New swims and time to go back to deads

The smell of fresh-mown grass greets me as struggle to open the car door against the teeth of the blow. When I walk down the path to the drain, I find it's changed somewhat overnight. There are gaps in the reeds that weren't there yesterday afternoon, when I took a look and decided to save it for another day.

Whoever's mown the banks hasn't just cut the grass - they've knocked down great swathes of the reeds growing along the banks, which had grown so thick there were hardly any swims.

Now there are lots of swims. Lots of swims which haven't seen any action since the last time someone mowed the field and did some collateral damage to the reedbeds.  I give it a couple of hours but I'm struggling with the lure rod in the wind.

I'm kicking myself because I could easily have fished a couple of deads - one dropped just over the flattened reeds, one cast across and twitched back. Just up the lead size until it holds. Time to go back to back to bait fishing, I decide, as I head home.


Excuse the dreadful pic, by the way - I left my camera in the car and had to resort to the phone to get a snap of it.