‘a grebe effortlessly passes behind an orange-tipped quill. Golden rudd mirror-flash between stems of lily and a stately, leathery tench with huge paddles nonchalantly passes right under my nose…‘
I welcome the slack to be found in the close season and, whether one adheres to abstinence through its time frame or not, there is no denying it is defined by the ways of nature. I find the importance of rest, the retiring of rods and creels ever greater today as our natural world through March and into June transforms with such newly found vigour – who are we to interfere when shoots burst from the earth, blossoms break out from awakening trees, plants reach for the skies to flower, birds find their voices and the sweet aromas of the season ride the breeze?
One of life’s simple pleasures is surely casting a line into a June pool. Thankfully, the wait to do so has, over time, softened around the edges and although I now have patience and plenty to occupy me in fishing’s lean months, the excitement and anticipation still simmers to a boil come mid June. My waking moments are never too far from water. Indeed, even my sleeping hours can be full to the brim with optimistic dreams…
…sun-kissed crests lap gently upon gilded reeds, dragon flies appear weightless on wings vibrating at immeasurable speed. A bee awakes on a water-mint flower, lifting his sleepy head to dust away yesterday’s pollen. Flycatchers, warblers and buntings deftly plunder the pool’s bounty. A grebe effortlessly passes behind an orange-tipped quill. Golden rudd mirror-flash between stems of lily and a stately, leathery tench with huge paddles nonchalantly passes right under my nose…
…my smile broadens, hidden as I am within the reeds and sheltered by the cooling alders. I have sublimated my human form to blend inconspicuously within the pool’s perfection and wonder. These sights and sounds I’m privy to would surely remain a mystery if catching a fish, and fishing for its sake alone, prevailed all the time. The sight of that tench quickens the blood and although I’m aware of the heat of the day and the prospects diminishing by return as a result, something keeps my hopes alive. I have caught tench from this pool in all weathers and as much as I try to determine the best possible conditions for my desired outcome, I realise that those other days that are out of kilter with seasonal norms have also produced fine and memorable results, so hope is ever present. Whilst pondering these thoughts, with distinct irony, droplets of water begin to fall – it’s all rather baffling as above me is an expanse of flawless blue sky; scarcely falling here nor there to begin with, the pitter-patter intensifies to become a deluge…
Waking, I see a pair of enthusiastic eyes all aglow… Wynne, of course…. and ‘it is time for our morning walk’, she barks.
With the dream being so vivid, I remember every detail, indeed the pool is so familiar I can walk the bank, watch, listen and even cast into its softly spoken ways at will. Being on the cusp of change I hope my dreams become reality, for in only two days I shall be there.
Writing & Images Pallenpool, North Norfolk – June 26
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