For many anglers today commercial fisheries are all they’ve ever known; the thought of making a trip to a river, lake or canal would never enter their minds. They’re open all year; they’re generally very well stocked; the swims can be convenient for parked cars, and many are especially suitable for disabled anglers; great for match fishing – what’s not to like? Well, some are great but there are a few that I’ve been to that I wouldn’t wish to go to again. Small, overstocked ponds where fish welfare is only paid lip-service are the kind I have in mind. The sort of place where you catch a 6lb carp, at your feet, on the two sucked maggots you’ve just removed from a 2lb tench, where’s the skill and satisfaction in that? I’m sorry, I’m ranting on a bit now, I’ll get on with my story.
Last year, or it could have been the one before, I had an afternoon to spare so I visited a local commercial fishery that I tend to favour as the fishing is from grassy banks, not platforms. It was a nice, sunny spring day; I’d called in at the ‘sticky-bun’ shop for a sandwich and some cakes and I was looking forward to a peaceful afternoon’s fishing. I’d been there about an hour, missed a couple of bites, enjoyed my lunch and was ready to concentrate for the rest of the afternoon when a couple of blokes turned up and sat on a bench that was near the car park overlooking the pond. One of them started laughing loudly and I cursed under my breath. If there’s one thing I hate above everything else when I’m fishing is noisy anglers.
I’ve noticed that commercial fisheries can be a bit noisy. One of my oldest fishing buddies, Chris, took me to his favourite commercial a few years back; he’d hyped it up a bit on the strength of the catches that he’d had: it was awful. It was situated next to a road with an appalling constant racket from the traffic; there was a dog barking all day; someone was mowing their grass; there was a biplane practicing stunt rolls for three hours; all the swims were incredibly tight, only fishable by pole: I nearly didn’t tackle up. The first fish I caught had a chewed-up lip – well the one lip that was left was chewed-up anyway – I hated it. I think he realised I wasn’t enjoying myself and we packed up early. Instead he took me to have a look around a new commercial complex that he’d heard of: what a contrast. There were five or six different lakes, loads of room, lovely tackle shop and café and clean toilets. It was by a main railway line but the trains only passed every half hour or so, in between it was blissfully peaceful.
I visit once or twice a year to fish with Chris and we always go there. He and I go back a long way, we’ve always shared the same sense of humour and have enjoyed some great days fishing, always having a laugh. He’s slightly disabled now owing to a minor stroke he suffered as a kid and is very unsteady on his feet, obviously limited to where he can fish; he requires close parking to the swims and level, safe access. Just recently Chris has taken to wearing ear defenders. Apart from the customary noise I’ve mentioned, his regular fishing mate, John, has a habit of humming all day long, the volume and intensity increases with his catch-rate, hence the ear-muffs. Chris was telling me that John got into a bit of trouble the other day when he hooked an 18lb ‘lump’ and struggled for half an hour shouting and hollering for Chris to come and help but Chris never heard him.
However, I digress, back at the commercial where these fellas were making a bit of a racket so I was well cheesed –off. I tried to shut the noise out but failed and it was spoiling my afternoon. They started to walk around the lake and I was busy thinking what I would say to them when they came by me. They were still laughing loudly, almost raucously.
As they rounded the corner near me I had a good bite and hooked and landed a nice carp of about 5lbs; the two chaps were nearly up to me. I was thinking I’ll turn round and give them one of my looks and a piece of my mind. They were almost upon me when, instantly, I realised that one of the chaps was mentally handicapped (I think the current term is intellectually disabled), an unmistakeable big innocent grin; he was looking at the fish with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety. He was grabbing his companion’s arm, uncertain whether to come closer to have a look. I felt awful: very cross with myself for assuming that they were inconsiderate louts. I hadn’t got a clue how to react to the situation, at a loss what to say which is unusual for me. I offered to let the guy have a closer look but he seemed frightened. His carer companion thanked me but seeing that his charge was becoming a bit agitated thought it best to move on, and they left soon after.
It was quiet then, but I couldn’t settle knowing how I’d totally misread the situation but I was consumed with a feeling that I’m becoming more selfish when I should be really thankful that I have the opportunity to fish, to go out for a meal, enjoy the company of my friends, have a satisfying job and the rest of it.
I re-visited the pond last week, arriving just after lunch, and amazingly the two guys were there again; it’s a regular thing for them, a break from the care-home, chance to get some fresh air, have a smoke, a change of scenery. I took the opportunity to purge my guilt by chatting with them for a few minutes but was interrupted by the sight of an angler stripping off and wading chest deep into the middle of the pond: clearly he’d had his rod wrenched in by a carp. That happened to me a couple of years ago – but that’s another story!
Andy Scholey May 2016
