The Alternative Angler

Never mind smelling the flowers, don’t forget to take time out to see the satirical side of fishing life and grab a laugh along the way as well. So here’s a regular column from Kevin Perkins to remind us that life is for laughing at, or taking the p*** out of, whenever we can.

SWEET SIXTEEN

That time is upon us again, the Glorious Sixteenth of June, the start of a new season and all’s right with the world again. Better authors than I have skillfully managed to capture the sights and emotions that come with the opening day. Even before that is the anticipation and preparation that almost rivals the build up to Christmas Eve.

In my youth, night fishing was largely banned, so to be there on the first day meant getting up very, very, very early, after going to bed very late. Laying there wide awake, watching the clock and usually getting up before the alarm went off. Woe betide you if you forgot to switch it off and went downstairs to leave Mr. Westclocks’ finest repeater dancing round your bedside table and rousing the whole house.

Cycling to the chosen venue in the dark, maybe three, four or even five of us in convoy. The one at the front with a headlamp, the one at the rear had the tail lamp, those in the middle with no lights at all (batteries were too much of a drain on hard earned pocket money!) Still dark when we arrive, or possibly just the first streaks of dawn showing in the inky blue sky. Creeping around to the ‘best’ swim, a heavy dew of the undisturbed grass already soaking into your plimsoles, and with fingers, toes and everything else crossed in the hope that no-one has got there before you. Then that first glimpse of the water, completely still, and wreathed in early mists.

Now the race to tackle up, a furious scene of short two-piece rods being jammed together, with little attention to rings being lined up. Reels stuffed into fittings; line pulled through the rings so fast it is a wonder it didn’t melt. Curses as you see that you have forgotten to open the bale-arm before threading the line. Floats attached, hooks tied on with best granny knots, lead shot applied with Mother Natures’ pliers (teeth!), frantic agonising over bait choice, worm or maggot, and then out go four red topped quill floats, almost in unison, shattering the glass-like surface of the water.

Those floats settle back, leaning over slightly, because we are fishing just overdepth, as was the only way to do it in those days. The first rays of sunlight are starting to show through the trees, slowly chasing the wreaths of mist off the water. And almost imperceptibly those tiny tell-tale bubbles start rising slowly to the water’s surface. The excitement builds, you hope and pray it will be you, but if it is one of you mates that gets lucky you will be happy for them – not! Concentration is at bursting point, the nervous chatter has stopped, eyes are straining at those red-topped quills in the water and then it happens! One of the floats begins a kind of drunken dance, first one way, then the other, then stops for a while, then bobs, then lays flat, then slides away, no need to strike, just lift the rod and we are into the first ‘red-eye’ tench of a new season.

All very idyllic, and sums up the very essence of the Glorious Sixteenth for a large number of anglers, you would think……..errr no!

Like many rose tinted memories it is based on experiences of first days on a lake. Somewhere where there is no close season now, so what is the relevance today? Polls in weekly papers say the majority of anglers don’t want a close season on rivers. I wonder how many of those anglers actually do, or would go fishing on rivers, close season or not?

The problem is that sometimes you can find that the water in the rivers actually moves, and floats don’t tend to stay where you put them, which can be tiresome at times. Also, these moving waters tend not to be stuffed with suicidal carp, which is a chore if you have to pick a swim that just might have some fish in it, if you’re lucky. Quite how you are going to be able to downgrade your casting prowess from 125+ yards to twenty or even less is a real problem, you might be able to find some straight sections where you can still do the ‘ton’ upstream or down. However, casting over five or six other angler’s lines, may not be too good for you, healthwise. Also bad for the blood pressure are all those pesky boats. Who ever let them on the water?

So where am I going with this? (Hold on while I find that note I wrote to myself……. ah yes!) The anomaly that is the current mixed-up state of the Close Season needs to be addressed once and for all.

Given the massive support shown for the single-issue party that is UKIP at the recent European Elections, the answer is simple. Form a group that will purely fight for angling’s current biggest single-issue that is the Close Season. It will be called the ABA (Average Bloody Anglers) and the membership fee will be a piddling £ 2. We should soon be able to amass a significant fighting fund to commission an independent report into the effects of having/not having a Close Season on rivers, and the results of that report will be accepted by the EA and anglers alike, whatever the outcome.

There, problem sorted, this politics lark is a piece of p*ss, any other problems you lot want me to look at? Might need to give myself a new, double-barreled name, though!