Well, here is my first 2016 report/blog post/Statement of Incompetence. To mark the occasion and by way of celebration I have allowed myself the indulgence of a font change. Let it not be said that I don't know how to live!
The Taw, that's a river, opens for salmon fishing on 1st of March and at 9:30am this year I was waist deep in a perfect river casting pretty prettily, even if I do say so myself, and my confidence was high, my cup of well being over flowing.
Suffice to say that when something seems too good to be true it probably is and to cut a short story even shorter; by 2:30pm, if I had been wading where at 9:30 I was waist deep, I would have been up to my neck in something resembling Mother's stewed English Breakfast Blend and that, you will deduce, was that. No fish, but lovely to be out on the river again.
Wimbleball, all 374 acres of it, can be an awe inspiring prospect on a bleak March day.
March 18th saw myself, John Dawson who is like the Wimbleball/Devon/fishing version of Old Father Time and a couple of chums, motoring around the place in boats looking for fish. The wind was howling from the northeast and we were drifting at about Mach 2. Things looked as bleak as the weather..................
I am not one to blow my own trumpet, as I am sure I have mentioned before (and I still don't own one) but I like to think I can hold my own when it comes to fishing a reservoir, for Rainbows, from a boat. To the amusement of my companions I chose to fish a good old-fashioned Wet Cell II as they sink quite uniformly but with a sharp upward curve when under the rod tip. It is this curve that often proves so lethal and this day was no exception. I fished it with a shortish leader of 9ft and a black and green Nomad was the fly of choice coupled with a jerky sink & draw retrieve.
Mark - 4 fish and 1 brownie (ret) Smugness. Unconfined self satisfaction. Joy.
John - 0
Dave - 0
Roy - 0
Maybe I should buy a trumpet eh.............?
Then comes the embuggerance aspect of my report/blog post etc.
In the car park after the aforementioned trip to Wimbleball I put my sling pack down for just one second and hey presto! It was gone. All my spools and lines went with it.
When I say it was gone - I never saw it again would be more accurate. When I got home it wasn't in my car and when I called the lake staff it wasn't there. Hopeless.
Still, it wasn't enough to completely rub the grin of smug satisfaction from my face and I now have an excuse to buy more tackle............Every cloud....