Well, its confession time
High time for some confession from some...
Piece of Southern Counties non-scene club water, holding barbel on the up and up.
In the past season or two I had had 10s, two 11s, a 12, a 13 (with the thirteen that hit 14 second time round), fishing it for fun I was, as I was doing most of my fishing and catching a few rather bigger fish on a piece miles away, merely visiting the club bit to sit under a tree or in the sun and get the lovely old boys fishing the same piece as me on to some of what they had heard I was having.
Then the Great Ouse arrived.
Non members.
Fishing bivvied-up at night.
Silent, or surly, or evasive, or gushing (you won't try and face me down, mate...).
Catching, catching, catching from a swim I no longer fished, but was sometimes fishing one two below that held a far far bigger fish (never hooked).
What to do?
My on-bank-met and on-bank mate, J, for whom I had netted and weighed his first ever double, an 11-pounder, a big guy, a very gentle giant, a new bailiff...
He, about 6-5 of him, after a quiet word from me, strolled into the double-anglered, bivvied and sleeper-tented swim two up from me at nine one morning shortly after our arrival and had a word...
Gone.
More need to go, more need to really confess, or they'll be writing books or coming onto the Internut and sh'ing all over those who did it early and did it right.
