We're in business, thinking tactically

The float wobbles and falls down a hole in the lake. We're in business, as I heave into a pondrous weight on the end that feels ponderously like a twenty. 

Bubbles fizz across the surface, as I pump it in towards the bank. Bits of weed float to the top as the weight on the end gets lighter. I glimpse a pike that looks like Bob Marley, until it shakes off the dreadlocks of pondweed and sulks under the rod top.

TLC stretches out to net it, expecting something slightly bigger than the six pounder glaring up at us as he sweeps it in over the top of the rushes. Must have been six pounds of pike and 15lbs of weed on the end, I shrug apologetically.

Beautifully-marked fish all the same, says TLC - taking a picture with his thumb partly obscuring the lens, leaving a black smudge across half the frame. Good job it wasn't a twenty after all, I say looking at the picture.

We were going to move, but the first run of the day cures the itchy feet. After half an hour, we wonder if it's the only pike in just about the only bit of this particular water we're technically allowed to fish.

After another conflab, we move to a banker swim on another water down the road. Fired up by Mick Brown's excellent talk at last night's King's Lynn PAC bash, we think tactically and spread the rods to cover shallows and a deep hole, close in and as far as I can heave a popped-up bluey and a three ounce lead.

The shadows are lengthening, as I heave a popped up bluey as far as I can heave a popped up bluey and a three-ounce lead. The bait popper and the bluey part company as they fly through the heavens.

I tighten up to find it's landed in some far flung weedbed. We sit silently, watching the bait popper slowly drift back towards us as the sun goes down behind the trees in a barrage of bird song.