Taking pride in our sporting fellowship
The towpath of the Waveney was chest high with dusty stinging nettle and magenta-coloured loosestrife. This floral barrier added to the challenge of finding a chubby-looking swim in which to trot a size 16 hook baited with writhing maggots. I spotted a likely place ahead of me. An arthritic crack willow bent its gnarled back over the slowly trundling water, casting a cooling shadow beneath. I spied a swirl in an eddy and my mind immediately raced to visions of plump chub holding station there.
As I began to part the fronds to make my way from towpath to bankside, I discovered, with no little annoyance, another angler was already ensconced there. A
