Brian had serious wind

      Saturday lunchtime and despite the weather forecast it doesn't seem too windy so I throw some gear in the car and set off for the river. How mistaken, or deluded, can you be because when I arrive at the farm it is blowing an absolute hooley and the wind is increasing steadily and remorselessly.
      One look at the drain and I can see that fishing for pike will be a complete waste of time. The undertow from the wind isn't just a few inches under the water it goes down three feet or more and it is moving the water plants around even deeper than that. The other 'bonus' is that they've been weed cutting during the week too. Do they ever stop the bloody weed cutting?

      At this point the wind begins to drop and I decide that instead of going home I'll use the four metre pole with punched bread. There were plenty of small, hand-sized Rudd and Roach plus the odd skimmer Bream in margins tight against the reeds. The Rudd as always looked like little jewels but it was a fight just to hold the pole and try to keep the tackle steady in the gale.

      After half an hour the wind began to drop and the surface to calm but what was that noise that sounded like a train coming towards me? There are no military up in the sky at weekends, they're busy washing the fast jets and giving them a polish, then the noise arrives. The wind. It was suddenly growing in strength and it was becoming decidedly uncomfortable on the bank, if you stood up it was a case of fighting the wind to remain upright and meanwhile the pole was bending about eighteen inches to the left at the tip and debris was being flung into the air. Time to give it best and get in the car and drive home for a cup of tea after only an hour and a half and twenty or so small silver fish, it could have been worse, it could have been raining.
      I'll give Brian credit though he really had some serious wind.