Angling Lament

A LAMENT
With migratory fish stocks diminished and many rivers a sad shadow of their
former self it's difficult to even believe there was a time in my living
memory when Salmon and Sea Trout fish stocks were in comparison plentiful, I
remember it the way it was. As a child of the 1960's and teenager I made
regular visits with my Father to a river as it was then in South East
Westmoreland. Looking back I didn't realise it at the time I witnessed what
was a halcyon period in game Angling. It was all very different then of
course, I witnessed the techniques from the angling purist to the more, and
well shall we say more questionable methods of fishing.

One of my earliest recollections of associated with Angling was at 5 years
of age in the early light of an October morning I tip toed on a cold flagged
floor through the kitchen of our rented holiday cottage trying to navigate
my route through an aquatic mortuary past the silver bar shapes of 20
assorted salmon and Sea Trout laid out, the product of only a few days
fishing. The evidence of the salmon runs of the early 1960's

You see salmon featured rather a lot in my early years, family holidays
were invariably salmon fishing, eating at home was we'll best described as
quite a lot of salmon. Whilst my school chums had to be content with
variety served up out of a tin masqueraded as a salad in School dinners, I
had the fresh stuff poached, grilled, steamed, and in fish cakes.
Unwittingly to illustrate the point with it in abundance and too much of a
good thing in desperation I asked my Mother "Can we have some of that white
chip shop fish for a change?" In those early days "a must have item" seemed
to be a deep freeze for you're fish, yeah that was the signal you were a
successful angler and in the big league. The fish were shared out through
extended family between thankful relatives, friends and work mates
supplemented with the occasional arrangement with a local hotelier.

Although I was witnessing what was supposed to be a hobby, it was carried
out by my late Father with an almost fanatical precision it wasn't done in
half measures. Out of season would be spent varnishing rods making lures,
preserving minnows, melting lead all for the run up to the beginning of the
season.
Once the season was underway, many weekends were spent fishing when not
engaged in the actual activity it was something associated with it. As I
grew up I became in effect my Fathers ghillie, accompanying him perched on a
rock edge overlooking a torrent worming for salmon to night fly fishing for
Sea Trout in the black velvet darkness of a summer's night.

It was a hobby for me but for Dad game angling was an all encompassing
passion.
There were the characters, the course fisherman critised by regulars for
occupying the same spot on the salmon pool all day, without moving down and
taking their turn. There were the local and visiting "Snatchers," whose sole
intention was to out fox the Bailiff's and foul hook a fish with a dubious
heavily weighted lure and get a fish whatever the cost. Then there was the
"Purist" invariably the more elderly anglers, who secret but legal
techniques to everyone's mystery always seemed to procure fish whatever
water conditions. There was also the down right nuisance, with no angling
etiquette, who fished over and across everyone and whose voice you could
hear two miles up the river.

At the height of the salmon run on a local pool, sometimes with six anglers
on each side, lifting off a little too enthusiastically it really was a
danger zone. Salmon flies whizzing in the air pinging off rocks like
ricochets bullets. It wasn't that rare an occasion that poor unfortunates
ended up with an unconventional earring of a salmon fly and treble hook
dangling embedded in their ear. It got so bad at one point the local
Cottage Hospitals casualty officer with the proposition of releasing yet
another treble again from someone's ear exclaimed to one angling visitor
"Its not you again"? On other memorable occasions I witnessed the comedy of
three anglers all snagged and playing the same fish. Then there were the two
anglers unknown to them both hooking an apparent slow moving fish having
brought their quarry to the surface to discover they had both been playing a
dead rabbit it as it drifted around at depth in the current of the pool. A
never to be forgotten epic a friend on his back cast hooked his dog through
the ear, with his salmon fly. With a howl the dog sped off up the field it
made quite a sight, the angler in hot pursuit winding in furiously playing
the animal on the salmon fly rod. Eventually the animal was pinned down and
its unconventional appendage removed it was thankfully none the worse for
its ordeal.

The last week of the season was always exciting and a spectacle coach
parties actually stopped to witness events. As fishing time was running out
things fishing accelerated to fever pitch fishing took on a sense of urgency
and antics reached a crescendo. It was a bit like watching a Max Sennet
comedy chases ensued between Bailiff and long suffering fish starved Anglers
it wouldn't have looked out of place in a keystone cops scene.

These were less enlightened days for both parties, the Anglers were
convinced the Bailiffs only aim was to stop them landing a fish & seemed to
bring out any excuse to return the fish. Despite this there was still some
good humour present with ongoing cat and mouse games.

Somtimes I drive North past the same spot scene of past events, curiosity
gets the better of me and I find myself stopping for a few minutes detour in
middle aged reminiscence peering over to those angling scenes of yesteryear
remembering
with fondness the angling characters locals and visitors alike.
Devoid of Anglers it's really difficult to believe it all ever happened.