I have been back for a couple more of my Sunday, 45 minute challenges. One of them was this morning, a Wednesday, because, due to the odd nature of the catholic church and its feast days, my wife "had" to attend today. Not to worry, a ready threaded rod, a disgorger and a single slice of bread were added to the car, secretly, before we set out.
The last Sunday challenge had been a blank, didn't get my choice of swim, or rather my choice of hole in the weeds. But it was nevertheless worth the trip, as a kingfisher soon made his presence known, by diving and catching what looked like a tiny rudd. Several species of dragonfly and damselfly darted and danced above the water surface, and a large brown dragonfly landed on a small protruding wooden post, not a yard from me. Putting its oviposter into the water it appeared to lay an egg, or perhaps some eggs, before flying off again. Not too much can be expected in what turns out to be no more than 30 minutes by the waterside, but this half hour certainly had its gems.
Today's "Sunday Challenge" was more about the fishing. No one else on the pond, casting into the tiny open space in the weeds was made more difficult by the side wind. But with a pinch of flake on the hook, the float hit the spot, and almost immediately twitched and sailed slowly to the right. A strike resulted in a two ounce rudd, wearing its full coat of red and gold, shimmering in the sunlight. A second cast produced a similarly sized tench, which used all its strength and slipperyness to try and evade my grasp. They really are "as slippery as an eel", but at the same time very pleasant to touch.
But I just love crucian carp, fishing for them is rather like catching little teddy bears, they just seem such cuddly little fish. They don't even need to be big: larger ones, especially from heavily fished waters often look to be old warriors, but the smaller specimens are invariably quite delightful.
So: five fish in about 30 minutes, half a dozen casts: the Sunday challenge has been very well met this Wednesday morning, and I return to pike up my wife, with an unexplained grin on my face.
A grin that remains, as I realise my Freudian mistyping of the word "pick" in the last sentence.