It has been raining solidly all night and all day. In fact that’s what it’s been doing almost continually since October. New rivers and stillwaters are appearing everywhere I look (it’s all my fault - they say you have to be careful what you wish for) and not one of them contains a trout. You have to believe that one day the rain’s got to stop.

We fished yesterday for that was what was required of us. We have no choice. We are fishermen and for five long months we have been denied what defines us. The seemingly interminable abstinence has allowed nothing but dreams inspired by memories and thorough readings of the writings of other sufferers of the “I don’t fish therefore I am not” affliction. It must be admitted that when I said “we fished” I should perhaps have said “we went fishing”. Fish never formed a part of the experience. They rarely do on Opening Day. It is not actually about fish, it’s about going fishing. There’s plenty of time later in the season for the quarry to validate the pursuit. This day it’s enough that pursuit is permitted.

Today is undeniably depressing but yesterday was just plain cruel: bright sunshine, the first real spring day and it was Opening Day and the river was the colour of fudge and just as likely to produce a fish. We anglers are pretty well tuned to the seasons and the beauties of the countryside; we appreciate Nature more than most and usually understand her vagaries; but a perfect day with hatches of olives, hardly any hail and absolutely no hope? That’s asking a lot. Except for the one crucial fact: it was Opening Day. So, nothing else mattered.

It is still raining and do you know what? I don’t care anymore. I have more than memories to sustain me now. I have the rest of the season.

Patrick Lloyd. 4^th March