Bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.
Ahh the sights and sounds of the river bank; the flutter-by of butterflies, the magic of the rods flex as it loads with the energy it's going to use to flick the line out, the babble of the river, the misanthropic mutterings of the Andy, and the delightful scent of DEET on the breeze. Ahhhhh.
The last of my adventures afield in the Kingdom of Fife (for the time being) took us in search of that magical fish the Sea Trout. Andy and I drove to a river he's fished for years, where water tumbles down from the hills breaking through the soil and out into the Firth of Forth. Our quarry is making the journey in the other direction, having once spawned in the same waters we patrolled, the Sea Trout are returning to complete the cycle, some of them having attained truely impressive sizes. On arrival we caught up with Gordon the Water Bailiff - armed with a spinning rig and soft lures in the style of Sand Eels. His reports were encouraging; He had already landed his 'toon-fash' of the season, and witnessed a twenty-pounder caught by another chap. We held high hopes of a trip to the smoking service with our bounty. Yeah right.
Wether it was my; poor technique, general englishness, or 'sheer-suburban-uselessness' Andy wasn't sure, so he alternated between them and threw in a few other forms of blame for good measure.
Alas I was once again unable to close the deal with the wild foods of Fife.
As usual our kit pendulumed between the home-made and the high tech, Andy pairing an £800 super rod with one of the skanky-ist spinning reels its been my displeasure to see/use in a long long time. Ever keen to reenforce national stereotypes Andy indignantly leapt to its defence "what do you mean? I paid Ten Pounds for that!"
Other Bushcrafters had been there before us
Almost 16C [aka 60.6F] measured with the plumbers non-contact thermometer.
How's that for kit-tart fishing tackle!
It was the kind of idyllic afternoon that fly fishing is made for, the cares of the world were far far away, occasionally a Brown Trout would jump from the water, and despite Andy's prediction I actually came back with one fly more than I set out with!How's that for kit-tart fishing tackle!
"Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World," said the Rat. "And that's something that doesn't matter, either to you or me. I've never been there, and I'm never going, nor you either, if you've got any sense at all."
More soon
SBW
