We’d been watching our rod-tips for some time on that gloriously lazy afternoon when sounds of alarm and dismay filtered through: had somebody fallen in? (It was high tide) Had a stroppy gull swiped someone’s cornet?
No. A woman’s bag had been accidentally kicked over the side and into the drink and was now sailing toward France. I strolled up and enquired as to the bags contents – were they worth going in for? The bag’s owner explained that her keys, camera and purse – along with her various cards –were in there and she looked to me for salvation. Well, actually, I wasn’t going in…
Incredibly, the bag was bobbing frogward in a perfectly upright position. The contents could clearly be seen, neatly packed still and seemingly pleased with their surprise voyage.
The answer was obvious to FISHER-MAN!! “Stand back, Madam!” I commanded, and took hold of my ten foot bass rod with obvious intent “I’LL retrieve your bag!”
The small crowd of hatted biddies gave out that pigeon-like chorus of amazement peculiar to British women of a certain vintage: “Oooh! What’s he going to do?”…. “He’s got his rod aht!”….”Oooh, Mavis, you ARE awful!”
Like any angler worth his salt I was totally confident of swinging-out my lead and getting a good purchase on the raffia bag; It was only twenty-five yards out and despite its obvious desire to escape I just knew I’d snag it in good time.
The crowd waited with bated breath as I swung out the lead a third time…
To mumblings of ‘He’ll never do that’ and ‘He’ll be bloody lucky’ I did, indeed, execute an underarm swing no more expertly than a thousand other anglers could, I’m sure. The end rig arced directly over the bag but I allowed the lead to plummet too deeply before starting my retrieve.
‘Ooooh! ‘e didn’t do bad, did ‘e?’
‘P’raps ‘e’ll get it next time…”
My public was depending on me, their excitement now hemming me in. ‘KEEP BACK, CITIZENS!’
Another pendulous swing saw the 4oz gripper lead sail over the bag and plunge into the sea close behind but the line slipped off and very nearly toppled its target in so doing. The crowd urged the bag to stay upright and sighed their relief when it righted itself like a budgie’s toy.
‘Third time lucky, mate!’
‘Go on, ol’ son!’ (There was a bloke there!)
‘THIS time!’
As you might expect, your editor-to-be instantly calculated the trajectory necessary to reach and successfully hook the fast-retreating bag…OUT went the lead, landing mere inches from its target and close enough for me to immediately snag the bag’s base with a deft lift of the Wonder Rod!
A cheer filled the air and I felt the warmth of a thousand pats to the back…’We LOVE you, FISHER-MAN!’
At least, I think that’s what I heard.
