May 9, 2017 in Category Camping,Scarlett Adventures...

Fishing trips for Dummies: Part 1


FOREWORD: If you follow this blog, you’ll know that one of my favourite pastimes used to be skitting stereotypes on Tinder. It’s not big, it’s not clever, it certainly doesn’t make you feel any better about yourself as you lie, hungover and bleary eyed, on a Sunday morning, surrounded by leftover chicken nuggets and life-ruining receipts – but it’s just what you do isn’t it.

Anyway, one of the Tinder stereotypes that I used to go to town on, was the elusive Urban Fisherman. You know the ones; the lads with the profile photo of them crouching with an ecstatic grin on their face that really you’d only expect to see post-coital, and holding a miserable looking giant fish.

Well I guess karma’s a bitch because it turns out by some twist of the Gods, here I am sat here writing about going on a fishing trip.

Last week, my fella and I headed off for three nights camping at Cromwell Lake – because he’s really into fishing and I’m really into lying in the sun getting fucked up. Ideal.

fishing blogger

So the night before, as we were packing, I asked him what time he thought we should leave the next day and the following conversation began:

Him: “I dunno, about 5ish?”

Me: “Really? It’s a two hours drive, won’t it be dark by the time we get there.” 

Him: “Nah the sun will have come up.”

Me: “…”

Him “…”

Him: “I mean in the morning”

I swear I nearly choked on my own tongue.

Me: “Jesus why?”  

Him: “We need to get there before the queues, it opens at 8.”

That was the #1 fishing lesson: people queue up hours before the lakes even open in the morning in an attempt to get the best ‘peg’ to set up camp on. And by best, I mean the one most likely to catch fish at. Not, as I assumed, the one with the best sunbathing potential. Imagine the Hunger Games-like carnage at Next when they open the doors for the Boxing Day sales – only instead of middle aged women using their roll-up macs as truncheons, it’s lads in camouflage clobber armed with fishing rods.

Which brings me on to fishing lesson #2: everyone wears camo gear – I assume, so the fish can’t see them.

As you can imagine, I stood out like a sore thumb wearing a red top and jeans… well, that, and being the only female in a five mile radius.

carp fishing post

Anyway, as promised we were up and out at 5 in the morning to get there by 7. (You know, to make sure we were at the front of the queue. I should probably mentioned that there wasn’t a queue. At all. We were the only car waiting.  But never mind, we won’t dwell on that.) So as I was saying we’d arrived, and were just about to unpack and set up the hoards of fishing stuff, when my fella realised he’d forgot his bag with all his clothes, shower stuff, weed, toothbursh… everything.

Fishing lesson #3: there’s so much stuff you need to go fishing it’s unbelievable. We had a van packed up to the brim with rods, camping equipment, tackle, various other fish noncing supplies – it was hardly a surprise he forgot one bag, I couldn’t even be mad.

It was clear one of us was going to have to do the 5 hour round drive back to Liverpool to get the bag. So, being the A1 bird that I am, I offered to take one for the team and go back.

Having absolutely no intention to setting up a fucking tent on my own had absolutely nothing to do with my decision. Honest…

And so the weekend began.

To be continued..


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