There is a wintery scene through Andromeda's starboard windows today in Lancashire.
This time of year, along the canal's towpath, you get only the dog walkers and the pikey's passing by.
Not the sneaky, thieving ones suspected of lifting the lead off the church roof or nicking the lawnmower from next door's shed, it's the other ones.....the Pike fishermen.
Yes men, always men!
Woolly hatted and wrapped up with more skins than an onion they tramp up and down casting their little short rods with their little rubber fish bait....plop, plop, plopping repetitively and then winding at various speeds while staring hopefully at the canal surface in a vain attempt to lure in an elusive monster from the depths.
With massive nets and freezing fingers and weighed down with scales and scissors they puff on fags to keep their lungs warm as they cast and cast and cast, trolling along until all of a sudden the line goes tight and the rod bends....
An expectant face at the window across watches the scene as it excitedly unravels ...has he struck into the record breaker?...with bending rod raised in the wind and hail he frantically winds in his prey but he can't seem to land it? He fights and pulls and tugs, the rod bent like a willow the specimen hunter's catch must be huge?
If only he can land it......oh, hang on....
....it appears that from the towpath, he has casted so far he has missed the canal completely and managed to snag it on the coal bunker cover which although it was putting up a hell of a fight I don't think it was quite the catch of the day he was after?
I can't really picture him on the cover of the Anglers Mail holding a prized 25kg bag of Milligan's Excel somehow, can you?
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