One bait went out to a reed edge, the other was dropped in the margin and after less than an hour that bobbin dropped off and line trickled off the spool. There was nothing there and the bait looked unmarked. A liner? Possibly.
Partly to beat the drag from the wind I had removed my floats and was fishing legered baits to drop-offs. This also allowed me to relax without the constant need to keep checking floats. I was in a chilling out mood. So chilling that I'd put my waterproof jacket on to warm me up!
I got itchy feet syndrome after a couple of hours and made a move. This was the cue for the weather to take it out on me one more time. I'd left my brolly at home. So the rain came as no surprise. Only light drizzle, thankfully. At least I'd put my overtrousers on so I was dry enough. Again I got an indication to one rod after an hour or so. A slack liner that once more was probably the result of a fish swimming into the line.
It ended up as one of those sessions when I was willing it to go dark so I could pack up. That wasn't until three or four swallows had flown low over the water and settled in the reeds next to the first swim I'd fished. I bet they were wishing they'd stayed in Africa as they struggled to find a steady perch. Blackbirds, thrushes and all manner of other birds were singing their territorial songs at dusk, while magpies cackled and a tawny owl hooted. With the clocks going forward tomorrow it'll be gone eight on Sunday when darkness comes making after-tea roach, tench and bream sessions on the cards. Where are my maggot tubs?
