That was the year that was ...

And so, with just a fortnight till the year's end, and me entering my busiest period, the rods have been put away until next year, and the time has come to reflect on one of the most unusual years in my fishing life, in which I've been an angling "prize" at an auction, caught new species fishing in the USA and made a pilot program for a possible TV series, as well as my more usual visiting of lakes, ponds and canals near my east Leicester home.

 

The busy-ness of church and family life meant that I didn't fish nearly as much as I'd like to, but the sessions that I did have were catholic in variety, at times challenging, at times successful and always pleasurable.

 

The sad news was the closing of the lake which had, for the last year and a half been the location for my son and my own pursuit of crucians. We managed just four trips there this year, none of which produced crucians of the 1 pound plus variety that we'd caught the previous year. Here's my son with his last ever crucian from the condemned lake.

 

 

Another highlight was introducing Louie, a teenager from church, to fishing, initially as a result of him bidding for a guided fishing lesson with me in a charity auction. Luckily, the fish were in co-operative mood on the day of the "lesson" and he took a lovely bag of crucians and added a bonus perch of over a pound, all taken on pole fishing gear. Subsequently, much of his pocket money has found its way into the coffers of tackle dealers and fishing shops and he has progressed into a good, keen young angler.

 

 

I also managed a bit of carp fishing, and a number of trips spinning for perch, often accompanied by my son, who has added new skills and experiences to his repertoire, and has developed a liking (not inherited from me!) for bite alarms and method feeders.

 

 

The highlight of my year was spending some time in the States, researching how some American churches in the Southern States have used angling as a means of connecting their Christian activities with their wider local communities. I met some fantastic people, and caught some wonderful fish, in amazing surroundings, from skate and flounder in Charleston to bass and bluegills in Missouri and Arkansas.

 

 

The year ended with a bit of a "media flourish". The readership of this blog dramatically increased as a result of my American adventure, and the Church Times published an illustrated two page article on my exploits.

 

 

 However, the most unexpected spin-off was when I was contacted by a TV producer who had stumbled across the blog, with the result that I, and my fishing minster friend Stewart Bloor, were asked to make a pilot episode for a potential fishing/travel cross-over program with a "light touch" faith element. The filming experience was great fun, and we should know in the New Year whether it has been commissioned for a series- exciting times!

 

 

So, that was this year.

What does next year hold? Does TV "stardom" beckon? Will my son and I uncover new lakes to make up for the loss of the Estate Lake? Will it be a year of bending rods and screaming reels, or blanks and frustrating puzzles? Who knows.

It'll certainly be a season when I continue to develop my evolving passion for "traditional angling", although not to the exclusion of a few night sessions after carp with my son when we'll be doing the whole hi-tech modern carp thing while ensconced in a warm bivvy....... and isn't that just one of fishing's biggest attractions? There's just no way of knowing what 2014 holds, but one thing I'm sure of, is that-in piscatorial terms- it'll "be a blast", just like every other year since I first picked up a rod, over 30 years ago.

 

 

 

Lights, camera, action ...

As someone who's always considered himself to have a "face made for radio", it was a surprise to be contacted in October by a TV company interested in using me to present a potential TV series that would combine fishing and travel and a nod towards my Christian faith. My friend Stewart Bloor, also a church minister, was also recruited to the project, which saw us filming a pilot "taster" episode that will be "hawked" around TV world and shown to commissioning editors in the New Year.

 

And so it was, that after some filming of my own church's Sunday services, along with filming of my family at the Vicarage, we ended up on Monday by a small carp pool with a majestic backdrop of the hills of the Severn Valley.

 



The plan was to catch a few fish for the cameras, before heading on to Great Witley parish church to do some filming there, and to meet their angling mad churchwarden. Part of the sub-plot was that I would fish in a traditional style (I used a handmade porcupine quill float, and perched myself on an old fashioned willow creel, although I didn't go all "split cane fundamentalist" and, rather,  opted for a carbon float rod and fixed spool reel), while Stewart would fish using the full modern carp rods/baitrunners/rod pod/bolt rig and boilies/PVA bag "thing".

