Cliff Hatton
Well-known member
http://www.fishingmagic.com/feature-articles/18417-erotic-park.html
I had been in the excellent company of my west-country friends for a couple of days and had reached that point where the novelty of reunion had worn and the urge to explore their locale had arrived. I rarely venture into this part of the country so I was keen to see the reality of those blue patches on my Ordnance Survey map.
Some five miles or so from my base was an elongated lake fed by a stream and flanked by woodland. I’d read years before that even small bodies of water can produce big fish if there is a constant through-flow – something to do with the removal of the inhabitants’ natural waste. I was then rather keen to uncover the truth about this pale oval with a crease through it.
It was a pleasant drive along narrow, leafy lanes that took me – somewhat disappointingly – to a rather formal entrance and a small car park; that it was free to render one’s taxed vehicle static and leave it for a few hours was a bonus: I abhor paying to park my car! More than this, I become near-incandescent when told by a ticket-machine that I must enter my registration number - without having the guts or decency to explain why. Of course, it’s to ensure we can’t exercise our sense of decency and bon homie to our fellow humans by passing-on the residual value of the parking fee: how curmudgeonly is that? Which petty, bitter individual first thought of this? But I digress…
I soon found my way down to the lake’s outlet, a surprisingly fast and lively stream that tumbled over a nice mix of pink and grey corporation boulders. I followed it to its source and arrived at a shallow lake fronted by a large ‘Welcome’ sign with instructions on how to behave and what to look out for: I might see kingfisher, heron, grass snake, purple loostrife, borage, shaggy ink-cap and damsel fly – standard stuff really, but wonderful species all the same; it’s just a shame ‘we’ need to have these wonders of Nature pointed-out to us.
Despite the area’s somewhat formal atmosphere it was, clearly, overlooked by the public, for there was little to indicate visitation or activity of any kind; the footpath was free of litter, bore no boot-prints and was squeezed by the grass and dandelions on either side: did you know that dandelion gets its name from the serrations on its leaves? They’re like the teeth of a lion…dent de lion…it’s French, you know, though I’m not sure I’ve spelt it right.
I espied a gap in the bushes up ahead and hastened toward it, but on reaching this potential swim my expectation was knocked sideways by an enormous acorn! This thing was over two feet long, around four feet in circumference and mildly disturbing… I studied it only briefly and with some disdain before turning my attention to the lake. Yes, it was, indeed, shallow and unappealing – at least it was at this point – so I turned to resume my stroll. The acorn dragged my eyes to its smooth, bulbous form but I managed to pull myself away from this misplaced spectacle of art nouveau and gratefully continued with my stroll.
There wasn’t another soul around unless you include cormorants among those with a heart. I disturbed one that rose from its shallow rocketing to find me standing mortified: it wasn’t a big, west-country carp after all. ‘Disappointment’ wasn’t the word and I instinctively threw out my arms in a genuine hissy-fit, an unedifying explosion of hatred and frustration; it’s not what a bloke of my age should be seen doing so it’s as well there was nobody around. God, I hate those things as much as I hate having to pay for car-parking. I wondered how my Elizabeth was getting on back at base though I’m unable to explain the thought process that linked her with a marauding, hook-nosed pest: Elizabeth is rather beautiful, never marauds and has a rather cute beak, I think.
The next gap in the bushes revealed another discomfiting objet d’art but one I could handle more comfortably for some reason. A giant conker it was, its shell swollen by the nut within and about to give birth apparently. I felt comfortable enough with this one to use it as a seat while I re-filled my e-snout, a mildly embarrassing exercise redolent (or perhaps demonstrative!) of drug-preparation…it’s all stainless steel, glass and medicinal bottles with droppers, health warnings and hazard symbols: thank heaven vaping doesn’t require silver foil or a spoon, I thought.
The lake at this point looked promising, weedy in places and a little deeper perhaps. I watched for bulges in that bubbling, pea-green surface matter you see at this time of year – but there were none. I scanned the lake for the subtle hump of a care-free carp, sub-surface with no particular place to go – but there was none. My proffered bread crust drew-in only gulls and a pair of mallard drakes so I pocketed my bong and moved away from my somewhat suggestive seat in search of fish-life. I supposed it must be present, after all, I’d seen the Black Death; but then, perhaps he – like me – was just exploring. What a terrible state of affairs we’ve landed ourselves with. At one time, not so long ago, these invaders were happy at sea, blessed with sprats and herring and mackerel and dabs and flounders to eat as often as they liked, but they’ve had to vacate their idyllic seaside homes to hunt down the odd rudd or even a garden goldfish. The thought didn’t stop me hating them though. I took a last curious look at the engorged, yielding horse chestnut and walked on.
It was some way to the next break in the bushes and this gave me a few minutes to envisage the time, energy, creativity, dedication and materials that went into the making of those lakeside ornaments. I certainly wouldn’t denigrate their creator but I might feel inclined to question those who commissioned their creation: why expend so many resources on things you can see for real in the natural environment? Why interrupt a perfectly pleasant walk around a lake with such disconcerting designs?
I arrived in the next pitch.
Well, as Frankie Howerd used to say, “My flabber had never been so ghasted!” I’d seen this latest curio from a distance as I approached and I had wondered if it was, in fact, a log or a piece of fallen bough. But as I drew closer I could see that, indeed, it was of human design and, again, just a tad unsettling - but beautifully formed nonetheless.
By this time I’d given up on the lake’s potential as an undiscovered lunker-haven, its subtle suggestion having put me off my stroke, so to speak.
Had these works of art been ceremonially unveiled by the local Mayor and before an innocent public? Perhaps he and the attendant dignitaries had eyed each other knowingly and had fought the urge to smile too broadly. What a Carry On! Sid and Hattie would have loved it!
