Henry Hall
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This story can now be read in the features section: <a href=http://www.fishingmagic.com/news/article.asp?SP=&v=1&UAN=2234>'The Old Man And Jimmy'</A>
Part One
The old man strained his eye?s to see the glossy orange tip of his old pike-bung in the milky half-light of dawn. The float sat motionless on the mirror calm surface of the pool. A lone coot swum sheepishly from the cover of a dense reed bed on the opposite side of the pool, navigating the smoky surface cautiously, its suspicious eyes darting this way and that. He waited for the ripples to reach his float, and still his heartbeat fluttered momentarily at the expected bobbing of the orange tip.
The pool was coming to life sluggishly on the cold December morning and he could hear mallards beginning to squabble behind trailing willow curtains overhanging the margins. Excited still, with the prospect of the recently made first cast of the day, he breathed heavily feeling the clean sting of morning air in his nostrils. An hour quickly passed with no action. He alternated his attention between the float and the mob of argumentative Mallard that harangued one another, endlessly, up and down the pool.
At one point he heard another angler arrive and start setting up in the next swim, thankfully screened from him by a thick jungle of Alder and Hawthorn. The old man was glad of the privacy the shrubbery afforded him. He ?d hoped to have the pool to himself today. Ordinarily he would have been glad of the company, most likely would have walked around the shrubbery for a chat. Today was different and he only wanted his own company and memories. Today was special.
Part One
The old man strained his eye?s to see the glossy orange tip of his old pike-bung in the milky half-light of dawn. The float sat motionless on the mirror calm surface of the pool. A lone coot swum sheepishly from the cover of a dense reed bed on the opposite side of the pool, navigating the smoky surface cautiously, its suspicious eyes darting this way and that. He waited for the ripples to reach his float, and still his heartbeat fluttered momentarily at the expected bobbing of the orange tip.
The pool was coming to life sluggishly on the cold December morning and he could hear mallards beginning to squabble behind trailing willow curtains overhanging the margins. Excited still, with the prospect of the recently made first cast of the day, he breathed heavily feeling the clean sting of morning air in his nostrils. An hour quickly passed with no action. He alternated his attention between the float and the mob of argumentative Mallard that harangued one another, endlessly, up and down the pool.
At one point he heard another angler arrive and start setting up in the next swim, thankfully screened from him by a thick jungle of Alder and Hawthorn. The old man was glad of the privacy the shrubbery afforded him. He ?d hoped to have the pool to himself today. Ordinarily he would have been glad of the company, most likely would have walked around the shrubbery for a chat. Today was different and he only wanted his own company and memories. Today was special.