This brings back memories for me, of a time years ago when I spent a number of months in England. I roomed in a quaint inn a few miles outside London, in fact I had the same room that Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor had lived in for almost a year when they were attending to Burton's ill brother who was in the hospital there.

One weekend, after shopping at Hardy's and Farlow's on the Avenue Pall Mall in London, I took my newly aquired English tackle and headed for Winchester and the storied rivers, Test and Itchen, to fish those same places where Walton had done so many years before.

It was near the end of May, a glorious time of year, when all things that love the out of doors were alive and well. The Mayflies, as the Bristish call them, were hatching in full force and there were many large fish feeding on top in reckless abandon.

While most of the water there is private, and takes an almost royal connection to have access to a river beat, I'll never forget finding a short section of public water on the Itchen, and having a conversation with one of the locals who was fishing there.

"How's the fishing" I aksed.

"It's never any good here," he replied. "That's why this section is open to public fishing, because it hasn't got any fish in it."

I smiled and bit my lip, thinking to myself "I wonder if it just might be due to the British tradition of bonking every fish you land on the head and taking them home for dinner." I could plainly see there were lots of excellent fish in the private waters both upstream and down of this public stretch.

Somewhere, I have picture of me in my Barbour coat and Wellies, holding a 6 pound brown. Right before I released it. So much for tradition.