Issue No. XXVIII, December 16th 2025
Spellbound
The night is darkening round me, the wild winds coldly blow; but a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.
The giant trees are bending their bare boughs weighed with snow. And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond clouds above me, wastes beyond wastes below; but nothing drear can move me,
I will not, cannot go.
Emily Brontë
Winter Gold
The Piscatorial Raconteurs & Friends – ‘being the quiet observations of Gentlemen Anglers‘
Within these pages you will find peace and warm reflection in what we believe is a quiet backwater. Here one can while away time sitting comfortably in a familiar armchair accompanied by a favoured tipple’… continue reading
Keeping An Eye On Proceedings
Autumn & Winter In Pictures
Notes From The Wild
Something a little different as it’s Christmas.
‘The robin, such a wonderful bird, in the depths of winter they are the solitary voice that sings hope eternal toward the spring’
The Robin A Folklore.
Erithacus rubecula, this iconic red-breasted symbol of Christmas and gardener’s best friend has often been voted the UK’s favourite bird. Stories abound through the centuries that reinforce the ways it has featured in our lives as well as its prominence in the minds of poets and authors.
Christianity and Christmas
The most well-known of all its relationships, robins and Christmas, has a long-standing association. Postmen in Victorian times, adorned in their bright red jackets, were nicknamed ‘robins’ as they made their deliveries. This nickname, together with the growing numbers of Christmas cards, reinforced the bird not just as a mainstay in Christmas card design but as a prominent image of the wider festive season.
The origins of the association between robins and Christianity, however, predate the Victorian era by some considerable time. Many stories relate to the creation of its red breast and depict considerable bravery from such a diminutive bird. One describes the dying flames of a fire keeping the baby Jesus warm in his manger. The little bird, then brown, fanned the flames with its tiny wings when an untimely gust of fire scorched its chest. The coloured breast was then shared with all future robins as a sign of their devotion to God.
Another describes a robin’s presence at the crucifixion. To ease his suffering, the robin sang a beautiful song to Jesus. Blood from his crown dripped on to the robin’s breast, where it remained as a symbol of the compassion it had shown.
In Welsh folklore, the robin is known as ‘brou-rhuddyn’ or ‘scorched breast’, a result of the bird delivering water to tormented souls and scorching its breast in the fires of purgatory.
In contrast with these rather precarious circumstances for our familiar friend, there are plenty of stories that associate it with happiness, joy, good luck and the general replacing of an old chapter with the promise of something new.
A robin, it appears, is not purely for Christmas.
Life…and Death
‘When robins appear, loved ones are near’ is a much-used phrase alluding to a belief that robins are messengers. For many people, the sight of a robin is a source of comfort, an assurance that lost loved ones are nearby and are at peace. As such, they become a symbol of hope and remembrance, a spiritual presence. There are many anecdotes of robins appearing at funerals, seemingly paying their respects to the deceased, with some believing that robins accompany them to the afterlife.
A notorious example of this was a robin that became known as the ‘Westminster Wonder’. Having been seen at Queen Mary II’s funeral in 1695, it remained in and around the abbey and her mausoleum, singing softly.
Good…and Evil
Whilst the majority of folklore portrays the robin as compassionate, other accounts contradict such a reputation. In Scottish folklore, the song of a robin, for example, symbolises hardship towards any sick people who hear it. In addition, harming a robin’s nest is said to spell catastrophe, with some believing a nest’s destruction will bring wildfire or cause disease and turmoil to any wrongdoer. In Irish folklore, the harming of a robin is thought to cause a large growth on the hand, preventing the person from working.
A Relentless Defender
No doubt linked to their endless will to defend territory and their feisty, aggressive nature, Norse mythology tells of the robin as the protector from storms, linking the bird to Thor, God of Lightning. The bird was believed to be protected by Thor and held almost sacred status. As a result, lightning would strike anyone harming a robin or its nest.
Poetry and Literature
The robin’s character and reputation have ensured it has a strong presence in our art and literature. Wordsworth and Hardy wrote of the bird’s courage, joy and innocence. Shakespeare mentions the robin in Two Gentlemen of Verona, where they “relish a lovesong like a robin redbreast” and Puck, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, is also known as Robin Goodfellow. Reinforcing its image as a friendly companion, a robin is often given the role of a guide, as in the Chronicles of Narnia, where C.S. Lewis wrote of a robin leading the Pevensies to safety. In The Secret Garden, it was also a robin that led Mary Lennox to the hidden garden.
Extract from The Autumn Robin by John Clare c. 1820
Sweet little Bird in russet coat
The livery of the closing year
I love thy lonely plaintive note
And tiny whispering song to hear
While on the stile or garden seat
I sit to watch the falling leaves
Thy songs thy little joys repeat
My loneliness relieves
A favourite of our avian world, one of the earliest participants in the dawn chorus, the robin is easily identified even by very young children and has been woven into the tapestries of our everyday lives for centuries. Irrespective of our beliefs and rituals it is impossible to deny the rich symbolism and folklore of our beloved robin.
