A beautiful and typical late summer’s morning this morning. The temperature a comfortable 10 degrees at 6:30 am, the sun brightly shining from its low point in the nearing-autumnal sky, and the low lying fog is sitting stubbornly in the hollows of the valleys and hills waiting to be burnt away. It’s a photographers dream and the type of morning that makes you glad to be alive and happy after all to be living in England.
The birds have been awake now for an hour and a half, and as the blackbirds are skipping in the dewy grass searching for the early worm you can almost hear the swallows starting to pack their winter suitcase before they start their annual exodus to Africa. It’s breathlessly still and I know that its going to be a great day.
The house is still asleep as I slip out of the front door and start the car. The windows are covered and need a blast from the demister and a swish of the wipers to clear them before I slip quietly down the road and head off down the road.
Normally I would throw in the towel and accept that I have to work to live and that it will be okay, but this morning it’s a bit different as I know that the rest of the week – and weekend – may be grim, also at least 2 of my evenings are taken up with other things – and the darker evenings are closing in. I should just forget it and accept the realities of life – but its very difficult as I head down the A59 with my head pointing to work and my heart pointing to the river.
Last week whilst out fishing I met a smashing chap who has recently retired and seems to be dedicating his new freedom to casting a fly wherever he can. I have to admit I am insanely jealous as I would love nothing more than for us to be able to live the life that we are accustomed to without the shackles of work, but I know that this won’t be a reality in my household for some years.
Off down the road, pushing all thoughts of fishing out of my mind so that I can concentrate on the day at work.
That is until I crossed the Ribble.
As if to taunt me there are a couple of anglers waded out into the river, each with a large gye net strapped to his back casting a salmon line across the water in the early morning sun. I know that the river is almost perfect and I reckon that their chances must be pretty good – everything looks fishy! They must have woken up as I did and as if reading my mind set out to make the most of the day.
In a way I’m sick as would love to be with them, but in another way I am glad that at least somebody is making the best of the idyllic English August morning. It was with mixed feelings that I turned on to the motorway and left them in the rear view mirror.
Good luck guys – I hope that the fish are running – but even if they aren’t I guarantee that you will have a fantastic morning on this beautiful day.
Perhaps Tuesday evening?