There’s something about match day that gets you out of bed easier than usual. It’s early, it always is, but there’s a buzz, the excitement as you’re preparing your flask, and it’s not just another day. It’s something to look forward to. A proper day out. Not one you spend shopping or stuck in traffic, but one where you sit by the water with a few like-minded souls and try to catch a fish or two. Or fifty, if you’re lucky.
But first, breakfast.
Match days start in cafés. Always have. Greasy spoons, the smell of bacon fat in the air, and talk of tactics over mugs of tea. You’ll hear things like “He drew peg 14 last week and emptied it” and “They’re having it short on hard pellets”, which, if you’re not into fishing, sounds like code. But to everyone there, it’s gospel.
And the best part? It’s friendly. Even though you’re all about to try and beat each other, there’s a laugh in the air and no one takes themselves too seriously. Unless there’s a few quid on the line, then it’s slightlymore serious.
The Draw
All eyes are on the draw bag. That battered old cash bag holds the fate of your day. You stick your hand in and pull out a peg number, hoping it’s the one the wind’s blowing straight into and not the one that’s overgrown with the ducks nesting in it. Some pegs are magic. Others are... character-building.
I draw peg 8. Not a flier, not a disaster. There is a little bit of room, which in match fishing means you’ve got a chance.
The van doors slide open, and the gear gets unpacked with the same care and ritual as it always does. Then down to the peg to survey the office for the day and prepare for battle.
All in
Once you get to your peg, things settle down. The talking stops. It’s just you and your gear and the sound of the water. Rigs get set, bait is prepared carefully like you’re a Michelin-starred chef and laid out like a banquet, and your world focuses in on the few metres of lake in front of you.
Then the match starts. Someone shouts, "All in!" and everyone begins their five-hour game of cat and mouse with the fish. Rods get cast out, floats settle, and people start waiting, and hoping, for that first bite. Sometimes it comes straight away. Sometimes you wait. Other times you wait, and it never comes, but thats fishing.
But then your float twitches, dips, and vanishes, and you’re in. That feeling never gets old. It’s a little buzz every time, even when you’ve been doing it for years.
More than catching
It’s not always about the fishing. Yes, you want to catch fish. Of course you do. But there’s something peaceful about being sat by the water with nothing to do but concentrate on a float, its quiet, it’s therapeutic. And there’s something rewarding about it too, when a plan comes together and the fish play ball, it’s a quiet sort of satisfaction you don’t get from a screen.
But best of all is the people.
You get characters at matches. Old blokes who’ve been doing it for forty years and still moan about the draw. Young lads full of confidence and YouTube tactics. Mates you only see once a week at the lake but feel like you’ve known a lifetime. Everyone’s got a story. Everyone’s got a theory. And everyone has got time for a chat at the end, win or lose.
Weigh-in and pack up
As the match winds down, things get twitchy again. Did you do enough? Did those bigger fish in the margins make a difference? Did the guy on peg 3 really have a net full or was he just playing mind games?
The weigh-in is part ceremony, part social event. Nets come out, weights are called, jokes are made. Someone always surprises everyone. Theres always one who’s had a nightmare. Someone always “should’ve had another 20lb if I’d gone down the edge sooner.” Hindsight is always the best angler.
You pack up slowly. Tired but happy. Dirty, smelly, windswept, and maybe a bit disappointed, but already thinking about next week. It’s addictive like that.
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More than a hobby
Match fishing isn’t just a sport. It’s a day out. It’s an excuse to catch up, switch off, a screen break and be part of something. It’s competitive, yes, but never cutthroat. It’s routine with just enough unpredictability that keeps it exciting
And if you’re lucky, every now and again, everything falls into place. The draw’s kind, the fish turn up, and you walk away with a win. But even when they don’t, you still get your breakfast, the fresh air, the banter, and five hours of calm.
Not a bad way to spend a day, is it?
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