WE’VE ALL LOST A FAVOURITE UNCLE
John Wilson was more than family to me. He was an inspiration...
“UNCLE, John, Uncle John!” I cried out in panic as I rushed back to the bungalow. “My brother’s rod has been dragged in!’
That trademark laugh echoed round the room before we headed back down to the lake, John clutching a pike rod. Once there we watched 12ft of treasured carbon being towed around by one of his carp, sparking off another bout of laughter. The rod was duly rescued with the aid of a set of trebles and not a single cross word was uttered, only encouragement and advice to prevent it happening again.
Childhood trips to Norfolk have never faded from my memory, and while John Wilson wasn’t the reason I started fishing, he did help cement a love and a passion for the sport.
John wasn’t actually my uncle but a second cousin, although I reckon we both felt a stronger blood tie, fostered by our shared enthusiasm for angling. My grandad and grandma used to take him fishing on the River Lea when Spanish reed rods and long trotting were the order of the day. Even then John stood out, stalking chub on cheesepaste, much to grandad’s bemusement. If you didn’t have a float on, it wasn’t proper angling, or so the old boy imagined.
I can picture John telling me this tale with a smile on his face, and it epitomises the Wilson way – catching fish in the most simplistic manner with watercraft, not fancy tackle, the key. John never owned a bivvy or
“Even then John stood out, stalking chub on cheesepaste, much to grandad’s bemusement”
a bedchair, something that was a point of pride for him, but he caught thousands of carp on the lift method or his ‘Tenpin’ controller float tactic. He instilled this attitude into my own fishing at an early age, and even today I keep my approach to every species as simple as possible, as I know John would have done.
Trips to his lake and John’s Tackle Den shop in Bridewell Alley, Norwich, fell off a little in my late teenage years but I never stopped fishing, such was the fire that had been kindled in me.
In a role reversal our relationship grew closer than ever when John contacted me about some huge rudd and barbel I’d been catching that he wanted to film for Go Fishing. I was delighted to help, and while I didn’t know it at the time l learnt so much just watching him. This time, however, it wasn’t the fishing but his sheer professionalism.
Without question, John was the best angler I have ever met at doing a job and coming up with the goods, be it on print or on film. Many experts just can’t produce results on a regular basis or to a deadline – especially when a camera is pointing at them. If I had to pick one man to catch a fish to save my life then without question it would be John Wilson.
Predictably, then, the rudd and barbel fishing went well and we teamed up again for carp, crucians and Wye barbel, each time his professionalism rubbing off on me a little more. It was part of a wonderful apprenticeship, and John returned the favour when I worked with Hugh Miles to create Catching The Impossible. We wanted a guest to catch a big pike and a couple of experts had failed, but a call to John didn’t disappoint. He caught a 27lb croc from Oulton Broad in a faultlessly professional display. That evening the red wine flowed and the laughter bellowed around the room – Wilson at his best.
As our relationship grew closer after that initial filming, shows and joint magazine articles were commonplace, especially when I, too, became a professional angler. What are the odds of us both having such a rare job in the same profession?
In the early days of my career references to my being John’s nephew were common, as the press loved the connection, but did this bother me and make me
want to be my own man? How could it, when you’re mentioned in the same breath as the greatestever angler!
We would, however, both chuckle when I relayed stories to him of me only having my job because John had asked the magazines or the trade to do him a favour! How we laughed – although there was no doubting his influence on my career.
John also loved any gossip I could pass on to him, and this was the way right through our adult relationship – fun! We also enjoyed some big fish, no more so than in the late 1990s, when John joined me on my local Great Ouse. The perch hauls were legendary, with multiple 4lb fish possible not just in a season but in a single day. John loved it, and we plundered
the shoals of big stripeys. This was without doubt the pinnacle of our specimen career together.
John’s passion for fishing abroad for exotic species was stronger than mine. This isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy a trip to Namibia with him and his son Lee, hunting bronze whaler sharks. Big fish were caught, but evenings spent pulling each other’s leg remain the fondest memory – funny, that!
John’s emigration to Thailand had a huge knock-on effect in my
life. He introduced my wife and me to our business partners there and is the reason we now have a holiday company sending anglers to the Land of a Thousand Smiles.
John and I viewed the angling world in a very similar way, and shared a similar frustration with lack of action on predation. Neither of us had much time for angling politics after wasting hours trying to get our points across. On these matters John, as I did, spoke from the heart without care or consideration for anything but the truth. He was a blunt instrument, but he said what he felt and was never two-faced. I know he was frustrated when told by people with a fraction of his experience that he was wrong.
My last adventure with John was in Thailand a few months ago, and his zest for life and his professionalism were as strong as ever. Yes, he was returning to Norfolk, but that didn’t mean retirement any more than it had when he first moved to Thailand. He told me he was going to write a book ‘Seventy Years as a Fisherman’. Those precious last few days
were filled with laughter and fun. I woke him in the middle of the night to watch an England World Cup game and he was as keen as ever in the morning to go fishing. We loved a friendly match and he enjoyed nothing better than beating ‘Super Kid’ (a nickname he gave me a long time ago).
I’m pleased to say he won the last match, but not before he had to jump in and free a snagged arapaima, much to my amusement. At 75, John lived life to its fullest until the end.
As I finish this article I can see his beaming smile, and the world of angling seems a little emptier.
I find solace in knowing such a great angler and man – I will miss him terribly, and ‘thank you’ can’t convey what his friendship meant to me. In this I’m not alone – a whole generation has lost their Uncle John, such is the connection, affection and influence he has had on our sport.
Wilson loved angling and angling loved Wilson.