Last year I set myself the goal of becoming a more rounded fisherman. I wanted to explore the wilder reaches of our Wiltshire rivers. To poke and peer, crawl, wade, dap and snooze propped up in the shade against old pollarded willows. Cast upstream, downstream, across stream. Fish with size #30 flies and fish with woolly buggers.
To a large extent, I succeeded. I fished for Bass, Pike, Perch, Carp – all on the fly. I proved to myself that fishing tackle didn’t have to cost a fortune, the Wychwood quest is still going well and has done me sterling service in saltwater and on the muddy banks of the Stour.
But this year, I’ve been thinking more and more about what I actually enjoy most. It’s a given that it’s not likely to be stockie bashing on the overstocked overfished money waters. But, like a childrens book from the late 90′s, just without the bobble hat and spectacles – where’s Malcolm?
My piscatorial adventures this year are aimed at me finding myself a bit. Improving my oft-erratic casting skills and learning more entomology.
It’s good to have a goal for the coming season, regardless of whether that’s to catch your first fish, chase a trophy, drown maggots or feed your family.
So thanks to the majesty of the mobile digital age here I am. I’m typing sat under the dappled shade cast by an old willow on the banks of the Nadder as it wends through Wilton.
I’ve just carted a load of stakes across fields to do a small bit of habitat work but I’ve been sidetracked by the flash of colour as a kingfisher flashed past. Small sedges are hatching everywhere and I can see the odd fish moving underwater, taking nymphs and emerging insects. The tell-tale flashes of white as they open their mouths like morse code to my brain.
If this years search is for Malcolm, I can’t think of a better place to start than here on a perfect spring day.
Malcolm
The rambling mutterings of Malcolm Anderson. Squeaky wheel championing the re-wilding of the English Chalkstream.
