There is a lot to be said for goats. They wander round in flocks ringing their little bells. I bump into them on the river all the time and yesterday after I was done fishing I followed a herd back to the car where we parted company. I don´t know how many there were and, frankly, I had better things to do than count the damn things. This is not an easy job anyway. They move around a lot and so you could end up counting the same goat twice or maybe miss one completely. This is a job best left to specialists, in my opinion, or to insomniacs who find the counting of ruminants helpful in ameliorating the stresses caused by sleeplessness. Continue reading
Category: Natural history
I had no time to go fishing yesterday but went anyway. I figured I needed to be home within an hour and that the journey to the river would take 10 minutes, then another 5 minutes to tackle up, and then another 5 to reach a broad shallow where you can find the odd carp. And of course the return leg would take just as long. All of this mental arithmetic was carried out on my way to the river and the upshot of it all was that I would have only a few minutes to try to catch anything. It didn´t matter a jot though. I was going fishing anyway. Continue reading
It pissed rain last night and the unrelenting downpour was such intensity that it would get the Noahs of this world asking themselves “have I got two of everything?!” There was lightning too and claps of shuddering thunder that had the dogs scratching at the front door. And then today began with open clear skies and a warm sun. Puddles on the track outside mirroring the blue sky were all that gave testament to the dramas of the previous night.
The river was swollen with rainwater. I brought the rod when I went to look, first at the Guadalhorce and then at the Río Grande in the vague hope that a quiet eddy might have a few fish I could try for. I lowered my rod top into the stained water to test the visibility and it was no more than an inch or two and it soon became clear that fly fishing was a simply not on the cards. Continue reading
The fish had the last laugh on the river this afternoon. The only one I did manage to hook flew off as though he had been fired from a cannon and then buried himself in a pile of weeds. When I finally caught up with him and waded into the river to extract my leader from the weeds he got away. Good luck to him. You can´t beat a bit of initiative. Continue reading
An odd thing happened this afternoon as I was exploring a little section of the Río Grande. I looked down on the arm of my short-sleeve shirt and realised I had snagged a some little twigs, probably as I had been pushing through some brush, and it was only as I was set to brush them off that I realised it was a praying mantis. Continue reading
Bird watching is not rocket science. All you need is a notebook, a pair of binoculars and some kind of bird identification book.
Pippa and I reckoned that even a couple of morons like us could manage that. In the event we had no binoculars. I do actually own a pair have but they got drenched one time I took them fishing, and using them is like looking through a submarine periscope while the sub is still underwater, during the night.
When we were on our outward journey we realized that the notebook and pen were at home on the table, just beside the RSPB Complete Guide to the Birds of Britain and Europe. Continue reading
My friend Harry Abbott has fished all over the place but one of the most unusual fishing destinations has been the remote jungle rivers of Thailand. He has often told me how interesting his experiences there were, not just from a fishing point of view, but from the point of view of wildlife and culture.
He was digging around in his computer the other day and found a couple of entries from his Thailand diary and sent them over to me. They are fascinating, and he was kind enough to let me reproduce them here together with some of the photographs he took at the same time.
Take it away Harry…… Continue reading
On the way to the river yesterday I noticed bee-eaters on the telegraph wires as soon as I turned off the A357 and onto the rough track that leads to the Guadalhorce, and when I saw them it occurred to me that I had not seen these beautiful birds for at least a couple of months. They have been further north and now they are heading to Africa. Today they are on the telegraph wires in southern Andalucía, soon they will have the Mediterranean under their wings and, shortly after, the Sahara.
It remains very hot but the sting of July´s oppressive heat and humidity seems to be easing. They say that July was the hottest month here that has ever been recorded here.
It is not obvious that the summer is drawing to a close but it is waning, almost imperceptibly slowly. Changes are on their way and the bee-eaters know this. Continue reading
When I was at the CLA gamefair in Leeds recently I had an opportunity to attend a presentation on Jim Corbett, the legendary hunter and conservationist who is remembered for killing a number of man-eating leopards and tigers in India in the early part of the last century.
This talk was given by a representative of the famous gun makers, John Rigby & Co. and, during the presentation, members of the audience were invited to hold one of the most famous sporting rifles in the world, a .275 bolt-action rifle which was presented to Corbett in 1907 for shooting the single most prolific individual man-eater in history, the Tigress of Champarat. Continue reading
I have just come from the CLA game fair at Harewood House, just outside Leeds, where I was signing copies of a book that has just been published. The publisher is Coch-y-bonddu books and they sell and print books on an enormous variety of subjects. If you are interested in fishing, hunting, working dogs, falconry, natural history and all kinds of “outtdoorsy” things they are the people to go to.
The company was set up by Paul Morgan with whom I have collaborated on the book over the last three years or so and Paul was at the fair accompanied by Luke Edwards, Jane Kelsall and Marion Griffiths who are part of the Coch-y-bonddu team. They were joined by Ken Callahan who is another bookseller from New England and a longtime friend of Paul Morgan. Ken has a fine beard but not a whole lot of hair north of his eyebrows and he reminded me a little of Charles Darwin. It has to be said that, coming from a biology teacher, saying that a person reminds them of Darwin is the highest form of praise. Ken seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of the literature relevant to his work and no end of other things besides and was and was a pleasure to listen to. I´m sure the real Darwin would have had little to say about the shortcomings of American airline security or the worryingly reduced life expectations of professional American Football players. Continue reading
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