i></div><div><i>'The Carp Master'</i></div><div><i><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699820824940097394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2cwUDI3UYxey9l2zudrGa6o2Q2m7lGGT9ZtP2gmhFTmzs-pTT8PBrrbFpiPY4uSO_lZw_d1siiLtrN91snvL2DVTO3L3wYyP4Hxv9Vjo7ORJ9VFfUcpKKmy9oxUzrWwojDTBq-LLOvX-/s320/fave+rod+02.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></i></div><div><i><br />
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</i></div><div><i>You'll note the cork handle and metal reel sleeves - like a real rod should.</i></div><div><b><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699821883089309234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VqlHeBmPF_sO0urGyYRaOxb6O66M_lBDYMcWrF7l5Y6j6bGvUih6vyU0-z-E9neDVa-SbCtPKkQOf2zWl82hbtmavlhokqk_7t3R6nErdGqjh5DoptnLYeIpM4km9p2UHfpkciB8VqZO/s320/fave+rod+04.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></b></div><div><div><div><br />
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</div><div>I love our time together - fellow bloggers - I share your joy and your despair <i>(and we really should treat those two imposters just the same, for isn't it the fishing we love)</i>. 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.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So, now it's time to show your rods and share more stories. And go fishing...</div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-12625556535012831442012-01-06T01:35:00.000+00:002012-01-06T01:50:12.951+00:00Got an itch....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElAIh0b0_i7DBI9br9GcSwIzBIu88acWSkPIwxkA4CcBz5s9lVohJ2YmMwy5lrfB1fxAtCPMR_v0rRMgtBtfu_L9amtX2cnaPYtyrrJPcP1CVzkVU4Z9O_dtg8xBPlju0mytNIGBDRilf/s1600/bear+rub.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElAIh0b0_i7DBI9br9GcSwIzBIu88acWSkPIwxkA4CcBz5s9lVohJ2YmMwy5lrfB1fxAtCPMR_v0rRMgtBtfu_L9amtX2cnaPYtyrrJPcP1CVzkVU4Z9O_dtg8xBPlju0mytNIGBDRilf/s320/bear+rub.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694330327294591458" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxTjKYxXnyyem2oUMZZLh8tM6m8NhRJJPp2k-SKjw7k0XC6bL4_kraRBbpTXJdieGSiWZC9X0Zz8BSx0eBZNZSbAHFcxxNjRZNeTMA0UOkiMhHa6FnkQD9jxXBEePeOsRHoWyo65irHmK/s1600/bear+rub.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a>60-odd mile an hour winds kept me awake last night. Sometime around 2 am I got itchy to go fishing again, it's been too long. May step out tomorrow....Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-35134112011413871062011-08-08T21:44:00.001+01:002011-08-09T00:25:00.647+01:00Old News<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcY49ssqYWUQ64ZoAGQ73LvMkr-rr7MEZrwlCqUyBfxijRBBqaMZdYP4EgbjRSmUEo9cFX1cacXe-k1z-ep_AcWYoOX9Tbu7CbPMVjYjOHwicR6MYz9zdMqpcnItEFG0bI3nbqtVBAuXB5/s1600/ferox.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="text-align: left;">Not been out lately, too much work!</div><div>Anyway, found myself looking through one my old photo albums (pre-blog). Thought I may as well upload some of the old photies to me blog. Apologies for poor quality and the glare.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>When I'm a really old git, and I can no longer go fishing, I can at least remind myself of happy days gone by. Bit maudlin maybe, but isn't it true of all our blogs, boys & girls?</div><div>
<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqt3aEdnUUZVG8vVTHyVr7MzYdeLPC_vBPLYq24F2BAWNSHuYZWmbFk3NjUHGQE6l_5rp9AlTPlsoNDU1Obe8Uokp54impULaaHPJAiUfADNTjsy_lsoqT-V8dQtWt3M6sjEavFAPu78yN/s1600/lymm+dam+carp.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqt3aEdnUUZVG8vVTHyVr7MzYdeLPC_vBPLYq24F2BAWNSHuYZWmbFk3NjUHGQE6l_5rp9AlTPlsoNDU1Obe8Uokp54impULaaHPJAiUfADNTjsy_lsoqT-V8dQtWt3M6sjEavFAPu78yN/s320/lymm+dam+carp.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638604906393305474" /></a>Early days and it's about 1983. It was a lovely summers day and I'd chucked out a worm, ledgered with an arseley bomb, into the middle of Lymm Dam. I fixed the line into one of the new bite alarms and settled back with my second rod, catching flirters.<div>Hot sunshine on my face helped me to drift off with thoughts of getting to know Kate Bush a little better etc. etc.</div><div>A strange noise woke me from my slumbers as a running fish triggered my bite alarm and the biggest fish ever was soon on the bank. </div><div>
<br /></div><div><i>(These days of course this carp would be scoffed at by a three year old).</i></div><div><i>
<br /></i></div><div>My mate Clive drove home to get a camera to take this shot (cheers Clive). We borrowed some scales from a bloke further up the bank and we reckoned the carp weighed around 16lbs.</div><div>What a fish!
