Well, finally thawed out....
As I set off in the dim early dawn light I should have known better. When the first thing I noticed on getting into the car was that the trip meter was on 13. Which just about set the tone for the day (even though I am not normally triskeidecaphobic).
Half way to the fishery I realised that I had managed to leave my nice hi tech waterproof fleece gloves behind. Oh well I thought, never mind, probably won't need them and if it is a bit nippy then I have my trusty old leather ones in the car
mg:.
I decided to fish the stretch above the Pulpit up to the junction with the side feeder stream. A decision not entirely unconnected with the fact that there is a nice waterproof and windproof hut at the Pulpit.
There then began what I can only describe as five hours of gradually increasing misery increasing all the way up to 11. It would have been more bearable if I had had even the slightest smidgeon of a bite every now and then but not a sausage until ten minutes before I packed up, when I had a half pound Grayling on for all of the ten seconds it took to spin and shed the hook....
I started to realise things were not going my way when it took me fifteen minutes to tie on a spade end size 16. I couldn't hold the 18's any more. Thereafter I switched to eyed hooks, as otherwise impossible to tie.
Ahah I thought, my trusty leather gloves. Not a good idea. Diabetes = poor circulation to start with. Wet leather shrinks. Cutting off circulation further. As I was to find out.
By this stage the rain had stopped playing nicely and turned into white stuff with occasional lumps in.
Plus I realised that there were two different colours of water in the river. Discoloured stuff in the main channel as throughout, but also a brown torrent of clay carrying water of a colour and consistency which would have made Corker proud charging out of the feeder stream and along the far side. Together with half a ton of ripped out weed coming downriver. Over the next half hour the brown took over the whole river and that was, I suspect, that for any self respecting fish's appetite.
It was at this point that I realised, when I took my right glove off to feel in my pocket that "feel" was a word no longer of any relevance. I had absolutely no sensation in my fingers at all, about as much use as a collection of Birds Eye fish fingers grafted on to my stumps. A really quite scary experience.
So after managing to turn the pocket inside out and recover my car keys from the mud it was time to go home after having stuck it out til two pm.
Even with the car heater on full blast I didn't warm up significantly until later that evening after the hot bath from heaven.
And yet.... Lord help me, it was still a fishing day to remember
.
PS. God bless my ESP waterproof bib and brace and my best recent purchases, a pair of Camoustreme waterproof and insulated boots from yorkshire Game Angling + TOG 3.5 fleece socks. Immense.
And the same God please curse the French swine who claim Tresspas entrant to be as waterproof as Goretex. It ain't. And this really
wasn't the day I needed to find that out the hard way.
---------- Post added at 11:10 ---------- Previous post was at 11:04 ----------
PPS. If anyone fishing near the Pulpit finds an inside out pair of black leather gloves buried in the mud then please please
please do not post them back to me
---------- Post added at 11:14 ---------- Previous post was at 11:10 ----------
PPPS. Whose planning next years ? :wh
