I had some leftover bait to use up so I drove over to the tench lake. I was shocked to find another angler's car there, but he was in a peg I never fish where I couldn't see him, I was relieved to find.
I was setting up at about 2pm when old John the farmer came for my money. What did I think of that then?, he asked me. What? The Red Arrows. I've just come, John. Oh, he said, they were here half and hour ago, right over us, they did the full works, the tricks, the lights, the red, white and blue, right overhead. It's a shame I was stuck in traffic trying to escape Nottingham then. John presumed they'd been over at RAF Syerston, just a couple of (supersonic) minutes away. And he was right; I just looked up their schedule.
Anyway, I set up the usual smallish tench gear, .14 line, 4 x 18 float, black hydro, and got fishing. As usual, there were plenty about, but the skies were grey, the air cool and the tench had a bit of end of summer indifference to food. The average fish was about this size
About an hour in, a thunderous tearing noise rent the sky. Pigeons and rooks took off from the trees and scrambled for safety in disaster movie style. Time and again the noise rose to a peak, faded and came back with the kind of intensity that suggested that, even though you were safe on your seatbox, you should be cowering on the floor with your hands over your ears. The (younger) farmer's kids appeared on the far bank, gazing up like one of those iconic Spielberg scenes. Once, the source of the noise dipped below the low clouds and a Tornado jet swooped, turned and accelerated out of sight, afterburners lit. Pretty well everything people call "awesome" these days isn't, but this was.
I don't know if I can blame the RAF, but the tench were a bit finicky and skittish today, and I had to keep swapping between maggot, pellet and meat, lifting and dropping, changing the depth etc to keep bites coming. By 6pm I was noticing how quickly the light, on this gloomy day, was fading and gave it best.