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<br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5CQhzcRfWBeW3M2Fbm1ONzTnQzbaEZjZSVeX3yN_eKXN9y5xYqzP41_qsQE-Urt7lJrl-PwUx8KJAhs_MdCPfn8OVA47-jBxvy1s2r5rXiKt96DjY4fnNCiUgt6zA4eL1jW6H60PhDj7E/s320/shogun.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638590403258606402" /><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">Second trip to Ireland, back in the 1990's. I took the trusty Shogun van, two mates and a trailer full of gear to Co. Cavan to have a crack at the bream. The two mates, Clive and erm...whatsisname, had been several times before and were itching to get back and fill their boots.</div><div>I gave it a go and, for about a day and a half found it interesting and fun but come on, just how many times can you pull in a slimey fat bream? Some can, of course, and go year after year and if that's your bag (chortle) then fair enough, each to their own, and all that. </div><div>
<br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UbQ1QT8EEBxPtl7IkO5Ev1DIttTfhlbMvSVCis9VUFmMLI4OvtoPzw1sRC7fdiYUE5koQ1n9iw6KK26ZachOvk5pENVyF5NZLf4uwXqUU_Mox6-yj8OkbIASAIRAdHGqKTI1i-kzm7Wp/s320/garradice.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638592082149229026" /></div><div>Third day in found us at Garradice lake. A beautiful place in the middle of nowhere.</div><div>I was sick of the sight of bream and couldn't face another day of it. But, thank god, I'd thrown in an old spinning rod at the last moment. </div><div>It was my get out of jail free card! I left my two chums to sack loads of more bream and wandered up the bank with me rod and a rapala. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>First cast and I was in to this little beauty. Small by some standards, but what a scrap on a light rod.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>By the way, one of the cars further up the track belonged to an old guy who'd taken his wife on holiday for the week. The week had long gone and she'd buggered off home leaving him to his fishing. He seemed very happy!</div><div>
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<br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QfskQC4yfquRClEr-tzf863vM_1c3Cs11TvHH_kQUM8J3pDOSCTiH4U2Jpp1mpg-uH7e39CABk34XOQRF3QZp0-71ZerHAmMX17ZE-pHK9huwepCPhgLa5VcCJ3LOFsidAe7YssiEGXE/s320/bmere.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638596113965022258" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 320px; " /></div><div>Another little powerhouse jack. Small pike on a light rod can be great fun on a sunny summers day. Come to that, they can be great fun on any kind of day, really. Took this blighter from a small mere just through Knutsford.</div><div>
<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib1kcR3dotHTHgxhA8I3elMw3kcbTJ3owiz4Xa5pRBIvEpUHzfyuNv7sm35encNym28LGGKhN59HgUc1tVJd0kNYaaXKx8WHySVSXpFg6xWnYx2PS5ukdG5lgaRtLI2VRMJi0Sk_6EIIGE/s320/bmere+2001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638597944552008130" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div>Another fine day and another fine jack joins me on the bank. A little bigger and beautifully marked. It was soon back, terrorizing the smaller fish.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOwTib0nCXb70NxSHfOsKGemV2WsDl_GrOoCorsj3rLBr4j0slh7jnOEjRP-_qfFEEDP_lah6G8739kXYUOm6SvnzjuVikiQxkzla-BWqCKihde0zwyGwRw7d4y4K3m_ngIFTTemRzWTJ9/s320/trolling.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638598868364909074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 251px; " /></span></div><div>A new chapter began when I joined master piker, Alan Ferguson aboard his tiny boat Pugwash. I think Alan took me along as ballast.</div><div>With me onboard there was about an inch and a half of draft and just enough room left for half a pork pie.</div><div>Anyway, soaked to the skin and with no feeling left - anywhere, I'm chuffed to bits to have landed this jack after a trolling session on the mighty Windermere. </div><div>(I've still got that hat!)</div><div>
