After an hour or so on the pits with Hawkeye, I twitch the baits and one of the floats dithers and moves off against the breeze. I pull into what feels like a half decent pike, which comes off after a few head shakes as I pump it back towards me.
Deep down, I know what's happened before I even look at the trace. Blunt hooks, no excuses. I give them a few swipes with the sharpening stone, drop another bait on the same spot and we sit there for another 90 minutes waiting for it to go.
Parts of the pits were frozen. We drive around looking at a couple of other bits, before finding one without any ice on and the wind blowing into a corner. Hawkeye's in there like a flash and manages to miss one that nearly pulls his rod in.
Next chuck, he nails what was probably the culprit. He seems gutted when I tell him I'd give it 2lbs on a good day.
"So tell me - when the last time you caught one," he asks.
I look down at my shoes. I can't remember.
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