Cultivate your luck

HT Sheringham is an author I greatly admire. As an angler he was a superb all rounder. Just as happy watching a float for carp as he was fishing a chalk stream for trout. I also like his humour - I think of his writings on many of my own trips.

Hugh Tempest Sheringham

One example is his account from Coarse Fishing (1912) - it relates to the catching of carp. Hard to believe now, but then a mystical creature with the capture of a double figure specimen making the national press:

 "For practical purposes there are big carp and small carp. The latter you may sometimes hope to catch without too great a strain on your capacities. The former - well, men have been known to catch them, and there are just a few anglers who have caught a good many. I myself have caught one, and I will make bold to repeat the tale of the adventure as it was told in the Field of July 1, 1911.

The narrative contains most of what I know concerning the capture of big carp. The most important thing in it is the value which it shows to reside in a modicum of good luck. So far as my experience goes, it is certain that good luck is the most vital part of the equipment of him who would seek to slay big carp. For some men I admit the usefulness of skill and pertinacity; for myself, I take my stand entirely on luck. To the novice I would say: “Cultivate your luck. Prop it up with omens and signs of good purport. Watch for magpies on your path. Form the habit of avoiding old women who squint. Throw salt over your left shoulder. Touch wood with the forefinger of your right hand whenever you are not doing anything else. Be on friendly terms with a black cat. Turn your money under the new moon. Walk round ladders. Don't start on a Friday. Stir the materials for Christmas pudding and wish. Perform all other such rites as you know or hear of. These things are important in carp-fishing."

It obviously worked for Sheringham. He was extremely successful with big carp at Cheshunt Reservoir. Being of a superstitious and sentimental nature I try to cultivate my luck at all times.

Bad luck comes in threes I am told. I thought I was doing quite well after the flood to not have a second and third but good old HTS was in the back of my mind. I had not done enough to cultivate my luck. It all caught up with me last week. My car was hit by a pony and trap (number two out of the way) and on Friday the mighty Hoot presented me with my Brit Valley Fly Fishers permit - permit No 13 (number three out of the way). I have requested the permit be changed of course, it will now be 13.5! 

All should now be well - with the prospect of a fishing trip in the near future and the shrooming season underway I hope to bring you positive news.

Gather in the Mushrooms

The season is underway - slightly mixed, but a few pleasant finds just to keep me going back. There is something about the chase when on a shrooming trip, it can be as exciting as actually finding the funghi itself. Will they be in the same spot as last year? Some have never failed me for twenty years or more thanks to my little black book and their location of course. 

My shrooming trips have been as rare as my fishing trips with only the odd poke around on my journey to and from work. The last few weeks have seen quite a few Agaricus (field mushrooms) as the season has wetted up a bit, but no Wood or Field Blewits at my usual haunts. I live in hope, as in previous years I have had them right up to the Christmas period. Boxing Day has been the latest I have enjoyed Field Blewits on toast.

 

My weaponry has pretty much been the same for a few years now, but I could not resist the Opinel knife (above, far left) which I came across rather surprisingly in a local shop. It has just entered service and was duly christened by taking the glorious Chicken of the Woods (Laetporus sulphureus) that you can see below.

 

 

 

 

The other knives are also favourites and get an outing every now and again - the two middle knives were very welcome purchases on a Tuscan adventure and the knife on the far right has particular sentimental value as it was my very first dedicated shrooming knife.

 

A Somerset willow basket and firkling / furkling / fettling stick complete the set up, and more often than not these days I tend to have a pocket magnifier to hand. The stick that accompanies me on every trip is ideal for turning over leaves and woodland flotsam. A joyful item hand made for me by my good friend Styx the boatman.

 

The season is young, so i'll endeavour to bring good news to these shores soon. 

 

 

Come on my beauties, you can do it!



 

Market Finds No 3

 

Ahoy! What a corker she is - A typical market bargain, I won't tell you how much, but it certainly was the must have item this week. Hand made with a fully working rudder and propeller, it was found nestled amongst the usual rust and dust of a house clearance.............calling for a home where it would be admired.

 

We put our very own Tintin and Snowy aboard for its maiden voyage on home waters - there will be many more adventures to follow.

 

In my excitement I didn't notice it already had a name - ATLAS in lovely raised type. I was going to call it HADDOCK or KARABOUDJAN after the good captains merchant vessel, but my very own good captain pointed out that this vessel had already been christened. Bad luck don't you know to re-name a boat!   

