I think I know where we'll catch a few. Conditions are perfect yet again for the Saving Private Ryan swim.
Minimum kit, all in one rucker. One net. One set of unhooking tools. One set of scales, sling, camera etc.
Two anglers. One vision, as Freddie Mercury might well have sung, had he not shuffled off this mortal coil and joined the Choir Invisible before discovering the joys of pike fishing.
A mile yomp later and someone's beaten us to it. A familiar character from years gone by is tucked away with four rods bang on the money. We look up the drain and don't fancy the rest of it, so another mile later we're back in the motor.
Two other swims catch our eye on another stretch of the same water. But they're 30 yards apart and we only have one of everything, so we cram into one alternating the rods.
Along comes the Chipper Bailiff. "Bloke further up had one right when I was standing behind him," he says. "Double figure zander."
One of my blobs disappears as we're chatting and I Chipper Bailiff reckons he's brought me luck too as I chin out an eight pounder that turns out to be the only fish of the day.
TLC gets a run, hops down the bank and picks the wrong rod up. By the time he's picked up the right rod, the fish has dropped it.
No sooner have I stopped laughing about this, I get a twitchy run, pick the rod up and miss it.
Where you going next week..? Asks TLC as we reel in to pack up. Not here again mate, I say.
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