A National Bird

Do we really need such a thing? What will a National Bird achieve? I can't imaging the Union Jack being altered to accommodate it's image so its just another one of those pointless pieces of fluff designed to take the mind off of important matters like which shower of incompetents are we going to elect to screw us over for the next five years.

Before I continue I must explain that I may come across as a tad sour today as I was due an operation this morning but it was cancelled at 5pm last evening still, could have been worse, Carl told me his brother was in his hospital gown when he was given the news. Hey ho, my recovery period will now impinge further into the summer's fishing so I may go and kick the neighbours cat later.

Back on topic. Given that this pointless discussion is in place I shall add to it my own pointless thoughts so here goes.

Were we to seek a National representative of the avian type back in our deeper history I suppose the Cuckoo would be right up there as, back then we had a penchant for invading other people's nests and letting the hapless occupants sustain us for a century or two. Bring the analogy up to the seventies and it would have to be the Kingfisher that represented the Great British workforce as every time you see one it's striking - bah dum tish!

Should this bird mirror us by its behaviour or is it just a popularity contest? I think its the latter as stupid, aggressive Swans are there.... mind you, they do have a foot in both camps. What does a Blackbird represent other than there's a lot of them? Do we want to be represented by a Red Kite? A scavenging bird that has survived in this modern world by hand outs or by picking over garbage tips.... This is harder than I thought as they really do seem to have much in common with large portions the UK population.

Robins. Beautiful little creatures that star on countless Christmas cards but really? Have you seen them when they get all territorial? They will happily kill each other as they scrap like things possessed over a length of hedgerow or a south facing garden. They really do have a dark and unsavoury side which again explains their place on the list. Wrens however, they are just short and loud so maybe they should represent ......... no, I won't say as they are not renown for their sense of humour over such matters, are you boyo.

Where do Hen Harriers and Barn Owls come into it? Can't see the reason behind them other than their charm and good looks and that shouldn't be enough to get you voted in, remember Tony Blair? - exactly.

Blue Tits. Surely Great Tits would have been funnier so they don't appeal nor do Puffins as they are too comical.

Have I missed any out? Does anybody care? Thought not. So here's my suggestions. If you want a bird to represent the people of the country then look no further than the pigeon. They tend to be fat and waddle about outside of fast food establishments where they eat constantly whilst making monotonous noises. They breed at a phenomenal rate and when they get together in large numbers they become obnoxious, annoying and tend to leave mess wherever they have roamed.

I can genuinely see no bird thats more fitting than our humble House Sparrow. Ubiquitous, charming and vastly underrated by most. To study the plumage on a sparrow is to open a world of subtlety and perfection of camouflage. To watch their antics, the communication and social instincts when danger is around is wonderful. Yet their numbers have plummeted in recent years so maybe a little bit of kudos from an otherwise useless exercise may just bring their plight into the Nation's conscience which may be a starting point to their recovery but no. They didn't even make the list, what bunch of great tits decided on that?

Spring Grayling

In mid 2013 I organised a grayling competition through a forum and two lucky chaps were to accompany me and my old mate Mike Perry on a trip to the river Wylye during the winter months. Alas the weather gods had other ideas and we eventually convened at Bird and Carter farm shop for a superb full English last Wednesday. Dave and Richard were the competition winners and both were eager to wet a line having, like me, driven well over a hundred miles for the privilege. Dave had done it in his immaculate Morris Minor who's odometer turned 32000 en route.

Its fair to say that the morning was not as productive as we would have liked as the river, which 'looked' perfect, played hard to get but a few fish came to the net and the afternoon's entertainment was assured. We moved to the 'Farm Stretch' just a little area of the seven miles that the club owns but which is simply full of grayling.

As I was a ghillie for the day and have a buggered shoulder, I only dabbled when pointing out a method/swim for the guests but I still had fish. Dave experienced the heart break of a big fish only spot where he missed a couple of bites but successfully landed a stick that put them down. However, when we all met at the bridge pool is was like those halcyon days of our youth when Dave and I ended up sat on the bridge, legs swinging above the flowing chalk stream and watching a little float drifting thirty or more yards below..... until it disappeared time and time again. Dave's old Alcock Isis bent well as a fish was hauled back from the next county to be met by two beaming men in their element.

Meanwhile Rich and Mike were making a mighty catch amongst the shoal that sits in a little eddy and the day was filled with the banter that easy fishing provokes. It was great fun.

