Issue No. XIX, March 16th 2026
Home Thoughts From Abroad
Oh, to be in England now that April’s there, and whoever wakes in England sees, some morning unaware, that the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough in England – now!
And after April, when May follows, and the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge leans to the field and scatters on the clover blossoms and dewdrops at the bent spray’s edge – That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, all will be gay when noontide wakes anew the buttercups, the little children’s dower – Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower
Robert Browning
Last Day’s Of The Season
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
Late Winter & Spring In Pictures
Notes From The Wild
A Spring In Our Step
The migration from winter to spring shares some of its jewellery.
‘As inhabitants of our planet, we, and the natural world around us, are at the mercy of the seasons. From food provisions to the location of homes, nests and dens. From floods or droughts to how the next generation will fare – weather and climate dictate every creature’s approach for survival. For the human population, the industrial-scale of technological farming and greenhouses seen today may be viewed as less dependent on temperatures, but the need to align with our seasons is surely still necessary.‘
Our distant ancestors had no controlled, indoor facilities. They continually observed the cycles of the seasons. Their crops and animals were unavoidably dependent on surrounding conditions. Such dependency meant the seasons were closely monitored, fully obeyed and alsothoroughly celebrated. The four main periods of spring, summer, autumn and winter were heralded at halfway points between them, known as cross-quarter days.
Imbolc, pronounced ‘Imm-bolk’, is the halfway point between Yule, the winter solstice and Ostara, the spring equinox, as signified on the Celtic Wheel of the Year. This festival of fire and light was a time to look forward to longer, lighter days and prepare for forthcoming warmth. A mid-point between the dark of the past and the light of the future. Emerging from the cold of winter, the first signs of spring begin to show themselves. Imbolc was a time of changing moods for humans and nature, heavily tinged with the hope of new growth and new life from the season to come.
Indeed, the word Imbolc itself is believed to originate from an old Irish term, meaning ‘in the belly.’ Many think this relates to the pregnancy of ewes, the beginnings of new life in the agricultural calendar.
In the Celtic Wheel of the Year, the festival of Imbolc signifies the midpoint between Yule, the Winter Solstice and Ostara, the Spring Equinox
In our world of today where many of our ‘advances’ in infrastructure and technology can distance us from nature and its ways, Imbolc and everything it symbolises is perhaps a timely reminder that the cycles of the seasons pre-date our very existence and were pivotal to our ancient ancestors’ existence. They synchronised their lives according to those changing seasons, abided by the conditions and did not expect to flourish without doing so. Crop harvests were dependent on growing something suited to the time of year and the location where they were grown. Those boundaries were not pushed or extended. Local, seasonal produce was the only produce.
Such distant times are incomparable to the burgeoning global supply-chains created to ‘feed the beast’ of our increasingly mass markets. Over the last sixty years, commercial expectations and ever-increasing demands for all-foods-at-all-times have brought their own, sometimes troubling outcomes.
Convenience doesn’t necessarily mean success. The whole planet now creaks under the weight of limitless expectation. The simple innocence of festivals such as Imbolc and the wider Celtic Wheel of the Year could not draw a greater contrast to the volumes and wastes of recent practices.
As the challenging cold of winter very gradually recedes, Imbolc brings a time of awakening, of promise and of potential. A time that reinforces all the hopes for the new season. This seasonal shift is not an under-stated, subtle alteration. Bursts of new life begin to emerge in all their bright, beautiful and glorious forms.
For those inclined to look, the natural world sends us a multitude of signs that spring is beginning to show itself. Such signs can be particularly welcome following an exceptionally wet winter.
Growth is now visible from previously dormant bulbs as their new stems reach skyward. Snowdrops, crocus and daffodil will provide a colourful backdrop as days slowly lengthen and temperatures gradually rise.
New shoots emerge from seeds that have laid inactive underground, the soil slowly parting as fresh stems feel the sun’s warmth. As each stalk reaches upward for the light and each new bud unfurls it’s crisp new leaves, renewal and progress are all around. All new growth gains strength with every tiny increase in light.
Every new bud symbolises progress towards a new season
As days gradually brighten, water temperatures slowly but surely increase and ponds lose their coats of ice. Life is stirring and conditions are paving the way for the amphibian world to ensure their most important task is attended to, the creation of the next generation. Large numbers of amorous toads are often seen in still-waters from the smallest of pools to larger ponds and lakes. Chains of toad spawn and clumps of frog spawn are sure signs that spring has arrived.
Some things are more important than others to amorous toads – A sure sign that spring has sprung
In the avian world, a tangible energy can be felt at this time of year. Sights and sounds bombard the senses as residents ramp up their activities and songs, and migrants make it back to our shores to add to the headcount, variety and volume. House martins, swallows and cuckoos are among early spring arrivals. The iconic sound of a year’s first cuckoo is seldom beaten in the league table of sounds that indicate the definite arrival of spring. Our year-round inhabitants are now beginning their nest-building processes and the dawn chorus grows on a daily basis as robins, wrens, chaffinches and thrushes are joined by returning migrators. A busy, industrious time of joy as the whole avian community goes about its spring business.
