Whilst the unafflicted lay in their beds I was cruising along a deserted A46 with my windows down, Warks Avon bound. I found an old Peel sessions cd in the door compartment of my car and put it on. In days long departed I would have been listening to this music and watching the day grow after a night out. Drinking tea, eating toast and mistakenly believing the generation I was with were sole proprietors to this time of day. I still get a kick out of being outdoors early. England, there's nowhere like it at dawn.
I found Waspo' in fine fettle. Like most other waters at the moment weed abounds but the river narrows and shallows at the top of the village and there was still good momentum to the flow.
I fished for Dace for a couple of hours and caught 14ozs of them. Short of the target. I didn't care.
Standing knee deep amongst the reeds I had a couple of chub which bent the rod and stretched the light line.
A wind sprang up from nowhere at half past eight and made the float fishing almost impossible. Line was being pulled from the centrepin by the upstream wind alone causing a large airborne belly to form between the tip of the rod and where the line met the water.
In a vain attempt to scrape a few more dace I switched swims for the last half hour to one with a little more shelter.
I stood on the shelf in the water visible in the photo above. Slightly hairy. The peg looks good for a barbel with all the downstream cover but there is an element of suicide to it as well. It would be tough keeping anything out of the wall of snag on the near bank.
Danny was coming to fish the stretch later that day and said he would try for a barbel and that they were a bit of a jinx species for him. I tied up a hooklength complete with bait which has been successful for me in the past and secreted it in the chassis of the bankside abstraction pump for him to pick up later that day......