FRIENDS BRING MY FISHING ALIVE
I value pictures of my angling mates more than I do any trophy shots
TUCKED away in boxes are thousands of snapshots of my life in angling. You might think those of me with fish would be the ones I’d value the most – but you’d be wrong.
Over time I’ve learned that fish, however big, are only part of the story. It’s the friends I’ve made along the way that bring the biggest smile to my face whenever I open a box of photos and reminisce.
I do enjoy my own company, but I reckon that without a few
like-minded souls to share my adventures I’d be missing much of the fun. Who doesn’t like relating the story of their latest catch to a fellow angler?
Covid 19, awful as it is, has given our sport a huge shot in the arm. People craved a return to the outdoors and a pastime they could pursue in safety. The downside was that the pleasure of fishing with your mates was seriously curtailed, so this summer, with restrictions being lifted, I’ve made a conscious decision to add a few more pictures to my collection.
After a five-hour drive from my Wiltshire home I was in the Lake District, with Skiddaw on the horizon and the Cumbrian Derwent rolling over rocks at my feet. This was just an overnight pit stop on a journey that would be taking me much farther north, but for now the spectacular views made sleeping in my van a much better option than any hotel.
I could also make a cast for tiny brown trout in a region of England that I’d never fished before – and I enjoyed it so much that I vowed to return soon.
Back on to the M6, and five more hours of driving took me through stunning valleys and pine forests that gave way to the snow-covered peaks of the Cairngorms.
My friends Raymond, Nick, John and Ken had invited me to join them for a few days on the Beauly, a river that flows east through the Highlands.
The main salmon and sea trout run wouldn’t be until later in the summer but there was always a chance. What was assured, though, was laughter, good food and time spent with mates – something which had been sadly missing for so long. Angling was really just an excuse to meet up.
Occasionally a salmon would leap clear of the whiskycoloured water as if to hammer home our shortcomings. Flowers, already spent in the south, were just coming into bloom, giving me a second chance to enjoy the rhododendrons and bluebells lining the sun-kissed banks.
With some of Scotland’s finest produce to hand we ate until our bellies bulged in our waders – a fish was all we needed now, and Raymond’s sea trout served up a taster of what was to come. First John Rogers confirmed that ‘the tug is the drug’, not once but three times in quick succession.
I missed his first two fish but
“Occasionally a salmon would leap clear of the whisky-coloured water”
was there with my camera for the third as a chrome-flanked salmon made a final attempt to relieve John of his fly.
Our gillie, Orlando Hill, was having none of it, and as he scooped up my friend’s prize we all had a new memory to cherish in our quieter moments.
A week later, and with pictures of my Scottish adventure safely stored away I was due to meet another great friend, Keith Wesley. This time it was on the banks of a small gravel pit, and the hum of traffic from the nearby motorway was a world away from the peace of the Highlands. Today we’d be pursuing some wily old carp.
I laid my trap gently in the margins. At such close quarters maggots seemed the perfect bait, and I set up a simple rig on which to present them. My mainline was 25lb fluorocarbon, the final few yards pinned to the bottom by blobs of putty. A 3oz weight sat on a lead clip and, with weed close by, I opted for 8ins of strong Tungsten Loaded hooklength ending in a size 7 hook. I extended the shank with an artificial maggot joined by six real grubs in the bend, and then I was ready to introduce a couple of handfuls of free maggots over the rig.
Four tails waved only a few yards away, and I knew a bite would come. The biggest mirror stopped abruptly and I watched it rise off the bottom, knowing what would happen next.
Sadly, with a shake of its head, the fish went one way and the rig went the other. My chances for the afternoon had gone, and all I could hope for was that under the cover of darkness the fish I’d seen would regain their confidence and return.
Keith couldn’t resist pulling my leg about my failure to hook up, but at least I could listen to him while we enjoyed a Chinese meal. For too long we hadn’t socialised, and on a post-Covid get-together this was more important than any fish.
At exactly 3.45am the following morning a carp slipped up – I knew this because I awoke to Keith’s alarm screaming. As I lay on the bedchair, summoning up the energy to go and help my friend, my alarm too burst into life! The result was the same for both of us – beautiful common carp, their scales highlighted by dark chestnut tones on the back, and gold across their flanks.
Time will eventually blur the memory of these fish and the Scottish salmon that preceded them, but my friendships with fellow anglers will endure, and that’s why I cherish them.