The slight warming of daytime temperatures creates a real buzz in the air as bumble bees and butterflies are among the first insects to emerge. Peacocks, small tortoiseshells and commas have over-wintered as adults and now, on days when the temperature is high enough, their presence enhances early springtime. The humming of a bumble bee is just as welcome. In much of the UK, bumble bees can have active nests throughout the winter, although it is sometimes only queens that survive through times of harsh, colder temperatures.An early spring butterfly always lifts the spirits
An early spring butterfly always lifts the spirits
Elsewhere, bats, hedgehogs and dormice, the only native mammals that hibernate in the UK, slowly wake from their slumbers, using warmer evenings to search for food. Replenishment is a necessary priority for them as they rebuild themselves following weeks of dormancy. Prompted by the increasingly milder temperatures, the simultaneous increase in small insect, beetle and worm movement provides a helpful larder for our awakening hibernators.
From forest floors to meadows, from hedgerows to farmland, in the air and below the waterline, nature turns its dial up. For many creatures, foraging for food and nourishment is rivalled only by the hunt for a mate and the search of the surrounding area for places to live and rear their young. The busiest of times has arrived, as it has done for centuries. From a time when our ancient ancestors’ existence was not influenced by the technology of today, the Wheel of the Year provided them with their only datum to measure the seasons.
Carl Hier, Late February In The Valleys
From Then Till Now
It is February 12th and I am sat looking out of the window at the birds around the feeder in the rear garden. I was so engrossed in the antics of our feathered friends that I felt obliged to take a quick moving snap, or video if you prefer, of their endeavours as they attempted and sometimes succeeded to access the fat balls in the feeder. It was so easy to do, even for somebody as technologically incompetent as me. As I was fumbling around using the infernal mobile phone, on which I should add I am a complete Neanderthal at understanding, I had a thought…
Tackle Gallery
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
‘Hedgerows’
There is a different order of fascination in a hedgerow. Most hedges are more beautiful – to my mind – in winter, when they can no longer keep their challenging secrets. I do not speak of the ragged hedges, though they are beautiful enough in their unkempt wildness, but of the ordinary common-or-garden roadside hedgewhich is old, perhaps seventy years or more, and has been laid over a number of years.
A newly planted hedge is most unattractive, for it is without character. The small ‘quicks’ are planted at regular interval, the ditch below is neatly spaded out ready for the floods of winter. Years go by, the quicks grow rapidly, are cut, and grow again. Then perhaps the hedge is neglected, for say six or seven years. It runs riot, nature gets a grip on it. Nature is untidy, she does not think in straight lines as we do.
All manner of weeds grow and the ground ivy begins to creep about the rots of the thorn. In summer the hedge is so thick, one cannot see through it, only on the wrong side (there is a thin side to a hedge as well as a thick) can one search for nests and even in a strong sun it is difficult to see them. The stout thorns grow stouter, they thrust up and try to be trees. If the hedge is still neglected they will succeed and gaps will appear. Masses of red berries afford good provender for the fieldfares and red wings.
Then comes an earth-stained hedger one winters day. With great skill he plys his bill and the fine hopeful thorns sway and crash. The ash trees, oaks and elms, which have been sown by birds and are as yet one with the hedge, fall also, they are bound down and woven in and out into the body of the hedgerow.
Big thorn stumps remain and the ground ivy grows up and over. The little creeping hedge mice come carrying berries, running in and out, their big bright eyes quick to see danger. They also climb the thorns and seek out last year’s nests, blackbird, finch and hedge sparrow, and store their harvest within. Sometimes the winds tilt the old nests and the red berries with their puckered skins are spilled out into the ditch below. Through the tangle of horizontal branches fresh shoots rise upwards as do other trees, more ashes, oaks and elms sown by the birds. They grow straight up, charming ‘sticks’ which make small boys’ mouths water, and they try to cut them down with their blunt pocket-knives, leaving them half hacked through.
Shadows are under the laid branches; even in grey winter there is mystery beneath the old thorn roots; mice, rabbits and stoats have their runs in and out, for miles. The ditch below is choked with all manner of wild plants, lords and ladies, hemlock, Queen Anne’s lace. In season the latter makes a band of exquisite pinkish-white filigree all along the border of the hedge and road. Millions of birds are hatched in these hedgerows, and in the nettles in the ditch the whitethroat slings its frail casket of dried hay from stem to stem, though the nest will not be truly slung like that of the reed warbler.
In the June days the whitethroat comes into his own, the roadside hedge is his kingdom. He rises to the top of the sea of green and tangled weed and sings his song from his silver swelling throat, then sinks again below the surface.
