A walk on the wildside
IN THE SPRING OF THE YEAR
February the 15th is the day much looked forward to, it is that time of the year again when the fisherman and fisherwoman will feel the call to our rivers, lakes and streams as the Trout fishing season opens in this area.
They will be following in the footsteps of one of the best-known fishermen of all, Izaak Walton, during the close season I delved once more into his classic book The Complete Angler, full of the most beautiful prose, and not alone about how to catch fish, but also how to cook them. Isaac seemed to spend almost his entire life on the riverbank, where he would often meet a comely milk-maid, whose praises he would sing to the heavens. He also seemed to spend a lot of time in river-side inns, drinking the best of Ale and sleeping on down-filled pillows, and always in the best of company.
It is now more than 350 years since Walton wrote The Compleat Angler, no one knows how many copies have been sold, but it has run to more than 400 editions, and has been translated into many languages, my own copy, which I bought in Mrs Phelans second-hand shop in Patrick Street many years ago is now somewhat the worse for wear.
My most treasured fishing book is a rare copy of ‘How and Where To Fish in Ireland’, written by an Englishman who wrote under the pen-name, Hi-Regan. This book was first written in 1886, and it is a most unusual fishing book in the sense that it records much of the Ireland of the day, and it also reflects the great love which the writer had for the Irish people. He wrote about many of our local rivers, such as The Bride, the Awbeg, the Funcheon and the Blackwater, he gives great praise to such establishments as Kirbys Hotel in Conna, the Devonshire Arms in Tallow and Sherriffs Hotel in Fermoy.
He also tells a great story about a poacher in Castletownroche who was always a step ahead of the baliffs. Hi-Regan also had a great interest in the Irish language, he used the Irish name Bean-a-tig, women of the house to describe a spawning hen-salmon. In more recent times one of the most popular writers about angling was Bernard Venables, the man who inspired generations of young boys to take up the sport.
The first edition of his book, ‘ Mr. Crabtree Goes Fishing’, was published in 1949, it was a guidebook for beginners and also a manual for more advanced anglers, it has since sold almost three million copies. Bernard Venables created the character, Mr. Crabtree in a strip cartoon in the Daily Mirror in the 1940s, it was an instant success and made a fortune for the paper, it depicted Mr. Crabtree showing his young son, Peter how to catch different kinds of fish at different times of the year.
Mr. Crabtree was the epitome of an English gentleman, even while fishing he was always immaculately dressed in suit and hat, and always with a pipe firmly clenched in his teeth. The cartoon showed the pairs adventures with an accompanying narrative, reflecting the writers belief that angling should be as much about studying the wonderful world of Nature as catching fish, imparting a wealth of knowledge about Kingfishers, Otters, wildflowers and trees. Venables had a great passion for art, his drawings of the different species of fish were accurate and eye-catching, but, sadly he never saw the profits as the Daily Mirror regarded his work as being part of his normal duties.
However, when the book was republished in 2000, he received a royalty, a portion of which he donated towards training schemes for young anglers. His last book was ‘A Rise to the Fly’, a compendium of his writings, he described angling as being applied natural history, that the whole of nature was sown up in fishing, and that the sport was the principal delight of his life.
Bernard Venables fished from the age of six, almost till the day he died in April 2001 at the age of 94, through his wonderful stories of Mr Crabtree and Peter, and his drawings, his memory will live on forever. Each one of us will have a special memory of a fishing season, not always about catching trout, one beautiful evening in the month of June last year, as the sun was setting, and the dusk started to creep over the islands at Templenoe, I suddenly became aware of a pair of swans near me. They were a little bit too close for comfort, and I soon realised why, behind me, on one of the islands was their nest, and I was blocking their way to it. The swans have more right to the river than I have, and so I moved on to leave them in peace to rear their cygnets, my fishing basket empty, but a memory in my mind that will live forever.