Not much to report from last night's raid on the river. A couple of fishless hours - one gentle tug - surrounded by slugs which surely move faster when you're not looking at them. The highlight came after an hour when I heard gentle wings over my left shoulder and sat, awestruck, as a barn owl whumped across the river and into the field beyond. The sound of the wings was unlike anything I've ever heard - like angel wings made from cotton wool. Fantastic.
At first it looked as though the storm was going to just skim me and then pass away to the south. There was a short, sharp cloudburst, then some gentle rain, and then the sky brightened slightly and everything eased. I was fishing a big bend in the river - shallow on my side until it got about two thirds over, when it became deeper. I fished the deep run on the far side beachcaster style with rod high in a long rest. Cheese paste and luncheon meat.
The river was alive tonight. The weather was perfect - warm, overcast and thundery - and all the other anglers tucked up safely in front of the television. My plan was to fish and move, fish and move. As soon as I caught something, I'd up sticks and move on to the next swim.