Sunday, January 06, 2013
Three nil to the dreaded mitten crabs
I stick on a thick eel section, thinking this should beat them and leave something on the end for the pike in case one comes creeping up the margins. After a repeat of the bob-bob-tug-tug routine, I reel in the bait and find something's sliced chunks out of it.
The river looked half hopeful, once I'd got there through the fog-shrouded Fens. It was pulling off hard but had obviously been three or four feet higher at some point over the last 24 hours or so. Two ounce leads and big sea floats held station in the flow, line tightened so it was off the water.
The fog never cleared. The Chipper Bailiff stopped by and tipped me about an eight pounder someone landed in the next swim a day or two earlier. I debate whether to move but decide not to chase a known eight pounder.
posted at 17:31