Not a glorious return

Warning

 Readers of a sensitive or religious nature may find some of the comments in this blog to be both upsetting and offensive!!!

It had been fifteen days and two hours since I last went fishing most of which I had spent lying on the sofa at home recovering. But finally after going back to work I was able to go out for a session, after agreeing with my partner Jacky that it would be a gentle transition back to the outside world and not too far from home.
So Monday afternoon Jacky dropped me off at Ryton. Two weeks off dreaming about what I thought the fishing would be like upon my glorious return was of course completely wrong and as it turned out the fishing was pretty much still as slow as it was when I last fished here. The afternoon passed slowly and my two rods remained silent as I chatted to Roger who was in the adjacent swim. Early on Roger had a screaming run which turned out to be a nice tench of around five pounds.

The time ticked away and although little was happening I was happy to finally be outside agian. As the visitors thinned out and the park quietened down I did get some interest, but a proper run remained elusive until about an hour before I had to leave, when my indicator sounded and the bobbin jerked up then slowy rose. My strike was met by no resistance whatsoever, but it was a good sign and i quickley rebaited and cast back to the same spot. I sat on that cast right to the bitter end but with only twenty minutes till Jacky arrived to pick me up I resinged myself to another blank and began packing up my my bag ready to leave.

My back was turned when it happened and it came with no warning at all, the alarm was screeming instantley and line fizzed from the baitrunner. There was no doubt in my mind as I lifted the rod that I would be met by something proper and I wasn't disappointed. The fish kited from right to left at an amazing speed, my heart was pounding out my chest as I tried to keep contact with it, then it turned and raced towards me. The majority of the fight took place only twenty feet from the bank and after a few savage runs I fianally got a glipse of a golden flank as it rolled on the surface. I knew instantley it wasn't a monster and it would have been lucky to be a double, but I was made up standing there grinning as I played it. Then it happened.... from nowhere my rig came flying straight out the water and landed about two feet from the bank. It took a minute or two for me to react. At first I just stood open mouthed, but then it welled up like a volcano errupting and I couldn't hold it in "You god dam mother fucking shit stabbing son of a bitch bastard knob head aaaaaaaaarrrrggggggggghhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Needless to say I was incensed at this point, my insane ranting probably disturbed several rare species of wildlife around the contry park, and at hearing my screems every bird at roost for miles took flight.

I have never been so mad by the loss of a fish. If the dalai lama would of appeared in a ball of light and said "Find your inner peace and you will rewarded Daniel"  I would have probably strangled him with his own robe. If God himself would of decended from the heavens and said "worry not Daniel for your patience will again be rewarded" I would have him to fuck off and cram it. The only thing I could do to properly convey my sheer anger at that moment was to take this picture...

It's weird. I have lost fish before and much better ones than this, but after desperatley wanting to get out fishing, then resigning myself to blanking, then from nowhere having such excitment thrust upon me, then finally losing that fish it really got to me.

I can't at this point even say "it was just good to be out fishing again" as that would be like saying "yes it feels realy good getting kicked in the nads" but then again I am a angler and we all know exactly where I will go the first chance I get....

Back for another good kick in the balls...