Just because

 I don’t like January much either, it’s basically the same as December, short murky days when the sun never comes out and cold, too fucking cold.  There’s one saving grace though, we don’t have to put up with the Christmas charade, at the end of the month comes February and reawakening.  This January has been particularly shit, locked down tighter, you can’t fish – you can fish.  Make up your fucking minds!  The Angling Trust is lapping up the adulation but their motivation is keeping the trade happy, has AT really acted in our best interests?  Just because you can doesn’t necessarily mean you should.  Amidst the confusion the government avoids the blame, when this is all over don’t ever let anyone tell you that it was all our fault for not following the rules.  People are fucking stupid, they need to be told what not to do, our leaders have failed us, again.  But enough of all that bollocks. 

Halfway through the month and I still hadn’t made a cast, the weather had been uninspiring, a series of heavy frosts and day time temperatures just creeping above freezing.  “But that’s Pike weather!”  Really?  Not where I fish it isn’t.  When the temperature rose a little so came the rain, bucket loads fell and overnight the river was badly flooded again.  I felt the need to fish but my ‘local’ water was not going to be viable so decided to wait until things calmed down again.

A day off, no alarm clock set but the aging bladder had me out of bed at 0500, with a test match in progress it was hard to get back to sleep so I sat with a brew and TMS, listening to England piling on the runs.  I’m up early, should I go fishing?  I have nothing ready, the rain will have wiped out all the local places and the weather is shit.  But if I don’t go today when will I get to go again?  It would be no surprise if restrictions get tighter and there would be no complaint from me.  Fuck it, maybe I shouldn’t but I can so on this occasion I will.  There’s a place that should be okay, a land drain out in the fields that is probably stretching ‘local’ but I won’t see a soul.

A Kestrel hovered as I pulled into the first layby at 0730, the water was very high and the colour of piss weak tea, it didn’t look at all inspiring.  But from the second stop further downstream things looked better, still high but nowhere near as coloured so I soon had three deadbaits positioned covering the near bank, middle and far side.  I settled back amongst the reedbeds, sheltered from the northerly, warm and comfortable with TMS describing Root and Lawrence punishing Sri Lanka.  This will do me for a morning.  There was a good article in a recent ‘Pikelines’ by Dave Harrison which advised anglers to manage their expectations, you can’t catch what isn’t there.  I spend a lot of my Pikey time chasing monsters but there are times like today when just a Jack will send me home happy.  The day was typical; murky dull and cold with drizzle at times which was a pain as I hadn’t packed any shelter but if it got too much I’d go home.

After about half an hour I was surprised to see my furthest float jab and start sliding downstream along the far bank but by the time I’d tightened up nothing was moving and the line was weightless.  Still I recast with hope, if one fish was willing to pick up a bait then hopefully others would.  This proved correct as a short while later the float in mid stream was moving and this time I set the hook and started to winch a bit of weight back towards me.  But with a rap on the rod tip the line fell slack and another chance was gone. 

I sat it out for another thirty minutes but apart from a Kingfisher’s visit nothing else happened so I made a short move downstream and once again set up fishing near, middle and far.  This time it was the near side rod in action after only a few minutes, a take on Smelt saw me somehow strike fresh air.  What the fuck was wrong with me today?  The float had hardly resettled when it was on the move again but this time I hooked the fish and wound a Jack to the surface where it shook its head and spat the bait back at me.  I laughed out loud, what else can you do?  I resigned myself to one of those days when the Jacks are on the munch, this happens every now and then, a day of frustration, missed and dropped takes the norm.  Another half hour passed before a Mackerel in mid stream was moving and this time I connected and kept the pressure on.  Near the edge I could see the bottom hook in the point of the lower jaw so bullied it into the net before sod’s law could intervene again.  After a series of cock ups I had my first Pike of the year and closer investigation showed the hooks had dropped out.  It looked about ten pounds but didn’t leave the water; I seem to be photographing a lot of fish in the net nowadays.  They are rarely great photos but it does the fish no harm and records a memory for me.  I find it ironic that the ones we covet most are the ones we keep out of the water for the longest.

After rain in Galle had finally curtailed the cricket I had one more move, back upstream and it was noticeable that the tea coloured water was creeping its way down the stretch.  A family of Otters played on the far side, “oh what a lovely sight!”  Bollocks.  This didn’t stop the Pike though as a Smelt in mid stream produced a take and a head banging fish of around seven pounds tried it’s best to fight.  This too was lightly hooked and never came out of the water.  I’d hardly recast when the close range rod was away, this time I picked up the rod with renewed confidence, wound down and struck thin air. ‘Ah fuck it!’  By now it was early afternoon and I’d had enough, I set out to catch my first Pike of the year and had succeeded, that’ll do for today.  In all honestly I’d travelled further than I should but since leaving the car I hadn’t come within twenty yards of another human and I doubt any of the dog walkers even knew I was there.  My mind and soul felt refreshed, relaxing in the countryside done me a world of good and I didn’t hurt anyone.  Home in the daylight, we’re supposed to be in a lockdown so where is all this traffic going?  But who am I to talk?

Another year and another heavily edited fishing diary of sorts which will hopefully feature more Pike when it’s cold and lots of variation when it’s warmer; Tench, Bass, Gudgeon and if I’m really lucky a Suffolk Shark?  We’ve just got to get through this fucking pandemic first.