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Two days later and I was back, this time with my good friend Bunny with whom I haven't fished for about a year due to the weather and my annoying health issues. Anyway, we filled up on another breakfast and set about putting the long absence to rights. Poor Bunny, he puffs and wheezes like an old train and had to take a few stops along the short stroll to the first swim but he never stopped smiling well, he rarely does .... unless he's discussing immigration or the government.

The swim was known to me and one that we had been unable to fish the other day. Its simply full of grayling that queue up for red maggots all day long and when the sun hid behind a cloud for half an hour the average size vastly grew. Once Bunny was catching I decided to go for a wander downstream and fish for as long as my shoulder would allow. Stopping just long enough to tie a new hook for the old bugger I dropped into a lovely run and tossed a few maggots in - left handed.

It was one of those swims where virtually every cast brought a bite, most bites brought a fish and each fish brought a smile. I took a quick snap of the first as it was the first on that rod, a Lucky Strike just back from being refurbished by Andy Sliwa. It really is the perfect grayling tool as it absorbs all of those thumps and lunges beautifully. The fun lasted barely half an hour before I had to concede and return to Bunny, just in time to tie him another hook.

I've no idea how many fish we took, it doesn't matter. Its a type of fishing that we all need from time to time, bites and fish guaranteed, an easy pace and great company, I also spotted the first celandine of the spring which means that winter is drifting back to where it belongs and although there will doubtless be a sting in it's tail, better weather is only a short wait away.

I won't pick up a rod again until I've recovered from the operation I'm having in a few weeks time but I shall certainly be spending time on the banks - nothing can keep me away.

Starlings

Took a drive to Aberystwyth the other day to watch the starlings murmurate as they settle overnight beneath pier. Alas, they were not in a showy mood so the swirling shapes were few and far between but it was nonetheless a very interesting and exciting display.

As we took up our watching position - out of the biting wind - the first little group of about twenty flew in over the roof tops and circled picking up another little flock so twenty became forty. This continued as more groups crossed flight paths and, like rolling drops of mercury, they seamlessly formed a bigger flock which was soon over a thousand strong. It was then that we had a few of those amazing displays as the flock twisted and rolled in flight but yet more birds came in and went straight under the pier. This was seen by the main group and quickly a number broke off and joined them. Within two minutes the entire flock was ensconced beneath the pier and for a moment the sky was empty.

Not my photo unfortunately

The final dive for cover

Was that it? No, of course not. In came wave after wave containing thousands of starlings but, probably due to the others showing that all was safe and well, they didn't hang about and dived for the cover. It was amazing to see a black cloud of birds taper at the front as a line of them dropped to their roost. It was like seeing a floating bowl of liquid being poured and seemed to defy the rules of flight.

Pretty soon it was dusk and the show was over for another day. We left to the sound of over ten thousand starling voices now audible above the traffic and waves.

It was a single starling that stopped me in my tracks a couple of days ago. Whilst walking the dog I heard that little 'cheeit' sound that tawny owls make to each other. It was repeated and I turned to see if I could see the bird but all I saw were starlings. Then I heard a long, slightly too high pitched and reedy 'tweeeeit' again repeated and realised that it was a starling imitating an owl. It went through it's repertoire several times and I really wish I could have recorded it.

Continuing on the bird theme, a house sparrow dropped a beak full of nesting material at my feet this morning and I've noticed the males have been squabbling a lot of late, a sure sign that spring is on the way. Dunnocks are also displaying and I've heard a woodpecker drumming out it's territorial proclamation over the last couple of days. Despite the bitter weather we are going through its satisfying to watch the signs that the season is about to change.

I hope to bring some fishing related stuff for you soon but it won't last. I've got until the end of the season and will fish as much as the shoulder and back permit but I'm having surgery on the shoulder in mid March which will knock my spring carping on the head before it even starts, which I'm a bit grumpy about. Then, two days into the new season and I have some spinal injections and physio to look forward to. But that, hopefully, will put me back on track and I will be fit and healthy for the end of the season.

Ju Suis Charlie

Happy 2015

Happy New Year one and all. Funny old thing the changing of a date, we all think we can start afresh but I don't think life and the world work that way. Still, onwards and upwards, maybe this year will be better than the last - I certainly hope so.

Before the fishy stuff a rant.

My wife constantly tuts and raises her eyes skyward as I chew the enamel off my teeth at the latest imbecile hairstyle. My father used to annoy me when, as a teenager, I dared to grow my hair to reach my collar. "You look like a girl" was his favourite and the journey to the barbers was interspersed with an opinion of everybody that wore anything more adventurous that a short back and sides.  Well I've become him.

