Rain, increasing steadily, becoming heavy

      The boss said it was going to rain as we ate our lunch. 'Who wants to fish in the pouring rain, apart from an idiot?' Well, me actually and I always think it's enlightening to know just where you stand with the family.
      As it turned out the forecast wasn't wrong either. When I got to the drain I could see that some water has been pumped out, the fall in level showing clearly in the black 'tide-mark' on the reeds. The visibility was reducing too with familiar landmarks beginning to disappear and a light rain was beginning to fall. Half an hour later and the weather had managed to fulfil all of the weather man's predictions, it was raining steadily, you could hear it hissing on the surface of the drain, anyway I like the sound of rain battering on my cap and hood.

      There was plenty of fresh bait to be caught, a fish a cast in fact, but no sign of pike on the move. Half an hour later and still no action just the blood chilling moment when Bastard Barry, the farm's Jack Russell Terrier, came to see me and affectionately licked my hand. Now I know how the bait fish feel under the surface of the drain.
      Then that magic moment when you are staring at the float and it's gone, just a bigger ring on the surface than those made by the rain drops. The pike was on and then seconds later the pike was off. Ten minutes passed and the same happened again, I'm hypnotised by the rain drops and in a flash the float has gone, this time the fish stays on, not a big fish but as always it is beautifully coloured and marked. Then another run but after three minutes that pike is off without even a sight of the fish, just swirls and boils on the surface and a lot of head shaking.

      Two more pike are landed, the last the biggest of the day and that fish is carrying a few old war wounds that were no doubt inflicted by other pike when it was smaller. The rain is now slashing down, then another run and the pike tail walks its way to freedom in the gathering gloom and it's time to pack up. Although I'm dry enough all of the the fishing tackle is soaking wet and I have the feeling that the car may end up as steamy as a Turkish Bath.
      It's time to leave the rickety, wobbly old landing stage and start planning a perch trip during the week. When I get back to the car after a squelchy walk over the field and along the track I meet the farmer who is closing the tractor shed doors, he tells me I look like I need a beer. I couldn't agree more.
      Now that is a plan.