Real deal

Following brief interlude normal service returns. Probably the last trip of the year on the Syndicate middle beat. Long straight, Bungalow bend,  Church straight or Beck bends? Up to the Beck. Red kite shows itself, confirmed by walker with bins.

Light going quickly as the spinney shades the low sun, think I will just move the bottom rod a shade down to that spot that has been calling for the last ten minutes. Snagged? No, fish on! It's taken a shine to half a sardine and makes several surges before burying itself in the net . Strange lack of flesh, healed over round the left eye. Hooked just in scissors again. Goes  14.02. Job done and off  the water by 4.15

s

taster

?

Norfolkcestertshire Police today took their usual hamfisted approach in lukewarmly releasing this photophat image of a local pike botherer who they wish to interview regarding a recent rash of large headed gentlemen appearing on MOTD. They warned dog walkers, geo-cachers and Hoorrays back down from Oxbridge for vacs only to approach him with large quantiities of salt in case he regale them with sightngs of red kites at Oxnead and daffodils flowering in December in Sheringham (everyone knows they are at Beeston Regis).

Bureboy, 79 and father of 27 retorted "I have not got a large forehead and busted nose like that dyke jumper Van de Gaal, or two huge wasp chewing bulldog jowls like Big Sam Liqorice Allsorts..." He denied owning every known release of The Man Whose Head Expanded by those Mancunian tosspots The Fall. . And that he ever wore Derriboots or has the same hairline as Steve Pastie Faced McDonald from Coronation Chicken Street.

"In my weak, non existent defence", he mumbled,"..,you try keeping still for a 20 second self timer release. I have never before, and will never be photographed again with two eyes open simultaneously."

Quick sticks

Not quite shirtsleeves but certainly no thermals or coat needed for a quick afternoon on the Bure. Steady push, slight tinge, looking spot on. Classic stalemate as member below wanting to fish up back  to the car, me wanting to fish down.  We politely ignored each other in the end..

These are my favourite poplars and a lovely near solstice sky.

Only one show of interest on a halved sardine on the far margin and this little un was the result.

Fiery glow to round off the afternoon as I made the short trip back to the car. Liverpool the latest names to feel the winds of change round the Premier League. Topsy turvy times to be sure.

The postman always knocks

The postman can knock as many times as she/he wants as long as these offerings are coming my way....

A stunning print from Two Terriers  up there in Zanderland, thanks John and Sue. Tangles with Pike and Crooked Lines by Dominic Garrett which deserve a sit down with a lovely Adnams Single Malt No 1 (or three). And some Essex Scribbler soundage to brighten up my journeys in my new Bureboy charabanc. No listing so a little mix of delights to discover.

The envelope from the Scribbler is addressed to Strange man with fat heeed. Which the postie unerringly sent my way. Strange that. Think we should all send all letters addressed with such minimal postal clues.

Storm force

Wind lashed Norfolk living up to the shepherd's warning red dawn. Glass reads 29 and 3/4. Weather App says 47 mph. Dodgy car temp reads 11 C. Been given a pass out so too good to  miss. One problem. Inner turmoil meant that replicating Lineker's shameless arse wiping along the centre circle turf, or Radcliffe's disgraceful mid marathon street shite was a distinct and present danger.

Not one for quackery usually I readily reached out for the Commander in Chief's little helpers and skipped lunch.

Suitably reassured set off for the syndicate stretch, slid down  the track and found the least tree lined spot to park. Short battle across the furrows against Storm Desmond's fury.

First put in with a sardine head right at my feet and the wind rattled tip  gave two distinct pulls down. Bait runner ticking and wind into a long, primrose flank twisting right under the tip.  Out into the main push and high hand hold required.
Up on the grass, leeches on the flanks. Hooked in the scissors.  No need for the tripod and grin for this one.

Reggie Cray showing some interest in the downstream sardine tail so
time to move in to the next glide. Gathering gloom, not even 3pm.

Twich the close in sardine tail into the slack and instant response. Again twisting, turning flash. Smaller this time round and a little less clean, but again scissor hooked.

That was it. Sorry Wak, no pictorial evidence of deep personal shame to share....I will however reveal that I have finally bought some Power Gum for stop knots. Only about 40 years behind the curve. It will be braid next.

