Observation is one thing but nothing of any consequence is written regarding becoming a fisherman: The pursuit of fish is a different matter.

 

It is only through the pursuit of fish that one can truly become a fisherman. In time, pursuing fish becomes a redundant side effect.

 

Becoming a fisherman is a hands on affair, there are no shortcuts, you won’t get there by trying. Indeed, when the tendency to try wains you will have succeeded, fish or no fish.

 

Fishing is, in its self, a fisher of men.

 

 

Arrival

 

Ideally we’ll park well away, preferring to walk the muddy lane and take in the atmosphere and ease our way into the scene. We climb over the stile and hump gear over the fence. The Rooks are marking our arrival, circling their nest and cawing relentlessly. It’s impossible to arrive unnoticed, cover is always blown.

 

We load up again and walk through the wood to the pool. (I have no idea why this is a pool and not a lake or a pond). Looking ahead through the trees we spot the water’s surface, partially covered in lily pads and all under the cover of a thin mist (miasma). Pushing through the Sycamores and Rhododendrons the pool opens up to us. It’s not huge, but from here it can’t be taken as a single field of view, the far bank is maybe 100 yards away.

 

Mike makes his way to the bank and I follow, it’s clear where he’s heading and I concur with a nod. He settles on flat part of the bank close to the waters edge to my left and I sit on my creel some five to six yards away. We have arrived.

 

Prepare

 

The arrival is always punctuated with a period of unpacking which is most often out of keeping with routine and ritual, but once in position automatic hands manoeuvre essentials into their positions. Thereafter the ritual begins.

 

I watch as he slips the rod from its cloth cover piece by piece. Firstly the tip section is removed and is pushed into its corresponding section  which is still in the bag; this is then slipped out and again is pushed into the final ‘butt’ section. The completed rod is then slipped fully from the bag, which is pushed behind his seat for safekeeping.

The reel, which has been laid to hand, is sited via a mark on the butt section, which has, through years of experiment, found its position and presents the only option. Finally after fixing it in position with the aluminium rings and the line is allowed to play from the spool.

 

Holding the rod by the reel, expert hands hold the line between fingertips and then rod is pushed backwards as the line is threaded through each eye as it passes the hand. With care the rod is eased back as the final smallest eye is threaded.

Then, holding the line between pursed lips the rod is fed forwards again into position and the reel is turned to engage the bail arm and take up the slack line.

 

At this point we stand to look over the water and discuss some sort of loose strategy, this is almost always abandoned but leaves a feeling of some sort of order. The mist is lifting and fish are moving on the surface

 

Taking his seat again, Mike lifts the rod to vertical pointing it slightly into the soft breeze; allowing the drifting line to find his hand.

 

My hands are tight and dry from the morning cold, the mist still drifting, is rippled by a rising fish at the lilies edge.

 

The morning air is not cold enough to warrant gloves, but I lift my collar and pull down my hat. The breeze is slight and breathes across the exposed part of my face, hands. Chilly.

 

I take up my rod and ‘tackle up’ planning as I do.

The options are vast and seem to be of little consequence. I choose at spot to my right, three rod lengths out. Tossing some loose feed out low, I try not to disturb the surface too much.

 

‘What do you say Mike?” he lifts his head from its slump, “what do you think? the bottom is dropping off around there”.

 

He lifts his head in agreement and throws loose feed out into his swim breaking the waters glassy surface. Casting beyond this his float cuts the mist and plops into the water. He dips the rod tip slightly below the water and turns the reel to take up the line pulling the float below the surface. A flick of the rod tip sinks the final inches of line and the float reappears on the water surface.

 

The reflections of trees and the floating lilies offer a green backdrop for the bright orange of the float tip. It looks out of place amongst the greens and browns of the reflections but the connection between it and the eye is perfect. The still water clings to the sides of the float, suspending it upright............................