Gusts of 50mph did not favour the graceful art of chucking fluff, but undeterred I arrived this morning at my brothers to pick him up with eager expectancy and a positive mental attitude.
The time on the journey there spent growing expectations with excited voices. Creating hope and building dreams akin to childhood journeys on worn out bicycles. A memory from long gone days that paints a smile from so many remembered pictures.
Setting up rods at the car, I chose a floating weight forward line while my brother opted for an intermediate/ sinking line. We favored the wind on our backs and strode side by side to the waters edge where we would part. Not from sibling rivalry but out of preference. With words blown away before reaching anyway, just being in sight of each other bought companionship without a need for close quarter confinement.
A quick snap and a sort out had me feeding line again and using the wind to my advantage, opting for a similar approach as before. On stripping the last foot of line before the lift a sudden tightening saw me lift into another. A heavier fish this time taking back all of my stripped line and then some, giving me a longer fight.
Its a far more nerving playing a fish on feel alone without assistance of clutches and I think more enjoyable to some extent. Its something that is hard to teach by anything less than trial and error, a feel that is governed and dictated by the quarry. No bullying here, just take line when its given and hang on!
The adrenaline rush is second to none.Two fish in three casts lifted my gaze to my sibling whose mouth silently mouthed a profanity before forming another grin.
I stopped fishing and decided to have a walk,to familiarize myself with the autumnal changes. Took the time to catalogue mental pictures to serve as postcards til I venture out again. Before the rain lashes back my adventures until the frosts come once more.