After two long years without any pike fishing because of illness, major surgery and the dreaded radio therapy my friend Bure Boy called me and said let's go pike fishing. The support and encouragement was hugely appreciated. The day before the farmer had told me to get myself over there and out into the great wide open. So we did. And the lack of confidence at the thought of making the effort and simply going out there just drained away.
Now it would be wonderful to say bagged a few pike and some roach but it would appear that the constant pumping of the drains had either dispersed the pike or they were just plain lethargic. One fish followed my bait on my first cast and that was the excitement over. The pike just weren't playing ball, but if you caught fish every time it wouldn't be called fishing it would be called catching, so the two of us were fishless in West Norfolk.
However, broken down landing stages, sunken boats and worn and weathered boats all gave the feeling that something would happen but it didn't. Now I'm excited about next season but it seems a long, long time to June 16th. I must check how many sleeps!