 

I'd taken a few small gudgeon on my float-fished maggots, when Stewart's alarm sounded and he was battling the first carp of the day. The cameraman zoomed in on him, the rod took on a pleasing battle curve and then "ping" ...... the hook pulled and the line went slack. No-one said anything. With only 4 hours of actual fishing time (with travelling to the pool, shots to camera, voice-overs and travelling on to the church we were working for at least twice that amount of time, but the actual angling is only a small part of the whole process) we were aware that this might be our only chance with carp, and however diverting gudgeon and small perch might be, they're not exactly great TV viewing!

 

 

Fortunately, after a string of small gudgeon and perch my float once again disappeared, and this time I found myself attached to an angry carp. My float rod and light line combination meant that, although not by any stretch of the imagination, a large carp, the fight was pleasurable, and the fish bent the rod nicely and performed well for the cameras before being pulled over the rim of the waiting landing net, a nice common of about 3 pounds.

 

 

That fish proved to be the "day saver", as only further gudgeon and perch followed its capture. It had always been a bit of a gamble to fish for carp in December with such a small timeframe in which to catch, and my "percentage game" tactics were always likelier to succeed than the "big fish or bust" approach that had been asked of Stewart. It had, however, despite the pressure to produce been a real pleasure, and I've seldom been more delighted with a carp of such humble proportions.

The fish of the day, however, was caught by Steve, a friendly angler not being filmed, who was fishing in a corner of the pond. Not only did he catch far more gudgeon than me, he used one as livebait and caught a beautiful, 1 and three quarter pound perch that I viewed enviously from my swim. Maybe I'll return to target the perch sometime.

 

 

As dark drew in, we drove on into the rural Severn Valley to film at the magnificent parish church of Great Witley. A small church built in extravagant baroque style, it's indisputably a thing of great beauty, and with an organ associated with the composer Handel and ceiling paintings (see below) by Belluci it was bursting with interest for the future TV viewer.

 

 

The bonus was that we were met in the church by its churchwarden, Rick Warner. Not only was he a repository of knowledge about the history and features of the church, nor just was he a link with its current Christian worshipping community who meet in the building, but he is also an avid angler who works full-time for the Angling Trust, helping them to develop national strategies as part of their role as British angling's most significant charitable and administrative organisation. He gave his time freely and generously, and couldn't have been more helpful.

 

                                                                         Dr Rick Warner

 

Altogether, my filming experience had been an eye-opening and enjoyable two days. Throughout the filming in my own church, at the lakeside, and at Great Witley church, our producer and cameraman, Ben,  (for whom the idea of a possible series came as a result of his stumbling across this blog) was a delight to work for, and was unfailingly patient with my and Stewart's first foray into the brave new world of TV presenting, talking to camera, live action filming, voice overs and re-takes (of which there were several!).

 

Now, it's just a case of "watch this space" as the pilot is viewed by commissioning editors in the New Year. Watch out, Robson, I'm after your job .............. although in a less manic,  "hyper" and demented type of way!

 

 

"By inches..."

Charles Haddon Spurgeon was a Baptist preacher of the Victorian era who once commented that it was "by inches that the snail made it to the ark." The progress towards setting up a Christian angling network has also felt like it's progressing "by inches", too but having met with my friend, fellow church minister and co-conspirator, Stewart Bloor last week I think we're pretty close now.

 

 

Stewart, whose weekly blog entitled "Stewart Bloor's Angling Diary" has a massive following, and I now have a graphic designer who will be helping set up the website, and anticipate that in the Spring all the content will be ready to "go live". There'll be forums, opportunities to connect with other anglers and we're looking to run a number of "angling retreats"- weekends of fishing with a faith-based twist.

We're planning a carp fishing session together next month (heck, it's only December, so why not?) and- no doubt- will talk more then.

It may be "by inches", but we're getting there, and shortly the dream will be realised.

 

An angler's seasons

As I huddled into my warm, padded ski jacket and felt the cold penetrating my jeans on this morning's dog walk it seemed hard to believe that just 11 days ago I was perch fishing in shirt sleeves with the sun beating down. If it wasn't for the glorious russets and browns of the leaves and the conkers on the ground I'd have concluded that we'd jumped straight from summer to winter, missing out Autumn altogether.

