WITH weary limbs and a sun­burnt fore­head I was grate­ful I didn’t have to jour­ney home that evening – af­ter a fish and chip sup­per I turned in for the night with more fish­ing still to come.

The Hamp­shire Avon would be my first port of call this morn­ing, a stretch I hadn’t fished for a decade.

With the river run­ning clear, the best ap­proach seemed to be a float rod and a pouch­ful of mag­gots to trip up a few chub as I wan­dered the banks. How­ever, a school­boy er­ror saw me fail to reckon with dew-sod­den grass, and my un­suit­able footwear soon saw me soaked from the knees down!

A quick change of socks and a pair of wellies later I was en­joy­ing ev­ery­thing the wa­ter mead­ows had to of­fer. But­ter­flies, birds, and fry in the car­rier streams vied for my at­ten­tion with chub drift­ing over gravel beds.

I rigged up a large Loafer float on 4lb line, with a size 18 Su­per Spade hook to cope with the weed. Five min­utes of free food later the car­bon was buck­ling un­der my grip – an­other day in the great Bri­tish coun­try­side, and there was no place I would rather be.

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