A Sussex Adventure and Sweet Chavender

Our eagerly awaited jaunt to the edge of the Sussex Downs could not have come sooner..........de-humidifiers left on warp speed for two weeks would do our lovely home the world of good and on locking the door we could at least try to forget the torment of recent weeks.

I know little of Sussex - I have friends who live and fish there and I've been beguiled by a friends story of how he completed the South Downs Way and other than a Sherlock Holmes story of a Sussex Vampyre it has passed me by. It's always been on my list of places to investigate though.

The two weeks flew by, almost as quickly as our de-humidifiers, and fishing was never far from my mind - for me as an angler not to have cast a line for anything since the glorious 16th of June was torture. Plans were hatched to at least wet a line on my return home, so I contented myself with taking in the sun, drinking the local ale and drinking the words of John Gierach. My pals Fennel and Demus had both gifted me Gierach books in recent times and I'm ashamed to say they had not been reached in my reading pile so in honour of them both I fast tracked them to top o' pile.

There must have been some sort of harmonic convergence going on as by the end of the first week I still hadn't found a corker of a beer or a corker of a pub - these are the must haves for me on an adventure...........I had found a nice little bottled ale, very pleasant lightly chilled at the beach (Arundel Brewery Sussex Gold), but it was just alright, something was missing. I remember having a chat with Bernard Venables about how we would both spend hours driving around on family trips trying to find the right pub and the right beer.......many would be rejected to the amazement of passengers and this is what I am like too, it has to be just right, one element out of place and it's no good. I know some of my other friends do this too, so it can't just be me.

Courtesy Demus Canning

Then it happened, we had returned from the beach and my phone rang, it was Ferneyhough to see how things were - "you must try the Black Horse at Byworth" he said. "It's just your cup of tea, I wrote about it in Casting at The Sun and I think we even had a Golden Scale bash or two there in the 80's before you joined, give it a go, it may be just what you are after" - it was. Flowerpots, Andwells and Langhams brew ale that could have been made by the fairies as I had never heard of them, I soon became well acquainted.

I had made great plans to visit all sorts of places, drag the children to far flung corners of the downs, take in Ravilious vistas and generally arse about but all we did and all we needed to do was recharge and this we did mainly on the beach which was alright by me. Perhaps another time.

So, I am pleased to say that since returning home life is slowly returning to some sort of normality..............I have actually been fishing and after such an enforced sabbatical it would always be my bolt hole that is the Avon that won the toss for the venue.

Scalding temperatures meant evening would be my best bet, but after so long on the sidelines I actually arrived as mist was whorling off the meadows and river. A secret nook by a small sallow bush which is known to contain a monster or two was where I layed my jacket as a seat and dropped a huge lobworm into the slow river just my side of the crease. I could see chub, barbel and bream and I really did not care who was hungry for my bait and rather fittingly it was a glorious chub that was first to oblige. I adore Avon chub. Then two Avon bream followed of around 6-7lbs each - now I have never been a fan of bream since a week in Ireland as a schoolboy in the back of a mini-bus with the rest of the school angling society. Coupled with the stench of a weeks bream slime from bream bashing on the Shannon to keep us company and the vomit from six unwashed twelve year old schoolboys high on bream you may understand where this prejudice came from.

I put the two splendid bream down to my lucky vintage Portmeirion bream tea mug, it always brings me some sort of luck on the Avon. I had a few more chub before going down with barbel fever and duly caught nothing more. I should have listened to my rational self - ignore those double figure barbel that keep ghosting in over your bait, you don't need one today - enjoy the moment and if one comes along then thank him most profusely. Barbel fever kicked in and it served me right that they were too canny for me.   

As night fell I was more than happy with my lot -  time is a great healer and I do now actually like bream - well, Avon bream. They do seem a bit different........less slimy!      

Pugwash Rule!

It's a fine thing to have a soundtrack to summer - a soundtrack to anything is good in fact, but the mighty Pugwash win the acolade from me for putting a spring in my step, a smile on my face and making all good with the world after the headfuck of late - I thank you!

I loved the album that they did with Neil Hannon as The Duckworth Lewis Method and rumour has it that more is to follow. Their recently released album 'The Olympus Sound' has never been far away from me over the last few weeks. It's utterly charming with fairground organ, bells, whistles, kazoo and contributions from fine chaps Ben Folds, Neil Hannon and Andy Partridge which make it a psych-pop classic. I do hope they tour these shores soon.    

July fill-dyke

Apologies for the the lack of WGRM activity of late...........my last posts were filled with optimism as the coarse fishing season had begun which would make up for the lack of trout action and the adventures under a summer sun to follow would certainly make up for the awful weather.

