A chalkstream Lilliput world
We all have favourites. We may strive diligently for fairness with dogs, children, pubs and guns but it’s a losing battle. Your hand slips the first biscuit to the most loyal hound, and it’s the same with my little trout stream.
I’m generally a contented riparian, working to nurture my miniature sliver of gin-clear heaven with the even hand of a paternal presence. I plan mowing, planting and tree work to allow nature its scruffy head, to guide somewhat remotely and certainly never gardening an overmanicured beat of glorious chalkstream.
“The larger more dominant fish sit in the dark water on the outside edge of the run”
I do, of course, have a favourite pool. It’s not the prettiest nor the most productive; it doesn’t hold the largest trout nor provide the most consistent sport. What it does is encapsulate the magic and mystery ofstill thriving in the jewel of most precarious habitat meandering gracefully through the midst of our overpopulated southern counties.
