Over the last year or so I have been finding it harder and harder to see close up, i.e: to tie a hook, even thread one and read the paper. Over the last month this has got even worse, and I have discovered that it is no more 2 pairs of specs for £69 pound for me. I turned down contacts, I am a clumsy bugger and certainly could not see them if I dropped them and left Specsavers £240 worse off. Not even a second pair.
Life is now HD and I can actually read, and tie an eyed 16. One of the first things I did was go to the Library. I came away with a varied selection and the first to be devoured in a sitting was Beneath the Black Water, Jon Berry. A fascinating subject, the ferox. A man obsessed. I find it hard to resist Bailey in his purple patches, and we have all now discovered Aston. Not for me those dizzying heights but still a gripping read.
I can count the number of all nighters I have spent behind 2,3 or 4 rods , certainly without troubling my thumbs and days trolling for ferox without using any digits at all. I can however understand why these two have, and more importantly imagine where they have done it. Which at the end of the book is why it was worth writing. I have more hopes of that from The Fishing Box (Maurice Genevoix) than In Pursuit of the Largest (Terry Hearn) but that is probably because the Genevoix is a Medlar, with the nice hardback and stuff and line drawings by Richardson. There you go, chalk and cheese again.
Having found I can see small things again it was up the road to Captains yesterday for a couple of hours with a litre of hemp and some crumb and corn. I took advantage of some previous raking to fish the corn over crumb and hemp off the second stage. I did put out a foul white chocolate pop-up, partly because this carroty ghostie or koi checking out the float was quite active in the swim
and a "proper" skimmer.