Then it rained even more..............I've always really liked the painting by Benjamin Williams Leader 'February Fill Dyke' but I'm not so sure I will look at it in the same light. After a months worth of rain fell upon already sodden ground in a day which in turn caused some of the worst flooding in West Dorset for nearly thirty years, we were flooded. Out of house and home and as you can imagine the damage and heartache were immense.

It was early July and I'm a bit miffed it all happened before St Swithin's Day (15 July) as being a believer of such folklore we would have got away with it as July 15th was very pleasant indeed. Some agricultural pals take this date very seriously as it eases the stress at harvest time. Rain on this day and it brings much anxiety.

Oh St Swithin if thou'll be fair,

For forty days shall rain nae mair,

But if St Swithin's thou be wet,

For forty days it raineth yet.

Needless to say the sun has shone a fair old bit since St Swithin's this year - at least we can dry the house with the sun on our backs! Thanks for all the pleasant messages from friends and strangers alike - you are most kind.

Hatful of hollow

I've always had a mild obsession with hollow lanes, deep lanes, dark lanes or whatever you want to call them - ever since I had to walk on foot to a rather lovely carp pool in my youth they have never been far away from my mind. The return walk used to terrify me as I invariably packed up just into dark. My father was on strict instructions to be waiting with car headlights on and torch in hand ready to drive me home.

They seem to be rather in vogue at present what with the rather glorious writing of Roger Deakin and Robert Macfarlane, but you can't help but come across them in this part of West Dorset.

A period of intense rain brought us down with a severe case of cabin fever so we decided to go on an adventure to a particular favourite - the excitement of three children between the ages of two and eight was a joy to behold. Between them they have an interest in Bill Badger, hedgehogs, Harry Potter and BB's gnomes so you can imagine the conversation as we dropped into and onto this ancient route.

Their inquisitive and investigative nature had them peering up, down, into cavernous badger setts, forks and holes in trees wondering what creatures may live there and what passed along this track the night before. We heard a raven overhead and then came upon a buzzard devouring a slow worm - i'm not sure who was more surprised.

The most excellent antiquarian Alfred Watkins thought that some were etched in prehistoric times as notches to give sight lines to and from fords and hill passes. The atmosphere certainly reflects the generations of foot, hoof and cart wheel that have carved each of the hollow lanes................................two of my children agreed to return with me at dusk in the holidays, we shall wait and see.................I fear the memory of the carp pool deep lane is still too fresh in my mind.

 

Cool Dude!

Julius Drewe of Castle Drogo, Devon at Faskally 1902

The Glorious Sixteenth

I'm getting twitchy. I always do around this time as the excitement mounts, eventually hitting boiling point at midnight tomorrow. At that hour the coarse fisherman's Christmas Day will have arrived - the glorious sixteenth will see the traditional coarse fisherman's season begin.

I will be fishing for carp, possibly wild carp with the same friends, at the same mist shrouded pool, same time, same rockets, beer and traditions as I always have done - in this ever busy world I'm so pleased it is the one constant in my life - it never changes and may that always be the case. 

The only fly in the ointment are the fish! They may or may not want to say hello and be admired by us.........that's the fun of it, the expectation - will it be an ancient uncaught monster or a dry net! It doesn't matter. Just being there is enough.

I usually think of BB (DJ Watkins-Pitchford) at the start of the coarse fishing season (especially when carp are the quarry) and will raise my pint glass at some stage to him in appreciation. That's him pictured below with his carp rod and reel - BB was the grandfather of carp fishing in this country.......not as hard nosed as those who came after him, he liked to smell the roses along the way. It was reading his 1950 masterpiece "Confessions of a Carp Fisher" in the school library that got me really hooked on Carp - I doubt the book is still there, but I have BB, Bernard Venables and Oliver Kite all to thank for sending me on a journey of discovery that still excites me today.

If you, like me, will be doing something similar for the glorious sixteenth then I hope your dreams come true and the sun shines on you and that your cane rod creaks with happiness.

    

Market Finds No 2

I have a liking for ephemera. If it's railway related even better, so you can imagine my excitement with this little lot of paper all for less than a couple of pounds. Many of the stations are long gone, but certainly not forgotten.

Those which stood on the iconic Somerset & Dorset line have a fascination as I often walk what remains of the line when fishing the Dorset Stour ......... the atmosphere at night is most pleasing. After a misty autumn day on the river I often dream of ending the day with a pint in the Silent Whistle with the sound of steam and the "Pines Express" rattling by.