A very slow run.
I trotted round the Willow Holt meadows, scaring up clouds of meadow browns and ringlets, and loped past revellers on a busy riverbank around the marina. Tsk, drinking in pubs on a lovely day while I was running! Some people have no dedication.
It was a standard sort of summer run along the river, although the wind seemed to be keeping the damsels and dragons out of the sky. It wasn't deterring the fishermen however; both the avian kind in the form of elegantly statuesque herons on the river's edge and flying cormorants, and also the human sort, wielding their rods over the choppy waters.
It was when I finally found my way round to what I always think of the posh houses as the path re-enters Newark under the bypass, that I found the day's master angler. The houses aren't particularly expensive, but their river frontage makes them terribly desirable I suppose. Except when it floods, as it has done in 2001 and 2011, cataclysmic floods that caused thousands upon thousands of pounds of damage.
And it was at the back of one of these houses that another fisherman, a house owner using his private little stretch of river, was engaged in a rod bending struggle with a fish trying to tangle itself up in the reeds to avoid capture. The rod must have been a flimsy one, because when the fish appeared it was no Jeremy Wade type "River Monster"with man eating potential.
However, it was a very large perch, not far off a kilo in weight, and in beautiful condition with its striped body and orange fins shimmering in the afternoon sun.
I congratulated the angler, and made my way back into town.
All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 19.07.15
|Meadow brown on Farndon Road|
|Yet another small skipper|
|The dreaded himalayan balsam now out in Willow Holt|
|Meadow cranes bill?|
|The yellow margin|
|Enjoying a thistle|
|Red admiral on the river bank|