Every year I tell myself I’ll do less driving. Every year I tell myself I’ll fish closer to home. Every year, usually sometime around May, I start looking at maps, checking water levels, messaging old fishing mates, and convincing myself that driving three hours before sunrise is somehow a sensible hobby. This summer appears to …
I was just looking for a sandwich. That’s all it was. Took the wrong turn off the CV-something-or-other near a lake I hadn’t fished in years. The sign was bent, maybe hit by a tractor or just neglected. One of those villages where the shutters are always halfway down, even when it’s not siesta. There …
It started with a pub bet and ended with a sunstroke-induced hallucination involving a talking carp. Summer of ’96. Maybe ’97. Back in Sunderland, we’d just had the wettest June since records began, and we were sick of dragging our gear through ankle-deep mud for a shot at a single sad tench. Then someone—I think …
Fishing is all about timing. Right place, right time, and suddenly that one fish you’ve been chasing is finally on the line. Get it wrong? You’re just standing there, wondering why nothing’s biting. Spain’s got a ridiculous variety of fishing opportunities year-round, but not all seasons are equal. Some months, the fish are practically jumping …