An early evening window on the pinhead fry filled lagoon saw me twisting a bank stick into the hallowed turf and this time I had the right bait boxes to fit the apertures. Bang tidy I thought for me anyway. But I have seen the absolute carnage of a mid session Fletcher's swim (He of HMP).
Fished corn over hemp and 6mm Spicy Sausage pellet and had a cracking session, starting of with skinmers and hybrids and then the roach moved in. All pretty much the stamp of these two so not bad at all, all netters anyway.
I also had this somewhat battered old girl. 1.05 but a suggestion perhaps of a once much bigger frame.
I also lost a decent tench which dived for the net and missed, leaving an accusing pigs tail curl where the spade end had been. As Newbie confirmed shortly after, finding me in "his" swim, if you see 'em at the net they sort of count. I had the water splashed specs to prove it. He was on his favoured banded pellet and it was fascinating watching the bubblers homing in on the sound of his bigger 8mm pellet splashing in. He had a good go at the roach too. Which he said were mostly shitting out my pellet whilst eating his.
And of course I've been keeping my end in on Golden Pond and catching mostly (only) bream. It seems a trio in an hour is about right.
A shiny young thing.
A crusty old spawny starburst of a thing, black as coal when it turned over in the shallow, warm water on the strike.
Last night was even warmer. milky warm in fact and again a trio, from three different parts of the swim, two on the puddle chucker float and one on the swingtip, and a lost mud pig that was about as far away from the net as it could have got so no chance of a sort of counting.
Wouldn't you want to eat that shiny little round thing? If the bait does come off the hair I do the decent thing and stuff it in their pharyngeals before slipping them back. Seems only right.
The unphotographed one could have fitted these two in its big old scrawny frame and not as weighed as much as them put together. The rain has put another couple of inches in and the fish have appeared in the back bay again, truffling in new found riches.
Meanwhile The Loafer has been schlepping round France in his Hymer, bothering Ade Kiddel, eating much de pain croute and chasing similarly middle aged cheese eating surrender monkeys up hills on a bike. And catching barbel.
I only managed a walk and a pint on the marshes with the Boi George, a barbie and a go on the Pogle tree with the afore mentioned Boi George, the Little 'Uns and Stick Man.
Broadside of course (if no Abbot available).