The Piscatorial Raconteurs & Friends – The Returning Winter & Still The Rain Falls

December arrived without a knock upon the door; my how time flies. One thing that can be said is that with its arrival the coldest of season’s could be felt everywhere. Bare, finger-tingling extremes in coldness and days that end not long after they begin. This brief spell of ‘true’ winter weather did not last long and the weather pattern returned to an overall damp squib.

I usually embrace this time of year and in its infancy winter still cradles the spirit, so much so that walking provides an altogether different experience. The earth is devoid of cover as are the over-reaching canopies whose limbs now exposed, become nature’s bare architectural wonders. Then there are ferns, whose decomposing selves become more and more arrested by the ground from which they grew.

Where we are the coast has ‘Tarkovsky’ drama about it. As far as the eye can see colours morph and dependant on weather may render yellow through green to the darkest of greys, and on occasion become hardly visible being engulfed by sea fret.

Closer to home, in fact outside the boot-room door, a beech hedge retains most of its long spent leaves; beech leaves are always reluctant to fall and provide much needed cover and sanctuary for many species of birds and insects. A flint wall clad in ivy can be seen running through its extent which is magical on many levels in the half light, but it is the needs of anything that pollinates at this time of year that enthrals. Nature being alive to the potential within is in constant movement and sound. I have seen wasps and bees supping the sweet nectar provided by ivy’s tiniest of bulbous flower-heads in winter.

Angling is never far from the drifts in mind and the prospect of casting into the spell of a river is forever with me. Roach for me at least are the season’s beacon; vivid in colour they always make me thoroughly cheerful, and are always a joy to behold. Whatever winter brings exploring a river and the land which borders its wending ways must surely be on your ‘to do’ list as should a bracing winter walk over these coming weeks.

Pallenpool – Notes from the diary, North Norfolk – Winter 2023

Through icy currents and snow-kissed air,
He weaves his yarns with a weathered flair.
A mentor to many, in the old-school art,
Martin James MBE has a fisherman’s heart.

Lines etched on his face, like rivers on a map,
In the winter’s hush, he casts a time-honoured trap.

Chub may be elusive in the cold’s embrace,
Yet Martin persists, with a smile on his face.

A forum echoes with his wisdom shared,
As enthusiasts gather, their stories are paired.
In the camaraderie of tradition, a flame aglow,
Martin, the maestro, continues to show.

For in the ripples in the river, and in the winter’s breath, He teaches the craft, transcending life’s depth.

In his late 80s, a fisherman bold, Martin James MBE, an inspiration untold.

Leigh, Winter 2023

The Stripy Sergeant – A Glorious Array Of Winter Colour & Spines

December’s Guest

Knight Heron – The Night Heron ‘A Pole Star is not meant to move, not meant to violently stagger sideways as if struck by a cosmic blast of energised particles. But it did. My pent up reflexes fired hot and fast, instinctively lifting the rod to meet the storm and in that brief moment, worlds collided and I became connected to an electric, unstoppable force. It felt as if I had hooked the river itself. Perhaps I had . . . ‘ continue reading

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The Piscatorial Raconteurs Articles

Paul Adams, Martin James MBE, Earthing The Current, Pallenpool, Tengisgol, Jeremy Croxall, Darjeeling & R.B.Traditional

Pallenpool – The New Year Approaches, A Flare Of Blue & The Moon Touches Our Shoulders ‘With the fire taking hold we both warm ourselves mesmerised by the hissing and spitting of the flickering flames – with glasses raised we toast our families, friends and of course to a much brighter year ahead for all – then something extraordinary happens‘ continue reading

R.B.Traditional – Heritage ‘First run through produced not a touch, second run through a slight dip…more loose feed… third run through and ‘Bingo!’, a small roach came splishing and splashing back toward me. The colours of that little fish were magnificent, pewter outlined by the brightest red of its fins.’ continue reading

Jeremy Croxall – Discovery & Dissapointment ‘Most of the swims I normally fish are inaccessible; they have been totally overwhelmed by the surging flood waters. In fact, the entire riverscape has undergone a momentous change since my last visit. The river appears much greater in stature, it has widened considerably and its pace has quickened. If it weren’t for the familiar bridges, distant buildings, fences and other recognizable landmarks it could be an entirely different river.’continue reading

Darjeeling – No Day Tickets, No Transport & 5 Miles From Where He Should Be ‘But, while the graffiti remains, as I progress further along, the canal gradually takes on a slightly more pastoral air, while if not entirely bucolic, is pleasant enough. And there are fish. Chub, roach, rudd, perch, pike and here’s the thing – they are all unusually small, every single one. I don’t see a single fish of any species bigger than 6 ounces.‘ continue reading

Tengisgol – After Arthur There Was Dennis ‘Back then, with the Avon out of reach, Ron had heard the place for a whopper was the river Waveney, and the bait you needed was maggots (and lots of them!). They could get the train from Liverpool Street direct to Beccles, and the weir at Mettingham was just a short final bicycle ride.‘ continue reading

Paul Adams – A Seasons End ‘A barren thirty or forty minutes follow, as I move quickly between short, fishable stretches to a deeper run where the stream is channelled by boulders. Holding the rod high and line clear of the water I get a nice drift and another decent brown rises quickly and strikes aggressively. Unfortunately it strikes the fluorescent yellow strike indicator, the nymph is ignored! A case of ‘matching the mood’, not ‘matching the hatch’… An ornery trout for sure, showing in that brief moment ayellow/orange belly of breeding colours.’ continue reading

Earthing The Current – Come Again Another Day, Memories Of Fishing In The Rain ‘Finding a slack eddy was the answer and gregarious perch and ruffe would snaffle the bounty from nature’s larder, our lobworms! As the skies darkened, we’d retreat home, Dad fearful no doubt of me joining the dead sheep somewhere downstream.‘ continue reading

Martin James M.B.E – Some Ways To Successful Angling Days ‘Half a mile further upstream, I arrived at the area I had chosen to fish; a long steady glide below some fast-swirling shallow and boulder-strewn water. The swim I had chosen to fish contained the odd football sized boulder and a length of alder tree which had been in the river for several months; this was a spot where I have caught chub in the past. A kingfisher with its shrill whistle flew low over the river towards a large willow tree just upstream of where I was sitting, then perched on one of the lower branches.‘ continue reading

David Craine – How Could Things Go So…? ‘It seemed as though the world had suddenly woken up as a group of joggers then came huffing and puffing along the path behind me. Not exactly club-class joggers, these were men who should have really known better, clad in lycra, with parts bulging that really should be well covered up.’ continue reading