<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDsQ5MwnqaWXHEjApOosEZjDmaWNTuUsj917CT1K6uag_sDB40KGxpBi4VtP6VQVWyPSrlRALLtkR7WTcbr_NiUeUKkpWsPQ2UrINcNjEdIwsKMMIvyBECspu408e9QOLctm4RSqPK6-Pm/s320/bridgewater+canal.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638601218820524930" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Back on dry land and this time it's a winter pike from the Bridgewater canal. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">This one weighed in at around 16Ibs and was a welcome catch on a cold, cold November day. It took a dead bait, fished about 20 feet down the bank and only a few inches out. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">I remember this one took the bait in a flash. One second the float was there, the next it had just disappeared. I struck and the fish sailed out to the middle of the cut putting a nice bend in the old rod.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">That belly looks like it's full of roach and skimmers!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">(Mine's full of Guinness).</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Gpqnc24-IE36j0h8NKaOh8zdT9PGJ6VWOl3qH1Beom2_MICbP5biRNMomOZzWz1tkPgQGWYbs4GTzbN1WrqamxMS2zMNWDO-mZ8RfoBpj-DHKJIHtBBv6rteVxB982GzpYHksBTveml4/s320/afloat.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638603766564441698" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 241px; " /></span></span></span></div><div>Yipee! Back on Windermere and Fergie has got himself a new boat. It flew! </div><div>
<br /></div><div>This was well before the present day speed limits. </div><div>This boat was purpose built for a serious pike fisher - and I quite liked it too.</div><div>
<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GRFREpmWHlCgL4UvnzFn9Nb1vk-PBx_im1AI_tviDHaIB4_VRT89cJdP2PiIl8v-oIXr-57g-fBz3lCn9BqvEELmwXYe7AnOxzxyemZn9U0O1b6B1ROFJdbJHWXc8KREgoV4GPA9go8J/s1600/19.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GRFREpmWHlCgL4UvnzFn9Nb1vk-PBx_im1AI_tviDHaIB4_VRT89cJdP2PiIl8v-oIXr-57g-fBz3lCn9BqvEELmwXYe7AnOxzxyemZn9U0O1b6B1ROFJdbJHWXc8KREgoV4GPA9go8J/s320/19.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638607798284750402" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 320px; " /></a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">It's 2002 and I'm back on Windermere and it's a cold day in March. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">A short cast out into a new swim and I'm waiting for a bite. A dead sea-bait float fished hard on the bottom was enough to tempt this chubby 19lbs beauty. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Funny, but it didn't seem so cold after that!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_kpJj2BoLCHsOFN8WOJNODSxrZZrFz3rKi7Ay9Zo1p5rjWvnEh6UT2XHQXxVGYU2HDVvRKgEF-lcdt2Fkz0ihHSszWDWFNkhnCzPg7VECbxeHSMc0VMVqjHyAOGzslJ0a0mzbEUi8JM9c/s320/24.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638611820269625810" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Things really warmed up for me later that morning when the float sailed away and I was into this 'monster'. My best ever pike (so far) at 24lbs. I was always a bit rubbish at holding pike - as you can see. But, even so - 24lbs!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9Q1Tc19HWFaI10-gunSK9ZXbyt3cSlbajb5g5tzlCwo2XGJLIgzD-b3d8RCQaMKAyLRvIVVKSLY1fjMTXToLrc7N9XHx1sZNO17wgi14MbuQJWdRlrxc2GRSIvC678eeUgfeZGPBtz0Y/s320/going+back.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638612900429181986" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px; " /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">This is the same fish taking a little while to sort herself out. </span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">I spent a bit of time easing her forwards and backwards pushing the water through her gills so she could get her 'breath back'.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Soon enough though, I felt a surge though her body and with a flip of her powerful tail, she nosedived down to the murky depths.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3QzoYIPhsh7PYorr4XhC5MmA7xc6UkxUqA9PKTYGSZPoL72Ej9uZzjui1Dm8MbrFtxhsXQYtQTgxWYNnvFSm-i2Rl-cojc3-DMx5JmFB0Q5ps8Aj23ZBSFwi6aD0x2_IkA8VcSroGLBc/s320/loch+ken.