 

The angler is aware of the seasons more than most.
 Not only are there the changes in the fish's feeding habits, and the traditional switching of species to target, but the angler is there in the middle of the seasonal changes, his or her senses assaulted by the visual and physical effects of the yearly calendar. From temperature discomfort (too hot or too cold, but rarely "just right!") to the smell of blossoms or wet grass or farmer's "muck spreading", to the changing visual backdrop that we insert ourselves into when we fish.

 

 

The lazy, balmy Summer days of surface caught carp,  3/4 length shorts and green, verdant bankside vegetation give way to Winter lure fishing sessions, with frozen fingers and the angler wrapped up in hats, scarves and ridiculous looking thermal suits and boots against a bleak backdrop of bare trees and icy margins.

I love the changing of the seasons, the familiar and comforting cyclical pattern of "summer and winter, seedtime and harvest", but being outside through the year's changing seasonal tapestry also points me towards bigger and greater truths; moves my attention from the beauty of what I can see, smell, feel and touch, to the logical deduction that behind this irreducibly complex natural order and awe inspiring beauty there must be the ultimate Designer and Artist.
Sometimes fishing is a sacrament.

Fishing all over the world

I love travelling almost as much as I love fishing, and to combine the two is to double the pleasure of either. In recent years the growth of adventure angling, as pioneered by John Wilson and John Bailey and popularised by Henry Gilby, the "love him or loathe him "Robson Green and the intrepid Jeremy Wade (himself a Vicar's son),  has become an exciting new feature of the modern angling scene.

 

My forays into the arena of adventure angling have been limited, but I have caught fish in America, Canada and Tanzania, and these are among my fondest angling memories.

 

My Tanzanian adventures (I've visited the country three times, and fished - albeit casually- on all three) have all been undertaken when accompanied by locals in their simple (flimsy?) wooden dugout canoes with catamaran floats in the Indian Ocean. Usually these have had an outboard motor fitted, although on one occasion, off Zanzibar we were entirely reliant on the power of wind filled sails. I've also visited Ruaha National park three times (where fishing isn't allowed) and gazed longingly at this intimidating sand river, full of maleovolent looking crocodiles and longed to fish it.

 

 

One African adventure, off the coast of Bagamoyo, saw us set out (I was accompanied by my father-in-law, wife and two children in addition to the African "crew") in a sunny flat calm, and come bouncing back (quite literally) into land through a decidedly stormy sea. My terror was accentuated by the fact that my children were in the boat with no mobile phones, no GPS and no-one even knowing that we were out at sea. "Never again" I vowed, but I think if given the chance I probably would.

The other great thing about catching fish from the sea is eating them, and on several occasions we've brought our catch home and asked the chef at our African lodgings to cook what we'd caught.

 

 

 

The first fish I ever caught from the American continent was in Canada in 2007. It wasn't a fishing holiday, but while staying in a log cabin by Clear Lake (once the home of the legendary "Indian" Grey Owl- google him to see why I've used inverted comma's) I met a fishing mad Canadian called Werner. The inevitable happened and we arranged to go fishing early one morning. After a slightly un-nerving walk through the woods in the lifting early morning gloom (this is bear country, after all) we had a quick coffee and then drove to a harbour (Canadian freshwater lakes are the size of English counties and feel more like sea fishing than coarse fishing), where we threw soft plastic worms on baitcaster rigs. I managed the only fish of the day, my first ever walleye, which was only marginally larger than the plastic worm I caught it on.

 

 

This year was the year of my American adventure, and three fishing trips in the USA. I fished off a dock at Charleston, the most idyllic town I've ever visited, with Susan Dalton, who runs her own fishing education and guiding business, where I caught skate and flounder on small livebaits. The skate was returned, but the flounder was eaten within an hour of its capture.

 

 

I also fished twice with my friend Dave Lignger in Missouri, where we fished from a shiny bass boat on Bullshoals Lake where I caught my first ever bass (one on a crankbait, one on a surface popper), and also this cheeky little bluegill that took an ambitious liking to a medium sized alphabet style crankbait.

