A foggy Saturday in the West Norfolk Fenland and after an early lunch of bacon and eggs accompanied by a large mug of tea it's off to the waterside and in my mind the decision has been made to head for the old moorings.
The fog drifts by in patches, one minute it's thick and then quickly thinning before another fog bank drifts along and obscures the reeds and rushes while smothering the watery sun. All around the drain is suspiciously quiet with a mirror like finish and the only activity is the kingfisher bustling backwards and forwards and in and out of the water.
Then with not a ring of ripples to show where it was the float has disappeared and the line is trickling out, the first pike is on and the first pike is in the net and he's just under ten pounds. Then, ten minutes later a jack pike of around three pounds is in the net.
One more pike comes to the net before the drain seems to drift off to sleep under the blanket of fog, no doubt next week it will be blowing a gale and pouring down but for the moment enjoy the peace and calm as the tackle is packed away. Amazingly the fog is getting even thicker with visibility at around thirty yards and falling, it'll be a slow drive home thinking about the pike and perch.
Four pike, a lovely calm three hours of near silence, there's nothing better.