CH
I had been in the excellent company of my west-country friends for a couple of days and had reached that point where the novelty of reunion had worn and the urge to explore their locale had arrived. I rarely venture into this part of the country so I was keen to see the reality of those blue patches on my Ordnance Survey map.
Some five miles or so from my base was an elongated lake fed by a stream and flanked by woodland. I’d read years before that even small bodies of water can produce big fish if there is a constant through-flow – something to do with the removal of the inhabitants’ natural waste. I was then rather keen to uncover the truth about this pale oval with a crease through it.
It was a pleasant drive along narrow, leafy lanes that took me – somewhat disappointingly – to a rather formal entrance and a small car park; that it was free to render one’s taxed vehicle static and leave it for a few hours was a bonus: I abhor paying to park my car! More than this, I become near-incandescent when told by a ticket-machine that I must enter my registration number - without having the guts or decency to explain why. Of course, it’s to ensure we can’t exercise our sense of decency and bon homie to our fellow humans by passing-on the residual value of the parking fee: how curmudgeonly is that? Which petty, bitter individual first thought of this? But I digress…
I soon found my way down to the lake’s outlet, a surprisingly fast and lively stream that tumbled over a nice mix of pink and grey corporation boulders. I followed it to its source and arrived at a shallow lake fronted by a large ‘Welcome’ sign with instructions on how to behave and what to look out for: I might see kingfisher, heron, grass snake, purple loostrife, borage, shaggy ink-cap and damsel fly – standard stuff really, but wonderful species all the same; it’s just a shame ‘we’ need to have these wonders of Nature pointed-out to us.
Despite the area’s somewhat formal atmosphere it was, clearly, overlooked by the public, for there was little to indicate visitation or activity of any kind; the footpath was free of litter, bore no boot-prints and was squeezed by the grass and dandelions on either side: did you know that dandelion gets its name from the serrations on its leaves? They’re like the teeth of a lion…dent de lion…it’s French, you know, though I’m not sure I’ve spelt it right.
I espied a gap in the bushes up ahead and hastened toward it, but on reaching this potential swim my expectation was knocked sideways by an enormous acorn! This thing was over two feet long, around four feet in circumference and mildly disturbing… I studied it only briefly and with some disdain before turning my attention to the lake. Yes, it was, indeed, shallow and unappealing – at least it was at this point – so I turned to resume my stroll. The acorn dragged my eyes to its smooth, bulbous form but I managed to pull myself away from this misplaced spectacle of art nouveau and gratefully continued with my stroll.
There wasn’t another soul around unless you include cormorants among those with a heart. I disturbed one that rose from its shallow rocketing to find me standing mortified: it wasn’t a big, west-country carp after all. ‘Disappointment’ wasn’t the word and I instinctively threw out my arms in a genuine hissy-fit, an unedifying explosion of hatred and frustration; it’s not what a bloke of my age should be seen doing so it’s as well there was nobody around. God, I hate those things as much as I hate having to pay for car-parking. I wondered how my Elizabeth was getting on back at base though I’m unable to explain the thought process that linked her with a marauding, hook-nosed pest: Elizabeth is rather beautiful, never marauds and has a rather cute beak, I think.
The next gap in the bushes revealed another discomfiting objet d’art but one I could handle more comfortably for some reason. A giant conker it was, its shell swollen by the nut within and about to give birth apparently. I felt comfortable enough with this one to use it as a seat while I re-filled my e-snout, a mildly embarrassing exercise redolent (or perhaps demonstrative!) of drug-preparation…it’s all stainless steel, glass and medicinal bottles with droppers, health warnings and hazard symbols: thank heaven vaping doesn’t require silver foil or a spoon, I thought.
The lake at this point looked promising, weedy in places and a little deeper perhaps. I watched for bulges in that bubbling, pea-green surface matter you see at this time of year – but there were none. I scanned the lake for the subtle hump of a care-free carp, sub-surface with no particular place to go – but there was none. My proffered bread crust drew-in only gulls and a pair of mallard drakes so I pocketed my bong and moved away from my somewhat suggestive seat in search of fish-life. I supposed it must be present, after all, I’d seen the Black Death; but then, perhaps he – like me – was just exploring. What a terrible state of affairs we’ve landed ourselves with. At one time, not so long ago, these invaders were happy at sea, blessed with sprats and herring and mackerel and dabs and flounders to eat as often as they liked, but they’ve had to vacate their idyllic seaside homes to hunt down the odd rudd or even a garden goldfish. The thought didn’t stop me hating them though. I took a last curious look at the engorged, yielding horse chestnut and walked on.
It was some way to the next break in the bushes and this gave me a few minutes to envisage the time, energy, creativity, dedication and materials that went into the making of those lakeside ornaments. I certainly wouldn’t denigrate their creator but I might feel inclined to question those who commissioned their creation: why expend so many resources on things you can see for real in the natural environment? Why interrupt a perfectly pleasant walk around a lake with such disconcerting designs?
I arrived in the next pitch.
Well, as Frankie Howerd used to say, “My flabber had never been so ghasted!” I’d seen this latest curio from a distance as I approached and I had wondered if it was, in fact, a log or a piece of fallen bough. But as I drew closer I could see that, indeed, it was of human design and, again, just a tad unsettling - but beautifully formed nonetheless.
By this time I’d given up on the lake’s potential as an undiscovered lunker-haven, its subtle suggestion having put me off my stroke, so to speak.
Had these works of art been ceremonially unveiled by the local Mayor and before an innocent public? Perhaps he and the attendant dignitaries had eyed each other knowingly and had fought the urge to smile too broadly. What a Carry On! Sid and Hattie would have loved it!
CH