 

 

On that same session Dave caught a three foot long primeval looking gar fish that jumped spectacularly and snapped aggressively before we unhooked it in the water and released it to cause further mayhem elsewhere.

 

 

Africa, Canada, the United States.....

The world is definitely shrinking, but there are still so many places I want to fish. I've only scratched the surface of the countries I have fished, let alone those that I haven't yet visited. I dream of returning to America, of pushing further into Africa and sharing the water with crocodiles and hippo's while targeting tiger fish in the Zambezi, and of a trip deep into the Amazon to fish for piranha and peacock bass .

So many fish, so many places, so little time ......

 

 

Perch a plenty, but it's "no Trent Park"

 

"You're hoping to find a new Trent Park, aren't you?" said the voice on the other end of the phone. Sometimes my brother is uncannily perceptive, but then we've known each other for over 40 years and fished together for over 30. For 3 years I lived in North London, and my brother at the time was in Essex and we used to lure fish a Country Park near Southgate called Trent Park. A small, pretty lake it was home to hoards of voracious jack pike who liked nothing better than to chase a lure. It was "fun fishing" at its most fun-like, a place where it was harder to blank than to catch, and so when I informed my brother that I'd heard there were some pike in a small (probably about 2 acre) pond studded with lilly pads in a Country Park near my Leicester home it was a natural inference for him to draw. John Gierach once wrote an essay about a small stream near his home entitled "I'd fish anyone's St Vrain" - I'd fish anyone's Trent Park.

 

I arrived at the lake at about 9:30am, and for an hour flung a range of plugs (soft plastics, shallow divers, deep divers and jointed efforts) into the pond, but without any follows, splashes or signs of any esox related interest. To be fair, my research had only produced tentative answers; the (non-fishing) Country park staff had informed me that there were pike in the Lilly Pond, but they didn't know how many, or how big. Fortunately, I had a "plan B".

 

Behind the Country Park is a stretch of canal that I've perch fished on several occasions, and so an hour in to the session, and with the autumnal day turning distinctly "summery", I decided to "cut my losses" and spend a couple of hours spinning on the canal. Fortunately, I'd brought along a few small spinners as a contingency.

 

After an inauspicious start (which involved losing my favourite Rublex Ondex), and a fishless half hour, I decided to concentrate on bridges (my favourite spots for perch fishing on canals), and on my first cast at the first bridge I caught my first perch, a lively fellow that took a liking to a fluo coloured Mepps Aglia.

 Things, were looking up. Two more perch followed from the same swim before my Mepps Aglia went the same way as the Ondex, snagged on some unseen debris.

 I moved to another bridge about a quarter of a mile away, and rapidly caught another three perch, this time on a Mepps Black Fury.

 

 

 

 

 The canal here is not the typical town centre cliché (graffiti daubed concrete, shopping trollies and random bank walking drug users), but is an attractive rural setting, and if golf is a "good walk ruined", spinning for perch on this stretch of canal is a "good walk enhanced". I fished on, watched by a herd of cows on the far bank, before returning to the first bridge.
With 6 perch on the bank, I decided to walk back to the original bridge for a few last casts before heading for home. The Black Fury continued to find favour with the perch, and another 4 were added to bring the day's total to a pleasing 10 fish. Although none of the perch were big, and despite the fact that I could probably have caught 3 or 4 times as many in the timeframe if I'd used maggots and a pole or waggler, the fact is spinning for perch is beyond doubt the most enjoyable way to fish for this plucky and prettiest of British fish.

 

A pleasant day's fishing, but the search for the "new Trent Park" continues ...

 

 

A pike from "back in the day" from Trent Park.



Carp taking candy from kids

If the ability to experiment, and- in business parlance- "think outside the box" is an essential quality for carp fishing excellence, then my 10 year old nephew is well on the way to being an excellent carp angler.

 

On a recent session, with three or four carp already banked, he decided to abandon his standard "fake corn" and method rig, and to hair rig one of the wine gums he'd been rotting his teeth with all morning. The result, was this pretty mirror.

