It's happening again. A couple of days of not-entirely-shit british weather and the promise of spring bites like a sweet withdrawl. The signs are clear: an inability to focus on the everyday; nearly crashing every time you cross a bridge; the frantic tying of fly patterns old and new, from practical favourites that will catch dozens, to those more like catwalk models- less useful but beautiful to look at. As well as river favourites I intend to start out with a full quota of stillwater samples, from slim, sexy buzzers to shaggy, loch style beasts:
The water is pulling at me. Even at work, joining a youngster for a football match, the small stream at the bottom of the playing fields held a strange magnetism. And then I spotted it- a dark olive fluttering over the water, then another. Sadly the periodic splash of a football punching the water put paid to any rising trout. Still, not long now...
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