Issue No. XXXI, September 16th 2026
These secret places, where time & place are not governed by the relentless pace of the here and now. They are havens, places where time is still. They reflect change only by their riches in flora and fauna.
Autumn what a season for a cast
Autumn’s surprise – a magnificent chub
A Gallery For Autumn’s Splendor
Hot, golden day’s mellow on a gentle breeze, the cusp of a season’s change is about us. The language of autumn’s beginning is as subtle as the breeze it arrives on.
Use the chevrons to navigate. Using a smart phone simply swipe the images across.
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 a smart phone just swipe on the image to scroll through.
This gallery will be updated periodically so make sure you drop in every edition.
The Simple Fisherman
The Pursuit of Calm in a Crazy World
He thinks to himself, some days are hard. Challenges, conflicts and deadlines media chat isn’t helpful, The world faces difficult times.
They say the world’s getting warmer. Some people can talk the talk but perhaps our words are just not enough. We all need to walk the walk.
The passing of time helps many things. But it seems to him these days. The world’s a lot less forgiving. So many are stuck in their ways.
Politicians appear to say what they want. The TV shows countries at war It’s time to sit by some water, he thinks that’s surely what life is for.
For he is a simple fisherman. He leaves with no sign he’s been there, sitting quietly, looking and listening. At ease, not a trouble or care.
The water will have its own stories. There’s no bad noise in this place a pool full of anticipation giving anglers a warm embrace.
He really should keep an eye on his float. But that hovering kestrel’s just great for all the world it hangs on a string. The mouse doesn’t know its fate.
In the margins a heron is stalking not a sound his movement makes with each careful, painstaking step he certainly has what it takes.
His little red float slides gently away. The fish twists and turns at pace. It’s all he can do to hold its runs he gives thanks, with a smile on his face.
Finally he holds his gleaming prize scales of silver reflect the sun scarlet fins take his breath away. A day of contentment and fun.
He heads for home so grateful for the things he’s seen and heard, and for the balance that waterside time can bring to a seemingly crazy world.
Carl Hier Late Summer 2026
From The Archive
Each Edition we delve into the archive click on the link to be transported back in time.
Pallenpool’s writing’s from the pool The most splendid of English morning’s awakes
‘My float for some time now has not moved, after the earlier excitement and spectacle I have not had an enquiry to the corn placed some 7 feet below it, and apart from a ripple that lapped into the reed courtesy of a passing coot all has remained rather quiet‘
This Issue’s Contemplations
The Piscatorial Raconteurs – September’s Miscellany – Carl Hier, David Craine & Knight Heron
The Raconteurs Articles– R.B. Traditional, Martin James MBE, David Craine, Pallenpool, Paul Huxtable & David Chalcraft
September’s Guest – Ruth Craine
September’s Miscellany
Carl Hier – Praying For Autumn ‘Great crested newts, Atlantic salmon, nightjars and bumblebees are among headline concerns across wildlife trusts but the loss of all habitats that rely on moisture can be devastating’ continue reading
David Craine, – A Very Different Occupation ‘After days of hot and dusty work, the ridge line thatching and wire was removed, he explained he would be shaving the roof next, after a further good brushing to remove. . . .’ continue reading
Knight Heron – On The Precipice Of Percipience ‘I was going to write a story extolling the survivors, the thrivers, those hardy verdurous winners of herbage versus a summer of the brown, withered crunch of dearth. . . .‘ continue reading
This Editions Features & Articles
Guest Articles
Ruth Craine
Ruth Craine‘s Travelogue – Adventures Around Loch Etive ‘The loch is a spectacular twenty-mile long sea loch in Argyll and Bute. It Reaches depths of nearly 500 feet and runs from the foot of Glen Etive to the open sea at Connel, three miles north of Oban‘ continue reading
The Raconteurs Articles
David Chalcraft, Martin James MBE, David Craine, Pallenpool, Paul Huxtable & Carl Hier
Pallenpool – A Cast To Greet The Sun’s Rise ‘Luminescence is occasional, the already scant path being lost as we move deeper into the wood. Our steps become less knowing and forgiving, footfall becomes tentative under the black pitch of oak, hornbeam and beech, and the occasional snap underfoot startles such is the intensity given to finding ones way’ continue reading
Martin James MBE – A Boat-Fishing Session Off Deal, Kent ‘Once over the mark, down went the anchor and after a couple of minutes John said, “Okay, it’s all yours.” I put the spool out of gear and lowered the baited hooks to the sea bed, then flicked the reel back into gear. I must have waited for all of ten seconds when I felt a fish mouth the bait, and then another one. I struck, and winched up two plaice, each being around two pounds’ continue reading
Paul Huxtable – Summer ‘The cool, damp and dreary summers we endured in Wales through the ‘noughties’ are still painfully vivid in the memory. No “loving filter” will erase the abject disappointment of those miserable non-events. The malaise continued into the next decade too, prompting me to write a piece for Waterlog magazine entitled “False Dawn. . . ” continue reading
David Craine – In Praise Of The Bessemer Converter ‘From the age of about thirteen years old I had to rely upon a trusty glass Thermos flask and sandwiches, prepared by my mother to keep me fed and watered throughout the day. The flask was more or less guaranteed to provide a lukewarm drink at best, providing that it did not get dropped and shatter into a thousand pieces first’ continue reading
Martin James MBE – A Mixed Bag, Looking Back . . . Looking Forward ‘I still fish for barbel with my four top baits: bread, cheese, lobworms and luncheon meat. I keep reading that barbel do not feed when the water temperature is below 40 degrees F but you can forget that nonsense. Another myth is that barbel cannot be caught in backwaters where conditions are muddy, weedy and with no movement; again this is another myth you can dismiss’ continue reading
R.B. Traditional – Dog Days ‘The breaking light revealed an undisturbed little paradise, lilies grew around the margins along withreed and sedge, broad oaks sheltered the far bank, all was quiet save for the gentle cluck of a moorhen going about its business and pleasingly there were signs in the form of bubbles upon the mirrored surface of the pond continue reading
David Chalcraft – The Brook ‘It is late summer and the undeniable stresses of extended periods of extremely hot weather in my part of Southern England have reduced the coarse fishing season so far to just a handful of sporadic weeks. The regular closure of my waters, both running and still, due to low oxygen levels, high water temperatures or algal blooms have come on top of two blown-out winters where the incessant rain has led to raging floods and erosion of banks from November to February’ continue reading
Pallenpool – A Pilgrims Progress ‘A few days ago I wandered without idea along the banks of this river. After a while a thought entered my mind. . .‘ continue reading
David Craine – Your Most Treasured Piece Of Vintage Tackle ‘I had made myself a tank aerial’ rod with safety-pin rings taped upon it, and it had a small boy’s rusting, pressed-steel centrepin reel attached. This tank aerial rod was my pride and joy, using it to catch those young boy favourites, small stripey perch, landed from the same mill dam using wriggling worms dug from my grandfather’s compost heap. The rod was often strapped to the crossbar of my bicycle and, with my father’s old army bag containing my bits and pieces slung over my shoulder’ 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.