The old man was there again, and he obviously had a good fish on, judging by the bend in his rod. We watched him land the fish with a long handled net from the high bank.
“Looks like another good one for the old man,” my companion remarked, “he certainly does seem to do well over there, hardly anybody else fishes the place, too dark under the trees and very difficult to cast, the high bank is a nuisance as well, he must be good to get fish there.”
Continue reading “The Old Man – by Mike Connor”
Rivers and streams change constantly. Gravel and sand shifts, even large rocks are moved in time. Banks are eroded. Floods change the way the river bends and flows. Some features though, seem to be almost permanent from year to year.
When I first saw it, on my first visit to the new water belonging to the club I had just joined, the bush was bare, its branches looked gaunt and naked, and the tangle of roots at its base was also lacking the cloak of weed which would cover them in summer. It was early spring, and a solitary fly hanging forlornly from one of the low branches, gave the lie to my idea that I might have been the first visitor to the water this year.
Continue reading “Changes – by Mike Connor”