“I’d forgotten what complete and utter carnage night fishing is”
FOR someone who used to night fish in all seasons, I have to admit that these trips have waned greatly in the last couple of seasons. It’s strange how yesterday’s normalities suddenly seem like luxuries, but I’ve missed going away for the night in search of escape and the chance of a big fish.
Getting ready for my first overnighter in ages, I was staggered at how much prep was involved. From respooling reels, to finding out where the heck the kettle had migrated, it was like going on holiday! Still, I was looking forward greatly to fishing under the stars again. After almost a year as a new dad, I not only felt I’d earned it, but that I’d be better prepared than ever to deal with the terminal grogginess of being up at all hours.
How wrong I was! I’d forgotten what complete and utter carnage night fishing is. Where once I was like a well-oiled machine, it was now a very strange, messy ballgame.
Assembling the bivvy was like a challenge off The Crystal Maze, then I realised I had no pillow, or milk for my coffee.
As for the actual night itself, the best part was just being there, safely cocooned from the rain with a rare night of no baby care ahead. Besides the dream of a huge carp, the thought of a completely biteless night of uninterrupted sleep seemed just as delicious. Win-win?
I didn’t manage either outcome. The state of anticipation means you can never quite sleep properly, and every beep on the alarms made my heart stop. Not that anything was hooked. It was as if the fish were playing a practical joke every time I was about to nod off.
I’d quite forgotten the kind of mental warfare that the night fisher can endure. So many lastminute questions leap out: can I sleep wearing a headtorch? Do I sleep with shoes on or dash out to hit a run in just my socks? Did I remember to engage the reels into freespool mode? And my favourite of all – why do I always need a pee the minute I finally get comfy in the sleeping bag?
I realise by this point that I might not be selling the joys of night fishing very well. It was exciting, I’ll say that much. But on this occasion, just to rub it in, the only fish of the session came in broad daylight, as I lay there like the undead. Never mind. If I’m allowed out again overnight this summer, I’ve at least found that bloody kettle.
“Why do I need a pee once I finally get comfy in the sleeping bag?”