A number of threads have appeared in FISHINGmagic’s Forum that have given me cause to reflect on the dangerous nature of our sport. We all know the very serious dangers posed by water itself should one fall in to a swollen river or, as in the sad report recently, should a person become ill and fall into even shallow water whilst being incapable of saving themselves. We are also aware of the dangers of connecting carbon fibre to electricity. All of this got me in a reminiscing mood and the following is a brief resume of occasions in my angling experience when disaster lurked close at hand, sometimes for me, sometimes for others. Like watching ‘You’ve been framed’ you may laugh but also wince. Just possibly some of these episodes may serve as a warning and save you from pain. Just as likely you’ll think ‘what a twit!’
Shifting loads
One of the more ridiculous things we anglers do is to overload ourselves with ever bigger seatboxes, rucksacks and holdalls. Even the very name of one style of luggage gives the game away – ‘carryall’ WHY? After all, I curse my wife for taking the kitchen sink to Benidorm, so why do I need it on the Ribble? Increasingly over the past couple of seasons I have told myself to cut back on what I carry, but do I listen? Towards the end of last season after a long day I trudged back to the car over foot-deep mud-lined fields weighed down by nearly all the tackle I possess and I was sure I could feel the heart-attack coming on. However, problems with loads don’t always depend upon the sheer weight being carried.
Back in the 60’s my fishing companion at the time, Alan, was crossing a small but swollen inlet stream by way of a plank some kind person had laid across. Half way across he slipped slightly (it was raining torrentially at the time) and his wicker basket (one of those large rectangular ones) shifted ever so slightly on his back with the consequence that he was dragged backwards off the bridge into the raging torrent beneath. What was normally a trickling brook was a good 30 inches deep and Alan was completely immersed necessitating an extremely uncomfortable and embarrassing 90 minutes bus journey home.
Watching your step
I referred above to wading through muddy fields and the very nature of where we go as anglers makes it likely that from time to time, at least, we will encounter nasty ground conditions. A number of the Cheshire Meres that I fish are flooded former sand workings and wading is definitely not recommended, as the sand is often quite fluid. Wading in rivers is always hazardous and needs to be undertaken with care, but it is the unexpected that catches you out.
In the late 70’s Llyn Brenig on the Denbigh Moors opened for trout fishing and on my first trip, in an effort to avoid the shoulder to shoulder crowds that had gathered at the more accessible spots, I and my companion, another John, made our way around the end of the lake (an area which was made an SSI shortly after). This area is cut through by scores of feeder streams, most only rivulets but some fairly substantial, and requiring a good length of stride to cross. I am a mere 5ft 7ins, John is 6ft 2ins and I followed him like the servant followed Good King Wenceslas, placing my feet in the path he trod. Well, very nearly, for at one especially wide stream I placed my foot on the edge where John’s foot had been a second earlier only to find that the bank dematerialised beneath my step, I fell lengthways and all but submerged in the icy water. It was late May but it was actually snowing at the time! Fortunately I had a towel and spare clothing so I retraced my steps and was able to dry off and change – no mean feat in an Austin Mini!
Another trip with John to a Welsh Lake taught us never to assume that the ground you walk on will always be the same. At one stile that we had scaled many times previously, John went over first and landed in the usual spot on the other side, where a ‘small’ puddle had gathered during recent rain, only to sink up to his thigh in mud. Why this ‘pothole’ had never been there before was a complete mystery but it taught me always to test any suspect ground before committing myself to it.
Tripping the light fantastic
Riverbanks, especially after rain, are often exceedingly treacherous, and many are the slips and slides I have seen and partaken of. These days I wear a self-inflating lifesaver whenever there is any depth of water in front of me and especially when flood conditions prevail, others I know tie themselves to trees by a length of rope. However, whilst you can take steps to minimise risks from slipping into water there is little, apart from being more careful, that can be done to prevent the occasional tripping accident. I seem to have feet that seek out the protruding root or the only rock on the grassy path.
Last October on a day’s carp fishing I had two baitrunner and alarm set-ups in a small indentation in the bank. To my left was a continuous stretch of bushes and to my right, a slight peninsular with a tree on it. At one point I was standing on this peninsular looking for signs of cruising carp, well within reach of my rods I hasten to add, when one of the bite alarms began to scream. I turned to jump down and pick up the rod but found myself flying gracefully through the air, courtesy of a raised tree-root.
It was one of those moments that seem to take forever. My life didn’t flash before me but three other thoughts did: first I was about to land my sylph-like 13 stone across two sets of expensive and borrowed carp tackle (mine having been ‘nicked’ the weekend previously). Second If I landed in the position I was now travelling a bank stick would almost certainly puncture several vital organs. And third, “I’m going to lose this fish!”
Miraculously I somehow managed to turn in mid-flight and landed chin-first behind the first rod. I jumped up and lifted the rod that was sitting on the bite alarm that was still making urgent high-pitched noises, and connected with the fish. At this point I realised that I was missing my specs, vital to someone who cannot see his hand in front of his face without them. The Almighty was still looking after my interests though because my mate, Rob, having partially recovered from hysterical laughter, found the missing essentials undamaged and placed them on my nose and ears whilst I continued to play a lively carp of around 7 lbs. Sadly this story did not have an entirely happy ending as the hook pulled just as I drew the carp to the waiting net, but two out of three prayers answered isn’t bad!
Whose fault?
Reflecting on these events again I guess that in the main are examples of pure accident. Against such eventualities there is no absolute protection although taking care will always minimise the risk. On the other hand there are situations in which the angler is entirely blameworthy: long casting with too-heavy leger weights could easily cause somebody else severe injury, leaving bird’s nests of line, sometimes with hooks attached, is not only a primary danger for wildlife it can also be a hazard for humans.
I recall arriving at a small lake some years ago to discover a pair of anglers fishing a total of five rods over a wide area of the water. I settled in about 25 yards along the bank from them intending to fish under an overhanging bush. It was just before I made my first cast that I discovered that one of the lines was actually in the swim I had settled in – I discovered this because the owner dropped the leger with an almighty splash just a foot in front of me. Not a word had been spoken but I took the cast as a literal ‘shot across the bows’ and moved further away. But what if that cast had been slightly off line? I might not be here to tell the tale. There is a slightly humorous denouement to the story: later in the afternoon one of the duo’s bite alarms sounded. He was obviously fast asleep in his bivvy as his mate began to shout for him and after a little time he emerged somewhat unsteadily from the shelter, picked up a rod and struck, the ferocity of the strike, and the fact that it was another rod that had the run, resulted in him landing flat on his back as he connected with nothing – I quite enjoyed that, but it made me think as well. That incident and my ‘flying’ lesson last year have underlined for me the need to be careful, even when simply striking into a running fish, in some circumstances the proverb ‘more haste less speed’ is especially true for the angler.
