For regular readers to the various barbeller's blogs, there may be something of an overlapping theme in the next few days. It will be interesting to see how the other members of the group recollect events. I, however, drank just three pints over lager over the two nights and have a clear and concise memory. Nuff said ;-)
It would appear that on the first night Conrad, who'd been fishing elsewhere, arrived late at about 11.30 and felt he had some "catching up to do". Conrad, my dear Conrad, did you learn nothing from last year? Apparently not, and he retired to a spinning room very late indeed.
It was the first time in living history that Carl - Birmingham's only optimist - missed his breakfast. Arriving on the top of beat 3 at nearly 12 o'clock, he proceeded to cook his own and put three fat sausages in his frying pan to simmer whilst he had a quick look at the river. Returning to find three little black pieces of charcoal smoking on the stove he had to start again but made an excellent job of an el fresco full English.
Meanwhile, the river had dropped a foot or so and was looking particularly inviting. I left Carl munching on his brunch and dropped a piece of meat into a likely looking spot and had an immediate bite. The strike saw me leaning against an unstoppable force that powered out into the main flow. I called Carl to give me a hand as the bank was steep and slippery and I figured a cold dip would benefit Carl more then me. The reason for the great power was soon revealed as a five pounder rolled to reveal the hook stuck neatly in between its pectorals. Ah well, I did have a bite so I'll sort of count it.
I then walked the bank to see how the rest were fairing. It was patchy but Scotty had a few small ones, Tony the swim stealing blaggard, was in 'my' spot and went on to land four barbel, some chub and even a couple of dace - lip hooked on bis size 8 with a pellet! A man of many talents is our Tone.
Some notable spots failed to produce a bite despite the prolonged efforts of the two Steve's and Paul's dad who's name I can never remember. Des and Martin fished hard but, for Des especially, the Wye is proving a difficult nut to crack and his only bite became a lost fish when his hooklink failed. I swear his bottom lip quivered when he recalled the tail. Never mind mate, you'll come good next year - probably. ;-)
Hobby, the Ninja barbeller, was tucked down a bank and under a tree - Rambo fishing. It didn't work but he looked the part. Mike Joyce had a cracking eight pounder that led him a right old dance. It was a mint fish and he was well chuffed with it. Richard also had an eight but that was how many inches from tip to tail and Paul had a couple, one first thing then one at last knockings.
Conrad had one and lost one, Ian and his boy had a bunch of chub and I think that was about it.
One highlight was Ol' Trussers turning up on Saturday afternoon. It was great to see the old bugger again and he set about his first trip for a while with his usual enthusiasm. I fished for another half hour then packed and went for a chat with Keith. We talked about all sorts including the otter problem. I bade my farewells and had no longer left that field when an otter swam through his swim and resurfaced with a fish in its mouth. Apparently that was my fault and the reason he blanked.
I stayed in the bar until midnight, negotiating a free, twelve month lease of Tony's Spanish mansion which, knowing Tony, he will of forgotten about in the morning but I think you'll find is legally binding :-)
And so ended another Boys Weekend, roll on September '11