Every year I would wait patiently for the months to pass from the cold, wet windy winter to the sunny, warm pleasant summer.  As a child my favourite time of the year was definitely the summer.  Being able to go and play with my friends after school in the park, kicking a football around until it started to get dark and was time to go ‘in’ was fantastic.  With a warm comfortable wind there was always the smell of a barbeque or bonfire drifting in our direction.  The smell of burning wood always used to remind me of the place that I most looked forward to in the incoming weeks, going to my grandparents. 

My grandparents lived in a village in Norfolk and to my brothers and me was the favourite part of our summer holidays.  In comparison to our busy town atmosphere our ‘Nans’ was the total opposite.  The village contained a bus stop, though in my 23years have never seen a bus, and a village hall.  Being used to seeing buses go by every few minutes and having shops and pubs within 5minutes walk this was by all means very remote.  Apart from it being quiet, tranquil and fun, the main excitement for me was the one thing that we didn’t have close by to us back home.  The river.

The river Thet is a small river twisting and curving with old spindly trees arched over, draping their branches into the water like old crippled men.  Nettles and reeds line the banks protecting the water from unwanted visitors, its defence only broken in places by tunnels created by dogs excited to swim.  For two weeks in the summer holidays we would travel up to Norfolk excited about seeing our cousins and the mischief that we could get up to.

We would always be greeted with a warm reception from our Nan and Grandad usually consisting of lots of cuddles, kisses and a hot drink or ice cream.  The transition from city to country was apparent with the amount of houses slowly transforming into barns and cottages and cars turning into agricultural vehicles.  Every year there would always be the same joke of who passed wind, with the smell of the farms, with fresh fertiliser and manure wafting through the car.  Overall we were all looking forward to our short stay in the country with our kind and ever-patient grandparents.

To me, my favourite part of the summer vacation was the river.  From as early as I can remember I loved being on the banks or in the water, either in a canoe with an adult or wading around.  With the water being crystal clear you easily see the bottom of the sandy gravely riverbed. Being only 3 foot deep in the deepest places, the sunlight, which penetrated through the canopy of trees above, pierced the water like shards of bright light, exposing the bed in intricate detail.  Due to its freshness the amount of fish were vast.  Ranging from Minnows to Pike it contained a whole hierarchy of species.  Especially on a bright clear day when there was no cloud cover and the sun shone in all its glory the river could be appreciated, as it truly should. 

Though the river was not always in this clean, pristine condition.  As with any natural flow of water there is weed; and there was a large amount of weed in the certain stretch that we used to claim as ours in our short stay.  So at the beginning of the week we used to follow our Nan down to the river and help her ‘de-weed’ the section that we wanted.  Armed with a grappling iron tied onto a long piece of rope she used to spend hours raking out all the weed, for us.  Our efforts were usually aimed at sorting out the sticklebacks and various other water-life that were hidden in the large beds of weed that was thrown onto the banks.  Saving these little creatures from their deaths always brought us a sense of achievement of rescuing them. 

On our short journey to the river we used to carry things like the grappling iron in a bright yellow pale or bucket, as most people will call it.  So after we had enough weed on the bank to last a group of scavenger’s hours we filled the bucket up and transferred the tiny sticklebacks, minnows and water boatmen into its bright plastic walls.  During this period of our lives we learnt a lot about nature, as it was always our grandparents who explained to us about certain insects, fish and birds.  On discovering small pieces of twigs in a pile of weed my Nan informed me that it was actually a creature inside, it would hide inside until ready to hatch and then rise to the surface and fly to reproduce and repeat the process.  It was little things like this that really make me appreciate nature and the surroundings when I’m on the waters edge fishing.

For hours on end my Nan would rake out a stretch of water until it was void of all weed, then we would join her in the water splashing and swimming around playing as children do.  With our noise and erratic actions the fish disappeared like there was no tomorrow, until we either settled down from exhaustion or packed up to go home.  On the rare account when we were being quiet and still, after a careful look lots of small fish used to suddenly appear.  They used to blend in with the sandy bottom, in regimental formation lined up in a large shoal on the look out for predators.  We learned if you buried your feet in the sand creating a sand cloud when it eventually settled the Gudgeon and Minnows would feel safe and venture closer.  They would then proceed to swim against your toes, sometimes tickling you so much you had to shake your feet, sending the frightened little creatures off in a confused panic stricken hurry.