 

Of course, novel baits are nothing new in the world of carp angling. Some of us (like me and his Dad) are old enough o remember getting our own bait ingredients from the catalogues of Rod Hutchinson and Duncan Kay and rolling homemade boilies, and now that it's almost de rigeur in the summer to catch carp on bits of coloured foam or zig bugs, then nothing should surprise us really, but "fair play" to the kid for his experimental approach.

 

Anyway, I'm off to the shops to buy some Fruit pastilles and mini marshmallows .... I'm thinking that the marshmallow fished "snowman" style with the fruit pastille might create a nicely critically balanced effect. I would try "M&M's" but nuts are banned on my lake ...... it's all "food for thought."

Farewell to all that ....

Soon the lake known to regular readers of this blog as "The Estate Lake" will be no more. It's not quite disappearing into total oblivion, but, with its venerable old trees cut down it will begin a new, characterless and tamed incarnation as the "focal feature" in an estate of soul-less new build homes. Greedy property developers and a spineless council who kept meekly acquiescing to every new demand the avaricious developers proposed are to blame for the lake's impending demise.

 

Anyway, enough spleen venting, this evening my son and I joined up with Roger and his two sons for one "last hurrah" on the Estate Lake. To be truthful, the lake has been somewhat "out of sorts" all this season, and hasn't been as beneficent as it once was in its serving up of crucians (the lake's main attraction) to anglers in recent weeks. Perhaps, well aware of its fate, the lake itself has been sulking.

 

My son opted to fish with a waggler (his favourite method), while I and Roger's two sons fished with poles. Initially, Roger nobly just acted as chief untangler, disgorger of hooks and "general gopher" for his lads, although as the session wore on he set up a pole and joined the fray with the rather reluctant fish.

 

 

The fishing was slow, the weather inclement, with several fierce showers, and the catching of fish proved to be challenging. We all caught, although not prolifically. I managed 15 fish (all roach and rudd), Roger had half a dozen, including one reasonable perch, and the boys really struggled, with just 5 fish between them, although, thankfully, none of them blanked.

 

 

And so another lake is consigned to the "memories" corner of my mind, a pleasant "field of dreams" for two seasons, in which both I and my son several times came close to our hoped-for two pound crucian without ever realising the ambition.
 ..... and so, as Summer turns to Autumn, my thoughts turn from poles, whips, wagglers and crucians to plugs, spinners and deadbaits ..... soon it'll be October, and the predators are calling ....

Blanking on the familiar

Fascinating but frustrating.
 Back in Britain, and fresh from catching freshwater bass and bluegills on lures, and sea skate and flounder on livebait in America, I decided on an evening's carp fishing as my re-introduction to English angling, on a water I plan to target seriously next year. A small lake of a couple of acres, although I'd perch fished it in the past, I'd never carp fished it before, and so the plan was to "get to know the water" and maybe tangle with the odd carp.

 

I decided on a swim with marginal features (reeds, tree roots etc.) on both sides, and fished PVA bags of boilies in mixed sizes and pellets, along with inline leads, and boilies as bait. On the left hand rod I used a fluorocarbon hooklink (my first mistake, more of which later), while on the right hand rod I opted for a braided hooklink. Lines were fished slack, and I sat down and waited, made up a few PVA bags and kept firing a steady stream of floaters out into the middle of the lake to see if I could get the carp competing on the top.

 

 

After a while carp started taking the floaters, although not voraciously, and so I wound in my rods, and took my floater rod to the corner of the lake where the floaters had blown, and tried on the top for an hour. The carp here have clearly been hammered on the top, and the hookbait was always the last to be explored, with carp "feeling" with their lips, approaching, touching the bait, but never taking it confidently. I was using an inline "bolt rig" controller with about a 6 foot tail of specialist floater line, but after an hour without a proper take I decided that the bottom fished margin baits probably represented my best chance. (mistake number 2)

 

