When I was a kid at boarding school the last week of term was an eternity, hours seemed to last for days and days seemed to be weeks long. Now well into my fifth decade time always seems to run permanently fast, there is just never enough time in the working day and all to often the working day ends up running over and into leisure time. Now as the first day of the season slowly approaches all my best efforts seem unable to hasten the passage of time its as if I have returned to those childhood times of never ending days. Hours at the fly tying bench seem unable to hurry things along I have checked and oiled the reels tied new leaders and generally cleaned away the detritus of last season. I have had a close shave after discovering that mice had chewed up the bag for my kelly kettle but have kept away from anything more valuable. The winter has been busy and has seen me doing less Grayling fishing than ever before but that was due to work pressure rather than the weather. But when the long summer evenings start I will recover those lost hours of fishing I reckon I am owed from my annual tally and if the lore is correct "The gods do not deduct from man's allotted span the hours spent in fishing." Then they wont count at all.
This winter I have made some changes to the rivers I have access too. The Rye, a beautiful river that I have fished for a good few years has made way, as to get there for the evening rise is a fair drive and driving is something that I am doing my best to reduce. Since starting working for myself last summer I have now a local office and the daily 100 mile round journey and nearly three hours a day commuting drive which I have endured for the last 17 years has stopped. A quick calculation tells me over those years all that travel time equates to about 500 full days. Now using the theory above that time spent fishing doesnt count I reckon if I can get in another 50 days a year fishing a year I should break even on the time deal by the time I am in my mid sixties. So local fishing is worth a premium to me and the river derwent at a meagre ten minutes from home once again will become a regular haunt.