The First Snows of Winter
dp the dog days of autumn are upon us, all the leaves nearly down and me and john richardson are out looking for roach on redundant chalkstreams. the carriers chucking it through and on the main river the flow slowing to a trotless halt. the roach we want so far out of reach, every handful [...]
Coldwater Revival
ja your great british pike bungs are the true symbols of the fallen leaf, the design classic to rival the mini, the land rover of the float world. they should be hung down oxford street come christmas. they should be the olympic logo, the lamb street runners, the ice queen’s earrings, the acceptable fesse of [...]
A Short Telegram
dp at the rising of the bobbin and the going under of the float we shall remember them. in a letter home to his wife, one nottinghamshire soldier fighting in mesopotamia in 1917 wrote, “of all the flea-ridden, snake-ridden, scorpion tormented corners of the world this is it, and i’d swap all of jerusalem land [...]
Laying A Wreath
ja all leaves on deck, the forests are crooked mizzens once more, nightmare cutty sarks, luminous green moss where the first chanterelles are waking:  but today, while you’re flogging old poppycocks in redditch, we remember francois polvent, a young french priest from the village of ors in nord pas de calais, who went fishing [...]
Sunbury Whiskey Sour
dp whilst you were away with the travelling circus, juggling whisky bottles and walking across the tightrope high above la morinais i was with g concocting a counter plot to november 5th. we met in the priest hole under the stairs at the cheshire cheese, took the stone steps down into the cellar and walked [...]
Last Tango with Mike November Whiskey
ja saturday gone, bushwhacked minor roads six hours to brittany with your welsh emails tatooed like mud splash on the land rover. we needed myth, and luck, but got the north east wind chiselling at the willpower.  mike walker’s lake, la morinais, 4 days fighting the sabotage. mike november whisky – he comes at [...]
Fishing In The Company Of Epiphany Proudfoot
dp the road to wales is a cosmic highway, littered with giant pumpkins and louis cyphre filling stations. my soundtrack for the way home was ‘angel-heart’ with the immortal line, “so you know johnny favourite after all?”, “yes, he was my father”. but before that was the morning after where i felt like harry angel [...]
Half – Time & Bare Spools
ja ah, that road to wales, beetroot 66. all that’s missing from round here is that iron bridge…and maybe the wye going under it. but it’s october brings wales and normandy into line, like the final eclipse, when the moon’s like that dace in your hand, when we wish we’d all been taught by clive [...]
Bridge Over The River Wye
dp to the far off shire, over the severn bridge and through the brecon beacons to builth for the angling writers weekend. super furries ‘mountain people’ on the stereo. memories and mushrooms everywhere, the unicorn’s caravan over the next ridge. rumours of bob’s brother and wild carp at llandrindod. dual language signs, dark skies at [...]
Tomb Of The Unknown Angler
ja your photos always peel like churchbells from a far-off shire, pasties and mackeson, “the last of england”. your market town tackle-shops are worth their weight in practical nostalgia. france, for all its backwardness, has managed to lose its high street tackleshops. post-war shame, uprooting all signs of working class culture from the grande rue. [...]
Caught by the River