A brief word if we may
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.
Our aim is to confer all that angling means to us – for it is far more than fishing alone, and thus we have set out to offer a veritable ramble through our beloved countryside. We regard its wonderful flora, fauna and of course the myriad waters we encounter on our travels – whether river, stream or pool.
There will of course be articles & pictures for vintage tackles and ephemera, and we could not exclude man’s best friend either as they are with us most of the time.
Provisions will also make an appearance as it seems this too is of vital importance – after all good food feeds body and soul the three together provide for healthy convergence.
Lastly, an idea that gathers friends and stories has surely no better destination than the village pub.
In winter’s cold, to be sat atop a creaking settle, an ale in hand, while the open fire warms the convivial conversation and the bones, is surely an experience to savour, and in the throws of summer’s long shadows to sit amidst green rolling hills, by the side of a gently flowing river or lost pool, the conversation among friends is as the scene surrounding them – joyous and abundant.
Who are the Piscatorial Raconteurs
When I was growing up the countryside was our veritable garden and new discoveries were around every corner – whatever we (my Sister and I) did in this garden my parents encouraged us offering insights, and how to appreciate all that made it so magical.
The essence of that which my parents imparted was to see nature as one glorious continuum and that I was very much part of it – the virtue of which I have tried ever since to follow.
Darjeeling bucked a trend at the tender age of four by not making his first fish a perch. Rather perversely it was a Thames bleak and this set in train a deep seated fish-envy for which therapy has been sought for a lifetime since.
Recent career highlights include helping his son to land a new UK record ruffe but forgetting to bring the scales.
Born and raised in a small village in rural Kent, Rob’s voyage of discovery started early on, fishing the Wealden iron ponds and local rivers. These days he can mostly be found lurking around on the Romney Marsh, rod in hand and faithful dog by his side. The marsh to him is a special almost spiritual place, where he can find peace under its big expansive skies. Many an hour will be spent bird watching rather than float watching.
A connoisseur of fine ales, when not out fishing or walking, more often than not he will be found sampling a pint or two in one of his favourite public houses with like minded friends and members of the “Kentish Canes.”
This is a very exciting time for me to be involved with such a wonderful venture with folk who have an equal love of the countryside and its wildlife which is side by side with our passion for angling. What more can one ask than to be in fine company with like-minded gentlemen who respect and love all that is around them in our natural world.
This year will register my 54th fishing season. I hope among the diaries and jottings scattered about the place I’ll have some reasonable material to call upon, as much as capturing future outings.
In recent years, time spent with a rod has been shared with observing flora and fauna. Messrs Yates, Williamson and Watkins-Pitchford inspire my love of being outdoors, and will remind me when I’ve been away too long from the waterside.
For as long as I remember I have been fascinated by water. This preoccupation is absolute, to the frustration of family, friends, and colleagues. But how lucky am I, for this has been the ‘vehicle’ that took me from the bomb holes of Romford to some of the most remote places on earth?
Tengis Gol is a place of monsters and myths, somewhere between reality and imagination, where stars meet water and fish swim in dreams. Nowadays however, I am simply content to hunt bullheads in the Roding or gudgeon on the Wensum.
An angling obsessive since childhood, if not sneaking off fishing he’s usually found either playing a guitar, developing some film or in the garage fettling an old motorcycle, or more likely out walking the dog, hopefully somewhere green and quiet, and possibly watery…
June 16th – Dreaming on the Beult. ‘Is that a tench I can see?’
Martin requires little by the way of an introduction. Martin has been contributing to all that is worthy in angling and further afield including a number of charitable organisations.
That is me, sometime angler , also do a bit of this and that, bodging in my workshop, walking the moors, I already know a couple of like minded people on here, the other unlucky ones I will hopefully meet in the months and years to come.
It is a pleasure to be here and hopefully my meagre contributions will be at least enough for you to while away a few moments, amuse or at the very least least provide a wry smile.
I began fishing at the ripe old age of five. My first fishing rod was a hand-me-down cane rod of dubious provenance. It had no name or insignia, rattled when waggled, had a bent top section rusty rings and a mouse had dined out on the cork handle. Today I enjoy restoring cane rods as much as I do fishing with them and spend a good deal of my time in the workshop, fettling and making stuff.
I’ve always been drawn to water and relish being out on the river bank, at one with nature.
Paul grew up in Kent fishing the Medway and surrounding waters. A long break from fishing ended when he took up fly fishing, initially focused in southern England, and later in the US after he emigrated.
For the past 20 years he has lived and fished in the Colorado mountains, enjoying life at 9,000 feet in a landscape very different from his early years. The circle has closed in recent times, as he’s returned to Kent and Sussex two or three times a year to coarse fish (and drink) with like-minded friends. .
From the age of nine, my piscatorial apprenticeship initially took me float-fishing to pools in and around the Brecon Beacons for roach and gudgeon and soon broadened to the pursuit of trout on the River Taff. Undoubtedly ‘urban’ in places, the river’s path was still home to a profusion of insect life, birds of variety included pied, grey and yellow wagtails, dippers, herons and kingfishers. As well as the resident brown and rainbow trout bullheads, stone loach and shoals of minnows were always present. They all contribute to the rich tapestry of memories I have today.