Monday and the weather had broken. Along with a partial lifting of the no-fly zone, for non carps anyway. Sheringham to Yarco that good old favourite the harr had blown in, shrouding everything in cold, clinging damp grey. I set off to the very local water at about 1.30. Even here, the mist was lifting, wraith like from the surface of the pond. I had a plan to head to the other end of the pond in search of a tench or two. A fellow member was ensconced on Stage 2 and fishing over a Jacuzzi of bubbles.
Much shallower here and it took a while for the pigeon feed to do it's trick, tight to the pads. A brimmer (not quite skimmer or bream) and a rudd and then as a newbie was scouting the prospects tinca on, according to plan. Not quite to plan though as it beat me up before making off with my Hook. Never mind, where there is one..
One of the yellow bellied ones that bent the Drennan Waggler rod very nicely and one I really ought to have put it on the scales. Strange deformation to the upper lobe of the tail fin.
Another visit, this time from Liam and again the game surges brightening up the gloom. Do love fishing the waggler. This one verging on red around the belly and that classic paint brush tail . Cheers for the help with the pics Liam.
A fellow blogger recently asked if all zebra were the same size (more or less)?
Why is then that fish species seem to be so varied in their appearance or size?
Rain stopped play very prematurely and I and Lee the bream machine decamped fairly sharply, well chuffed with our short afternoon's work.
Not so chuffed with the Champ play off bore match, though nice to see some fresh blood heading up into La La Land.
And at least Full Kit Wanker John Terry didn't get to sneak on the pitch in the FA Cup final. That man is a despicable gob shite.