Class thread. Now what's the best non rapist clobber anyone?

The pics have the look of colour enhancement but that's what advertisers do,its all about the product.
Generally speaking,bright sunlight and sunny,clear skies are rubbish for photography, hence the need for photoshopping pictures. Otherwise the pics come out flat and dull.
Still,can't knock paid for advertisers, it also helps with forum costs.

Mole!

'Liking' posts 39 onwards.

I've got 9' and 13' rods. I'm dumping the 12's and have just purchased some 11'ers.
Even numbers are like, so square maaaaan, so,er,like yesterday dude.
Scratches short back and slap and rubs beard thoughtfully while buffing Vass chesties to a pristine gleam with cuff from battered fair isle sweater.

In reply to Post #82
What a relief. Any pictures to back that up?

In reply to Post #14
Brilliant!
And spot on, it's a fad, like vass chest waders, rods whose distance apart is measured in mm and the latest over complicated rig.

Sounds like a sure fire way to blow a flavour on the given water. Good for holiday visits where it wouldn't matter so much.

In reply to Post #1494
Part 2


The air was cold-too cold, even for that time of year and I really felt that somehow, things were not ‘right', but cannot really explain how. There were no owls hooting, no bats about..not even any midges bothering to bite. The water looked black and oily and I was getting a bit concerned by the cattle in the field opposite. Normally, they would wander around peacefully, mostly quiet but tonight it was as if –well, it's a bit difficult to describe. Stampeding around continually and bellowing their heads off. The bank opposite is quite steep; you can't access the pool from there because of the rock face. On the skyline opposite there are-were-several trees which shaded the pool and I noticed several head of cattle lined up there trying to get down the bank-as if they were trying to get away from something. Yes, I know it sounds silly, but that is how it appeared then. Then, one either lost it's footing, slipped , fell or jumped, scrabbling down the bank and falling in with a tremendous splash... time to go! A rapid reel-in, quick check that nothing was left behind, but found that the torch had failed; never mind, I knew every step of the way back and had just started off when several more of the cattle came tumbling down the bank, crashing into the water in panic. I just didn't want to be there anymore and headed back downriver to the bridge at a quickening pace. O.K. it may sound a bit'windy' but I felt a sense of relief to be back on the road away from that place. As quietly as possible (not easy) I trod the steps from the gate to the stable door, pushed it open and climbed up into the loft and switched on the light. The flood of stinging yellow light and stable air brought a sense of reality and comfort and, after a welcome coffee, decided to have a kip and try the old Rock Pool downstream at first light-often a very productive time.

......It was still pitch black outside. I cannot recall the time, or for how long I had dozed, but something caused me to be wide awake in an instant..I remember straining my ears for sounds, but heard nothing but the usual ghostly echoing sound of the river under the bridge and into the cold night air. Then..I heard it definitely, it was not imagination, there was someone outside, moving very slowly and carefully, but the gravel betraying them. The steps were slow but very deliberate.
I lay absolutely motionless on the bunk, felt for the light switch-praying it would not fail when needed..and waited. After several minutes-it seemed, one or two more footsteps ..and the heavy door downstairs juddered quietly..and opened.
Who was it..? What-who did they want..? Although over half a century ago now, I can never forget that moment. It was cold, cowardly fear as I heard-and felt the weight of a foot placed on the first rung of the steps. Then the second..third-and fourth. There was a distinct pause and then the top step and I knew then that someone..something, was standing in the loft area, on the other side of the wooden dividing door.
It would take three or four steps to cross to the partition and I freely admit to feeling nothing but fear, both hearing and feeling, three quiet steps on the wooden floor outside.. Only a door separated me from-I knew not what..

I have absolutely no notion of what time elapsed, just lay there hardly daring to breathe, remaining motionless on the bunk with a clammy hand on the light switch; a simple bicycle toggle switch and I prayed that the somewhat ‘dodgy' connections would work..

You know how you feel when you're winding yourself up to do something? I decided to go for it, make the quickest movement of my life by switching the light, going for the door and kicking it open..-all in one! Whatever was there I decided to confront it-or forever live in fear.
After several mental rehearsals..it was GO! Light on and go for the door! Kicking it open I was confronted with...

...Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I might well have imagined it, except that the stable door, which I had definitely closed behind me, was open and a cool draft of night air came up into the loft. It would have been quite impossible to descend the ladder and move quietly on the gravel outside; so, what had I experienced..?

