Lee Swords Fishing

As is usual for the clinically stupid I arrived on the banks of the mighty river Trent extremely late, or extremely early dependant on which way you choose to look at it, I had a plan therefore the fact that my watch said it was just before midnight was of little consequence to me, I am after all a little bit obsessive when it comes to a “good plan”

Unfortunately the plan failed after about five minutes…The area I had chose to fish was unfishable due to an unforeseen circumstance which involved low river flow and a matt of impenetrable floating algae…bollocks!

Plan “b”

Move about one mile down river to a similar area and try again!

After about 30 minutes of pushing my own body weight along a rutted track on a barrow that was suffering a flat tyre I arrived at “destination two”, unfortunately it had started to rain as I made my way there so when I arrived I was not only panting like a dog with a heart rate of around 220 I was also rather hot and very wet, which is fantastic if you happen to be a sexy young ladies well trimmed vagina but is pretty damned crap when applied to an old and ugly hairy cunt like me.

Panting like a dog I sat in the rain, my face to the sky…I had gone too far this time. I think this may be it. I think the game is up.

I had carried too much gear too far after a long shift of work and at forty something  I had simply asked too much of myself, I think I may have possibly killed myself.

Seriously.

After about a half hour I managed to get enough energy recouped  to get the oval up, the bed-chair unfolded and a single rod out.

The exertion of that left me shivering and sickly, I lay on the bed and looked out over the river, oh well, if this is where it happens it could be far worse I suppose, better this than at the bottom of Staniforth Road and being doused in petrol by the local Taliban when they have their Sharia uprising in a couple of years time.

I closed my eyes and did my best to get “my side” of the story sorted for when I appeared in front of Archangel Gabriel in a few moments, I may have one or two discrepancies to iron out if I have any plans of ever making it through Pearly Gates and into Heaven…I drifted away into darkness…

Goodbye cruel world. Goodbye.

Oblivion… and then there came a light in the darkness accompanied by the haunting wail of the Choir Invisible…Had I reached Salvation?

No…It was the bright blue light and accompanying scream of my Delkin TXi 

 

I wasn’t dead yet…I had just been asleep for a while…Well that’s a bonus then!

I clambered off my “not so dead death bed” and grabbed at the rod…I was alive!… and I was in!

The rod hooped over into an impossible arc as whatever it was decided that it wasn’t too keen on meeting Lazarus, risen from the grave. I took this personally and decided to “give it some” but found that I had nothing left to give,the shot of adrenaline that I had received  on been awoken from the tomb was swiftly being depleted and a sickly shivering feeling was taking over again, except this time the feeling seemed to be moving south in an a tempt to make an escape.

I hadn’t shit myself for more than forty years but I had a distinct inkling that was about to change! Excepting this time when I made a “little poo” I wouldn’t  have the luxury of a Terry Towelling nappy that could be easily removed I was wrapped in three layers of thermals and attached to a fish via a sharp Drennan, a variable length of good nylon from Kryston and twelve foot of space age carbon fibre supplied by Mark Tunley.

“Squeeze tight my man and think of England” I urged myself as I did battle with this watery Leviathan or suffer the embarrassing walk of shame back to the car park with thermals full of soft warm turds…The voice inside my head was now screaming louder than Brian Blessed! “Squeeze tight and block up that poo hole with the English dead or it will be once more into the britches I fear, once more into the britches”

The fish which I presumed to be a larger than average barbel by the way it hugged the river bed had no intention of giving up unfortunately I  had no energy left to force the issue… I also had no intention of crapping myself so time was at a premium…we were at an impasse.

Should I try with one hand to free myself from the constraints of my thermals and waders and attempt a one handed “squatty potty”  into the margins of the river?

No…Too dangerous, the margins we deep and one slip would be catastrophe!

Where was Cartman’s mom in my time of need!?! I needed help and I needed it badly! A prayer was said and help asked for…

And as though by magic my troubled bowels settled and the turtle withdrew its head back into its shell if only for a moment, this was my chance…

Bring out the “Teddy”

The rod hooped further and harder and the barbel had no choice but to comply, the Trent Machine was back.

Within a minute it was all over, the barbel was in the net and the scales gave it a number of  12lb’s 10oz … I attempted a self take but I must confess that it was a poor attempt but understandable in the circumstance.

It was at that moment that the prayer wore off…The barbel was hurriedly left to rest in the margins , my over large triangle net being perfect for the job at hand…i ran to the woods behind my oval…distance was optimal in what was about to occur!

Running I puled at my straps and belts as I went!

 

Brian was back and warming up but this time he was in his Flash Gordon outfit…

“FIRST WAVE… DIVE”

I scraped at the soil with my “poo trowel” as I frantically  pulled at my trousers and squatted…just in time!!

The little brown Hawkmen dived straight onto the gnarled roots of an elderly Ash tree that looked as though it would be glad of the extra nutrients they would provide…Brian led several more Hawkmen onslaughts that night before he finally gave up the ghost and allowed me some rest.

I decided that I should sleep and so the rod did not get returned to the river…Phone calls were made on first light and by 9 am I was in a hot bath unlike the Hawkmen…they lay cold in their shallow graves…thank God for wet wipes.