At the moment Sundays are my only guaranteed fishing days. So watching even more snow fall at the start of the week knowing full and well that the end of the week would herald the inevitable big thaw was torture for me.
As the week passed snow turned to slush on the ground, falling snow flakes turned to rain and melting with them was any chance of me fishing on Sunday.
With a couple spare hours on Saturday afternoon i headed out in the car to check if there was by any chance anywhere might be fishable. Passing first over the river Sowe only five minutes from home i was greeted by the sight of orange/brown water well into the fields, i drove on towards Ryton to again confirm it was still well frozen, then ended up in Leamington at the confluence of the Leam and Avon to see this normally sedate stretch raging with floodwater. As i stood looking down at the water my mind ticked through possible tactics or places that might be feasible to fish. But as i did the sound of trickling water caught my ear! the last of the slush was melting and ran off the road over blocked drains eventualy finding its way straight into the river. On seeing this knew in my mind that even if i made the effort to go that my chances of catching were low. With this realization my decision was made. I would not fish......
Now i know that in a weeks time the rivers will probably once again be back within there banks and all the horrible salty road water will have flowed away, maybe even the two inch thick ice on the lakes may have melted and i will soon be back out fishing. But this still doesn't stop me acting like a mardy teenager who hasn't got what they want. though this behavior does serve to remind me that my love for fishing is still so strong that it makes a thirty two year old man act like a child and i hope that i still feel as passionate as this in thirty years time.
After seeing me so forlorn my long suffering and wonderful girlfriend Jacky woke me on Sunday morning with a egg & bacon sarnie, glass of orange juice and a cup of tea on a tray in her hands. Even as i write this the smell of a late afternoon Sunday dinner permeates the house and i can't help but think. This ain't so bad.
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