This past week fishing has improved, despite the low clear water both trout and Grayling have been feeding hard in the middle of the day on a steady trickle of small Olives and Spurwings, proper September fishing. Swans have ripped a bar of ranunculus from the shallows in front of the fishing hut that has taken water from the Rainbows in the stew ponds, in order to push water through the ponds I have had to whack in a telegraph pole to act as a temporary weir to raise the river immediately upstream by a few inches. The Rainbows have also been flashing on the bottom of the ponds, an indicator of parasite infection, it has been necessary to dip the whole lot in a salt bath this week, this and the extra water should get them back to mid season form.
The Pheasants have found the Maize, which should cut down on the amount of “dogging in” Otis and I have to do of a morning. On our drive down to Cornwall a few weeks ago, much of the Maize seemed a foot or two shorter than ours, I am not sure why, perhaps it was drilled at a different time or we have a particularly tall variety, whatever the reason, ours look rather good!
We also took delivery of another half dozen chickens, the same strain as last year that had never knowingly underlaid , they are 70 weeks old, arrived with an egg on the way, and spared a slow death by shortcrust pastry. They’ve led a “free range” life but still have feather free bums. One moult and they will be back to full feathers.
On a different note, Wogan used to question the wisdom of educating so many media study students, where would they all gain employment? This week it became apparent where some are now earning their crust. A superbly filmed program about a population of tigers living at an altitude in the Himalaya never previously thought possible, was ruined by a couple of clowns who contributed little to the piece other than hyperbole and theatrical frightened looks. With little knowledge of the subject, they were the “X factor” that spoiled a fascinating programme. One attempted to convince us that he had been in mortal danger in the night, as Leopard prints had been found near his camp, another waited for Tommy Tiger in a pop up hide clearly visible from space. One waited up at night with oodles of equipment and was convinced that the eyes on which he was shining his polished piece of krypton, belonged to a Leopard heading his way, it turned out to be a sleepy squirrel in the tree just in front of his hide.
Goodness knows what the locals made of it. A theatrical bunch, on their nerve’s end following their dawn discovery of Leopard prints near their camp, set off up the mountain attired in real tree camouflage and packing all manner of survival equipment, their local guide led the way in flip flops with a John Deere umbrella on his arm; he probably sees tigers and leopards every week. The overpaid chumps added little but irritation; all that was required was an informed narrative to add to the superb photography and a few well-worded questions to the man in the flip-flops.
Ignorance and mistrust of local knowledge, with media folk to the fore, prevails a lot closer to home.