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It was a fine day and the memsahib thought we should have a day outperhaps take a picnic.
I know just the place I cried: By the seaside with plenty of interesting people to watch; clean loos, a sunny aspect, and you can see France on a clear day.
And where is this Shangri la? she enquired suspiciously.
We pass it on the way to Folkestone when travelling from Deal I replied truthfully. Now get you to the kitchen wench, and make a flask of coffee and some egg sarnies (I didnt actually say that last bit.)
I loaded my angling gear, installed the memsahib behind the wheel of the faithful Kia and engaged warp factor 5. In an Hour we were within sight of the POW and a few minutes from spending some quality time with a bundle of plump lugworm from Bills Tackle.
Anglers were shoulder to shoulder towards the end of the pier and we had to park several hundred yards from the loosa fact that was going to cause distress as the day wore on. I had only fished in the sea once in the last 17 months and my tackle was in need of maintenance. This fact was borne out by my struggle to land the first pin whiting with the little roller thingy on the bale arm seized.
As I looked up the line of anglers towards the café there were regular flashes of silver, as pin whiting, some at least 4 long, were landed after having devoured a 20p lugworm. The worm and the fish usually died: what carnage and expense I started to think then the guy next to me landed a doggy and a decent dabraising my spirits no end. There were other doggies being caught as HT approached, but the pins still reigned supreme.
After dozens of pins and 4 hours fishing my little group of lug (it had been nice knowing them) were gone, and it was time to go home.
I was pleased with my own performance if not the catch. I hadnt dropped dead, even after casting energetically. Perhaps Im fit enough to start fishing regularly again?
I know just the place I cried: By the seaside with plenty of interesting people to watch; clean loos, a sunny aspect, and you can see France on a clear day.
And where is this Shangri la? she enquired suspiciously.
We pass it on the way to Folkestone when travelling from Deal I replied truthfully. Now get you to the kitchen wench, and make a flask of coffee and some egg sarnies (I didnt actually say that last bit.)
I loaded my angling gear, installed the memsahib behind the wheel of the faithful Kia and engaged warp factor 5. In an Hour we were within sight of the POW and a few minutes from spending some quality time with a bundle of plump lugworm from Bills Tackle.
Anglers were shoulder to shoulder towards the end of the pier and we had to park several hundred yards from the loosa fact that was going to cause distress as the day wore on. I had only fished in the sea once in the last 17 months and my tackle was in need of maintenance. This fact was borne out by my struggle to land the first pin whiting with the little roller thingy on the bale arm seized.
As I looked up the line of anglers towards the café there were regular flashes of silver, as pin whiting, some at least 4 long, were landed after having devoured a 20p lugworm. The worm and the fish usually died: what carnage and expense I started to think then the guy next to me landed a doggy and a decent dabraising my spirits no end. There were other doggies being caught as HT approached, but the pins still reigned supreme.
After dozens of pins and 4 hours fishing my little group of lug (it had been nice knowing them) were gone, and it was time to go home.
I was pleased with my own performance if not the catch. I hadnt dropped dead, even after casting energetically. Perhaps Im fit enough to start fishing regularly again?
