Dunno if I have I have posted this before? But here goes:
This is another pastime frequented by all different
kinds of people. You get the small kid
who just wants to catch a fishy on the lishy.
He is happy catching sticklebacks and sharing his mum’s sandwiches with
the local wildlife.
Then there is the trout fisherman who only uses the fly and
disapproves at the common Coarse fishing angler. Trout man spends all his time trying to
imitate a May fly and thinking of interesting tweed jackets. He is
often seen at a private stocked troutery, fishing for Triploids (had their sex
organs electrically removed so they resemble bullocks) that have had about two dustbins of trout pellets a
second. Trout man is really chuffed when
he catches one of the Leviathans and proudly shows off his catch!
I spent a lot of my youth and early adulthood Coarse
fishing. Every stream, flooded quarry,
canal, mill pond, river, reservoir and lodge was fished. All just so that I could catch a fish and let
it go again.
Oh what joy it was to look down at your maggot box and
see a big brown rat eating the bran. I
am terrified of rats (shit scared) and they soon helped me pack up my tackle
and run home! I think my rat phobia goes
back to my childhood.
I once went out the back street one winter’s night in
my stocking feet to let my beloved dog Tess back in after her ablutions and a
good bark. A great big greasy looking
sewer rat type very kindly decided to walk over my feet. I turned and fled and unofficially broke the
world 100 metres record.
Anyway I digress.
I spent many a happy and not so happy time fishing. I enjoyed my time sitting fishing with a keep
net full of Thwaites beer and half bottle of whisky to keep me warm.
I can recall
breaking ice with a stone and spending TWO hours shivering and feeling sorry
for myself. I never caught anything but
what’s better than a bit of hypothermia now again?
I met a few nutcases on my fishing
adventures. I often remember the one man and his dog that would
stand behind you watching your float for about five minutes. Then they would say:
caught out (anything) mate?”
I would reply yes or no and they would shrug their
shoulders and walk off. Thanks a lot dog
walker for standing behind me and sending me paranoid. Oh the times I used to think some mass
murderer was going to kill me and make me into their dog: Rover’s dog
One time I joined a local fishing
society. I walked the two miles to my
new fishing paradise and began to assemble my fishing rod. A friendly neighbouring angler fishing on the
opposite peg greeted me by saying:
“Get to f8ck
off there. You’re not fishing on my
I looked in front of my peg (a prostrate wooden pallet,
precariously hanging over the water) and noticed the “friendly Fishermans”
float. I tried to protest that I was
only fishing on a vacant peg and he threatened to give me good hiding.
I was only 16 and he was about forty. Friendly fisherman was built like the
proverbial brick shithouse, and his cat had obviously urinated on their corn
flakes that very morning. So I picked up my tackle and left “friendly
angler” to his half of the fishing lodge.
Not all anglers are crazy though. Some of them are well balanced, upstanding
members of the community. They have hobbies like Bingo!