I’m afraid that some of this may only be relevant to our more ‘mature’ members, but hopefully some of the more youthful amongst us might just catch my drift. It is not an attempt to look back through rose tinted (or should that be rosé befuddled) glasses, but more of a ‘how did it come to this’ reflection.
It starts with a bolt out of the blue from my 24-year-old son who, in the middle of an otherwise normal chat, suddenly asks “why don’t we go fishing?”
It should be stated at this point that despite my best efforts to introduce him to the sport, our trips out together have numbered around ten in total, the last being some eight or so years ago (and probably nothing to do with him discovering girls and cars at about that time…)
My son’s only demand is that we go somewhere where we will ‘catch something’, so no pressure there then. First job is to fix him up with a rod licence, (cue long discussion as to why having a rod licence doesn’t allow him to go fishing, so what’s the point etc. etc.) and having thought long and hard about a venue, a club book is also purchased so we can fish a local pond, which I am assured is stuffed with small fish.
A reconnaissance trip is undertaken and, despite the pond being quite heavily weeded, there are half a dozen or so fishable spots and quite a few fish to be seen milling around in the gaps in the weed, some of the fish are of quite a decent size too, with the odd heavy splash alluding to even bigger fish to be had – perfect!
Due to various commitments the trip will be a midweek afternoon/evening session, and I set about seeing what tackle I have, and much, much, more importantly, what I will need to buy!
Reels, no problem there as, fortunately, I have a pair in every possible size. Rods, now this is a bit trickier. The trip to the pond highlighted the fact that being surrounded by trees the bottom of the pool was not exactly clear of debris, so float fishing would be the way to go. Now, I only have one lightweight float rod, so an Avon rod of the same make is pressed into service for junior, he’ll never notice the difference…
Convenient fishing platforms are provided at the lake, but this brings other problems as I only have one fishing chair, so another has to be purchased. My own all singing and dancing fishing chair is equipped with a rear butt rest and telescopic feeder arm to take my rod and, as you shouldn’t really try to bang metal banksticks into a wooden platform with some form of mallet, a similar set up is purchased for junior’s chair.
All ready to go, just the question of bait to deal with.
With an obvious abundance of small fish and the explicit requirement that we ‘have to catch something’ maggot will be the first choice. But those large shadows seen cruising around and the heavy splashes mean I am tempted to try something else. Various pellets, sinking and floating (boilies are banned at this venue), bread and sweetcorn are all brought along to see if I can’t bring my years of fishing expertise to produce something more substantial.
In the end the trip went well in that we caught a lot of (small) fish, mostly roach and perch, missed dozens of finicky bites – which I suspect were the work of resident hordes of tiny crucians – but the bigger fish resolutely refused everything I offered them, leaving me to switch to maggot for the last half hour to at least say I had caught something.
Now, to the reason(s) for writing this piece.
Firstly, what struck me most was the amount of preparation (and not a little cost) involved in organising a seemingly simple couple of hours’ fishing at local pond. Back when I started fishing many, many years ago, it all seemed a lot simpler. Choice of rod – one. That was the only one you had, and my first was a three piece 9-footer that did everything: float, ledger, spin, it did the lot. Choice of reel – one. Having graduated from truly awful tinplate centrepins to Mr. Morrit’s finest 15/- (ask someone over 50 what this means) fixed spool, I could confidently take on anything with fins. Line was nearly always 3lb breaking strain, but back then it was about three times as thick as today’s equivalent, it came off the spool in coils – and stayed that way.
Hooks were 1d each (ask someone etc. etc.) usually size 12, with an eye you could tie a boat up to, necessary for the diameter of the line and a barb you could hang a hat on, meaning any fish you caught were never coming off. Bait was worms from the compost heap, or 6d (ask someone etc. etc.) worth of maggots, around twenty five in total. In fact, so few that you got to know them all personally. These were dispensed in a brown paper bag, which was not the best thing to house them in if it rained, and not good if it lay on the bank as, despite being befriended by you, those ungrateful maggots would crawl off and hide in the undergrowth.
Thus equipped, and with both your floats, one coffin lead, six split shot and usually either a kidney spoon or mackerel spinner you set off, confidence and excitement at equal level. With such limited equipment always to hand, you could be off at moment’s notice, planning and forethought not required, and only pocket money expense.
