Earthing The Current – A Tiger Among The Lilies

Two for joy! Ahead a pair of Magpies mournfully inspect the remains of an overnight kill as I approach the gravel carpark. The little pool, no more than two acres, lies in a shallow scrape of lowland heath surrounded by a mix of oaks, stunted birch and pine. Their understorey is a contortion of scrub, bracken and now, as the summer rolls on, emerging purple heather either side of the sandy footpath. Solitude in such beauty is the reward if you make an early enough start.

The arboreal auditorium is lit by the rising sun as I tackle up with cane and ‘pin. The east facing upper circle is now gold, though the stalls below will remain darkened for another half hour.

The surface is a mirror, undisturbed as yet by wind, fish or fowl. Dusky pink and blue cloud-streaks stare back from it as I observe a fascinating game of draughts played among myriad pond-skaters, each taking turns to slide across or hop over invisible opposition in the surface tension. The point at which my line enters the water twitches once, then twice more, but it is likely to be tiny rudd shoaling in the vicinity.

White lotus flowers, fist-balled overnight, tilt towards the warmth and light the post dawn sun offers, and slowly begin to unfurl. There is a heavy population of such water-lilies here; the working parties not really making much of a dent, happily. An overly familiar coot sidles up along the margin, sending ripples ahead which fool me from the corner of my eye; he or she may be a carp nosing the underside of the pads for the water snails.

This little waterbird has obviously won hearts of dog walkers or benevolent anglers as it cocks its head to one side expectant for food, as the robin does when I turn the winter earth on my allotment.

An hour in and without any warning the water bulges away in front of me into the pads, my aging Speedia rasps a battle-cry and the foil indicator flips skyward. Raising the rod, I feel the pressure and the thump – thump of a beating tail looking for sanctuary deep into the jungle to my left.

The ever-present coot, slightly ruffled by the commotion, paddles a circle and a half and takes an exit to stage-right, pulsing away to find a quieter breakfast table. Steady pressure has turned the head of my unseen combatant and pads bow briefly below the surface as I regain ground inch by inch.

Now in clear water the odds are stacked more fully in my favour. The ten feet of cane curves pleasingly to the eye and jags with each manoeuvre, the check on the ‘pin providing audible feedback to my ears on the degree of fatigue being felt at the other end.

Readying the net, the spirited tussle comes to a quick end. Within the folds a beautiful fully scaled mirror carp, unusual amongst the far more prevalent commons held here, glints in the sun. The chocolate dark boundaries of its armour plating portray almost tiger-like stripes.

The barbless hook falls out in the mesh as they often do once the tension is eased and tells me how close the match was. There is no need to weigh or handle this lovely creature. A few minutes for both of us to gather our breath and thoughts, and then a slow dip of the rim, a gentle waft of the tail and the fish returns home.

I tackle down and do the same. One fish is enough on such a summer’s morn.

Writing & Images – Earthing_the_current July ‘23