Thankyou to Carl for compiling these words of wisdom & gratitudes to the robin & for providing such a beautiful accompanying image of a robin in full song
Maurice Pledger & His Wonderful Paintings
Maurice needs little introduction – we have been marvelling at his portrayal of fish and their underwater environs for an age, whether viewed in galleries around the country or in his beautiful books. We are so pleased in being able to offer many such paintings in one online gallery, and with the bonus of Maurice’s writing which gives an insight and historical overview of him and his work.
A Christmas Ghost Story
Strange Things At Winsome’s Vintage Tackle Emporium
‘Winsome’s Vintage Tackle Emporium declared its existence on a faded board above the shop doorway. It did not seem to have been designed to attract passing customers, indeed the sign could easily be missed, so goodness knows how my wife had found it in the first place. The shop had a small window that was hard to see into,dark inside and with a few cobwebs framing the items on display. The alleyway was narrow and daylight had a hard business illuminating the front of the shop at all. It reminded me of The Old Curiosity Shop, the novel by Charles Dickens’
Tackle Gallery
The gallery has been updated – so a few more gems to unearth.
There are many reasons we enjoy our art of angling, the countryside, nature, of course the fish we angle for & most definitely the tackles – predominantly from a bygone age, & on occasion crafted today, always by hand keeping alive the artisanal traditions of yesteryear.
Use the chevrons to navigate the gallery. Using an i-phone or similar just click on the image to scroll through.
This gallery will be updated periodically so make sure you drop in every edition.
A Thought For The Day
‘Saving A Blank’
There is NO such thing as a blank fishing day for the fisherman. It will be saved for him by the white-throated weasel, who watches his fishing from a hole in a stone wall under which is lying a fish that that refused all flies: or by the excitement of identifying insects: or by the apple blossom in a nearby orchard: and no one could call that day a blank on which he has seen a kingfisher. Other people do not understand this, and no fisherman likes to return with an empty basket which, at home, means an indubitable blank. Not to be explained by reference to weather or water and not to be disproved by reference to seemingly irrelevant things, such as spread of whisks of flying duns, the tentative dipping of spinners, or the tropic flash of the kingfisher through sunlight and shadow.
Not to be explained by reference to weather or water and not to be disproved by reference to seemingly irrelevant things, such as spread of whisks of flying duns, the tentative dipping of spinners, or the tropic flash of the kingfisher through sunlight and shadow.
An empty basket is decidedly a thing to be avoided, even if it were not for that desirable difference in everything that is noticeable when after several hours of failure, a fisherman is suddenly engaged in a tussle with a fish. As time draws to an end when, properly speaking, the fish should be engaged in their “morning rise” to artificial flies, with the basket still empty and the rod unbent, the fisherman begins to look for remedies…
Taken from the chapter in “Rod and Line” Arthur Ransome – 1929
Picture This – December’s Edition
If you have a picture, video or illustration you would like to share please send it in using the contact form found in the site menu. We will sort something to send the editions contributor.
“Bittern“
‘To hear a bittern is rare, to see and film one is altogether something else. This retiring, secretive bird is generally so well camouflaged against a reeded backdrop that seeing one is so very difficult, indeed you maybe looking at one without ever knowing. This then is what makes this footage so remarkable – a bittern in the open and in clear view although at some distance from where I was standing. The iPhone was on max zoom but still managed reasonable definition considering. To say I was thrilled would be an understatement.’
John Ruler, Late Autumn 2025
From The Archive
Each Latest Edition will feature an article from our extensive archive click on the link to be taken back in time.
The New Year Approaches, A Flare Of Blue & The Moon Touches Our Shoulders
‘Then something extraordinary happens, an Evening Angler, Halcyon or the Kingfisher (of all birds) divides the fragments of light left between earth and water, the river flattens and momentarily appears to slow in his passing – a blazing arrow shot from the heavens electrifies the glides in front of us – had he been summoned elsewhere?’
