Out not long after sun-up, no other cars in the nearest place you can park to the Saving Private Ryan swim. Looking good as I strap on the walking boots, sling the noticeably-lighter ruck sack on my back, followed by the quiver and set off across the fields.
When I get there with a song to spare on the Marillion album, I can still feel my arms as I start putting the rods together. I'm checking the hooks when I see a big disturbance 20 yards up the drain. So I decide to start there, keeping my eyes skinned in case I spot anyone else heading for the Saving Private Ryan swim.
Floats out either side of it, I can't fish tight against the head-wind because the leads are too small. No worries, I have a couple of spares in my pruned-down kit. On they go and I can tighten up to the floats and stop the wind blowing the line all over the shop.
Looking up and down, I see a big swirl in the margins a few yards further up. A few yards further than I can cast to in this wind, so I up sticks for another move.
The floats are sock-on again, just over the near shelf where the fish swirled. If I made notes of depths, drew maps and all that sort of thing, I'd be noting the depth's pretty uniform along this bit of drain.
I see a car in the distance, so I reel the rods in, pack my kit away and head back for the Saving Private Ryan swim. It's still barely 10am. It looks the mutt's nuts.
When the float on the left hand rod slides away 10 minutes later, I pull into what feels like a good fish that comes adrift after a couple of violent thumps. So the first pike of 2012 makes good its escape.
The picture's not the Saving Private Ryan swim, or anywhere near it. I snapped it off a bridge the other day, while I was out for a wander.
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