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638616422702015026" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">A few weeks later - Easter 2002, and this time we've headed north to Loch Ken. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Yet another beautiful spot to fish, live, eat, breathe etc. etc. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">We had some great fun boating loads of pike on lures and dead baits.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">One morning we were quietly motoring along, and a chuffing great sea eagle zooms over our shoulders and plucks an unwary trout from the top. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Also, pound for pound, the pike in Lock Ken gave me the best scraps, of any pike, on any of the few waters I've fished.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtNNp1J6LtfUuVTaEsqH4uqstHb6BB-FtdgoVdE9kA3uUMVTZlpD3FskqalAZiDKAWtiewZAdGEnHXIwy-2pY1IeMby9cqNgFGeeltfwtYbsRckOwIU7V72O9r3nos86Up9JgeGfCCGyi/s320/derg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638609980795590546" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Later the same year and it's back to the Emerald Isle. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">But this time I'm not chasing smelly bream. Oh no! It's off to Loch Derg for the 'pikin'.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">These Irish Pike were long and lean and fiesty fighters. This one tipped the scales at 17lbs. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">By now I was getting afloat quite often and Fergie had told me to buy a floatation suit. This was the only one the shop had in stock and I was fishing the next day!!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Anyway, the helicopter would always see me first!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANPrJ4K937owSRIRS5MI5yl7n8BSPNEcppj2Wh5o7iKp0XmA72pj9EnCQr4aTGBdo0ITanzpXO-hVI9PXn7WBXQMkvUi1ILKPvaNLUS5TXsKm2OKkYD8kU6WwlhdcumK5JJyO0dBx515B/s320/21+coniston.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638614244099807746" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px; " /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">January 2003 and this time it's Coniston. A beautiful lake with fabulous scenery.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">This scene isn't bad either. Another fine pike and this one tipped the scales at just 21lbs. </span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">It was chuffing freezing.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Sometimes, I'm still cold from that day!</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO0ah7Lu58DUqf4RG1yQVw-p3Sttz9CFjhXGLoP88NJl3rzoay6qM11PQ25XDuA4ufWQCGYlXdjOY_GmLZMaLVgzBKs2IcqmJEVSxdNp5yXRl5-JEG_ykkDStRBWrDwsGjiCCJ2l5qNP2D/s320/21+wmere+2003.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638618682502022866" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 270px; " /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">By contrast, this is just a couple of months later, in March 2003 - and the weather's heating up. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">So am I after boating this very angry 21lbs pike. This one fought all the way to the boat, it put up a fight in the boat, and it took off like a bat out of hell when I slid her back. Blimey!</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcY49ssqYWUQ64ZoAGQ73LvMkr-rr7MEZrwlCqUyBfxijRBBqaMZdYP4EgbjRSmUEo9cFX1cacXe-k1z-ep_AcWYoOX9Tbu7CbPMVjYjOHwicR6MYz9zdMqpcnItEFG0bI3nbqtVBAuXB5/s320/ferox.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638620217815263554" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 252px; " /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">My red letter day!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">
<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div>Earlier that morning I had cast out a dead sea-bait and settled back to wait for a cruising and hungry pike. The float sailed away and, after a spirited fight on a new 10ft boat rod, I netted this fabulous 4lbs Ferox. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Although this photo, of a photo, is pretty poor, you can just see the hook on the lower jaw. </div><div>I've caught bigger fish, but this is one that always stays with me.</div></div><div>
