Issue 55 - On Noodling a Beaver
There is an old hotel bar situated by a bridge over my local river, where anglers will oft-times gather to discuss the day’s sport.On one such evening recently, as the ale flowed, the subject under discussion turrned to what comprised the ideal day’s fishing. Invited to speak first, I painted a vivid picture of a summer’s morning spent trotting beneath the willows. Roach and perch would follow dace and gudgeon into the net, until the cessation of quick bites would announce the arrival of a small shoal of barbel. Once a 5-pounder had been returned, I would stretch my legs with a bout of spinning below the weir, taking a fat chub and a lively jack with the quill minnow.

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