The Piscatorial Raconteurs & Friends – A Collective Cheer From Us All, ‘The Glorious 16th’ Is Here.

There are dark clouds over Jon’s water and coursing through the meadows the Bure has become impassioned. I had already taken a step or two up the bank as the rise of pushing water gained momentum. As it was the conditions were becoming far from favourable in seeking a chub haunt and so I decided to leave the tackles by the oak and go for a walk.

At breakfast I had been thumbing the pages of an aging and hitherto unread volume by Maurice Wiggin ‘A Cottage Idyll’ what better way to acquaint with undiscovered writing than sipping a fine cup of tea, a garden chair offering cushioned comforts and the cherry atop was a warming sun peeking over the beeches. I read with a fluid enthusiasm a true sign of a books hold. The ‘spark’ focussed my attentions around a move to the quieter avenues of life in the then (1959) peaceful leafy Sussex countryside. A move that provided many a contemplation and as he mentions new ways of seeing things.

And so here I am in 2023 mulling over the very same perambulations of mind flick switched into life by a kindred spirit some 60 years past. Popular belief suggests that nothing regarding our thoughts is truly unique and proof of the saying was here in front of me. Maurice’s observations had me thinking about the physical move he hoped would go a long way in providing a mental equilibrium.

Those leafy lanes and bucolic views found in his writing are in desperate ways today and are becoming closer and closer to being lost. The chocolate box cottages of his time are most definitely out of reach for most and indeed so many are now stripped of place, soul and heritage becoming second, third and holiday homes to those who want a quick escape from that which Maurice wanted to leave behind for good. Cottages represent another facet of income generation and are marketed ironically as an idyll, a partial brevity and release from the mechanical and overly processed world we inhabit. Maurice I’m sure would be unimpressed. The real shame however is in his day cottages were compassed towards locations with a community, a rustle in feathers, rolling hills and wild flower meadows along with a genteel, even way to be. Today this is not so true as our economic goals in agriculture have laid waste to so much of Maurice’s idyll and the weighty costs involved to ‘get away’ beyond mechanisation and crop are super sized.

Today our countryside generally borders the agricultural. Fortunately our modern interpretation of Maurice’s idyll is only part of the reflection. There is growing awareness of our personal detachment from essence, in effect the void between us and the natural world. However all is not lost, and the enlightened are developing numbers of projects; rewilding can be seen throughout the land rejuvenating or creating wild places, the lost countryside meadow, copse and wood. Within our cityscapes also so much is being done to cross the divide between hubbub and restfulness. People now have an opportunity to rub shoulders with nature, there is a resurgence of allotments, green spaces, parks, wasteland, and those forgotten cul-de-sacs all being noteworthy in highlighting natures capacity to resist, not to rest and adapt with a little help along the way.

Another old saying ‘where’s there a will there’s a way’ still rings true. To pick up sticks and move is not so straightforward today, what with our customs of openly collecting baggage, shackles even, but for those of us who seek peacefulness these rewilding ventures are there for all to sit with, in quiet contemplation away from the hurly burly of the modern tempo, here then we can lose ourselves in natures colour card and where possible and in whatever space we may grow flowers, fruit, vegetables, encourage the birds, insects and animals to return. And just to think in the cities this is being achieved in locations that are never far from a No. 73 or 8 bus. Perhaps we should think less of an ‘idyll’ because it encompasses all that has got us to the ‘state’ we are in, life’s biggest gift is to find an ever opening flower and appreciate and nurture it wherever we may find it. 

Anyway back to the Bure; the dark clouds forming earlier have broken, sky can be seen through the various portals that as first lit touch paper reveal bright bluing light – my early morning refrain is returning. The river is in fall, its swells and push are a little less and by noticeable increments returning to average. Making my way back to the oak I turn into the meadow and immediately the unsurpassed limbs of architectural splendour splay outwards in the most beautiful way, no other tree has me in such awe. As I get closer I notice a robin on the lid of my creel walking into hearing distance I can make out his hearty song, slowly I step closer until I am an arms length away. I kneel before him in the long grass. He sides his head left to right eyeing me up and down. After this moment of inquisitive interlude he swells his bright red breast and finds his song once again. I stay seated and listen and for as long as he does so I remain.

