The Return

mickthechippy

space cadet
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He sat there in the dark,

The glowing ember on the end of the roll up, illuminated the cab of the van as he took in the raw spicy smoke of the old holborn it contained, the coffee cup clasped in his other hand was raised to his lips and the warm dark liquid swilled around his mouth, sweet, strong dark, it fulfilled the hit required as his eyes scanned the eastern horizon

The escarpment of the downs, was sillouetted against the red glow of the dawning sun, the scudding clouds were as shadows above the line of the land

finishing the coffee mug full with a gulp, the tab end of the fag was consigned to the ashtray as his other hand unclipped the seatbelt, reaching over, the door was opened to the early morning chill,

Early spring, the land had not warmed much from the snow and rain of winter, his legs swung round as he alighted upon the short grass and packed earth of the farm track that he had so recently passed over, the heat from the engine wafted past him as he took a walk towards the dark waters that lay just to his left

he had been here three days earlier, in daylight then, armed with his rake and rope, an afternoon of sweat under the thick layers of clothing had produced three swims that he could now take his choice from, all three looked promising, the light wind just ruffling the water and reeds at the edge where land met liquid

having pulled up at the centre of the three, this was the chosen spot, this was where today, he would adhere to his sport, his home for the lighted hours of the day

reaching into the depths of his pocket, a key was produced that fitted the lock on the sliding door, used quietly, and the well greased rollers slid along the sides of the vehicle, inside lay the tools, the first of which was the ancient old boss seat box, many an hour had his butt been sat on this, an old friend, full of the requirements, it was lifted and taken out

placing the veteran down softly, time was taken adjusting the legs to provide a level seat, the footplate was swung forward and the same care was taken unto that, next came the dull aluminium bar that would hold the clips that his keepnet would attach to and slid over the two front legs, the net bag was next out, two side trays were selected, a smaller deeper one for the left hand side of the box and the larger shallow one for the right, next came the long dark net that he would store his catch in, easily clipping into its engineered socket on the front bar with a satisfying click

reaching back in to the vehicle, a bankstick with a small V shaped roller attached was removed and emplaced to the left of the seatbox, easily sliding into the eath when pushed softly point first, taken next was a pair of rollers, new tools these, not long purchased and only used a few times before the long winter lockdown had curtailed his chosen sport

back to the door and next out was another old friend, the long bag that contained his hunters weapons, the zip slid open to reveal 8 plastic tubes all containing long lengths of carbon, taking two of the thinner, he extracts four top kits and assembles them thus, then reaching into the box, trays contining a plethora of rigs are revealed

looking, the first is chosen, a long line, that would require more than just a top kit, another tube is opened and a pair of no 4 sections are joined to two of the kits, both would be for the purpose of fishing to hand,

the oher two are set for closer in, just past the marginal reeds and the other for around the drop off, twenty minutes later, all is ready, the long pole slides out and a check of the depths is taken, carefully this, as it it often the difference between a good and a bad day, satisfied he has done what needs to be done, he sets the tools aside and returns to the van, a carry all and his bait bag and moved to behind the box, the long carbon handle that held the head of his landing net was next and assembled then emplaced on the bankstick with the roller

tubs of gently wriggling maggot are exposed to the chill of the dawn, and set upon the right hand tray, one of worms too, lying warm under their peat covering,

the hand tools, scissors, disgorgers, loop tiers, a plethora of essential bits are made ready on the left hand tray and a flask of hot steaming coffee is gathered from the carry all and opened, steam rising in the faint dawn light as its poured into the cup,

standing there, he see's the golden orange orb of the life giving sun burst above the horizon, his world is filled with sound, as its residents awake to chorus the new dawn

tipping a drop of the coffee as a libation to the gods, he reseats himself and slips the cold carbon through his hands,

will today be that day ?
 
Last edited:

juttle

Grumpy old cripple
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Oct 28, 2011
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458
I could smell the coffee, hear the birds, and feel the grass beneath my feet! An excellent read, Mick, keep ‘em coming!
 

tincatim

Regular member
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Mar 22, 2012
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Today won’t be that day for me, but I bloody hope it will be soon. I cannot wait for spring!
 

Dave Spence

MD virtual champion 2020. Golden Pie winner 2018.
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Feb 19, 2017
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I love your writing style mate, keep em coming and resurrect some of the old ones please.
 
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