25/07/2024 - Summer trotting part IV (sobering times)

My neighbour Mark sadly passed away yesterday at the age of 57, the same as age as me. An intimidating character with tattoos and piercings who rode a huge, two-stroke chopper that made the windows rattle in their frames every time he fired it up. In reality he was a very private person who kept himself to himself. 

However, if he happened to be out in his garden tinkering with one of his classic American cars we always had a chat and if there was any need for a weird, non-standard tool, socket or allen key he'd always have it and be glad to lend it to you. It was while he was working on his latest acquisition, a "rat rod", that he suddenly collapsed and despite his partner immediately calling an ambulance there was nothing they could do for him. Brought to mind the loss of my father who passed away without any warning while I was on holiday. Four years down the line I still find it difficult sometimes to comprehend that he's gone and now similarly with Mark, it's strange to think that we'll never hear the staccato roar of his bike on the road again. 

I was therefore in a sombre mood when I started work this morning and after a particularly meaningless, morale-sapping meeting I decided to finish early and go and get some head space instead. Ended up taking my dad's old Abu match rod back to the River Soar near Kegworth. The river had dropped significantly since my last visit, but still had a peaty brown tinge to it. Walked up to the island, crossed the lock and then fought my way through the even taller nettles and clinging burdock to my swim. With the rod still set up from the previous session I was set up and in the water within five minutes and less than one minute after that I swung my first fish - a fin perfect dace (what else?) - to hand. 

After that it was a bite a cast, mostly dace, but with bleak, roach, chub, gudgeon and perch adding to the tally. Was also unlucky not to land a pike that shot up from the bottom like a missile to grab an unfortunate dace off the surface. Just like what happened on the Derwent a few days ago my size 16 widegape was somehow transferred into its jaw far enough away from any teeth and I spent the next five minutes resisting its attempts to get out into the flow and over to the far bank. Eventually got it up onto the surface and saw an opportunity to net it so gave it a bit more welly. Unfortunately at that moment the hooklink parted and I had to watch it slowly glide away to sulk at my feet in the lillies. 

Went back to getting a bite a cast without any further interruptions and before I knew it three hours had shot by.  Had lost count of how many fish I'd caught ages ago, but it was well over a hundred again with fifty percent being dace. Didn't really matter, the thing was that I'd a few hours to clear the head and just live in the moment. Consigned the remains of my sweaty maggots to the depths and packed up. Found that a barbel angler had moved into the swim upstream of me and had a quick chat but he'd only been there an hour and was yet to have a touch, which was surprising given the number of little chub that were about. Got a few days holiday in Wales next week before the main event in France later in the summer, so another chance to chase a silver bar tides permitting. Fingers crossed for another biggie!