Within minutes of recasting the margin rods, I had a screaming run on the left hand rod. A small gallery gathered round me as I played a reasonable fish (I caught sight of it several times, a "ghostie" that looked to be about 12 pounds), then after about 3 or 4 minutes, with the fish tiring, suddenly everything went horribly slack. I was using commercially purchased hooklinks (I'll refrain from naming the manufacturer, but if they let me down again I won't be as understanding!) and upon inspection it was them that had let me down. The fluorocarbon hadn't snapped at either the knot tying the main line to the swivel or the hook knot, but had just snapped half way along its length. I was less than sanguine, and while I gave a "some you win, some you lose" shrug to those watching, on the inside I was scowling! Losing a fish through "angler error" is one thing, losing it because a commercially made hooklink wasn't "up to the job" is quite another; I know what you're thinking: stop moaning and tie your own hooklinks, but my current commitments and stage of life don't afford me the luxury of that sort of time!

 

Mistake number 2 occurred when Ollie, an angler and friend from church, popped round to visit. I gave him my floater rod, told him he was welcome to try it but "not to expect anything, because they're not really having it with confidence on the top." Five minutes later, another man's carp was laying in my net, having been caught on my rod. Ollie went on to catch another (both small at about 5 pounds) off the top- these 2 were obviously acting to a less reticent script than their fellow carp who'd shown such caution. I ended up with a blank, but having lost and hooked a double, and seen 2 caught on floaters in just 4 hours there's plenty of encouragement as I look towards mounting a serious shot at the water as next summer's project.
 Now, it's off to "lick my wounds", and put in enough gardening hours to "buy" my next session.

 

 

American adventure- postscript.

So, 2500 miles driven, time spent in Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, Arkansas, Kentucky and Missouri, 5 new species of fish caught, guns fired, arrows despatched, lots of American Christians met with, contact made with 10 outdoor ministries- it's been a blast.

 

I've been reminded of how great it is to be  part of the worldwide church, I've loved America but realised how much I belong at home and with my family, I've experienced kindness, learnt loads, worshipped in 3 different churches, sat at Billy Graham's desk, avoided being mauled by bears (I saw a dead black bear by the road today) or bitten by rattle snakes, copperheads or water moccasins, and have become one of the people I always admired but never thought I'd have the ability/foolhardiness to be: a long distance solo traveller.

 

Thank you to Ironman Outdoors, Mount Pleasant Presbyterian Church, 4 Outdoorsmen, Hooked for Life, Christian Outdoorsman, True North, Peterson Outdoors, Christian Trail for Christ, the Christian Waterfowlers Association and Paradise Outfitters.

 

Thanks to Susan Dalton, Brett Potter and Dave Lingner for taking me fishing, and to Shirley, Brent, Philip and Fiona and Dave and Nancy for having me stay in their homes, and to Brandon Howard for popping by to say "hello" in Tennessee.

 

Grateful thanks also to The Memorial Chapel Grant of the English Speaking Union, Ecclesiastical Insurance Group, Leicester Diocese and St Luke's Church for their financial help with the project - and so, now to meet up in Vegas with the three people I've missed the most.

Hope you've enjoyed reading about my travels, travails and triumphs in America,

God bless you all

 

 

American Adventure (13) "Fish expressions of church"

I like Oak Grove, Missouri. It's pretty much the first place in America that I've been that (a) acknowledges that humans have legs, and (b) that they might want to use them for getting about. It's a suburb with decent pavements (translation: "sidewalks") and having arrived early for my meeting, I wandered around a bit before stopping for an iced lemonade at a Sonic restaurant. Wisely, I sat in the shade in the 94 degree heat.

 

 

I was in Oak Grove to meet Brandon Smith, the energetic and visionary pastor of an unusual type of church, what we in the UK would describe as a "Fresh Expressions" church (now do you get the title?), a whole church called Paradise Outfitters based around reaching, evangelising and discipling the outdoors community. Brandon, a former youth pastor in a number of Southern Baptist churches, started the church with just a handfull of others 5 years ago, and now it has a weekly attendance of 300 and a community of about 400 who meet across three services, two on Sunday and one on a Thursday evening.

