Bob Roberts
Well-known member
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2002
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As promised, I hereby declare the CS debate open with a salutory little tale - absolutely true - it happened on a Yorkshire River this morning:
Opening Day Madness
I received an email on opening day from a mate who was not exactly experiencing a glorious sixteenth. In fact he’d packed up in disgust at the antics of someone who called himself an angler. Paul had arrived at Thornton Bridge on the Swale in the half-light of dawn and quietly tucked himself into the vegetation in the hope of fooling one of the big barbel known to live on that stretch.
Catching big barbel is often a waiting game and while he sat there, patiently willing his rod tip to arch over, he heard two more anglers arrive and set up above him, oblivious to the fact he was there.
Eventually Paul decided to have a recast and the process of recovering his feeder alerted the angler above that someone was fishing below. “Oi,” shouts the guy, “You’re fishing my swim. Clear off!” Actually that’s not an accurate transcript of what was said but I guess you can work that out.
When Paul suggested he’d been there long before the other chap and that it was actually his swim things turned decidedly ugly. Through the undergrowth crashed this Neanderthal, dragging his knuckles on the floor and clearly intent on carrying out some delicate negotiations that didn’t exactly include moving or apologising. With Neanderthal number two assuming the rear gunner position Paul decided discretion was the better part of valour and packed up.
What a waste of a day’s holiday, he wailed, but on the other hand he’s still in one piece.
I’m sure things like this wouldn’t happen if we did away with the closed season.
PS: Spoke to dear old Ron Clay this afternoon somewhere in the darkest fens - only thing he'd caught today was heat stroke.
Nigel Botherway tells me he drove 250 miles without wetting a line due to low water conditions, algae and lack of oxygen in the Avon. He thought that to fish would be irresponsible (well done that man).
Just how glorious is this 16th then?
Glad I went to work, really.
Opening Day Madness
I received an email on opening day from a mate who was not exactly experiencing a glorious sixteenth. In fact he’d packed up in disgust at the antics of someone who called himself an angler. Paul had arrived at Thornton Bridge on the Swale in the half-light of dawn and quietly tucked himself into the vegetation in the hope of fooling one of the big barbel known to live on that stretch.
Catching big barbel is often a waiting game and while he sat there, patiently willing his rod tip to arch over, he heard two more anglers arrive and set up above him, oblivious to the fact he was there.
Eventually Paul decided to have a recast and the process of recovering his feeder alerted the angler above that someone was fishing below. “Oi,” shouts the guy, “You’re fishing my swim. Clear off!” Actually that’s not an accurate transcript of what was said but I guess you can work that out.
When Paul suggested he’d been there long before the other chap and that it was actually his swim things turned decidedly ugly. Through the undergrowth crashed this Neanderthal, dragging his knuckles on the floor and clearly intent on carrying out some delicate negotiations that didn’t exactly include moving or apologising. With Neanderthal number two assuming the rear gunner position Paul decided discretion was the better part of valour and packed up.
What a waste of a day’s holiday, he wailed, but on the other hand he’s still in one piece.
I’m sure things like this wouldn’t happen if we did away with the closed season.
PS: Spoke to dear old Ron Clay this afternoon somewhere in the darkest fens - only thing he'd caught today was heat stroke.
Nigel Botherway tells me he drove 250 miles without wetting a line due to low water conditions, algae and lack of oxygen in the Avon. He thought that to fish would be irresponsible (well done that man).
Just how glorious is this 16th then?
Glad I went to work, really.