She is a fickle stream. Bursting her banks in a muddy rage only to settle and clear as you sit and watch. Sometimes the fishing is absurd – a bite a cast as she smiles and glistens. Then, two days later, her mood has changed and she snags your hook in weed and sends your favourite float into the branches of an overhanging branch.
This all adds to the charm of the Stour though, even if we anglers descend slowly into madness.