The Kingfisher

Note And Photo From:- Fred, Brighton, UK

We were fishing on the Wye and sport was very slow. We were catching nothing and it was our last day before returning home.

Then, this little chap came and sat on my rod.

the wye march 07 043

He looked around surveying his territory and decided to stay and use the rod as a”diving board” to take fish from the shoals of Bleak that were in the swim.

the wye march 07 044

Cheeky “git” caught a number of fish, using the rod as a perch, whilst I didn’t get a bite all day.

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Wading And Fishing In The Okanagan

Photograph and Article submitted by Kelowna Trout Angler, BC, Canada

Here we stand in the beautiful water of the Okanagan. In front of us the depth drops down to about 2m, but there are fish down in the depths.

Aug1407F0922

Someone on the bank said there are few fish to be caught from the lake. Little did they know. My Grandson in the fore-ground has returned 2 Rainbow Trout and we have lost count of the Suckers we’ve sent back. Our big problem is how to catch the very large Suckers and Carp we have seen swimming in and out of the weeds in front of us.

At present we are using silver spinners in the style of the ever trusty Mepps. When the fish get suspicious a change is made and a small coloured artificial worm is added to the single hook.

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Shoreham Beach, West Sussex, UK

Shoreham Beach, West Sussex, UK.

( Photograph and Article submitted by John, Portslade, UK )

When I was young we used to stand at this point and look across at the Gas Works and the old Electricity Building. Both of these two were demolished to make way for a smaller unit. There were fond memories of swimming in warmer water produced by the electricity outflow pipes. It probably was un-healthy, but there we are.

Shoreham Beach

The Harbour at Shoreham was always a good place to fish and sail in the sheltered waters.At times we would fish in the harbour basin if we could get away without being caught.

In the distance is Brighton and Hove. Playgrounds for the rich and famous ever since the Prince Regent built the Brighton Pavilion and put the fishing village of Brigthelmstone on the map.

 

The White Cliffs Of England

 

The White Cliffs Of England
(Photograph submitted by F.Sutton, Bournemouth, UK)

The White Cliffs of England

 

Everything we expect from the South Coast of England. Those wonderful white cliffs with the tough grass on top. A slight haze with the yacht setting sail for distant lands and the Sea-Gulls calling from above.
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Short Story – “One Morning in Early July”

Here is a short story, submitted by one of our readers.

Enjoy!

“One morning in early July” by Kelowna Trout Angler (Canada)

One morning in early July I rowed an old punt out onto the estate lake.

This old lake had no footpaths around it and was surrounded by trees and reeds. As my friend and I pulled out of the boathouse, which smelt of over 100 years of maintenance, creosote, pitch and tar, we got caught up in the damp webs made by a great many spiders.

Mornings are always full of promise and as we whispered quietly to each other we were able to take in the sounds of the lake and the morning. There were the ducks and other birds flapping wings and arguing as we gently slid across their domain. On early mornings you can rarely see far. There always seems to be a mist rising from the water as you await the sun.

We pulled into a bay and tied the ends of the punt to the reeds. Hopefully nothing had been disturbed and so we settled to fish.

“Hello,” said my mate, ” someone’s coming.”, and sure enough there were the sounds of oars gently dipping into the water and the occasional knock of the rowlocks as the oars turned.

The sound came upon us but we could not see the angler in the mist. He had pulled in behind us and we heard the reeds rustle to the distinctive sound of the punt being pushed into the reeds in preparation for tying.

Soon after we heard the splash of groundbait and then the tapping of a pipe on the end of an oar.

At this I called “Hello Fred”, but as usual the reply was only a grunt of acknowledgement.

We fished hard and caught many fish until the sun had cleared the mist and our bay was gradually becoming a heat trap. During our session we had heard many a splash from Fred’s side of the reeds, but the old fellow was a solitary character and rarely disclosed his catch.

Time to go I felt and we packed and called a last farewell to Fred, but no reply was forthcoming as expected.

“What a miserable sod” said my mate as we left the bay and I had to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” came the retort.

“Well he’s dead” was my reply, “he died 30 years ago and everyone on the lake should pay their respects to Fred when they arrive and leave. You’ve been lucky you have heard him and fished with him.”

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Tight lines!

The Fisherman

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