Pallenpool – North Norfolk June 2023

The Piscatorial Raconteurs handmade wares.

Issue No. XIII – The Piscatorial Raconteurs Articles.

Pallenpool, Sussexman, Leigh Darjeeling, Paul Adams, David Craine, Martin James MBE, Earthing The Current & R.B.Traditional

Pallenpool – Conjuring Chalk River Magic ‘With trepidation I take a quick view of the water between the reed cover, and gratefully I can see a shoal of roach with another fanning and holding water to the heart beat of the river behind them, however these are dace and some splendid specimens are present within their number.’ continue reading

Leigh – Reflections On The Crucian ‘I belong to a small group that is dedicated to crucian fishing, and it has helped me improve my skills in balancing my tackle and detecting the subtle bites indicated by my float. I eagerly look forward to the start of the new season every June 16th and the excitement of seeing the float disappear once again.’ continue reading

Earthing The Current – An Angler For All Seasons ‘Reels will be oiled once more and handles turned, checks flicked on, and clutches slipped to rekindle that first bolt of a silk-scaled tench jagging the red tipped quill closer and closer to the lily pads. Summer unfolds, and favourite species are sought, sometimes for hours, sometimes for weeks.’ continue reading

Darjeeling – The Curse ‘But this is all just normal life-type-stuff, right? Except that now you start to notice too the drop in performance, like you’ve forgotten how to cast or tie knots quickly and without fuss. The trees crowd in towards you to gobble up all those errant cast flies, and the fish.. well the fish. It’s all about the fish when it comes down to it isn’t it?‘ continue reading

Sussexman – The Gossamer That Binds. ‘The envelope containing the precious ticket was seized by eager hands from the doormat and the day eventually dawned. Rising at an hour hitherto unknown to me, we trekked at dawn under fierce summer sunshine, completing the long downhill journey from our terrace to Cray valley and its lakes. The walk involved crossing roads which today no pedestrian would ever dare contemplate.’ continue reading

David Craine – The Angling Misadventures of ‘There was a thump and a crash, the front if my marvellous fishing box flew off as if a bomb had exploded, all my tackle fell out onto the bus floor, followed by a rather angry jack pike that had woken up, it writhed and wriggled around on the floor, the bus was going down hill, and the pike made its way forward, snapping like an angry Crocodile,’ continue reading

Martin James MBE – Welcomes In Another Season ‘I suggest you spend time watching your quarry; you will be surprised how much you will learn. I’ve spent hundreds no, thousands, of hours during my lifetime just gazing in the water watching my target fish that are either feeding or motionless behind some water crowfoot, apart from the occasional movement of its fins. Sometimes I’ve watched a fish for an hour or more, then seen it move out from its cover to intercept an item of food.’ continue reading

Leigh – Spills The Beans ‘After unloading the car, I decided to browse through the recycling section to see if any useful items could be brought back home. While on my visit, I came across a vintage landing net from the 1950s. It was situated in a corner with old golf clubs, broken sea fishing rods, and garden parasols.After unloading the car, I decided to browse through the recycling section to see if any useful items could be brought back home. While on my visit, I came across a vintage landing net from the 1950s. It was situated in a corner with old golf clubs, broken sea fishing rods, and garden parasols.’ continue reading

Paul Adams – Seasonal Change At Tarryall Creek ‘My streamers carry only a bead-head for weight. They take several seconds to reach bottom in the slower water, but this is heavy enough that I dispense with any bite indicator. Strikes are varied, which adds to the challenge of this style of fishing. I must be alert to fish hitting the streamer instantly – no subtly or doubt about this. Other times, the fly can be seen sinking, with the pale flash of a rolling trout signalling the strikee’ continue reading

R.B.Traditional – ‘The tale of the little grey reel’ My Father that evening took me into the bull hotel and again I remember standing and looking in awe at the cased fish which adorned the walls of the bar. That night I could hardly sleep, big chub swam through the weed beds of my young mind.’ continue reading