Until they stop cutting the reed and weed at least, or start the pumping and drag it all away the drain is unfishable.
The grandson and I went down to the drain to fish for pike. We were bouyed by the success earlier in the week but the sight that greeted us was not conducive to confidence.
'This' I said 'will be a complete waste of time' but with the innocent optimism of a child came the retort, 'let's give it go grandad'. Under these conditions I would normally take one look at the drain, have a chat and cup of tea, or a beer, with the farmer and then go home. But try we did.
The photograph at the top shows the surface of the drain and below is the arty-farty, Monet, impressionistic type of view. Either way both views of the drain look dreadful for any kind of fishing.
An hour later and I know when a seven year old is bored, he's throwing acorns in the drain, so we packed the tackle away and drove home in silence.
Never mind, if you were guaranteed fish it wouldn't be called fishing, it would be called catching.
A day later on a sunny Saturday afternoon and we fished again, this time in the river that runs through the village, and we fished off the local butcher's private landing stage using stewed wheat for bait. Typically a catch of five roach up to 10oz, five skimmers, two perch and a small rudd in an hour created as much excitement as the two much larger pike that we caught earlier in the week did.
Then just when the fish were biting we had to go home because he needed the toilet. Badly.
Now he wants a ten foot pole for Christmas.
We'll get it next week so I can run it in and test it properly.