<br /></div><div>Hope I've not bored you all, with my trip down my own memory lane.</div><div>Tight lines!</div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-3647992895886182172011-05-30T10:05:00.000+01:002011-05-30T10:17:43.654+01:00Best Catch.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikLJ0VRue3HjxqaZnGUCxATecqL8RYf06O-sXTx99PHsqNqjFuor44Dlr3IOBt2SqkD9kCWm2Yx5qRDDwKej0GrKAcrk6pVdTia7TqxT5tIHlkjmlWdgGC_ffLoSVRNO3BSqDTRUwq3Usy/s1600/wed+in+church.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikLJ0VRue3HjxqaZnGUCxATecqL8RYf06O-sXTx99PHsqNqjFuor44Dlr3IOBt2SqkD9kCWm2Yx5qRDDwKej0GrKAcrk6pVdTia7TqxT5tIHlkjmlWdgGC_ffLoSVRNO3BSqDTRUwq3Usy/s400/wed+in+church.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612435781372202674" /></a><br />My legions of followers (joke) will have been dismayed and perplexed by my lack of postings over recent weeks. <div><br /></div><div>My excuse - I got married to the wonderful Angela and have been somewhat distracted.</div><div><br /></div><div>But fear not, gentle reader, I plan to return to the river.....at some point.</div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-49683300349688386182011-03-30T20:31:00.000+01:002011-03-30T21:49:50.752+01:003 in 1And so, instead of my usual griping about no time for fishing, I can now report a glut - 3 days fishing in just one week!<div><br /></div><div>TUESDAY.<div><div>Firstly, I received an invitation to join an 'exclusive' (I use the term advisedly) syndicate of anglers that fish the famous river Dove. Believe me, I was more surprised than you. Anyway, I bit their arm off to more or less the shoulder.</div><div>Aware of my long list of limitations, I booked an afternoon with JT to give me some expert advice on this hallowed water. Despite it all, I still managed to catch sod all!</div><div>The water was gin clear and some of the fish I saw that day were monsters, but then other eyes have seen real leviathans.</div><div>JT managed three fish without even trying and, believe it or not, that was enough for me. The end of the day saw us climbing the hill to the Izaak Walton hotel and a welcome pint of Guinness in a snug bar surrounded by stuffed fish, deep leather chairs a large fireplace and a happy and attentive barman - paradise found.</div><div><br /></div><div>THURSDAY.</div><div>I arrive at work and the sky is cloudless and blue and the early morning sun warms the soul. My brother, Steve, and I both have the same idea - shut the shop and enjoy the day. Soon I am waist deep in a shaded pool of the river Goyt. A far greater talent has shown me a great technique - double nymphing. One on top to catch the eye and one below to make a meal. It works, even for me, and soon I've brought a few small wild brown trout to the net.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Goyt reminds me of my bedtime mug of drinking chocolate (with a large drop of Bushmills) as I read of Capt. Burnaby's, adventures through Asia Minor, but it doesn't seem to matter with a trout on the line.</div><div><br /></div><div>I walk upstream to discover a new 'technique'. An old wreck of a guy is casting his fly to the far bank and I stand and watch without him seeing. His hand reaches into his battered coat pocket and he fetches out a fistful of maggots. He sows them across his swim and then casts in again. I say hello and he spins on his heel caught off-guard, he struggles for a word and so I leave him and move along. No more fish come to my nymphs and now the school kids are about and a dog swims by, chasing a stick thrown into my swim. Time for tea.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>SATURDAY.</div><div>Ayesha, she who must be obeyed, sniffs the air and declares it's time for another shopping expedition to the living hell known as boundary mills. Rather than reach for my trusty Beretta (over and under) I recall Colne water. All is not lost and I suddenly develop a huge desire to head to Colne. </div><div>A few hours later and I drop Ayesha at the gateways to hell, a bit of kissey-kissey and she is away. Impervious and immune she disappears into the melee. I on the other hand come out in a rash, foam at the mouth and bite anyone too close at the mention of a shopping-trip. Strangely enough I quite enjoy a shopping trip to a fishing tackle shop, don't ask me why.