 

After a tour of the local Bass Pro shop (an angler's dream- I could walk around it all day, spend nothing and still feel I'd had a great day out .... several floors, brilliantly set out, thousands of rods, loads of terminal tackle, reels, lures etc, bass boats, guns), we settled down for a serious conversation at an ice cream parlour. (we'd eaten steak earlier in the day- it's tough work this sabbatical thing!)

 

 

I've already over-used the word "community" in this post, but advisedly so. The whole concept of "Paradise Outfitters" is based around the idea of creating community. The church building has its own archery range, which is open an hour before the meal which precedes the service. A note on the archery range: I fired three arrows, the first missed the target, the second was a bullseye, the third also hit the target, and then I "retired" from archery at the top of my game. Now for the bad news- Brandon took a photo of me posing with my bullseye shot, but when I got back to the motel to download my photo's the photo hadn't come out .... there's an art to using this camera which involves a slow and sustained finger pressure on the button - "gutted", and then some!

 

Paradise Outfitters is intentionally evangelistic, and is proving very succesfull in reaching people who more conventional American churches struggle to reach. I'm not saying that most of the congregation would think that a "split infinitive" could be fixed with duct tape, but they are, in the main, good, honest, hardworking blue collar workers, many with no church background, who dress for church like they dress for any other day of the week, in contrast to the Sunday-best, "suited and booted" Southern Baptists or Assemblies of God crowd. The church is also deliberately not over driven by its program, keeping things simple and organic, weekly services, once a month youth event, no Sunday School, a yearly kids fishing camp (under the "Hooked for Life"  banner) and occasional mission trips and other ad hoc activities. What they do have is a series of archery leagues in the week, which enable them to create a large fringe of contacts to befriend and invite to services.

 

 

This evening I attended one of their services. (the picture above is of the "Welcome Desk") The worship space has an outdoorsy "feel", lots of taxidermy on the walls, a fantastic log cabin made by a church member and a rustic looking cross, as well as fishing and archery paraphenalia on the walls.

 

 

After the archery (did I tell you earlier that I got a bullseye second shot? ...... oh, sorry, I did...), there was a meal, and then we were into the worship. I did a quick interview with Brandon, and was well received by the congregation (I hope they were laughing with me and not just at my accent!), and then we were into three worship songs that would have been recognised by English churchgoers.

 

 

 

 

After the singing, Nathan, also a former youth pastor, now an intern at the church, preached a hard-hitting, simple to understand evangelistic sermon on John 3:16, which was followed up by a response song, a closing prayer, after which the archery range opened up again, and people stayed for ages to talk and hang out together. Two little boys, both fans of "River Monsters", chatted to me because I talk like Jeremy Wade, and everyone was friendly. It was probably the first church I've ever been in where most of the congregation were more tattoo'd than me and was a fantastic snapshot of a very different expression of church, and a very encouraging and uplifting evening. I'm not sure that it's a directly replicable model of church, because we in the UK don't have the same kind of multi-disciplinary outdoorsman/outdoorsperson identity (these guys fish, hunt with guns, hunt with bows, camp, back-pack- it's a whole way of life), but there was lots to be learnt from spending time with them. They were also very supportive of the plan to create an angling ministry in the UK, and wanted to keep in touch and do anything they can, in the future, to help.

 

Original and unique, and a good place to end my American outdoors Christian adventure. A congregation dressed in camouflage, vest tops and baseball caps with dead animals on the walls may not be everyone's "cup of tea", but they certainly blessed me tonight, and I'll be praying for them as they seek to make Christ known in an exciting and different way.

 

Posing for the camera with some of the leaders of Paradise Outfitters.

American adventure (12) .... Barbeques and bluegill

Today was a relaxed day, and my last day at Dave's- tomorrow I'm off to my final "port of call" to visit Paradise Outfitters. I'll miss the great view from the deck, but most of all Dave and his family. Not only has Dave worked like a Trojan over the last few months helping me to set up the whole American adventure, but he's great company, and his family are a great credit to him and his wife.

 

 

This evening Dave, Nancy and two of their children, Andrew and Melody took me to Table Rock lake for some real "Huckleberry Finn" style fishing (worms and bobber floats) and a family barbeque. The fish, small bluegills and sunfish were very obliginging, biting with regularity and abandon, with Andrew outcatching the two old guys.

