I can't say that I shall miss much about Norwich. The city and people are nice enough, but if you don't have an extended family living here (most people seem to), it feels very isolated. I will, however, miss the wild Fenlands very much, and especially this little chalkstream that flows through it.
Phillip Pullman (whose philosophies on God I don't agree with) nevertheless describes the Fenlands in a particularly eloquent way, which I have adapted here:
...the Fens - that wide and never fully mapped wilderness of huge skies and endless marshland in eastern Anglia. The furthest fringe of it mingled indistinguishably with the creeks and tidal inlets of the shallow sea, and the other side of the sea mingled indistinguishably with Holland...parts had never been drained or planted or settled at all, and in the wildest central regions, eels slithered and waterbirds flocked. (Adapted from: Northern Lights).
There is something magical and wonderful about the stark beauty of this place and the little river that flows through it on its short journey to the North Sea. Here is one of my favorite views on the river - looking down from an improved, gravelly section that holds lots of little wild browns with deep red spots. I have deliberately tried to capture more of the fen itself here. A huge barn owl lived and hunted in those far trees:
Here's another, looking upriver towards an old church and a stone bridge that marks the edge of what I consider to be the 'good water.' It was just lovely to stand here on a long summer evening, casting in slanting light to the soft accompaniment of church bells carried on the wind.
I owe a lot to this river in terms of my fishing technique and style. I had to endure 2 months (about 8 sessions) of my own personal longest silence before I managed to catch one of it trout. A nice mayfly hatch helped in that case. But the river did teach me some things, and part of the reason that I did start catching fish more regularly was because I listened to what she had to say.
Above all, she taught me to slow down. I learned that sometimes (more often than not as it turned out) good fishing requires not fishing at all: standing still, watching, and listening, rather than casting. As the season progressed, I moved on from this basic lesson to a better understanding of its application: how to ambush fish.
I was also fortunate to have the place itself, and its surroundings. A place where I could escape, either alone or with my family. Amongst the settled landscape that is England, wild places like the Fenlands are few and precious. Neither the sight of old churches, nor the sound of their bells could detract from the natural beauty of this place. An unquenchable wild spirit awoke in me every time I set off in search of trout amongst the rustling reeds.
