When I was a kid, my dad used to take me fishing and that's how I caught the bug. I still remember the early morning starts, terrifying sideways edging along narrow paths through stingers that were taller than I was, to some distant isolated swim. We used to go the Ouse somewhere North of Milton Keynes way - but long before that was built of course. He was always a Jack Hargreaves admirer and loved river fishing with a passion. He made his own floats, (some of which I have now for example) and was always reading up on it and trying new methods.
He must have been incredibly patient because I'm very sure I must have been a constant pain in the arse and distraction from his own fishing - constantly in bird's nest tangles and catching trees, floating logs, the river bottom, the arse of my own trousers and anything else in the immediate vicinity that wasn't fish. I have painful memories of constantly smacking the water with the tip of my rod when trying to cast and causing all sorts of diverse forms of involuntary hullabaloo that would scare any sensible fish for miles and would cause explosions of exasperation from the next swim along. In my defence I would say that, looking back, those were jungle-fied overgrown hideaway swims that would test many experienced anglers and after showing me the basics, he did just leave me with a pint of maggots, a cheese roll and a can of coke and beggar off to his swim out of sight round the corner leaving me to get on with it as best I could and work things out for myself. But I suppose that's how things were in those days. Of course, over time I did get a bit more nimble and learned a few things and today, well I would say I'm not far off competent. At least I can cast a bit better now and there are fewer tangles.
I'm unsure how much of our fishing was voluntary and how much was my mum pressuring him to take me for a bit of peace and quiet to be honest. Well, he must have been reasonably willing, because he always treated me well and would always, eventually, respond to my desperate pleas to help free me from whatever catastrophe I'd managed to land myself in. "Just hold on a minute there....I've just got something sniffing around....I'll be there shortly....just hold on...". I remember him catching some cracking chub.
Anyway, years gone by and rock has died and Susie went and left us etc..now he's in his mid-80s and has many heart problems especially. Had a triple stent operation recently and has a pacemaker. Mainly good days, but has some where he feels awful and faint and wobbly etc.
I'd tell him about my fishing and how I was getting on and my mum said he had been talking about wanting to go. I was a bit dubious about it because I know he doesn't like lakes and specially built platforms and all that, so it would have to be a river. Fortunately where I fish on the upper Thames, there is a way through a farm that lets him drive right up to the bank to offload his gear, then he can park back by the gate. However it has high steep banks and the water can be quite deep and fast moving at times. My mum did not want him to be out of my sight.
I got there about 10 mins early and picked two nice open flat swims next to each other. Tried to give him the best one, with overhanging trees on the far bank, while mine was just bland open water. We got all set up and I gave him some corn, maggots and hemp I was using. He was fishing OK, but with the float way under-shotted. I was too embarrassed to say anything to be honest. He was asking me the depth, but of course that depends on what line you're going to fish. I like to go shallow and fish right over on the far bank, but if there's nothing happening I'll go a foot or two deeper and try the edge of the boat channel. Trying different depths is part of waggler fishing a river for me. I was surprised that he seemed to have forgotten so much. Anyway, I caught loads of roach and dace and my dad did catch some but only maybe 4 or 5. He had a good time anyway. We packed up and had a pint and a sandwich for lunch in the local pub by the river, which was really nice.
My mum says he enjoyed it and talked about it a lot, but he was worried that he's lost his skills. I said for her to tell him that I still need to catch about another 5000 fish to get near his total. The trouble is, there does appear to be some truth in that he's extremely rusty and has forgotten some complete basics. It's funny how time has reversed our roles. Still, apparently he was so inspired by the trip that he's bought himself a new fishing chair. I'm looking at going again this Thursday because a) it's roach-a-rama this time of year. He can't miss, surely! and b) I need to get these trips in while the weather stays mild.
I confess it's crossed my mind that to some extent I'm going to have to direct my attention to making sure he's OK rather than to my fishing. But I'm sure you'll agree, that I more than owe him that.
