So it rained all day yesterday and I chose to visit the canal today, my birthday; to say the water was coloured would be an understatement, I may have been better casting my lures on the towpath. After far too long I drove back to my local lake to get a couple of hours in before sunset but it was to no avail. Despite the lack of fish, I was fishing which in fairness beats many of the alternatives
In preparation for this monumental day I had spent the previous evening down in the cellar making brass/copper spinner baits and jigs from some bar stock and sheet metal. I also threw together the ultimate quick make, balsa vibe lure which incorporates all of my annual profits as a weight (a five pence piece).
The lures all swam beautifully, the vibe lure vibed the spinner baits spun and the jig heads flew like well-aimed missiles, but where were the fish? Not catching does leave plenty of time for thinking and I came to the monumental realisation that pop music sounds like a continuous loop of shit advertising jingles and inversely jazz makes sense. Before I unearthed any further gems of wisdom the phone rang and when I answered I was treated to a rendition of happy birthday by some friends and their children. When the chorus subsided I told them I was just about to catch a fish and their phone call had ruined my chances, they apologised (well you have to blame somebody). They were phoning from the island of Mull and their little patch of land that overlooks Loch Scridain and giant sea cliffs of the Berg.
I remembered Mull again, living there and fishing, the endless summer days and the clarity of winter but most of all, the ocean. I said good bye and left the lake to the gathering dusk and the mist amongst the reeds.
Balfour Bay: Isle Of Erraid, Isle of Mull