The Happy Colonel

Wednesday, 23^rd May, 2012-05-24

It’s three day’s into an unaccustomed hot spell, and I’m taking up a longstanding invitation to wet a line on the ‘Willow Pool’, following an email from my bearded buddy with the wide grin. The omens were good as I approached Lonsdale Park. Trickling down the narrow, unmade track, my car was preceded by a pair of Goldfinches, flitting and darting between the hedgerows bounding the bridleway. A hint of a ‘golden day’, perhaps. The birdy omens got even better when I was treated to the avian acrobatics of a pair of buzzards, ascending on the already strong thermals, whilst I was setting up at the poolside. Their joyous display was cut short by a bullyboy crow, who, jealous of their flying skills no doubt, took to the air agressively when they got too close to his domain. The pair ‘miaowed’  at him and gently glided up to a height where ‘bullies’ lose their false bravery, masters of ‘their domain’. Good omens indeed.

Whilst the omens were good for a day with my beloved roach, the weather wasn’t ‘textbook’. Blazing sun and clear, bright blue sky were stacked against me having a bumper haul. How wrong to generalise and follow conventional wisdom. I’d brought the ‘Korum Sedan’ (aka Deluxe Chair) in anticipation of more sunbathing than rod bending, but my dear friends, Paul’s pristine, Willow Pool roach shoals, had other ideas. They fed consistently and voraciously the whole day long, taking breadflake and sweetcorn in equal measure. Pretty much unmissable bites on the float saw 43 of them come to hand. Yes, forty three!!!!! Ten of them over the pound, the biggest saw the readout on my new Reuben Heaton tubular, digital balance make 1lb and 4ozs. With every fish in excess of ¾ pound I was a very happy old Colonel.

As the sun was downing and the flies madly hatching, I ended the day with Paul sitting alongside,bathing in the tranquil embers of the day. We set the world to rights, as all traditional anglers do, whilst staring, memerised, at my cocked float. The red shaft wavered from side to side, lifted, falling on it’s side in a slow motion dance. ‘That’s interesting’, muttered my host. “That’s carp”, my thoughts responded. Sure enough, bobbing and leaning ritual completed, the tip ‘arrowed’ smoothly down and away, on a journey to the centre of the earth. The upward sweep of my rod met the resistance of a sack of cement, then, Izaak’s spirit smiled upon me. The hook pulled!!!!!! Well, at my age, I didn’t want to be there all night wrestling a golden scaley one, did I???? And a splintered cane rod would be no use to me when I visit again next week………if this ‘perfect roach weather’ continues.

Many thanks, my friend..........see you soon.

Ray