This Issue’s Contemplations
The Piscatorial Raconteurs – December Miscellany – David Chalcraft, Pallenpool & Carl Hier
The Raconteurs Article s– Martin James MBE, David Craine, R.B. Traditional, Carl Hier, Knight Heron, Edward Barrett, Paul Huxtable & David Chalcraft
December’s Guest – Phil Humm, Paul Adams & Ruth Craine
December’s Miscellany
Pallenpool, A Note From The Diary – Come Winter – ‘In the distance a lone red kite rides a weak winter thermal, below his graceful turns are the slow shallow glides of the stream and our path that weaves ascending the sleeping fields‘ continue reading
Carl Hier, The Power Of Storytelling -‘Angling has always been, and always will be, a fertile ground for story-telling. Some of those who fish have been charged with blurring the ground between fiction and reality‘ continue reading
David Chalcraft, Happy Being Stuck In A Rut – ‘I scan the herd through my lens and try to locate the audible clattering of what sounds like bare branches being tossed in the wind. Then I see it, two combatants in a stand-off‘ continue reading
This Editions Features & Articles
Guest Articles
Ruth Craine, Phil Humm & Paul Adams
Ruth Craine – Land Of Big Skies & Sunsets, Ruth Continues Her Travelog‘As winter drew on, the sun was setting much further over to the west. My original sunset field was no longer the place to stand to get the pictures of the sun going down‘ continue reading
Phil Humm – Gis’ Us A Smoke ‘My poor father had to witness my float disappearing at regular intervals while his float remained motionless. I got into double figures of skimmers and my father hadn’t a bite. Finally, just as we were about to stop for the day, his float wobbled and slid away. He struck and triumphantly reeled in his prize which I slipped into the landing net just to make certain’ continue reading
Paul Adams – Beautiful Autumn ‘Heading upstream, I enter the canyon where the trail fords the creek and, once I commit, it is a mile and a half before the valley sides flatten and part again into the familiar meadow. I have fished the meadow many times over the past twenty-odd years, but never before fished the canyon, only glimpsed parts of it from the path and followed its contours on a map‘ continue reading
The Raconteurs Articles
David Chalcraft, Martin James MBE, David Craine, Knight Heron, Paul Huxtable, Edward Barrett, Carl Hier & R.B. Traditional
Edward Barrett – Big Winter Chub After Dark ‘A nomadic approach is best for this style of fishing and not only does it mean I spread my chances, but I also avoid getting frozen to the river bank if it gets frosty. The only thing that will ruin it now is another angler, God forbid‘ continue reading
David Craine – Pastures New Part III ‘There was no indication that the swim had been visited, the sweetcorn was in cloudy water so I had no way of knowing if the free offerings had been taken, it was a case of sitting and waiting. The net was close by and I had also taken the precaution of bringing along my re-wetted unhooking mat, scales and sling should the unthinkable happen’ continue reading
Martin James MBE – Float Fishing For Perch ‘I crammed on the pressure and it worked; I was soon gaining line. Then, for some unknown reason, the fish went berserk and I was forced to give more line. It was several minutes before I had the fish completely under control. Pushing the net in the water I drew the fish towards the net. As the fish went over the net I lifted; it was mine‘ continue reading
Martin James MBE- Fishing In The Past On Christmas Day ‘Leaning my bike alongside the five-bar gate, it was a relief to get my basket off my back. I then walked a short distance to the bridge and, leaning over, I could see the river was looking good and flowing slowly, with some colour in the water‘ continue reading
Paul Huxtable – Autumn & Perch Mr Crabtree had it right of course, with mid-autumn perching firmly in his angling calendar and who could forget the wonderfully dynamic illustration that accompanies the recounting of his assured success? Bernard Venables, Crabtree’s creator, was no slouch at the game either and this was admirably illustrated in the autumn episode of A Passion for Angling continue reading
Knight Heron – Start, Stops, Steers “Swimfeeder in the middle” was his standard response to the enquiries of prospective gate-crashers, with just the tiniest glint of mirth peeking out from behind his deadpan delivery; much like the response I give now to perfunctory enquiries of carp size and numbers in a beloved, unspoilt pond: “A few small ones but lots of bream” continue here
David Chalcraft – Hops, Haws & Hips ‘If I resort to trotting with bait, I may too welcome the roach and dace in the search. By November, the barbel and chub will be feeding in earnest once a tinge of colour comes to the water. As the levels drop after the first flush of debris and detritus has pushed on downstream, it is a time for smelly baits to be selected from the larder or fridge’ continue reading
R.B.Traditional– For The Love ‘Given the opportunity, I would have packed the creel, grabbed an Avon rod, stolen a fresh white loaf from the kitchen and headed for the river in search of chub before you could say “woolly hat”. Alas, the lovely girl with whom I share life was undertaking a survey of hazel dormice in local ancient woodland with the wildlife trust‘ continue reading
Knight Heron – Heron’s Wake, The Drowned Ledgers, First Immersion ‘It began with a gathering; anglers from every corner of the realm, summoned by coded messages hidden in creels and weedy margins. They came bearing canes etched with names that had never been spoken aloud. ‘Truthline’, ‘Wyrdroot’, ‘The Last Cast’: each one a story, each one a vow. At dusk, they assembled by the old mill pond where the water ran still and the reeds stood like sentinels‘ continue reading
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