Archive for July, 2014

It is 36 degrees Celsius in the shade at the moment and the dogs, normally happy to sleep in the shade outside, are stretched indoors cooling their tummies on the tiles. Outside there is not much happening. The cicadas are doing their thing but almost everything else seems to be sitting out the hot hours in whatever shade is available. Here indoors, things are much the same for us. Grandad, who is staying with us for a couple of weeks, is having a snooze on the sofa because the cat is sleeping on his bed while Pippa is crashed out on mine!

Yesterday I spent the evening at the river. I arrived as the sting of the heat was beginning to subside and I stayed, not quite until darkness but until I had just landed a nice fish and didn´t give much for my chances of getting another before darkness arrived. Generally, the fish can be taken throughout the day, although during the mid summer they tend to have times when they succumb to the general torpor that afflicts us all. It is really the comfort of the angler that leads to the decision to approach the river early in the day, or very late. Continue reading

Today some bird told me that I was I was good looking. I was told this not just once but several times. This does not happen to me very often, as it happens, so I felt pretty flattered. More precisely I was called “guapo” the Spanish term for good looking, which is pretty much what you might expect here in rural Andalucía.

Things might have been even better if I had been called “guapo” by a human being but, like I said, it was a bird. My admirer was a red tailed parrot which, I understand, is also known of as an African Grey.

This particular bird was in a cage at a roadside service station on the A357. It had a pretty impressive repertoire which, in addition to “guapo,” included the greeting ¡hola! and I am sure it has a much broader vocabulary had we had time to become better acquainted. It was certainly well able to wolf whistle! Continue reading

I have fished this huge reservoir, the largest in Cadiz province, several times now, most recently with a little “band of brothers” consisting of myself, my son Leo and a few of his mates and, despite this, I came to realise I knew little enough about the reservoir itself.

I have since tried to make amends and what I have learnt is very interesting. For starters it is the water which has produced the heaviest bass recorded in Spain, a 4 kg whopper. This fish was taken in 2000 by a Malagueno. Continue reading

We have just returned from the Province of Cadiz, where we spent a couple of nights staying at a place called Tajo del Aguila on the shore of an enormous reservoir called Embalse de Guadalcacín.

The group consisted of me and my son Leo and three of his school buddies, Ryan Edwards, Damian Le Chat Lewis and Daniel Porter. Our aim was to see if we could catch a few black bass on the fly. Leo and Daniel had fished here before but both the reservoir and fly fishing were unknown to the others. Continue reading

When I was a kid, at about the age when I felt my first stirrings of sexual awareness, I came across a rather curious object. It was a pen. It had a picture of a woman in a bathing suit on its side. The curious thing was that when the pen was held upright, as it would be in use, the woman´s bathing costume slid down revealing her naked figure beneath. As far as I was concerned, this was an invention as awe inspiring as any I could imagine. It was right up there with the great pyramids of Egypt and the hanging gardens of Babylon. The human imagination is capable of great things and the “swimming costume” pen was testimony to our creativeness. Continue reading

My kids tell me that we are living in the 21st century. Fair enough, I will have to take their word for it. And one of the benefits of living in these enlightened times, they tell me, is that our lives are enriched by technology.

I´ve noticed this myself. If you find yourself in a social situation everyone seems to have their head buried in some little hand held device checking emails, finding out about the bowel movements of their favourite celebrity on Twitter, or just surfing the web. Boring old farts like me, who like to regale fishing stories to whoever happens to be sitting nearby, have our work cut out for us. Continue reading

Murray Thompson owns a fishing hut up in the high tussock country of central Otago in New Zealand. I have stayed there on a few occasions and, if I could afford either option, which I can not, I would sooner stay in Murray´s  fishing hut than in the honeymoon suite at the Ritz. Continue reading

It felt just a little bit odd today on the river. It was the first time I have fished alone for a little while and, although I enjoy the freedom this gives me, it has been fun to be out on the river with company. Continue reading