Reading the runes. All wrong.

Yesterday's roach had got in my head. Why no bites on the float but instant reaction on a staticish  bait on the deck? Should I have gone with flake in the float first? Was it just bite time? The forecast said rain, later, and I knew there was no chance of a later pass so I merely looked at a few roachy spots, and  retrieved my dropped catapult as I trudged off  through the floodplain to the Royal Confluence. I had my pike head on under my rakish Dangling Indirect Cap and had plans to leapfrog  a fair section. Almost as many otter prints as deer along the tiny track.  

Someone force me to actually incorporate a lifter in my rigs....

Smelt and blueys were the bait of choice and three rods employed to cover as much of the river as possible. I know some swear by ringing the bait changes till they find out what the pike are on. Not me, and I only put out  a fresh (frozen) bait if one falls off on the cast, a pike has it down its gob (I never have the heart not to leave it there) or it has disintegrated or been crayed to a skeleton. Lamprey always go back in the bag to be refrozen.

Plenty of buzzards and  a very vocal kestrel sounding very much like  a yaffle. A whole shoal of paddle boarders and two very olive green chaps in a very olive green kayak festooned in  Go-Pros. And the first outing of the flask for a long time. In my youth I use to take three big Boots flasks, two tea, one coffee and if close enough cycle home for a refill of the three. No food, just 20 JPS. 

Which is a long way round  to say I had no need to trouble the freezer bag until I has decamped to Bungalow Bill's Bend for the last of my allotted hours. Three rods in Shangri La. I rarely fail on Shangri La  unless the owner of Bungalow Bill's Bungalow decides to bail out his boat over my  floats or deposit  willow prunings on them. quite deliberately. I think he is the Graham on the advert, always at the beck and call of an unseen but very much heard significant other. I don't think he's called Bill or Graham though.

The middle bluey began to trundle towards me at the 58th minute of this last allotted hour, firmly grasped by a pike that wasn't a whole lot longer than the bluey was before I'd halved it. I thought the pike deserved the defrosted half  of the bluey anyway.

As I rounded the bend a familiar silver haired figure sat perched on his Shakespear box by the stile. He was surprisingly biteless but we thought  bite time wouldn't be far away. 

As I picked my way along the back gardens of the waterside complex a security light flicked on sending a shoal of very decent roach bolting off. Out of bounds to the foot bound angler. But not a waterborne one......

  

Famine to feast

I've been mostly lergied  so it was nice to get out in the gloom and murk late doors today. Silver haired syndicate man must have been on recently give the Shakespear sized seat box marks. I gave the swim a good go on trotted reds for no reward so out with a tiny cage feeder and a pinch of flake on a #12. Didn't take long for signs of interest, they'd been there all along. I couldn't get any decent pulls though, even on a 1 oz tip. I changed to reds  and a couple hung on long enough. The first, around 10 oz and my first  fish of 2020. The second was different gravy, and I had to flip the anti-reverse off as it charged off. Flashing silver and a very decent fish to draw over the rim of the net.  My scales said 1.09  What a lovely shape.

Even my mojo has lost its mojo

Ive trotted three times on the Bure. Once on the Wensum. One seen  bite and one shredded maggot.  I've piked two stretches of the Bure. 3 runs. All missed. I've piked on one pond twice. Two missed runs.. I've even found out some 3 year old cheesepaste for one brief tremble on the tip. That's 2020  so far in a post festivity nutshell.

I'm hoping for some mojo restoring inspiration from this little lot tonight.

Blueish moon

Headed off to the quacks for an ex-eray as they say round these parts. I had turned up a day early but they most graciously fitted me in. I presume I had a knee still, she didn't say. A bit parky for shorts but better than changing into a gown.

Chores done I had about 2 3/4 hours to try and get at least a bite under my 2020 belt. I knew where I was headed but not where I would stop. The Royal Ditch? Pampas Reach? Bungalow Bill's Bend or Cyanide Straight?

Some where in the middle it turned out. A fair bit of water in still and with a steady pull rather than silky glides. Down the edge with half blueys then.

Wasn't long before the upstream bluey tail began to make its way past me but only token resistance and slight scuffing on the bait. First move and the downstream bluey head (see how I roll?) began to set of for Yarmouth at a fair old lick. A few bangs then a sickening slackness. Deffo toothy action on that mother.

I moved down methodically but no more chances came my way. Instead I drank in the bucolic English Pastoral. Rooks cawing  their way to their flood plain rookery, barking farm dogs and the mournful wail of the toy town loco on it's narrow little line. Wood smoke from a good old boys garden. Already a tinge of pink in the sky.

Which turned in to a stunning show to light my way back to the car.

What does a fish look like?

2020 seems to be a bit of a fishless desert at the moment. 2 hours on a fast ebbing Wensum yesterday and a seemingly perfect Bure today without even a bust maggot. Did see a big roach roll today though.

Never mind. Another bash tomorrow once I've had my shockingly painful knee xrayed.  Pike or bust I think. Once I've made a few traces.

Some bright spark....

Old Years Day over, it took some decent pyrotechnics to shake off the dusty old cobwebs. Being Norfolk we du different and in Cromer at least leave the Old Years whizz bangs to the newcomers. Last year's display was wet, cold and very windy but with the omens set fair I headed down onto the stones tripod in hand. Didn't experiment much with ISO 200 and f18 being the main attack.

12 minutes of  light and fewer bangs this time ensued.

Person with big head steadfastly set up pitch right between the phalanx of eager lens people despite the self-imposed exclusion zone declared by more considerate spectagogggers. The only occasion when "Gotcha " (The Soaraway Sun) and "Rejoice, rejoice" (The Milk Snatcher  and bringer of misery to millions) would have been a nearly appropriate response to an illegal torpedo strike.



Lots had to be cropped but I quite like them so here goes:

Tidal roach tomorrow weather permitting. Might have to take a blunderbuss to deal with Sammy the Seal who has taken up residence.