A Chalkstream in Hertfordshire

This is a report of my visit to an intimate and very private chalkstream barely outside Greater London, in the county of Hertfordshire. So private that I was asked not to say very much else about its whereabouts. I took the train, needing to travel through London at the peak of the morning commute. The train eased beside the platform with people already occupying the vestibules. Standing room only for an hour from my distant southern shire. Wearing quick-drying khaki and carrying a large bag of fishing paraphernalia, I stood out starkly from the monochrome sea of suits. There are times when I must join them, when I'm tired, when I know what is to come in the commercial boiler of London, when I want to be left alone to rest and prepare. But now I observed them as an outsider, carrying only excitement at the prospect of spending a work day fishing. The carriage lurched along in silence, the passengers preoccupied by their phone screens. Large electronic ear muffs seemed the new fashion,…