Food for the soul.

Occasionally I find myself guilty of concentrating so much on what I am doing that I do not see the real beauty of my surroundings. By this I mean that  though I spend as much of my spare time as I can out in the wilds of the verdant land in which I reside, I am more than likely staring intently at a rod tip or float and miss out on the wondrous back drop that frames the whatever I am staring at.

I had got Friday off work and went out fishing with no more intention of casting line upon water and hoping something might nibble my bait. I headed to one of the most quiet spots my beloved Avon has to offer. With no particular species in mind I tossed out a feeder full of liquidised bread and crushed grilled hemp into the deep slow moving water. As I suspected the fish were being a little more than finicky But I did not care at all as the view in front of me was sublime.

Sitting next to the river sipping tea I lazily basked in the warm winter sun as my rod tip nodded occasional-ally as one of the resident tiddlers pecked at my bread bait. I got my first view of a water rail as it sauntered along the reed bed in front of me but sadly I couldn't move an inch towards the camera before it shot of over the river into the under growth. By mid morning I had managed to scrape together a hand full of bits and a couple of little skimmers around a pound. The next tap was followed by a hoop of the rod and I found myself playing one of the resident bream for a short while before I bumped it off. My next bream also found freedom but the third made it's way to the net and sent the scales round to a satisfying 6lb something.

The afternoon slowly drifted away as had the bream shoal and with the sun at it's highest the rod tip went into stasis. Leaving my post I meandered off along the wooded bank to see who or what may have been around. The birds were going wild catching flies in the first bit of warm weather for a few weeks and I spent a good half an hour watching a pair of tree creepers moving from tree to tree pecking at any insects too slow to escape them. I did come across a couple of fellow fishermen; one who was holding out for monsters which I suspect never turned up, and an old chap whom I sat beside for a while and chatted to as he ran a stick float through and swung in a dace or roach with the regularity of a metronome. It's strange but I love to watch other people fish as much as I love to do it myself especially when they do it as well as this chap.

After returning to my kit I settled in for the final few hours, most of which was uneventful, but I did add a few more skimmers as I sat watching the river slip by. I had a feeling I was in for something special when the sun set and as it dipped behind scar bank the country side seemed to become illuminated  by the sunset before everything went dark. As if by magic the fish population who had spent the afternoon being so coy threw off all caution and the river erupted into a carpet of swirls and ripples as they rolled and flipped in the half light. I kind of expected to get a bit of last minute action but I think the fish were more interested in having a good time than feeding, though I didn't care as sometimes it's just nice to out and see the sunset in a different place.

I don't think anyone in the world would be disappointed by that.