Shooting Fish

Of course, if you are in a situation that has allowed you to experience this phenomenon first hand, then it is usually only a fraction of a second before you react to such a sound and seek the nearest piece of cover available in the shortest possible time imaginable. Time then becomes the next constant that decides to play tricks on the mind. Not content with doing its level best to get the rest of you killed by becoming strangely attracted to a sound that is only relevant to the object trying to kill you is the sudden instinct of the mind to mess with time.

Time is an amazing concept that is proven to be something of a conundrum. We all know that as a four year old, time is relevant to our current existence and that a year is obviously a large chunk of our lifetime and will therefore go on forever. Much as I would dearly like to lay claim to such a profound observation, it was actually made by David Bowie but profound nonetheless. When you are in your forties life has an alarming habit of speeding up uncontrollably and generally making a nuisance of itself by reminding you that you have now, approximately, spent at least half your allotted time and therefore if you are going to buy the Harley Davidson and run off with your young secretary, then you had better get your arse in gear and do it right now.

When, however, you are in your forties, have run away not with your secretary but to find a war zone and the very subject aiming to kill time is also aiming to kill you, then time does something very strange. It stops. Only fractionally mind you, and when I say fractionally I mean in nano seconds, but stop it does. Many a professional soldier will tell you that in this split second they decide on effective counter measures, assess the enemy and plan the counter offensive that will dictate a successful outcome. I on the other hand manage to think, “oh! Someone is shooting at me, how unfair,” and then shit myself accordingly.

It is only then that time suddenly comes screaming back with a violent attack of vitriol and happy slaps you in the face faster than a gang of hooded teenagers with a bellyfull of cheap cider and a burning ambition to make you a star of youtube. Then it is that survival instincts come into play and whatever appropriate course of action is necessary may be taken. As a general rule of thumb, if you are armed at the time and there is insufficient evidence to suggest that you can run away, the usual action is to return fire at an appropriate rate of as fast as is humanly possible in the general direction of where you are being shot at from for as long as it is possible to go on shooting before you can safely run away . This is not necessarily a text book reaction to such an incident but one that has served me well in the past and one that brings me to just why it has been necessary to bore you all with the intricacies of being shot at and, I hope, it is something that you may only ever have to read about and never witness or find inflicted upon you.

Unless of course you decide to fish in Baghdad and there are many reasons why you should although I would not recommend it at this current time.

For a start the vast majority of the Iraqi people are incredibly welcoming and some of the most generous people that it has been my pleasure to meet across the world. There are of course a few who seem to have accepted that the best cure for a headache is to remove the offending article and these people should be avoided at all costs but they are in the minority. The scenery is something to behold and can be almost magical although sadly the marshes in the south are long gone now due to the actions of Saddam Hussein and will never be seen again. The area surrounding the Tigris that powers its way through Baghdad is proof positive of the wonders of nature and the banks of the Euphrates can be lined with the most beautiful springtime flowers as the waters take on that chocolate colouring that announces the prelude to the coming summer. It becomes very easy to get lost in the reveries and dreams of the monsters and leviathans that lurk beneath these dark surfaces and tales are told of giant Bull sharks and monster Mosquitofish, that have towed men and boats beneath these turbulent currents, never to be seen again.

Through the debilitating heat of summer, the power of the sun and the remorseless buzzing of the flies is enough to drive any fisherman to the safety of his air conditioned room. The merciless beating down of the sun’s rays liquefy tarmac roads and drive even the most hardy of souls to seek refuge under whatever shade is possible. Tiny sparrows sit by the sides of the rivers and lakes with their beaks open in an effort to regulate their body temperatures and the black and white marked woodpeckers cease their tapping. Nothing stirs on the surfaces of the lakes but dark shadows drifting deep in the weed beds give the intrepid angler a taste of what lies beneath.

Evening brings relief from the heat and as a reward to those who have suffered from its torment throughout the day, the sun says thank you with sunsets that take your breath away. From a simmering yellow that melts like the yolk of an egg through to oranges that warm the skin with the intensity of their colours and into reds like the flames of the fires being started around the city and the purples of minarets and mosques. Only now as we dare to breathe a full lungful of air again without risking the burning of our throats are we able to watch the surface of the lake before us.

Tiny ripples start to dapple the mirror surface as black shadows flit erratically across the tops of them in a seemingly never ending dance. Gentle slurps prickle at the utmost edges of our hearing and we know that the time is approaching. Those shadows that gave only a glimpse of what might be are now on the move and they are hungry. In this they are not alone and what the bats fail to catch and the fish choose to ignore, descend on us like a wave of kamikaze bombers biting and drinking with impunity and even with long sleeved shirts on and hats, these merciless of all enemies strike at our leisure time.

Now though it is our time to hunt and with quietly bated breath we cast our baited hooks into the rapidly darkening waters and wait. The fish are only ever a small part of our enjoyment of this sport but here it takes on a quiet reverence that owes more to the feeding of families than a way to pass a quiet hour. Sat quietly contemplating us are a small group of children, urchins by any other language but with smiles to melt your heart and laughter that belies the pain and trauma of their everyday existence. They ask for nothing but a drink of water from the bottles by our sides and we give them gladly. They laugh at our attempts to fish and want to know why we do not just throw in the hand grenades like their father and uncles do in the rivers and lakes outside of this, the Green zone or safe area. When the rod tips go and we start the battle that consumes our attention they are rapt with expressions of awe and wonder and seem to become inflicted with the same sense of adrenaline and excitement as ourselves.

Golden flanks flash the pool as slabs of bronze, gold and silver light up the shallows as our catch is slowly and inextricably retrieved. Only now do the children seem to step back and seem smaller. Their excitement has given way to a shyness and timidity that is in stark contrast to the shrieks and gales of laughter of earlier. We know to expect this now though as the natural graciousness and observed customs of generations take the place of childhood exuberance. Only when we hand across the sizeable fish that have given us such pleasure do the smiles return and the chorus of Arabic thank you and Americanised Number Ones take over this natural reticence. Big carp mean food on the table tonight and a chance to sell or barter for other goods that are so desperately needed by the those living in these troubles times.

The night has ended in laughter and the simple pleasure of giving something to those who have nothing and the shooting, well, sometimes the bad people take exception and we continue to fish under the cover of large concrete barriers but the children never leave so I figure that on these occasions, perhaps I should try to act a little braver and stay just a minute or two longer.