May 16, 2017 in Category Camping,Scarlett Adventures...,Travel,UK

Fishing trips for Dummies: Part 3

(Catch up on part one here.)

(Catch up on part two here.)

We were pretty lucky with the weather while fishing at Cromwell Lake to be honest; I mean, it didn’t rain and we got a few decent hours of sun over the weekend, but on the second day there was about five hours of pretty fucking horrendous winds, that even four layers and my snowboarding jacket couldn’t shield be from. Eventually, with only the bivvy as a shelter I figured I was going to have to get drunk if I was going to enjoy myself while the weather was bad. Luckily I was prepared with a 1.5 litre bottle of prosecco that I got as an amazing, but deeply impractical, birthday present.

Now at this point I should mention for those of you who, like myself, aren’t hardened anglers, that the fishing rods have alarms on them – you know, so people can catch fish 24 hours a day.

So anyway, the next day I wake up at 5am to the sound of this god-awful alarm going off and my fella scrambling like a maniac out of the bivvy. Again, I should mention here that a “bivvy” is just a fancy word for a fishing tent. But if you call it a tent everyone looks at you like you’re the maniac.

cromwell lake fishing
So I wake up to this ordeal and, as you can imagine, I’m pretty fucking hungover. Like, my eyes are throbbing quite violently and I felt like someone was poking my brain with a stick.

After around 20 minutes of listening to my fella scuffling around outside and panting dramtaically, I decide to peel one eye open and stick my head out of the bivvy to see what the fuss was about. At this point he’s sweating pretty heavily and muttering “it’s a big one this”. Just as I’m thinking I can sneak back inside without him noticed he says “come and see if you can see splashing over there.”

Groaning dramatically and wishing I was dead, I forced some contact lenses into my tiny, hungover eyeballs and minced outside like a naughty kid.

No splashing… but what I did notice was the fella on the spot not far from us was also wrestling with what looked like a “big one“.

By this time, it’s around 20 to six and this charade has been going on for fucking ages. There I am, bleary eyed and trying not to vomit into the lake, when it suddenly dawns on me that there is no fish… but rather my fella and this other lad had, actually, caught each other.

I could have told them, I suppose, but where’s the fun in that? Anyway, I wanted to see who would win…

Until next time… x


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