Gawn Fishing...

I’ve always fancied having a go at fly fishing. Only problem is that it’s not a sport you can just turn up and have a go. You need the right equipment for starters which costs a fortune and then a licence to boot. Not only that, learning how to cast requires the tutelage of someone already proficient in the skill. Well, wifey’s Old Man, Geoff, I was advised, is a dab hand at fly fishing and what’s more, he had bundles of kit and no-one to go with!

So a couple of weeks ago after a bit of web research, Geoff and I found ourselves at a fly fishing pool near Bridgnorth. We had with us the sort of bag boys love; full of interesting oddities and closed boxes that had not seen the light of day since they were closed away some 15 years ago. Each revealed an array of flies, some brightly coloured, some shiny, some sparkling in the sun, and all incredibly intricate and skilfully created.

There were already several guys fishing at the pool and after exchanging pleasantries with a couple, we headed off to a quiet spot.

Now there really is no substitute for having a go yourself and thankfully the Geoff concurred. He showed me a couple of casts and then I was off on my own having a go with the spare rod. I soon got the hang of it, albeit somewhat weak and lacking in distance.

No such problems for the master though. Geoff rolled back the years in a vintage display of fly fishing. He caught his first on a particular kind of fly called ‘The missionary’ (Every time he said that thereafter, I was childishly forced to stifle a belly laugh)

So I swapped my fly to the same one too…..Nothing.

So we swapped places and continued fishing.…Nothing.
So we swapped back…and he promptly caught his second after a couple of casts.
To add insult to injury, fish were mocking me, jumping out of the water all around me in some kind aquatic trout circus …...

(I wasn’t frightening them with amateurish and clumsy casts).

In short I caught sod all. To make matters worse, all but 1 other person on the pool caught a fish that morning. However I wasn’t unbowed. In fact I loved every minute of it. Having agreed with Geoff that we should make this a regular thing, he promptly gave me a rod and reel from his collection. An exceedingly generous gift and one that I now am compelled to use as soon as another session can be arranged.

Watch out Mr Trout, there’s a Goodchild about…

t

The pool....

The missionary fly; the name of which invoked much hilarity. (the actual image is somewhat disappointing compared to that which I conjured up in my mind’s eye)

Mousey Mousey.....(weird dreams)

Last night I dreamed that I was contracted to train a mouse to run up the side of a van.

Unsurprisingly, the mouse couldn’t gain purchase on the slippery van sides. What irked me more was that my colleague was performing the same task but with a gecko. Unfairly disadvantaged I was considering taking my grievance to ‘The Management’ when fate intervened and I woke up.

Clinincal pshycologists, do your worst….

Exploring the past at Hinkshay (Historical industrial Telford)

With my hiatus in continuance, yesterday I took a chance to enjoy some wonderful sunshine and took off in the direction of Telford Town Park, with a flask of tea and an OS map. My Raison D’être was to locate the Hinkshay pools; remnants ofTelford’s long forgotten golden era of industry. There are 2 pools to be found – the Lower Pool was formed when the dam retaining the Upper Pool (a balancing lake for the canal system) burst. A short stretch of the flooded canal also remains.

I don’t know why I’ve become interested in this bygone era. Perhaps it is a wanting to connect more with Telford or simply curiosity. Either way, I set off in the sunshine and without much trouble (I’m good at reading maps) I found the pools at the bottom of a steep wooded copse.I was tired so I took my leave and had a cuppa by the banks of a crystal clear pool some 10 feet deep and flat calm. It was truly remarkable and delightful that in the midst of the urban sprawl of Telford I could find such tranquillity. The fact that it was Tuesday mid-morning probably helped, but these places are so few travelled by locals that I think you could easily find such solitude on any given weekend. More rare of course, in these busy modern times, is to be able to indulge oneself in a whole day of such pursuits.

When the warm sunny days approach, wifey and I are quick to jump in the car and get out of Telford as quick as possible. But a newfound interest in Telford’s past has opened up a rich and wonderful landscape right on our doorstep: and its there for you all to experience if you simply look close enough.