You will remember the sniggering and open mockery when Kim John Un came to power in North Korea. His hair 'style' is ridiculous and oh how funny we all thought. Role forward a few months and half of the Premiership footballers are wearing adaptations on the same theme with the sides being cut so short that some of them look like they are bald blokes running about balancing a gerbil on their head. Meanwhile, most lads not yet able to shave, are wearing the Bieber style of combing everything forwards so that you can only see a nose and one eye. God I feel old.

Whilst I'm at it - Feedback! I perfectly understand the need for feedback on sites such as Ebay where it is necessary to judge the trustworthy trader from the charlatan. What I cannot come to terms with is every other bastard who thinks I've got nothing better to do with my time than fill out feedback questionnaires or answer telephone calls asking how I feel about the last bloody phone call that took me twenty minutes to get past the stupid automated switchboard. If you moan about the switchboard nothing happens because its cheaper than paying a person with a brain to sort your call, feedback doesn't work.

Its become a Damocles sword to hang over the work force. I recently hired a car and was genuinely impressed by the super efficient service by the team of youngsters in the office. As I handed back the keys I was asked if I was satisfied and when I answered in the affirmative I had a piece of paper thrust into my hand with the details of where I could send 'positive feedback'. I looked at the fixed smiles of the workers and saw, just behind the eyes, a look of desperation.

On my next visit there I was asked to fill out a questionnaire form before I even left. They did the scribing as I was quickly asked how I rated their service. A day or two later a letter arrived with a similar set of questions from the head office. The whole firm is forced to give good service or face whatever sanctions the bosses see fit. Well I can't live like that. I know that we expect a standard of service but I also understand that not everybody is bouncy, fun and "Have a nice day" polite 24/7 and nor should they be forced to.

Have you noticed that when leaving a shop where you may have had a spot of banter with the sales person (usually a girl in my case), that they suddenly 'offer' you the chance to fill out a feedback form and have the chance to win £ enter amount here - They don't give those to the grumpy buggers do they.

We also get asked to Feedback about web sites that we've only just clicked on. How can I give an opinion of service if I'm trying to access their site but an annoying bloody feedback window is in my way. Its a lazy form of self rating embraced by narrow minded executives that does nothing to improve their service unless they give us feedback as to what they do with our comments. In the mean time I suggest we all give negative feedback about everything and break the system, they'd soon learn.

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I don't make resolutions, but I do make plans and have aims to drive me forwards, especially when it comes to my fishing. After May, 2014 was probably the nearest my angling came to being a rudderless ship. To this end I am joining another lake syndicate (hopefully), which will allow me to fish an 'easier' location when the ol' back is giving me grief. Its an attractive lake with a level bank that doesn't require belay points and sherpas to get my gear in and out. It has a good stock of carp with lots of single figure fish but also a sprinkling of fish up to low or mid twenties. Although there are weekenders that bivvy up and attack it with multi rods and all the tech, it is apparently quiet mid week and that's when I can fish it with a more relaxed approach. My good friend Paul has stalked it to some success in the past and has found that many of the fish are fully scaled and immaculate so I shall be fishing for pretty fish where size is far less important than my other pool. I'm sure Paul won't mind me including this picture as a sample of the lake's potential.

Of course the 'other' pool is very much in my thoughts and I intend to fish it hard in the search of another thirty pounder. Circumstances have made it harder to arrange several day stays there but I reckon that the Spring time is the time to try and its also the finest time of the year to wake up next to a hidden pool at dawn. I am excited about the prospects and whether I succeed in the ultimate goal or not, it will be a fascinating journey.

Between now and then I intend to concentrate on chub and, if the opportunity arrises, grayling. I used to set my sights on a big back-end barbel but have spent many blank hours chasing hunches. I haven't caught a double this season and I'm genuinely not that bothered about it. Perhaps I've just caught enough barbel for now.


Thank you for reading this, now please take a few moments to answer these questions........

The Night Before Christmas

I had to get out. The urge to fish is constant just the amount varies and lately I've really felt the need. To add to the general frustration I had a rod to christen, a Sharpe's Scotty Avon that arrived whilst I was less than able to enjoy it. Nicky actually brought it to the ward for me to unwrap - bless her. The looks we drew as I put it together and gave it the customary wiggle were of bemusement.... but nobody said anything.

I dropped into my chub swim confident of a chance but not really too worried either way. The river was well up and thousands of gallons of coloured Wye sped silently past. I snuck into a crease and threw a few free pieces of spice flavoured meat well upstream. This was followed by a small pva containing three or four more bits and one on the hook. I sat back, the weight of the rod on a rest but the handle was in my hand and the line across the tip of my right index finger. 

