When Steve Lawler and I reached the second fishing spot he had planned to show me on Friday we both chickened out of the trek across an open filed to the shore of the reservoir. There were a few cattle in the field there and neither of us trusted them. In particular there were three shady characters standing in the shadow of a tree and one of them had a mean look in her eyes.

It is always in the back of your mind that Spain raises fighting bulls each year and that these are dangerous animals. Steve and I both looked at these hefty bovines through nervous eyes. There were quite a few scattered in that field and we did not inspect them all to ascertain whether they were bulls or cows because we were both distracted by long curved pointy things sticking out of their foreheads. Those horns and what they might do with them seemed much more relevant to us than any physical indications that animals themselves might be boys or girls.

We weighed up our options. To get from the fenced track to the water would have meant a fair trek across open country. If I were a betting man and had to put a few quid on a head to head race between either of us and a cow or a bull I think I know where the smart money would go. Neither Steve nor I are likely to be mistaken for olympic sprinters and we both know that if we were to be chased there was nowhere to hide. In the event of being charged I can only imagine that Steve would run off crying like a baby whereas I would, without taking a backward step, proceed to courageously wrestle the animal to the ground and then, after subduing it, I would send it on its way again with its tail between its legs. One of the reasons I write a blog is so that I get to say stuff like this and Steve, who has no say in the matter, is forced to read it!

So, in the end, we thought it would be prudent to smile graciously at the cattle while backing off and then to wish them a pleasant afternoon as we scrambled through a hole in the fence to safety.

And so, in the interest of health and safety, access to fishing spot number two was officially cancelled. But that is unlikely to have been catastrophic. The first site we fished yielded a few black bass and we had a couple more when we trotted off to fishing spot number three.

Fishing can be slow here and Friday was one of those slow days but neither Steve nor I were disappointed. We had managed to visit some beautiful country, enjoy a menu del día, catch a few fish and, in my case, take a nice cooling dip in a reservoir.

As an additional bonus, when we were done fishing for the day Steve pulled a couple of cans of Guinness out of a cooler and we enjoyed them with chunks cut from a pork pie. Life doesn´t get much better than this.

It is a truism that there is more to fishing than catching fish and Steve and I both subscribe to this view. In addition to catching a smattering of black bass we had enjoyed an afternoon of sunshine, good company, lovely scenery, a little booze and some tasty grub.

Not being trampled or gored by raging cows was just the icing on the cake.


Two top tier fly fishermen poised and ready for action



Cool plant

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Cool me!


Manna from heaven