The hunter thwarted
As a small boy I loved fishing. I took my late father’s Greenheart two-handed rod up to the local burn, sent worms down the runs, and occasionally caught trout big enough to grace a frying pan. The joy of cycling home, rod strapped to the crossbar, trout safely in the old gasmask bag with reel, spare tackle and tobacco tin with holes to let the worms breathe… The triumphant entry into the kitchen, where mother would loyally gasp with delight at this stiff, curled-up little fish. It would be cooked and all the family invited to try a white morsel of flesh. For a brief moment I was the food provider, and this moment was a large part of my love for fishing.
Now in my 70s, when I fish for trout or salmon the thrill of a catch is the same I experienced as a lad, the wish to be the provider, the skilled hunter who lays the catch on the kitchen table – to be admired then eaten.
It seems that most Scottish salmon waters now have a Catch and Release policy, which cuts across my approach to fishing. This policy may be well-intentioned, but has an element of cruelty, of playing with a wild creature. 'There you go, I won the battle, but, knackered though you are, you can go back and no hard feelings, eh?' When I hook a fish, I appreciate that it is fighting for its life and treat it with respect. It is the ageless duel between the hunter and the hunted; no laughing matter, not a photo opportunity. If I win the battle I want the spoils.
Stocked fish have no appeal. The hunter in me does not like the concept of fish being bred and bought for his pleasure. Coarse fishing? It’s mainly competitive, like golf – not my bag. What I am left with is fishing for wild trout, or if the old Greenheart will still stand it, fishing for flatfish in estuaries.
O tempora, o mores!
David Syme, Edinburgh