</div><div><br /></div><div>Minutes later and I am on the banks of Colne water, a delightful stream, small river, call it what you will. It's mainly ankle to knee deep and so I follow the masters advice and opt for the Duo - a dry fly on top and a nymph below.</div><div>As Ayesha heads up the aisles I head upstream and several fish fall to the nymph. Along with rocks, trees and sunken twigs but what the hell!</div><div>The day ends with around half a dozen small brown trout caught and released. My best 'shopping-trip' yet!</div><div><br /></div><div>3 days fishing in one week, that's my kind of record. </div><div>Cheers and tight lines!</div><div><br /></div><div>ps. I'll post pics when I can.</div></div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-9901838966381289832011-03-18T19:26:00.001+00:002011-03-18T19:32:49.284+00:00Attention All BloggersLike many others, I found the post below on Mike Duddy's excellent Blog, <a href="http://manchesterfishingfiend.blogspot.com/">Manchester Fishing Fiend</a>. I have copied his post to my blog and would ask you to do the same.<div><br /></div><div>Hi everyone,</div><div>Will you please take a look at the following link,</div><div><a href="http://www.ourrivers.org.uk/">http://www.ourrivers.org.uk/</a></div><div>Please complete the letter to Richard Benyon, the minister in charge of Defra and tell him what you think. It takes less than 5 minutes to complete.</div><div>If you have a blog, would you also copy and paste this and post it on your blog.</div><div>Thanks</div><div>Mike</div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-88937044422916644702011-03-05T17:18:00.000+00:002011-03-06T19:00:00.284+00:00Preaching to the converted.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDIz7gKQy1lueLsX9GouJSlT1TY773y74KyPGyYMjGrtQwlPkCnotL1nlDYRbb5UnrwJ5WFThyVdl2ot43_GSfU9Qvj85Asu4nl6n04xuSyC8p0Q3W4tXqT65-Xrw6nNrrH1u_B8J-tDzZ/s1600/goyt3+march+2011.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDIz7gKQy1lueLsX9GouJSlT1TY773y74KyPGyYMjGrtQwlPkCnotL1nlDYRbb5UnrwJ5WFThyVdl2ot43_GSfU9Qvj85Asu4nl6n04xuSyC8p0Q3W4tXqT65-Xrw6nNrrH1u_B8J-tDzZ/s400/goyt3+march+2011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580653056613559218" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCBbkaPkGPn9fSgMHM3n9WeE0NJQf5qHnKWl94WL0b46sIocDQmZ-MW_pTy66F8cRtI125U47WM3URqaPcHYKiQH50xptV9Y1DmBgfR8ZckybWG7AbJygEJ2uWwfgQAgbxRyJWVErKs-G/s1600/goyt+march+2011.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCBbkaPkGPn9fSgMHM3n9WeE0NJQf5qHnKWl94WL0b46sIocDQmZ-MW_pTy66F8cRtI125U47WM3URqaPcHYKiQH50xptV9Y1DmBgfR8ZckybWG7AbJygEJ2uWwfgQAgbxRyJWVErKs-G/s400/goyt+march+2011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580646798327195490" /></a><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzIC5EnPe4-CxRsq7IvSKar-2_odwNISjtA-pg17opF5JtcoupIjQuGkeCHfvUgWDg95k5GY2E25zb_gbkW1KP9FuWb8brvzR93qN_bHAgwdw5pqVCFU7HgO0am2HjP-JJrs5aesmHncl/s400/goyt2+march+2011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580650870181472546" />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.<div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-41191207426935552102011-02-06T17:04:00.000+00:002011-02-06T18:12:09.021+00:00Rain & Ecologists stopped play...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDO_SplWpR08TO1uMXgP9A8Qu22tNFxWdF5vFb4_ft1DKt1EET3alq6w2g76BS6hDqwRruR7E3NL8Pc0Y0HPQLU78Zk5nqAcg_uy2IJlTTXZwF049ewJoLly7pcpANOQjaVY-Cd5mHmPca/s1600/mersey+5th+fe+2011.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDO_SplWpR08TO1uMXgP9A8Qu22tNFxWdF5vFb4_ft1DKt1EET3alq6w2g76BS6hDqwRruR7E3NL8Pc0Y0HPQLU78Zk5nqAcg_uy2IJlTTXZwF049ewJoLly7pcpANOQjaVY-Cd5mHmPca/s400/mersey+5th+fe+2011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570626500015965426" /></a>Thought I'd give the Mersey a go this weekend. Recent posts have been encouraging. Plus, there's a stretch of the Mersey down the road and across a field from my house.