Hit the road Jake: A Midsummer Night's Dream

Hit the road Jake: Ein Sommernachtstraum | Hammer Tackle

I feel like I've stumbled a bit into summer this year. Stumbled in, so to speak, without knowing exactly where the journey was going and at the same time a little surprised by everything. Yes, “wonderful” would describe my state of mind quite well.

My head still seems to be programmed for gusts of wind and rain showers, but the warm sun that wakes me up tomorrow after morning says otherwise. In the afternoon, when the heat really hits, I feel a little soft in the pear. No, I hadn't really arrived in summer until recently.

After the disastrous night of the full moon, who would have expected it otherwise, my ambition was broken for the time being. My head obviously has a protective mechanism that eliminates any thoughts of fishing at critical moments. Unfortunately, so does any other neural activity, which is evident in the unstoppable stream of nonsense that I utter in such phases. Fortunately, the Carpio family didn't waste any thought on lavish boilie buffets and instead devoted themselves with full passion to producing offspring.

If the dogged zeal of fishing wanes, this creates space for perceptions of a different kind. Once again, a new guest can now enter our stage. She dances light-footedly around you, gently runs her fingers through your loose hair and every now and then she even conjures up a tingling shiver on your back. It carries you weightlessly on walks along the banks, makes waves in the lush wheat fields and is a messenger of the most beautiful smells.

Do you recognize her? It is the summer breeze, incomparably friendly and flattering. It even happens that it shows you memories that you thought were long forgotten.

What was it like again when I was 5 years old? Waking up in your sleeping bag on a warm June morning, the meadow dewy, the smell of dad's coffee in your nose and the warm morning sun on your red cheeks. Full of pride about the roach and chub that I spotted yesterday all by myself. And then the pike with all its sharp teeth, which was doomed by one of the roach this morning.

Often it is the ability to be enthusiastic about those, some would say, “banal” things that bring back the childlike lightness that we all too often long for. Admiring the magnificent colors of a butterfly, laughing together at a stupid joke or appreciating a piece of perch roasted on the fire as incomparably delicious.

In weeks like this, I don't want to be particularly goal-oriented when fishing. By this I mean maintaining any feeding areas and keeping an accurate overview of what is happening on the banks. I rather value the freedom to go fishing however I want, which I allow myself through this freedom. It's not uncommon that an evening seems particularly exciting to me and I spontaneously decide to spend the night by the water.

June evenings can hold an incomparable magic. Especially on the banks of a river. With the evening coolness, a real sigh of relief seems to take place. The sun, which has almost set, bathes the backdrop in its final, very special light. A light wind carries the diverse smells of the surrounding area and countless white fish splash quietly on the surface of the water. Of course, the buzzing of the mosquitoes is rarely absent, but all too often the little pests spoil the romance of the moment. Forced to flee, you hide under the protective mosquito net. Here you can at least stay undisturbed and hope for the bite in the early hours of the morning.

I also plan my fishing around this phase of the day. Especially on the river, it is always possible to catch a carp on your fishing rod early in the morning. Of course, I won't experience a fishing frenzy, as can be the case at a feeding area or in the right area before spawning. In return, it offers me the opportunity to achieve joyful success with absolutely minimal effort.

A tactically well-located spot and two rods on your own bank edge are completely sufficient in such situations. I place the first rod quite close. The second one is usually a little further out, at the foot of the edge. So that the line of the wide rod does not run over the rod that is close to the bait, I fish both rods slightly offset. In practice, the nearby rod is a few meters further down the river. I also always set up the rods a little above the actual fishing spot so that the lines run with the current and the pressure is minimized. Two good hands of boilies, fed in strips over both rods, complete the whole witchcraft.

The next few weeks will probably pass by just as the river water sloshes back and forth in peaceful uniformity. Certainly with serenity, brought about by the comforts of life, which in turn are supported by the carefreeness of summer. Spellbound football fans carry the flame of hope and use it to light their fireplaces, which shortly afterwards send that unmistakable smell of barbecue into the air. Lively chatter and street music flows through the coffee-lined streets, benevolently covering up the romantic whispers of the cuddly couples. Arm in arm and looking dreamily into the sunset, little secrets are shared here, to which the narrator considers it completely unabashed to ask for access. The nimble swallows, whose alert call completes our small setting, also seem engrossed in an endless game of catch driven by pure joy of life.

Oh Midsummer Night's Dream, feel free to stay a while.

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