Monday, August 20, 2012

Beauty on the edge of the Fens

I fell across this place today. A magical stretch of the Nar miles from anywhere, where water surges through an old mill-race under a ramshackle bridge, speeds headlong across a riffle, through a long-demolished sluice, into a deeper pool.

I'm no chub angler, but it screamed chub. Dace flashed on the shallows - I can't remember the last time I saw a shoal of dace - while a thick black tail or two waved beneath the streamer weed.

What a glorious, glorious place. Flies were hatching on a steadier run above a bend, with the odd dimple as fish tucked into the free feed.

I wonder how many more places like this lie forgotten, where the fish never see an angler as the river winds through the meadows, keeping its secrets to itself.

1 comment:

  1. It looks beautiful - I still can't understand the addiction some people have to commercials when, well, you can fish somewhere as alluring as this.

    I should probably qualify that: I do understand how aspects of angling have become commodified - and on a frightening scale since I last did any angling* - but I don't see the attraction in commercial venues where this is an alternative.

    * The late 1980s...gulp