Photo-a-Day (Friday, 25th May, 2018)
Spring View, behind Warrington Road.
Its a very green photo except for the man and his washing up bowl
What a lovely peaceful scene,but how did it get its name..Widows Flash?
"I'll tell you why I can't find you.....
Gone fishin' instead of just a wishin' "
good o'l Bing and a good picture.
A rodder and snapper in the sepia sun,
One watching the wobble of quivering quill,
Attentive and still, as an heron
In rapturous dreams of carp to capture,
Eye focused on the electrical twitching
Vibrating the water....
While the snapper is set with lens to catch,
The cinematic flickering light
On the surface of the Flash.
I suspect a little too much green.
If the fisherman had been smaller wearing a baggier flat cap and an 'owd jacket, that picture could have been from 60 years ago.
Lovely shot, Harry.
More people attend fishing than in any other sport.
I love fishing, my greatest hobby.
Nice just nice. Nice one Harry.
Alan..... I remember reading about more people fishing on Saturday afternoons than attending all combined football matches. Takes some believing doesn't it.
Lovely tranquil scene.
My short rhyme, which I hope will sit comfortably beneath Harry's excellent photo.
This happy hunter's fed the swim, with goodness rather rare
And now he baits his tiny hook, to hold the piscine dare.
His casters two will trip along, the bed is free of grime
This country lad has 'read the script'; and Isaac's book, in time.
Spring view and Warrington road is quite a length. I'll be more precisest. It's opposite the old Police station, at the back of the row of houses on Warrington road.
Is this the flash Jo Anne mentioned the other week, it looks to be a very lush area.
He's wearing a very apt shirt too, it has the Christian ichthys fish symbol.
It's at the bottom of Constantia Street. Fished it a few times but not on my favourite's list.
The dedicated Fisherman is a very strange creature. he makes many sacrifices in his quest to snatch his tiny adversary from his natural habitat.
The planning stage begins at least three or four days before the day of the mighty contest. At this time the Fisherman must decide what type of tiddler he intends to kidnap. This is necessary because he needs to know what type of bait he must acquire in order to tempt the unfortunate victim to bite on the vicious looking hook he intends to use.
The day before his expedition our intrepid angler must load his equipment on his means of transport. Invariably this is a small Family Hatchback that was never designed to carry the kind of tonnage he now proposes to burden it with.
Bags, Boxes, Rods, Umbrella's, Bait and enough electronic equipment to launch another Moon Landing are all crammed into every possible nook and cranny that the poor motor possesses. By the time he has finished, there is just enough room left for our hero to squeeze himself into the driver's seat and reach the most important of the controls
Next morning bright and early our noble guardian of the angling art compresses himself into his car and with the rear end scraping on his tyres sets off for the scene of his hoped-for victory.
On arrival at the venue, he finds that the water is in fact, half a mile from the only possible place that he can park his valiant little motor. Refusing to be phased by this he loads himself up with equipment and sets out for the intended place of his triumph.
Three trips later the car is still half full but our exhausted fisherman has decided that he has enough equipment and maybe he can manage without the Portable Barbecue after all.
Two hours later and he's all set, he is sitting comfortably in his Portable Blow-up Armchair, his Rod is resting on its Rod Rest, his bait is in the water, the Sun is very warm and our exhausted hero is ver...zzz zzz zzz
I came alone bagged and ready ,
I spent all day trying to do my tempt , but realised on this day a wiser head was meant.
I caught not a thing , only , the multitude of wings , the glorious sun and breeze , the dragon fly with ease inspecting my frown .
The butterflies they danced , the hover flies curious . As for the water , I just let it be, unfortunately, I did not see , just the simple ,
given to me..
I packed away but wanted to stay as the glorious night moved in . So I left without din , no fish to win, but with a bag overflowing with moments, still and calm ...
Well done DTease, you've pretty much encapsulated my own perception of a canal fisherman into a few paragraphs there mate. But if I could make so bold, you've omitted to mention a number of attributes. First off, it would appear to be mandatory as an angler, to adopt a gloomy facial expression and cast disconsolate and disapproving glances at passing walkers, cyclists and members of the boating fraternity. Secondly, it would seem to to be obligatory to pour the contents of a Carling six pack down your neck before skimming the empty cans into the hedgerow before nodding off, then finally, when leaving the peg, to leave your bread wrappers, burnt out single use barbecue trays, lengths of tangled catgut, and several old barbed hooks behind for nature to dispose of as it deems appropriate? To be fair though, I would imagine that the perpetrators of these foul deeds are in the minority, although I have witnessed these transgressions on more than one occasion in the aftermath of fishing matches. At the end of the day however, it's up to the anglers themselves to police their 'sport ' ,...either that or incur the wrath of the general public who must outnumber the angling fraternity by a factor of at least twenty.
'Fraid I'm still picturing our friend in his wellies and balaclava sat on't canal bank fishin'! (not forgetting his chapped legs.)
Well said Dtease and Ozy, the ones who fish at Martland mill even drive along the canal bank up past the lock and to the railway bridge, then push trolley loads of gear another 300 hundred yards to there favorite spot
Thanks for all the comments folks I've just got back from hols. H.