 

Hook, line and sinker

Wak, nothing more depressing than the photo album of a single species angler....(who was that by? )

Shad's your lot

Took the new drop shot rod out today for an hour or so leaving the deadbaits behind with the intention of trying it round some of the lock structures at Horstead. It is an 8' 5 to 15grm rod and I have yet to get a smaller reel and braid to go with it so teamed it up  with a medium Shimano and good old fashioned mono.

The water round the lock and mill races was being whipped to a foam by every man and his dog so back up to just below the bridge at Buxton.  Only had a  trio of ready tied  starter rigs and in truth the 5grm pencil leads were not quite man enough but interesting watching how the orange minnow was working. Not really enough structure  to work to and if I could see the bait any fish could see me.

Off with the drop shot rig  and a few exploratory casts with this nice shad to check out the weed situation and cover a bit more water. Has a lovely head down flutter  and also looks good  just bumped back across the bottom. Wind a nightmare but milder again.

The weed has had a good flush out so back next time with the bait rods but the drop shot and jig rod is going to be in  the back in the car for a couple of lunch time forays round  New Mills.

Why do we do it?

First away trip of the year. Meet the boys in an archetypal London boozer for a couple of pints and then a brisk walk  to savour the delights of The New Den. 442 of us hardy souls were penned in to the North Stand to see Col U's defence put up the most inept defensive display I have ever seen. We were tonked  4-1. The  ref must have taken pity cos at about 89 minutes our keeper seemed to clean out the forward who had again mugged the last man. Pen and red? No, just a telling off to the forward and shortly after our misery was over.

Back on to the sardine crush nightmare of Transport for London's  canning factory and the human zoo of the Weatherspoons at Liverpool Steet. Eldest son buys old man a meal and a pint..my role as head of the pack petering out. On to the train back to Norwich and beyond. Things going well until somewhere before Shenfield. Driver had lost communication with the tractor unit pushing the train. Took 35 minutes to fix. Diss,  snow settling. Head count of passengers with onward connection to Sheringham and a decision to hold the connection. A little ray of light in the stygian gloom.

One of those days

The rented Transit drew to a halt at the gates, still locked. Opened a few minutes late(er) and along the slab road into the car park. The reservoir ruffled by the steady sou'wester masking any moving roach. Open the big back doors, kit and boots on: left first (always) and then right. That's funny, won't go on. Because it's a size 6. Not a 10. Fortunately had my canvas Vans type thingies on. Not my work shoes. Grass damp but not wet. Far bank not showing  much gravel bank though, water well up. Nice. Ho hum.

Wak Lite arrives bearing many gifts. Buzz bars. Books. CD's. A Turnbull print. We set up on the car park bank waiting for the arrival of Zanderland's Norfolk bog door blue enthusiast  Two Terriers. Little to report save the delivery of sage roaching advice about groundbait colour, one fruitless drop back on a joey and the strange disappearance of a vital part from both Gardner run clips, the brass tightening nut. That has never happened in thirty plus years.

Squeezing out every last second before the belated arrival of TT who had endured several hours of road hell. Certainly 3 hours more than his sat nav calculated e.t.a.

We took  the longish trudge round to the favoured area, probably and crucially 3 hours past the hot feeding spell. First job was to get the kettle on, always a welcome addition for longer stay fishing.

Swim a little tight for 3 of us but needs must and just enough room to keep my feet dry.

TT more used to the rod hopping approach in the wild fens flicking out a bait into the hot area found like the rest of us that today it was barely warm.

One definite tug on a joey again for me and that was it. Wak, Essex Scribbler that he is will no doubt have a comprehensive  list of topics discussed to share but certainly the delights or otherwise of Wisbech figured heavily  and class war was heartily declared. Oh, and another failed Gardener tensioning nut.

On the way home, driving past a funky new web based wine distribution corporate hub in the fine city of Naarich I saw a group of hipniks brazenly cavorting in the brightly lit foyer or blue sky thinking place, playing wiff waf whilst we proles  trudged back to our Orwellian alcohol and pornography and there in plain site was a hideous chute, of the water slide type to enable these hipsters to come downstairs ...wait for it, without having to use using the stairs! How wacky and zany.

They will be first up against the wall.

Weather warning

Glorious day, ended up in Sheringham.  4 pm, sea flat calm, shirtsleeves and car display says 17C.