Transient Towpath Trudging - Pt.146 (Canal Zander)

Ah, St George’s Day when the flags flutter, the ale settles warm in the gut, and a man feels duty-bound to face his own private dragon. Mine, of course, has fins, sulks in the margins, and answers when it answers at all to the name of Zander. Like the saint himself, one must approach with a blend of misplaced confidence and stubborn ritual: a well-thumbed lure box instead of a lance, and faith that somewhere beneath that sullen, tea-stained water, something wicked eyes your offering with grudging intent.For Zander are no patriotic celebrants. They care not for saints nor songs, only for the slow, deliberate trespass of your bait through their dim dominion. And so, while others toast St George with cheer, I stand towpath side, engaged in my own quiet crusade half myth, half madness hoping, just once, to strike true and feel that unmistakable, dragonish resistance on the line.Now It was one of those evenings where the sun is doing its absolute best to convince you it’s spring, while the…