Fallon's Angler...

Having finished reading this, I thought it fitting, after enjoying it so much, to do a little review.


“A Melody of Piscatorial Prose”, sounds lovely doesn’t it, and it really is. The line-up of contributors screamed class, chapters from well know angling lyricists which could only mean one thing, that a veritable masterpiece was on its way, and it couldn’t come soon enough. I had made so many images in my mind, there was so much optimism and I was thrilled when it finally dropped through the letterbox. Upon opening the large brown envelope I certainly wasn’t disappointed.

A Return to Paradise

The haunting sound of the owls and green woodpeckers, although eerie, gave me a warm feeling of belonging; it was as though after my long absence the creatures of the pool welcomed me back with open arms. I had a battle on my hands trying to keep the Kelly Kettle burning as soon after lighting it the rains came making the kindling damp, but with much persistence on my part, along with lots of huffing and puffing, the shower passed and soon enough I was enjoying a steaming pot of tea.

Rich Crimp's Memorial Social

Rich Crimp was my friend, I guess thinking about it we only knew each other for 3 years or so, fished together around a dozen times and lived the best part of 70 miles apart, but you didn’t have to live in Rich’s pocket to be a good friend. Always available on the phone for a chinwag, perhaps you had something to get off your chest, perhaps just to chew the fat, whatever you needed, he was always there.

He had a way of making you feel at ease, perhaps he’d be telling you to stop being a silly bugger (or words to that description), he wasn’t one to mince his words, shot from the hip so to speak, but it was always sound advice, one of his traits I really miss. He was a great wordsmith too, his scribblings being enjoyed by everyone who took the time to read them, with each new posting being eagerly anticipated.

An excellent angler too was the Cap’n, a thinking angler who loved the Thames with a passion I’d never seen before. He knew his roots, and stood by them through thick and thin, seeking not to educate but to open the eyes of those who only saw the Thames as a once dirty river. They say all anglers have a book in them; well Richard’s would have been epic.

Surface Magic..

When the wife asked if I fancied going fishing after work today, I thought intensely for all of half a second, swerved past Dad’s to collect a rod and couldn’t wait till 4pm. The plan was to visit Carron Row, wander around with my bucket of dog biscuits and hope the carp were hungry.

I set the rod up in the car park, just a size 4 hook and with my unhooking mat under my arm and camera over my shoulder I set off in search of ripples. I stood on the causeway and spotted some rings of water leaving the bank practically under my feet. I stepped back, looked closer and spotted a carp just under the surface between the fallen reeds.

With two mixers on the hook I gently lowered the hook-bait into position and only had to wait a few seconds for the take. As it rolled on the surface I clocked a wonderfully coloured flank with irregular scaling, it lunged off away from the causeway but I soon gained control and before long had her ready for the net.