What brought these memories to the fore was that my first trip to the pond was on a weekend afternoon. The pond itself, despite appearing tree lined is actually situated right in the middle of a housing development. And that pond was totally devoid of anyone fishing. There were kids playing in the streets, but not one of them was fishing, which both puzzled and saddened me.
I understand the current mindset of wrapping kids in cotton wool, any evidence of climbing trees and skinning knees being tantamount to child abuse. But allowing your kids to have adventures around a pond in the middle of a housing development in broad daylight isn’t exactly a dereliction of parental responsibility, is it?
But the thing that struck me most is that these children appeared to have no interest in this pond and the opportunity to observe all the wildlife that goes with it. In my day it would have been an absolute magnet for kids, the dozen or so platforms around the pond would have been three deep with urchins waving nets in the water or fishing with proverbial twigs, string and bent pins in attempt to lure one of the finned monsters.
Other platforms would have stone skimming competitions, ropes would be slung over overhanging branches, an old tyre or branch would be attached to the bottom of the rope with a traditional double granny knot and the kids would be taking turns to swing out over the water, each daring the other to go out that bit further. Still more would have cast off sandals, socks and be paddling up to their knees searching the margins for whatever mini monsters they could discover.
So, an apparently inviting pond being totally ignored by kids. But it’s not just youngsters that now seem oblivious to watery mysteries that are under their noses. The industrial complex where I work is bisected by a concrete lined drain. It is not the most salubrious location, certainly not in any way Crabtree-esque. There is constant lorry and forklift traffic along both banks, as well as hundreds of staff passing by on both sides. It contains the usual human detritus of shopping trolleys, traffic cones, plastic shopping bags and drinks cans. It also contains large numbers of fish, mostly shoals of roach up to 6”-7” along with quite a number of perch of similar size, but deeper down you get the occasional glimpse of a bigger perch lurking below these shoals.
When the water is clear it is almost like looking into a well-stocked aquarium. That is, if you can be bothered to look, which I am sorry to say, no one ever seems to do. No matter what time of day I pass along this drain, others on the same route do not pause to look at the water. To the extent that someone actually did ask why I was peering over the railings a few weeks ago. When I mentioned that I was looking at a pair of swans and their seven fluffy cygnets, the comment I got back was “Oh, are there swans in there?” without said person breaking step or even bothering to look.
Perhaps it’s just me, but I find it impossible to pass by any body of water without looking. So much the better if I can actually see fish as my mind automatically goes into ‘how could I catch them’ mode. Seeing, or rather not seeing anyone else, young or old, taking any interest in the watery world is perhaps a reflection of the decline in the popularity of our sport.
And what I find more perplexing is that I know that even after all these years if you gave me the (very) limited tackle I had in my youth, I could still catch the fish in either the pond or the drain. Could the issue be that there is now such a bewildering choice of tackle, methods and baits that a newcomer to the sport is frankly too intimidated to know where to start?
Given that we are currently enjoying (?) the annual school summer break, perhaps angling clubs, schools and councils should be working on setting up ‘starter’ pools. Before anyone says anything, I did spend eight years as a local councillor and am well aware of the minefield of regulations regarding working with kids, but I am also aware that many town/parish councils can and do spend large amounts of council taxpayers money on ‘youth’ schemes which are frequently poorly attended and often short-lived due to lack of interest (on both sides)
A small catch and release pond would encourage the kids to get outdoors and would hopefully give them an interest in their natural surroundings. Angling clubs could apply for local precept funding, most councils have CRB checked youth teams and the schools could provide the very basic equipment from their ‘sports’ budgets, which will be infinitesimal compared to running the dozen or so football / cricket / hockey / badminton / lacrosse / tennis / archery / polo / golf etc. teams that they seem to have these days
And it will give the little darlings a break from killing zombies for 12 hours a day…
Oh well, impossible dream/rant over. I will admit that my fishing these days is based on the simple approach; I prefer lure fishing and can grab my rod, reel, box (stuffed full) of lures and be off at a moment’s notice. Of course, with this method of fishing I can’t guarantee that I will catch anything. But my son has expressed an interest in going fishing again, but wants a chance to catch something bigger this time.
Shall we upgrade to carp and get him to sit behind a couple of motionless rods for twelve hours? Or take a chance that the spinning gear might just winkle out a nice little perch, or even better a small jack pike.
Even a 3lb pike looks big to a beginner, so I know which way we are going…