 

 

The fish although small were exquisetly coloured, and the natural beauty of the lake provided a magical backdrop in the evening sunshine.

 

 

The fish kept coming thick and fast, but catch of the day was a turtle, hooked fairly in the mouth by Andrew, who- being mad on nature and critters, took it home and is now keeping it as a pet. We kept fishing until we ran out of worms, with the fish continuing to bite until the end.

 

 

As the weather grew dusky, and once we'd exhausted the supply of worms we moved up the bank and enjoyed a barbeque while being treated to a flying display by three screech owls.

 

 

 

All in all, a great evening, and one in which the panoramic natural backdrop was its own challenge to anyone blind enough not to see the work of a purposive designer and Creator.

 

 

American adventure (11) Wounded warriors, waterfowlers and another State ....

It's not often that you shake hands with the owner of a multi-million dollar hunting resort who also holds four world record trophies from African hunts who also happens to be a Christian, and who radiates enthusiasm for Jesus; but I'm getting ahead of myself.

 

Yesterday it was back in the Bug, which was pointed in the direction of Joplin, where Tron Peterson, of Peterson Outdoor Ministries, had lined up a full day's schedule.

 

 

Tron is an avid hunter, who formerly worked for a Christian publishing company. Peterson Outdoors provide hunting opportunities and experiences for wounded ex miliatary personnel and people with disabilities. The suicide rate for ex military personnel runs alarmingly high, and along with the physical injuries that many carry there are also the plethora of mental and stress related problems that result from some of the things those who've served in places such as Iraq or Afghanastan have witnessed and experienced. Peterson Outdoors also provide hunting and outdoor experiences for Military Chaplains who minister to those on operational service.

 

Tron's passion isn't only for hunting, the ministry's focus goes beyond giving those who've had a rough deal a fun time, but the driving force is to see often very broken people come to Christ- and many do. As well as hunting, which is the main activity focus, Peterson Outdoors also provide fishing, and more "extreme" opportunities such as waterski-ing with adaptive equipment that enables even those with very severe impairments opportunities to do things they would never have dreamt of being able to do.

 

Following an excellent lunch with Tron and his wife Misty, we talked "Outdoors Ministry", saw some dvd's of testimonies and action from Peterson Outdoors events. The testimonies really brought out the lasting effects of going to war, not only in terms of physical injury but particularly the scars of losing friends and colleagues and the difference Jesus has made in the lives of some of those who've attended the camps.

 

 

We then moved on to America's largest pheasant hunting resort, "Show me birds", owned, run and created from nothing by Kim Shira. Kim, who has hunted all around the world, and holds four world records for African game he's shot, one of which is pictured below.

 

 

Kim, whose property, over the border into Kansas, is extensive has recently set up a "Christian Trail for Christ", aimed at drawing men from the fringes of church life, or non-Christian husbands of Christian wives into an environment that they're comfortable with and then presenting the gospel using activities they can relate to. Trained guides lead the men through a range of activities from chipping golf balls to skeet shooting, rifle shooting, fishing, pistol shooting, bouncing around on four wheelers and crossbow shooting. The guides then draw out and share simple, challenging, evangelistic lessons from each activity. Kim, who has a strong personal testimony of how God has worked in his life over the last few years, is an energetic, enthusiastic man who is building a whole range of facilities for church groups on his land, and offering them to churches and pastors at no cost.

 

 

The evening ended up with me attending a meeting of the Christian Waterfowlers Association, an evangelistic and fellowship based ministry working amongst duck hunters. The CWA have chapters accross the States, a website presence, and a large national get-together as well as smaller locally based events.

 

The 140 mile drive back to Dave's was "fun" in the dark" (Americans have a strange aversion to street lighting or "cats eyes"), and I was relieved when I turned into Dave's drive at midnight with myself and the car still in one piece. Another great day, Tron was a great host, very experienced in his field, and his kindness and eagerness to help were typical of what I've discovered from the Christian outdoors community of America's Southern States.
...... oh yeah, and I drove on Route 66.