Lame Duck & Dumb Luck

The barbers has that humid, shaving foam-perfumed atmosphere about it.

Outside the scene is hardly resplendent in its inundated monochrome state. Punctuated only by the ochre lettering of the art shop and the crimson of the takeaway.

The impenetrable ground lies glistening in the aftermath of the nights rain. Reflecting the drab street scape via myriad mirrored puddles.

A three hundred and sixty degree shearing - all but to the bone - the winter bites that bit more.

The forecast had been wrong. Instead of an increasingly emerging sun it was horizon to backdrop cloud, and rain non-stop soon after arrival.

The ducks feared not. Even the male Tufted that mistook two impaled maggots for wild food and was unceremoniously towed bankside for release. The flotilla of a dozen kept more distant after he got in a flap.

A small red-finned fish and a green and black striped one provided the only other major distraction, excepting the ever present long-tailed tit flock, an apparently starved robin and a frequently perching but never diving kingfisher.

That was then.

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Now, two subsequent days of almost unending rain have left the rivers in pre-peak state.

Tomorrow or the day after maybe.

So again I find myself at the reservoir that currently guarantees a few bites and a chance of roach sufficiently grand to make the heart race.

Noting that the fish have been at the source of any ripple on all visits. The casts are made across that line, 30 and 40m distant, but it's tough. Fish again show in the same location relative to the breeze but further off, beyond range.

Eventually a twang and a perch of one pound, one ounce digs it's way to the net for a swift return.

Soon though a gutterally coughing cave dweller arrives and sets-up part of the necessary barrow-load where those roach had topped earlier-on.

Fifteen minutes later the shoal, flushed from their natural intentions, move across the baited traps and both are triggered within seconds of each other...1 hook struck-off in excitement, the second a good roach, the best yet in recent visits at 1.4.6, nestles in the dark mesh...and that was that.

This kind of experience, particularly with roving roach shoals, has been evident a number of times over the years and proves that the possibility of action never disappears if the target is in motion and that tiny fragment of luck can turn disaster to apparent worthy effort.

Commitment, agility of thought, application, skill, planning. They all have their part in narrowing the angles but luck, how does the angler gain control of that factor? Well he or she doesn't of course but it certainly becomes more likely the more thoroughly those first few elements are addressed.