<div><br /></div><div>The rain came on Friday and got steadily worse overnight. What the hell, I went anyway. </div><div><br /></div><div>Didn't manage to wet a line as the water had risen a good 6 foot. My picture doesn't give justice to the flow, but it was almost fast enough to appear on Top Gear!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-yRUjsRmIYyATHtEbTFWGr9vQT0yEGLSsHty0QnxRhwIT2QrZJuYUoshBzri0-rrj3_UOAKO-FXvZBQ99Z0W6OMn2wCsN4VLp9_Fkz8WxbDSPIdqSOPiuFdd8CdFLTKyU2GuTHr89EKf/s400/chorlton+water+park+feb+2011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570633510014743570" /></div><div>One me way home I stopped at Chorlton Water Park. Maybe a Pike or two would be tempted by a juicy lure on a wet Saturday afternoon.</div><div><br /></div><div>Helpfully though, someone had posted 'No Fishing' signs everywhere.</div><div><br /></div><div>A chat in the Wardens hut and I discovered the local 'ecologists' had imposed a closed season from December until April. </div><div><br /></div><div>I gave up and did the weekly shop with Ayesha. I'm sure a trout in the freezer aisle gave me a wink...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, on a brighter note I've just bought myself a new centre-pin reel. Never used one before, just fancied trotting a worm down the Mersey.</div><div><br /></div><div>The reel is marked with the name Marco Cortesi and it cost about £40. Some may say it's a pile of rubbish but I'll be happy enough if it gives me a season or two. Most online comments were generally positive.</div><div><br /></div><div>Any thoughts?</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 388px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4waNzOYn71zSFYrJI5UjfyXXn0OLQu9DbQSBPotX3Zaa31e487LhUxfiXDnZagnIvy7BqtrC9yhHA8nNWHW6jKQQvswMYWP43zDe4mpKeY4SLkcEmpIqZqvBTWHqKcal4AStS8YxBvr0J/s400/centre+pin+reel.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570628928282609266" /></div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-104579500933347635.post-13214364898200467472011-01-08T12:04:00.000+00:002011-01-08T12:25:05.993+00:00A Job for Dad!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2g9JLk7A4BevzNBTlYRYBb2sOPQuAqujKO9M-KbaNScXYXsmiLRGWyOCxNGdGSKZutNuSd51IxZFLvwRusnqO34N1fbKiJ8mhT7aJWtp2dr98vbR08NvrAgU7OPwzuyEJ40XXDEncm24n/s1600/fishing+cabinet.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 378px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2g9JLk7A4BevzNBTlYRYBb2sOPQuAqujKO9M-KbaNScXYXsmiLRGWyOCxNGdGSKZutNuSd51IxZFLvwRusnqO34N1fbKiJ8mhT7aJWtp2dr98vbR08NvrAgU7OPwzuyEJ40XXDEncm24n/s400/fishing+cabinet.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559789224952293442" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's horrible outside so I sat down to read my Christmas present to myself, Trout from Small Streams by Dave Hughes.<div><br /></div><div>He talks about keeping all your gear at hand so you never find yourself missing that vital piece of tackle at the river, stream or lake etc.</div><div><br /></div><div>It made me think how most of us just chuck rods, bags, tackle and wellies etc in the back of the motor and head off to the water with all our gear rattling around. I was sat doodling away when I came up with the idea of a small wooden cabinet to store all my fishing gear in the back of the car. I could keep a selection of gear in the motor at all times - just in case. </div><div><br /></div><div>3 narrow top drawers to store fly & spinning rods - all in their cordura rod tubes, nets, reels, lines, tackle etc. etc. etc. 3 larger drawers to store waders, boots & jackets. Plus dry gear like socks, thermals, jumpers etc.<div><br /></div><div>My Dad, Roy, has been addicted to woodwork all his life. He made a spokeshave aged around 14, and he's still at it now - he's 80 next month. If you feel so inclined, you can read some of his musings <a href="http://www.bambersew.com/blog/index.php/category/roys-thoughts/">here</a>. Anyway, I think this is cabinet might become his latest woodworking project.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll keep you posted...</div></div></div>Alan Bamberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613832276572189499noreply@blogger.com2