‘BB’ Denys Watkins Pitchford
Taken From The Countryman’s Bedside Book 1941,
Picture This – March 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.
“Hare“
‘Hares were once a common sight throughout our countryside, sadly today this is not the case. A sighting is generally fleeting at best. This makes Emily’s superb picture even more special’
Emily Mcintosh
From The Archive
Each Latest Edition will feature an article from our extensive archive click on the link to be taken back in time.
R.B.Traditional – Searching for Weald Gold
‘Take a look at an Explorer series Ordnance survey map covering either the Weald of Kent or Wealden Sussex and after a while something will become apparent, a multitude of little blue dots covering the landscape laid out on paper before your eyes – it is indeed a wonder.‘
This Issue’s Contemplations
The Piscatorial Raconteurs – March’s Miscellany – R.B Traditional, Pallenpool & Carl Hier
The Raconteurs Articles– Martin James MBE, David Craine, R.B. Traditional, Carl Hier, Edward Barrett, Paul Huxtable & David Chalcraft
March Guest – Ruth Craine
March’s Miscellany
Pallenpool, A Note From The Diary Towards Stiffkey & The Marsh Of Salt– ‘Looking seawards upon an endless view I wonder how on earth I ever believed I would actually reach those distant white crested breakers’ continue reading
Carl Hier, Reflections On A New Chapter ‘The arrival of spring helps to magnify our connection with surrounding nature. Increased exposure to sunlight boosts our serotonin, which serves our mood regulation‘ continue reading
R.B. Traditional, Mud Glorious Mud ‘Wellingtons and dog are having to be hosed down after each foray outside, while jackets, hats and over-trousers hang in the porch, never fully drying before the next expedition‘ continue reading
This Editions Features & Articles
Guest Articles
Ruth Craine
Ruth Craine Returns With Her Splendid Travelogue – Dramatic Shetland ‘These eye catching small boats are moored in a small marina, just outside the entrance to the Shetland Museum and Archives in Lerwick‘ continue reading
The Raconteurs Articles
David Chalcraft, Martin James MBE, David Craine, Knight Heron, Paul Huxtable, Edward Barrett.
Edward Barrett – The Story Of The £40 Purse ‘I proceeded to try and knock off the end of my line back into the river, so I didn’t have to grapple with it on the river bank. But my uncle, who had spent the best part of the 1970s and 80s diving in the English Channel on wrecks, was rather used to seeing long lost treasure emerge from the depths‘ continue reading
David Craine – Angling Literature, What’s Your Flavour? ‘Moving on, I should mention that when out and about I am frequently drawn to charity shops, where there are always bookshelves full mostly with titles that hold no interest in at all but I am like a fly to a jam-pot when searching for maybe that one book which would make all the time spent scouring the shelves worthwhile’ continue reading
Martin James MBE – Lessons From The Fish ‘My guide, Corrie Howard, led the way to the boat, where I had stowed my gear before breakfast. Putting on my life-jacket, I settled in the padded seat. Corrie then asked “Where is your gear?” I pointed to my fly rods and he said “We don’t fly fish, but use lures.” I just said “Don’t worry. I will catch!‘ continue reading
Solithar – The Waterside In Winter The wizened remnants of the summer’s burgeoning, black, brown and grey stalks, some proud and erect, most tumbled and broken, lent a linear pencil-line quality to the scene dominated by the ‘cigar’ seed-heads of the reedmace towering over even the generous dessert-plate of hogweed seed-heads. Each winter brings a variation on this almost theatrical backdrop; so while different players come to the fore as summer’s lease favours one and stunts another, none can avoid its inevitable fate’ continue reading
Knight Heron – A View From The Bypass ‘Summer can also bring less welcome visitors but the inhabitants merely regard them with wary disdain. For, as the venerable Mr Ransome rather kindly described them, the hullabaloos pay little attention as they pass through within their bubbles of entitlement. Many other creatures inhabit this oasis, above and below the water, scurrying, swimming, crawling’ continue here
David Chalcraft – Come Fly Fish With Me ‘My ideal set up here is a rod somewhere between 6 ½ and 8 feet, loaded with a three-weight line. There is little room once the umbels of hemlock water dropwort appear on the margins for conventional casting. Instead, I will roll cast a distance of fifteen feet, or less, and make the minimum of disturbance‘ continue reading
Paul Huxtable – The Waterside In Winter ‘The wizened remnants of the summer’s burgeoning, black, brown and grey stalks, some proud and erect, most tumbled and broken, lent a linear pencil-line quality to the scene dominated by the ‘cigar’ seed-heads of the reedmace towering over even the generous dessert-plate of hogweed seed-heads. Each winter brings a variation on this almost theatrical backdrop; so while different players come to the fore as summer’s lease favours one and stunts another, none can avoid its inevitable fate’ continue reading
The Piscatorial Raconteurs & Friends is a copyright & extends to the logo & all material whether written or photographic.
You must be logged in to post a comment.