One of the great things about angling is that it brings peopletogether. Tackle shops are renowned for having their (almost residentin some cases) number of ‘groupies’, usually discussing the pros andcons of a particular method or mentioning that peg number so and sois producing at the moment.
Whilst not wanting to involve myself in such banter, I do oftenstop and chat to others on the bankside. Whether it be a blazing hotday in August or a bone chilling January morning, it’s nice to beable to wander across to the guy in the next swim just to say helloand ask how he’s getting on.
A similar sort of thing happened to me three years ago. I was inthe middle of a D-I-Y job at my sister-in-laws when I had to dash outand get some more things.
On the way to the checkout, I heard a voice call out my nameseveral times but I didn’t bother taking much notice. The ‘voice’became louder and more urgent until I looked round to see that it wasan old angling pal from my schooldays. We reminisced for ages,swapped phone numbers, etc, and now have become firm friends againafter losing contact for around twenty years.
Later that day, after getting home I got the old photograph albumout. Flicking through the album took me way back to the age of 11when I started fishing. How on earth I ever managed to become anangler almost beggars belief. It took two years before I even caughtmy first fish. That said, I was at a certain disadvantage, havingonly an old cane boat rod with matching Bakelite centrepin.
My parents must have taken pity on me, for after arriving homefrom yet another fishless session, I was told that there was anexperienced angler in the village who would be willing to take meunder his wing. Ray was his name, although I always used to call himMr Harding, not only out of respect, but also because I feltuncomfortable about using forenames when addressing my elders.
The very first thing he did was to suggest that I join a localclub and then accompany him on his next trip. Tackle wouldn’t be aproblem, because I could borrow his old gear.
So excited was I, at the thought of going ‘proper’ fishing thefollowing weekend, that I read and re-read all of my fishingbooks.
Saturday morning at eight o’clock sharp and there was arat-tat-tat on the door; Mr Harding had arrived.
During the drive to the river, I bombarded him with questions.Where are we going to fish? What will we catch? Is bread any good forbait? Etc etc. Then, to my amazement, he produced a pipe from hispocket, packed the bowl with baccy and proceeded to smoke it. Bloodyhell; talk about Mr Crabtree and Peter!
Strangely, I don’t remember anything else about that first trip,other than that I didn’t catch anything!
During the months that followed, I began to learn all aboutfloats, shotting patterns, trotting, laying-on and ledgering. Morebooks would be read at home, with Mr Crabtree’s book now fastbecoming a favourite of course. And did I catch anything? Did I heck,although I did at least feel more confident about catching my firstfish.
Surely it was just a matter of time!
Unfortunately, the closed season was now upon us and it would bethree months before I could wet a line again. Not being allowed to gofishing didn’t stop me thinking about it however, and I remembercycling round to Mr Harding`s house in the evenings after he hadfinished work, just to talk about fishing. I’d always be greeted atthe door and offered a cuppa and a slice of cake, then go through tothe front room where I’d listen for hours whilst Mr Harding told meabout his past fishing trips, only stopping every now and then toreplenish the tea and to relight his pipe.
Slowly the weeks passed by and June 16th got closer and closer.Exactly what happened next I cannot recall, but one afternoon duringthe weekend I went round to see Mr Harding.
As always, I approached from the little gate at the bottom of hisgarden next to the tackle shed and I could see him there with a rodand reel in his hand. He was trying out a new rod and reel that he’djust got from the tackle shop.
Murmuring something, he passed me the rod and I made a couple ofcasts across the lawn. Immediately I noticed how much smoother thereel was compared to what I’d been using; also the rod felt so nice,having what I considered to be a `crisp` action, as recommended by MrCrabtree.
Afterwards, he explained that the new outfit was mine for theforthcoming season.
A figure of £ 5
