Kevin Perkins is one of those anglers who sees both the funny and darker side of life, and there are plenty of funny and dark goings-on in fishing. He’s the Alternative Angler who sees that side of things that most of us miss because we’re too busy going about the serious business of catching fish and often missing the strange, the satirical, and the plain comical along the way.
Never mind smelling the flowers, don’t forget to take time out to see the whacky side of fishing life and grab a laugh or a lament along the way.
Press Manor II
This is no reflection on Sean’s excellent write up of the recent FM Fish-in, just my own, personal slant on proceedings………..
Oh well, a trip ‘oop north’ to deepest, darkest, Derbyshire to take part in the Press Manor Fish-In. The greeting I got on arrival from a couple of hairy beasts wasn’t an example of warm northern hospitality, just the huge guard dogs that thankfully must have been fed recently. I suppose the four legs and wagging tails should have given the game away, but you can never be sure about the locals in some of these out of the way places…………..
Anyway, a chance to meet some FM’ers old and new and an opportunity to put names to faces for the first time. Lord Paul’s comment on the forum that ‘If you’re not sure who I was – I was the chap with the New Zealand rugby shirt on – fly waistcoat and green trousers covered in carp slime’ should not be allowed to pass without comment.
It would lead me to suggest that M’lud really needs to talk to the butler, footman or whichever lackey it is that lays out his clothes in the morning, as the ensemble being worn on the day really didn’t pass muster for a day’s fly fishing. Unless the New Zealand rugby shirt was some sort of tenuous antipodean homagé to Ron’s current whereabouts? And we would pass over the ‘carp slime on the trousers’ comment if it were not for the fact that it has been brought to our attention that your latest under stairs maid hails from the New World and goes under the name of Monica.
Back to fishing, and having been made welcome by Bernie the owner, we all breathed a sigh of relief as Sean was voted as organiser (he was the only bloke that Bernie recognised) This despite the fact that thankfully we weren’t having to wear face masks because:-
a) The risk of contracting swine flu was minimal, as round those parts the locals still look up and point at passing aeroplanes, let alone getting on one and going anywhere near Mexico.
b) Barney wasn’t going to make an appearance so the NBG masks would not be needed.
Health issues out of the way, we stuffed our fly boxes (and emptied our wallets) with the very best flies that Bernie had been up all night hand tying, we set off with high hopes. For me, I was very impressed with the start I made. It was at least six casts before I hooked the tree to my left, which really took some doing because the wind was blowing from that direction!
Looking up, the fly line had made a fairly good impression of a cat’s cradle in wrapping itself round the branches, and just out of reach, of course. With the first few tugs it was quite clear that I was going to lose the fly, probably the leader as well. Resigned to this I pulled for the break and when the ‘snap’ came, I had indeed lost the fly, the leader and around eight feet of fly line was still up the tree too. I wasn’t expecting that!
Oh well, as I didn’t bring a spare floating line along, I had to lose valuable fishing time fixing on another braided loop (bl**dy fiddly job on the bank side with the wind blowing) leader and fly, not the same pattern of fly I had just lost as I only had one of them, of course, and got fishing again. Don’t know what effect losing that much line from the front end has on a WF7 but casting didn’t seem quite ‘right’ after that, because the rod wasn’t loading properly, and I had trouble getting the full 30 yards out (Yeah, right, any excuse!).
Around me a couple of chaps had caught, and I did at least get a take, but alas no fish, whilst I was watching the shoals of gudgeon swim past. Four or five changes of fly brought no other response, obviously the killing pattern was the one still up the tree, but all too soon it was lunchtime so most of us trundled off to the pub.
The worry about not having booked for lunch was unfounded as we rolled into an empty car park. Some jolly banter was had during this session, Neil telling us tales of how southern trout fisheries give you a wheelbarrow instead of a bass bag, such is the size of the fish they stock. Jim Hinchley gave us a good piece of advice on what to do if you land a salmon and can’t find a suitable implement with which to despatch your catch. Apparently a thermos flask can be pressed into service as a makeshift priest, as long as it is of the stainless steel variety, of course. Oh yes, and Lord Paul’s fashion adviser had seemingly told him it was de rigueur to wear your hat all through lunch. One suspects that wouldn’t be allowed to happen in Furkham Hall, perhaps M’lud thought he was going native.
Back to the fishery and I decided to try my luck on the opposite bank, on account of there were no other swims left empty by now. A group of anglers had arranged themselves all along the dam wall, where they appeared for all the world like fishing gnomes, sat motionless and perched on stones with their rods held out in front of them. Apparently this type of fly-fishing requires you to cast out using a sight bob as float and then you can sit back and await results. I thought they would have been better off using a rod rest and a bite alarm then they could have properly slept off lunch.
From my vantage point I could see that some fish were being caught by those prepared to make the effort, even I managed to catch one, the fact that Mr. Morespiders fishing just next to me caught nine just goes to show there must have been a lot more fish in his swim.
In order to give all the others a chance at the trophy, I did the decent thing and left a bit early. I’m afraid I missed the presentation, but I did just have time to affix a number of very exclusive, and very, very, expensive TickleTackle stickers to the back of the participant’s cars. I took a note of all the registration numbers and will be sending off very large invoices to the registered owners.
All joking aside, a great day out and thanks to Sean for stepping into the breach, Chavender for doing the counting, (I must just say that Chavender’s fly line was the most ORANGE one I have ever seen. I could see if he was getting takes from the other side of the lake, and when he first started false casting opposite me I thought it was a sudden sunset..) and of course congratulations to Derek on a well deserved win. As for me, I didn’t blank this time, so I set forth for Clattercote in the very near future with renewed enthusiasm (Ha, ha, ha!).