With the temperature rising as the day progressed we used to wait patiently for our Nan to finish her jobs.  From around midday we used to set off and have a picnic for lunch.  Arranging our tackle box, tub fool of fresh worms dug up from the compost heap and grappling iron into the bucket used to get me excited.  The time of arrival at the rivers edge was edging nearer.  I could almost hear the calm flow of the water, the occasional Kingfisher diving into the water to catch his meal and the chattering of the cows that were in the field behind us.  Just being in this peaceful environment made me forget about school and my childhood worries. 

Arriving at the waters edge we used to unfold the blanket that we had brought down to sit on and get changed into our swim shorts.  Arguing whose turn it was to use the fishing rod always resulted in my Nan coming up with a reasonable, fair choice and it was then passed around in turns.  Standing in the water we used to watch where the little fish where, we would then cast our bright bobble float to them and watch as the line slowly sank through the water.  Due to the water clarity you could even see the tiny worm on the hook being dragged around by the little fish until a slightly bigger one came along and swallowed it.

The tackle was not fine, my Nan didn’t bother with ‘all that’ she used 6lb line with a big knot on the end joining the mainline with the hook.  The float in matching appearance was also large.  Being a big chunky bobble float it would hardly bob as the fish tried pulling the bait, there was probably so much buoyancy that it acted as a self hooking device.  But this bobble float was my Nans favourite; she used it for years and on every fishing occasion.  It caught many a species ranging from Gudgeon, Tench to Carp. 

The walk there and back was the build up and release of the excitement that was about to follow.  The old tarmac road was uneven and had craters here, there and everywhere, with the occasional mound of horse ‘muck’ scattered around.  On the way there we would walk along talking, whistling and swinging our rod with one hand and the bucket with the other.  There would be rabbits hiding in the hedges disturbed by our incoming stampede of noise and movement, waiting until we passed to continue what they had been doing.  On the trees where nuts that our grandparents revealed to us were edible, so on each passing we searched for ones squirrels had missed.  After about a 5minute walk the tree line would open up to reveal a bridge, which crossed over the river.  It was old with cracks in places and had a large concrete top to it, which people used to sit on.  From this vantage point we were able to look down into the water and with the right light point out the fish.  There would be shoals of minnow fighting against the flow and occasionally a perch would come out of the dark reedy corner to find some food.  I always enjoyed just propping myself up against this old, wise bridge watching the fish in there natural environment unaware of my prying, excited gaze.

With it being the summer holidays there would always be children playing, running and jumping into the water, splashing around and keeping cool.  ‘Our' stretch that was now clear was quiet the attraction and a few times we reminded people the reason why it was clear.  With it being slightly further down stream and hidden by a large old tree not many people bothered venturing down to it.  Another reason was probably due to the assault course that you had to participate to get there in the first place.  Stinging nettles in their masses reached out aggressively trying to get its next victim.  As always though my grandparents were never unprepared, my granddad, who worked in the forestry used either his weed strimmer (in later years) and his sharp scythe to cut back and create a safe path.  After getting past that there was a boggy patch that was certain to get your trainers coated in silty, smelly mud. 

In those two weeks we would fish, swim and eat our picnic on the riverbank.  It was here that I fell in love with fishing and all the associated factors that compliment it.  Especially here, you had the tranquillity and peace while sitting watching your float with careful, focused eyes desperate not to miss an opportunity.  The calm yet busy flow of the water could be heard from the weir that churned the water up, creating froth and thousands of bubbles that fought to get to the surface.  Birds in the surrounding forest would sing to each other and occasionally the sound of a Woodpecker pecking could be heard echoing until it reached our ears.  Infrequently the deer’s that inhabited the forest would reveal themselves while barking to each other.