I wasn't dreaming, most certainly both heard and felt what I have just described and have been unable to make sense of it ever since, from that night to this. The only other factor was that when the light came on, the intense feeling of cold air just melted away and became just,-well, normal.
I went down and closed the door, bolting it behind me and sat on the bunk until daybreak, all thoughts of fishing forgotten.

Maybe I'll go and fish that pool again one night.. ..maybe.

In reply to Post #1493
Part 1

This is an extract from a manuscript, yet to be published. It is something which occurred about 50 years ago and, considering the nature of this thread, may be of some interest to readers..


..Within the compass of our lives, there has probably been-or will be-a moment or occurrence which seems to fly in the face of all logic, has no rationale and defies every plausible explanation. Not necessarily malevolent, just something the human mind cannot nail down and move on from. Something remembered even decades later, because it was so extraordinary at the time.

This is the closest I have been to the surreal and unexplainable. Today, half a century later, I am no closer to the truth than then. Make of the following what you will...

A season or two had passed before I returned to the river and the place where I grew up; the new tenants were a large family, not unknown in the river valley.
Les Knight, the head of the household, was a farm labourer, very worthy of his hire, whose small but tough, wiry frame knew nothing but hard work and toil. He permanently wore a beret on the side of his head, perhaps a retainer from wartime service days, had incredibly kind eyes and gentle expression-and spoke the Queens' English with quiet, utter perfection.
Mrs Knight was somewhat taller, very thin and dark-eyed, possessing a violent shock of once-black-but tinged with grey, thick wavy hair; entirely natural but nevertheless, somewhat intimidating to children with a fertile imagination! In fact, years before it was widely held amongst us that Mrs. Knight was a witch (quite untrue) and possessed many mystical powers. Her mere presence on the bus would command 100% respect mixed with fear and utter silence from all the schoolchildren, to the complete mystification of their parents! The Knight family were in fact, most kind people who always welcomed me into their home,-but such is the imagination of the young..

The house by the bridge was originally built in the late eighteenth or nineteenth century as a gamekeepers lodge for the estate, but now a tied cottage to one of the estate farms. Much later-I think 1901 or 1903, a small, four-square stable was added next to the house a few yards away, both buildings set inside the gate and adjacent to the road. A rough, dusty gravel path was outside.
The stable was largely used for storage, much as we had done, but Les had had a Lister diesel generator installed in the rearmost part, to supply the luxury of electric light to the house! The Lister was only cranked up and run during the evening time and depite the exhaust being muffled with an old milk churn outside, you could hear the rapid but steady ‘tonk-tonk-tonk-tonk' for miles, both up-and down river!

Access to the front part of the stable was by means of a very heavily made oak door and huge iron latch. The door always stuck slightly in the frame and always groaned a bit of a judder when initially pushed open. It probably still does. Once inside and a yard-or two in front, was a most sturdily built, wooden step ladder of five rungs about two feet width, leading to the upper loft part where we once housed all kinds of fowl. Here, Les had divided the loft area with a crude partition of vertical wooden planks, with a door for access opposite the top of the trap entrance. On the other side of the divider door, on the right-hand side, was a small bunk bed and some rudimentary pieces of furniture, these appointments completed by an ancient Victorian framed print on the wall! Fixed to the wall was a modified cycle lamp, powered by a 12volt car battery and toggle switch. Simple but essentially, very effective.
Les knew that I liked to fly-fish the witching hours for sea trout and had made this simple refuge for when the fishing was hard going and I could come back for a rest. He was a thoughtful and very kind man who liked fishing. He often came down late in the evening to watch but never took up the sport himself. A fish passed in from time-to-time maintained good relations between us.


..........It was a Friday afternoon and the omens for fishing that night were good. Warm and cloudy weather prevailed and I wasted no time in getting all together after work and heading out for the moors and valley on the old motor-cycle. I used to park it by the generator, inside the gate so it was safe, not that there was any need to worry in those days.
I spent the early evening with the family who knew I would be on the river that night and Les made sure the battery was charged and the thermos filled.
However, the weather was disappointing, the cloud clearing and the air turned chilly. The pool-my favourite, where I caught my first sea trout, looked good and there were definitely fish in it.
As darkness fell I began to fish but nothing whatsoever was moving..not even a small trout