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There was a gap in the cold grey sky, a sheet of blue optimsm towered above us as Sherlock and I chanced our arms (and legs) and set off for head weir on the River Otter. We squelched along by the mill stream and up through the woods to the sound of a brimfull river thundering over the weir. Pausing weirside I noticed that the salmon ladder was taking a bit of a beating by the current. The end…

Today Sherlock tiptoed on posh paws whilst I squelched through the mud. Together we embraced the welcome sunshine and blue sky with equal pleasure. Hell, he even chased after a stick that I threw for him. Perched at the top of a barren ash tree a song thrush was in full voice. He went through his whole repertoire to an audience of two. Below him the river steamed like an overflowing cup of cocoa.…

Emerging from the cool riverside woodland Sherlock and I step into a pool of sunlight; so bright that even armed with a cap and sunglasses it makes my eyes water. We are greeted with a fanfare from a lone wren and a fly past from a pair of speckled wood butterflies. Ambling down this pathway, flanked by banks of pink campion, daisies, buttercups and a carpet of speedwell I bore Sherlock with…

He had no idea what had woken him. But now awake he needed to pee. He shuffled to the bathroom; hands outstretched before him like he was playing a game of blindman’s bluff. He now stood in a world of grey that was neither night nor day. A monochrome scene. All objects reduced to a shadow. A two dimensional nothing-ness. A black fish macabrely suspended on a gnarly knotted gaff; hung above a…

The Sherlock Stroller .

The lake water is as tepid as a cup of tea that has been left to stew. A cacophony of birdsong fills the air, a chorus of excitement and expectation. The air is heavy with the heady smell of spicy hempseed and the strawberry flavoured sweetcorn that has stained your fingers blood red. The odd morsel of which has fallen into the bankside reeds and become a welcome early breakfast for a family of…

16th June. Coarse fishing on our rivers begins again. Sharing my swim today was a kingfisher. He was no more than an arm stretch away. Together we watched the mists rise and the trees turn to gold. We fished side by side. Brothers of the Angle. He, a sleek flash of electric blue; me, an old cane rod and a gaudy orange topped float. At one point I was outfishing my noble opponent by three fish to…

Molehill number 1! Today’s frosty riverside ramble produced a new world record. A pleasant forty minute winter walk actually took two hours. Not that I am complaining. For whilst Sherlock inspects and pee’s on every single molehill; I am able to watch the wildlife and immerse myself in it’s splendour. To quote Claude Monet (some bloke who could paint a bit,) “My wish is to stay like this,…

2021. A year that began with a perfect sunrise family swim at Sidmouth. Dancing on frosty stones to warm up; complete with an audience of well wrapped onlookers and “caterwauling” gulls. A dawn full of promise and positivity after the debacle of 2020. Invigorated. Life is good The year ended with a walk under a damp and grey clouded sky. Not maudlin black and dismal, just a heavy hanging sky…