I fancied somewhere different to kick off the river season so went to the closest stretch of the Thames to my home, a spot that used to be brilliant back in the day, but that was over twenty years ago and things have changed a lot in that time.
What hadn't changed were the surroundings, set on a quiet island where the Thames splits into many channels, the Lulle Brook must be one of the shortest rivers in the country, a narrow streamy channel that leaves the Thames above Cookham Lock before rejoining just below. In turn this small channel had an even smaller run off which was full of cascades, turns and riffles. It looked streamy and dreamy and I hoped it was still the great breeding ground for fish in the close season just passed.
However what was a nightmare was the minnow which seemed to be everywhere, it's one thing battling with overhanging trees to swing a float gently in, it's another to see it zoom under each time with minnow hammering my maggots in every run and hole. Also evident was that there was a lot of off season fishing going on as I passed several old fires, as a result I couldn't see any fish unlike the 'good old days'. I had to make do with the present day so the first small chub was greeted with a mini celebration of discrimination for it was not a minnow - at last.
My first fish was barely countable, more chublet than chub as I made my way down the meadow in my waders, the long grass seeming to make the morning heat feel hotter on a day where it was forecast to push 30c, sweat was already making my eyes sting and I was conscious of drinking regularly, even if the sip of water turned to a guzzle each time.
I sat down to rest the legs after walking back up having tried spots where memories were fond and the fishing was once good, wondering just what the real temperature was in swims where you are surrounded by nettles but in full sun. I settled down in a swim I had originally bypassed only stopping here because it had shade, I almost saluted the tree responsible as I took off my sweat drenched cap. As a bonus I finally got a resemblance of a bend in the rod as a few small chub obliged, feeling much larger in the fast swim, certainly larger than minnow. Suddenly the 16th was here at last, sitting comfortably, fishing a back eddy, my float travelling upstream and regular bites, the fish weren't big but for a little while at least it was good fun.
It didn't take long for the minnow to return after half a dozen chub so I took my turn to have lunch. I chatted briefly to a passing fly angler who told me of a large carp he had seen, no doubt the target of the occupants of bivvy on the main channel. Then the last bit of welcome shade left the tree, a cue for me to move on beaten by the ever hungry minnow once more, back Into the meadow that was full of insects. I can't recall ever seeing so many damsel and dragonflies and the peace was only shattered on occasions by the shrill squawk of the parakeets that have made the Thames their home.
I roved on one last time to the bottom of the stretch down to the main weir which was surprisingly empty although to be fair it is usually hard fishing, it was also pretty low. Losing a rare Thames trout a few winters back was the closest I have even been to getting anything big here and so it was I was expecting the usual hordes of bleak. However I was pleased to whittle out a few dace instead as my float traveled around the noisy white water. It was a nice spot to finish on and although I may not return for a while as the fishing was pretty poor I found the morning enjoyable, apart from that heat of course and those pesky minnows.
As I began my walk back I looked around at the path where I once was and there was a big old fox, head turned looking back at me, it's red back and bushy tail illuminated in the sun to an almost golden yellow, blending into the long grass which seemed to shimmer in the heat.
The fox and I paused for that brief moment. I think it was time for both of us to find a cold drink.
