A Year in Provence...

.. well not quite, but I may as well have been considering the number of times I've been out this last year!

Hot air

Work issues put paid to any sort of autumnal campaign and the usual winter chub foray on my local was a bit of a non event with the ridiculously fluctuating levels, which, also made trips further afield a lot less viable than normal. So apart from a few sessions with the pest, I pretty much decided to vote with my feet and stay put. 

Pest

Into the new year and a dabble into the world of ultralight fishing gave me something a little different and I managed to scrape a few perch out of the canal in Stoke. On the rivers, aside from one decent severn chub of 5.2 there was next to nothing to write home about. 

March, April and May were virtual non events angling wise, indeed it became nigh on unbearable, what with the media love in of a certain team who were apparently entitled to win the league and thus celebrated their achievements for months beforehand! 

Thankfully the "This does not ****ing slip" comment became something of a prophecy, as whilst someone was indeed slipping, I was pole fishing on a local stillwater where I happened to hook a lump on a 4 elastic.  A 10 minute battle saw a lump of a common carp hit the net at precisely the same time as my text messages started flooding in from fellow blues! It was a sign.

This does not ***ing slip

Aside from the odd dabble on that small club water, the rods by and large stayed put and I couldn't really muster much enthusiasm.

Meh

So, into June, new season, new beginnings and all that, a trip to a large Shropshire stillwater gave me my first proper angling session in quite some time, and my first dabble for tench for nigh on 12 months. 

I'd love to say I put in all sorts of effort and planning into practice and got a just reward, but I didn't. I cobbled some gear together, arrived on the bank, spread it out as far and in as a disorganised fashion as I could, fed the swim, raked the swim, and landed a 4 pounder early in the afternoon. 

Come tea time I fed some more, raked some more, then somehow managed to nail a float caught PB, in the shape a 6.12 which was taken early evening.

A float caught 6.12

And that was my year!