Less than a minute had passed when I felt a faint tug, tug then a determined pull and I was into a hard fighting fish that ran upstream but stayed deep. The rod hooped over and took on a fighting posture that I hope to see repeated many times as the fish begrudgingly came to the surface. A chub, not a monster by any means but about average for the river. It was soon in the net and released downstream.

I knew that a fish so soon was usually the kiss of death but I went through the motions for an hour or so content to listen to the squabbling starlings looking for a roost. It got quite cold and despite a stab of a bite whilst I texted Neil, I decided to call it a day and go and help with the last minute Christmas preparations. 

Sometimes an hour by the water is more than enough but I'll be back soon for sure.

                         

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Have a wonderful Christmas period and thanks for stopping by to look at my humble scrawl. In a world that constantly throws grief and misery our way Christmas is a time for reflection and hope. 

Here's a seldom heard seasonal song for you to enjoy

December River Wylye Grayling Trip

I recall the opening to a film or book in which a hardened American Detective described the process of having the third catheter of his life removed, and how he had fallen in love with the girl doing it on each occasion. As I stared deep into the grey eyes of a beautiful young nurse who was about to remove my first, I told her of the tale, she looked a little shocked. I guess I'm no longer supporting the chiselled appearance of a rough - tough cop..... not that I ever did. But when it was removed it was as blissful a release as I can recall and a definite corner was turned. Its been quite a week.

A family weekend followed a day later by a sickness bout that became painful and persistent. A doctor was called for some anti-sickness meds but an ambulance arrived. "Your heart's okay", which, to be honest was initially our main concern. They then invited me to go to Hereford Hospital for some more checks. I declined. 'I'll be alright in the morning'... Teflon Burr, shrug it off.

Next afternoon and a brief recovery is quickly forgotten and I cannot get to the GP quick enough, it is an agony that is hard to describe and the Doc claims it to be 'pancreatitis' and looks sternly at my Units per Week count. Temperance is the watch word at the local surgery and I've held my gaze to these questions before as half a bottle of wine isn't that bad.... is it? By the time I'd been bumped along the cart track roads of the Shire and had reached A&E a life of sobriety seemed an easy course to follow.

Ultra Sound, X Ray and Fingers prodded and probed at many, many places and the Paracetamol was replaced with Morphine and still I felt worse. But the NHS has no room for people that are merely in pain but are yet to receive help so I was sent home to be returned next day for a CT Scan which would probably confirm its Gall stones. Again I had to endure our dreadful roads which, despite Nicky's best efforts, are just a series of jolts and bumps joined by moans and guttural groans.

Scan done, more invasive kneading and I was ready to show a white flag. I was eventually admitted into a small ward that held a man who never moved an inch, another that never quite got the message across to a miserable nurse with an empathy bypass that he was slightly demented and very deaf and a third who was either kicking the curtain between us whilst moaning or was demonstrating his total lack of bowel control. It was a bit like sharing rooms on a fishing weekend really. I was beyond caring.

And so began my first hospital stay. The signs all pointed to a blocked bowel but the Consultant wasn't 100% certain and hung on for it to calm down in order to do more tests. Come Saturday and I had not eaten since Monday afternoon, had not had much of my medication in that time (two of which can have adverse effects on their own after just two days without), and my sense of humour had gone without leaving a forwarding address. But it settled a bit. Despite tubes in and out of everything, I gingerly nibbled a piece of toast and kept it down. Over the next couple of days a colon that had refused to even leak a tiny fart began to do its job and I began to look out of the windows where this morning, there was the most wonderful purple dawn you could ever wish for. And so came Tuesday afternoon and my catheter was finally removed and I knew I was going home.

As I take stock I wonder if its something of a record to have doctors from three different continents shove an arm (well that's what it bloody felt like), up your rectum in two days. Why does hospital television cost £10 a day and the car park cost that about every ten minutes? Why also did the hospital internet connection claim that the Traditional Fishing Forum was not something that it thought appropriate and so blocked it? And why, when sleep is an important part of recovery, don't they keep a stock of ear plugs for us poor sods trying to grab a spot of shut eye in a busy night ward? They didn't even bring me some cotton wool. That said, the vast majority of staff were excellent, they really were.

As I packed to leave there were whispered words between staff members and I could see them mouthing the letters M.R.S.A. A deep clean took place in the cubical to my right and the one two over. The guy left in the middle looked very bad and I was glad that I was going and that I had not been opened up. A sobering experience without yet a conclusion.

The grayling trip? That was supposed to have been tomorrow.