Issue No. XX, August 16th 2024
R.B. Traditional, Reflections
I’m sitting here on a step, cradling a pint of ale in a dimpled jug outside ‘The Queens Head’, one of England’s oldest and finest pubs, high up on the Greensand Ridge in Kent.
The view before me is extensive and I can just make out a few landmarks on the far horizon, some from the marsh from whence I have just travelled in my trusty old Land Rover through the lanes, hamlets and villages which were much admired and written about by the author H. E. Bates. He was born in Northamptonshire but fell in love with the Wealden landscape and with his wife Madge moved to Little Chart, a stone’s throw away from where I’m perched, during the 1930s. His books offer an insight of a largely unspoiled county during the 1950s, being relatively unpressured by the constant demands now put upon it.
I was born in these parts and have a similar regard for what lies stretched out before me like an oil painting on canvas. I can pick out familiar woodlands, fields and tracks, some of which lead me to those hidden treasures, the wildie pools, many of which I have fished since childhood, others being discovered in more recent years whilst a-wandering with my dog.
These pools and ponds offer me reflective solace and a connection with nature. The carp are very special too; ancient strains, mostly unmolested by recent stockings and thus quietly left alone by all but a few who are in the know and seek similar therapy for the soul.
When I am fortunate to be beside such a place, for me it is impossible not to reflect upon past adventures and battles with hard-fighting fish and re-living such moments keeps me as keen as I was as a boy; the wonderment of the natural world still excites and enlightens a mind still eager to learn.
As Bates would have done, I have borne witness to much depletion of nature over the years; ponds filled in and lost forever, some taken by the march of succession since those far off days of boyhood, but in my heart remains the hopeful thought that a gradual awakening of the populace to the protection of the natural history of our green and pleasant land will bring its rewards.
There are already many success stories to celebrate; red kites, buzzards, skylarks, goldcrests, beavers and otters to name but a few, although more needs to be done and quickly to readdress the balance and restore the natural order of things.
I remember Bernard Venables saying that we cannot set ourselves aside from nature, because we are part of it. Let us embrace that notion and let our reflections of the past not be tinged with regret…
R.B. Traditional – Kent, Summer 2024
The Piscatorial Raconteurs & Friends – ‘being the quiet observations of Gentlemen Anglers‘
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’… continue reading
Keeping An Eye On Proceedings
Tackle Gallery
The gallery has been updated – so a few more gems to unearth.
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 an i-phone or similar just click on the image to scroll through.
This gallery will be updated periodically so make sure you drop in every edition.
A thought for the day
Philip Henry Savage (1868–1899), “In August.”
When the petal falls and lies
Wrinkled like a leaf that dies,
When the flower that once was merry
Sobers to the russet berry,
When the rose and hawthorn draws
Slowly down to hips and haws,
‘Tis the season birds are mute,
‘Twixt the flower and the fruit.
Philip Henry Savage, “In August,” 1898
This Issue’s Contemplations
The Piscatorial Raconteurs August’s Miscellany – David Craine, Paul Adams & Pallenpool Plus The Raconteurs Articles – R.B. Traditional, Martin James MBE, David Craine, Paul Adams, Carl Hier, Tengisgol & Earthing The Current. August’s Guest – Knight Heron, David Roome & Michael Crompton
August’s Miscellany
Paul Adams – Pike & Perch by Alfred Jardine – ‘Fortunately, when describing angling methods and favourite venues his narrative is much more eloquent, harking back to a more peaceful and pastoral era that we can but envy today.‘ continue reading
Pallenpool – Words & Pictures ‘A picture, as they say ‘can tell a thousand words’ without suggesting anything specific. It is purely in the eye of the beholder as to how it is interpreted‘ continue reading
David Craine – The Value Of A Diary, An Entry From A Few Years Back ‘‘This was no fun. I put up the brolly and settled down. Looking to my left, I saw Graham was nestled under his own brolly. Was he catching fish? I knew not but my float was dipping again and needed my attention; this time a lovely little crucian‘ continue reading
This Editions Features & Articles
Guest Articles
David Roome, The Knight Heron & Michael Crompton
David Roome – Walking In The Footsteps Of BB ‘As for my favourite fishing books….Confessions of a Carp Fisher, A Summer on the Nene and Fishermans Folly I have a few words; we had booked a cottage on the Border Esk which came with some fishing. This was a coincidence that I had told my wife….‘ continue reading
Knight Heron – The Sediments Of Time ‘The latest settlers on the high land above only add to the air of quiet contemplation in their monastic seclusion. Yet perhaps this is fitting for a cache such as this, a continuing accumulation of knowledge unmatched by any paltry human endeavour‘ continue reading
Michael Crompton – Great Expectations ‘Having seen that fine David Lean (1946) black and white film, “Great Expectations” with its opening scenes of the escaped convict, Abel Magwitch, I felt a chill and a sharp clarity enter my mind. For crouched before me was the morose character who was the spitting image of the actor Finlay Currie, alias Abel’ continue reading
The Piscatorial Raconteurs Articles
Martin James MBE, Carl Hier, Paul Adams, Tengisgol, R.B.Traditional & Earthing The Current
Paul Adams – Monsoon Season ‘As is typical on our mountain streams, hatches were sparse and mixed. Never one to fixate on entomology or Latin, my identification settled on small and brown, with a #18 quill-bodied parachute offering a suitable match. Nothing was rising, save the occasional splash of hard-working six inchers in the faster riffles, but again this is typical. Starting at the bridge, a two hundred yard stretch of mixed water winds through two bends‘ continue reading
Carl Hier – Rods For The Land Of Nod ‘Sometimes I peer through an overgrown river bank, looking for a likely place to drop a free-lined bait. Other thoughts take me to reed-fringed ponds. Pleasant weather can allow sightings of other creatures. A stalking heron, a nodding moorhen, a graceful swan gliding past, a dragonfly hovering, a delicate damselfly, a darting kingfisher’ continue reading
Martin James MBE – Sharks On A 12 Weight Fly Rod ‘All hell was let loose as the fish dived but loose line had somehow wrapped itself around the rod tip. Jon was quick off the mark, grabbing the line as it angled down into the ocean, quickly freeing the twisted line from the rod tip. I thought the four-piece rod was soon going to be a ‘ten-piece’. The reel screamed as yards of line and backing disappeared’ continue reading
Earthing The Current – A Grain Of Truth ‘I pause deliberately at the corner of the pool, and gaze through the tree line at spectral columns of mist drifting across the now vast beds of lilies, pixelated by still-closed flower heads – the lotus. From the darkness comes the light. Alighting now in my favoured pitch at the far end of the dam, my breathing slows. There is no rush. Sit a while and gaze deeper, notice more‘ continue reading
R.B.Traditional – Spends Some Time In The Company Of Marsh Swallows & Tench ‘Creel shouldered, net and rod tucked under my arm we slowly wandered back down river, looking into the pre-baited areas for signs of feeding tench. Nothing appeared particularly enticing apart from the clumps of beautiful yellow sow thistles, the purple loosestrife and the meadowsweet which adorned the bankside. Here bees could be seen foraging for nectar along with many meadow brown and small white butterflies‘ continue reading
Tengisgol – The Small Things ‘I recall watching a shoal of roach in the ‘thumb’ (a little bay that presumably gave the pit its name). A dozen maggots at a time had them feeding with gusto and there were some good ones too. I went back for my trusty Shakespeare Sigma Canal and tried hard to catch those roach. A handful of maggots and mine would be cast to the middle, to sink slowly. Darting, competing, the roach would snuff out the free baits in a few seconds but the one on my hook would descend untouched to the bottom every time’ continue reading
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