The Piscatorial Raconteurs – Raise A Glass To The Season, The 16th is here

Summer’s Splendor In Pictures

New Season Old Ways

Much loved artefacts evoke wonderful memories

A very early alarm, simple baits and tackle, a favourite river or pool, a treasured rod with perhaps a childhood reel. The first day of a new coarse fishing season often unites the past with the present. Old traditions, habits and rituals are again called upon as the calendar reaches the 16th June and another angling chapter begins. Proven old ways and tackles are again trusted as the page turns to reveal the sparkle of a river or the glowing reflection of a pool. As if landing at an airport in a place never previously visited, there is intrigue, curiosity and fascination. Even if the water is known, surroundings can appear so fresh, so new, after an absence of several months.

And yet, a warm and cosy feeling of familiarity can soon be restored; opening the same fishing bag that I carried as a boy, holding a beloved float, a cherished rod or reel. Such things, or should we call them artefacts, have such historical relevance and evoke strong memories of bygone times. In some cases, the evocation stems from a float or a reel that my father once held, things so dear to me, so valued by my very soul. 

Elated to the core, at one with my surroundings, fishing on the first day of a new season is like a Christmas morning and a first day of the school summer holidays, all rolled into one; anticipation is at its highest, excitement taken to the extreme. What might the day bring? I remember fondly as a ten-year old, thinking that surely the fish will be ravenous after the lack of fishing pressure in recent months. It will take little or no effort from me to entice them with my bread or worms (these were my only bait options at the time). As I grew up, the benefit of increased waterside experience, of course, taught me that such things can never be taken for granted.

As a young boy, the catching of a fish, just any fish, was of utmost importance. Wasn’t that the whole point? I had little or no time for anything that might take my attention away from my float. The landscape, the bird life, the distractions of the natural world were there in all their glory in those early days, but nothing could possibly compete with my porcupine quill. An erupting volcano would not have been enough to turn my head. 

These days, contentment is found in merely ‘being’ at the edge of water. Delight is just as likely to be found in watching a circling buzzard, a hovering dragonfly, the dash of a kingfisher, a wriggling newt, the dance of a wagtail, a magical misty dawn or a breathtaking sunset. ‘Catching’ has become far less crucial as the years have passed.Some things, however, retain their intensity through the years. The first cast of a new season is often a heady cocktail of sheer enthusiasm and utmost concentration. Getting things ‘just right’ brings such pleasure. It matters not whether the float shows any immediate signs of underwater interest but as H.T. Sheringham once said, my red-tipped antenna is “pleasing in its appearance and even more pleasing in its disappearance.” The float becomes the complete focus of attention. 

Staring with a purpose, watching with intent, thoroughly immersed in expectation, imagination running wild while history echoes all around me. My head is awash with thoughts of previous ‘first day’ endeavours, companions and waters. Having fished for fifty years or more, a gallery of family members, friends, angling club characters and venues all compete in my head. Sadly, some of the people and the waters are no longer with us but their memory is undiminished. They swirl around in a rich concoction of happiness and sadness, fondness and frustration, euphoria and even disbelief.

-Did we really walk for three hours each way to catch small stone loach from a farm pond?

-How could we have walked for over an hour, in the rain, only to find an organized club competition underway on a lake and had to wait until 3pm to fish ourselves?

-How on earth was that remarkable three-pound tench living in such a small pond miles from anywhere?

So many memories: the agonies, the ecstasies, the captures, the frequent failures, the extreme weathers. Every stitch of my own angling tapestry takes its rightful place in my opening day thoughts. I will be forever grateful for all their contributions to my angling journey. The sights, the sounds, the personalities, the places, the feelings, the successes and disappointments will never be forgotten. An opening day is truly a form of nostalgic soothing.

Tackles from fifty years ago recalled with utmost affection 

Revisiting friends from many years ago can sometimes be a disappointment, a let-down. Times move on, interests and priorities change, affection fades. Some childhood ponds now have the appearance of an elderly relative, weathered and withered, a shadow of their younger self. Nature reclaims the banks and a once heavenly space is barely recognizable as pondweed dominates below the water and brambles overtake the margins. They may appear weary and forlorn, the lives that called them home all those years ago may be long gone but nevertheless, they are still old friends. Times and appearances can change, but some friends are forever.

A dear old friend, aged, weathered and withered

The uncertainty of angling can snare people from all walks of life. Privileged and destitute alike, all who angle are in search of a balance between their ever-present hope and the heavy burden of their expectation. Many must survive the breaking of promises their pastime had made to them the previous evening, when the opening day dreams are shattered by the absence of their desired fish, times when we anglers are reminded that we are not in charge of our destiny. 

There are, however, days when angling’s ability to frustrate and disappoint is surpassed by its capacity to surprise. An opening day that lives up to, or even exceeds, expectation is the very definition of fulfilment and achievement. Which version, I wonder, will I encounter next? The experience of a lifetime, or a quiet time of solitude to ponder life and connect with nature? Either way, contentment and satisfaction are assured.

Bernard Venables once said:

“A fisherman, in a sense, doesn’t choose to go fishing. He obeys the summons.” 

That summons is never more compelling than in the days preceding the 16th June.

Carl Hier

June’s Miscellany

RB Traditional – More Wandering ‘Spring is such a wonderful time of the year to see and hear the birdlife as they pair up and commence their annual breeding season. With the rivers closed to angling exploits it offers a country soul’ continue reading

David Craine, Elf & Safety ‘It all started many years ago after I left the Army and we purchased our first house. It had a decent-sized cellar which I commandeered as a workshop, slowly building up a collection. . . . ‘ continue reading

Knight Heron, Vanelaw ‘In a 1000 years will new pride in our ancestry include the river neutral and reflection farm as the hare thwarted in his run courses with a sore head and the ancient ways of badgers are cut by prows of steel‘ continue reading

This Editions Features & Articles

Guest Articles

Ruth Craine

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Ruth Craine Continues her Shetland Travelogue – The Islands ‘Honesty boxes, we discovered, are everywhere in Shetland, from fridges full of cakes, eggs, jam…the list just goes on and on. This was a first for me, an honesty cafe. It’s all self service, you fill the kettle from a tap on the wall, select your drink and snack, then literally put it all together yourself‘ continue reading

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The Raconteurs Articles

David Chalcraft, Martin James MBE, David Craine, Knight Heron, Pallenpool, Edward Barrett & Carl Hier

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Pallenpool – The Dream Of A Summer’s Pool ‘One of life’s simple pleasures is surely casting a line into a June pool. Thankfully, the wait to do so has, over time, softened around the edges and although I now have patience and plenty to occupy me in fishing’s lean months, the excitement and anticipation still simmers to a boil come mid June’ continue reading

Edward Barrett – Fishes The Tidal Thames ‘After the dust settled and I had tied on a new hook and feeder, a steady flow of lovely, healthy chub graced my net. It got to the point where there was no time to put the rod in the rest, such was the immediate response after every cast’ continue reading

David Craine – In Praise Of Summer ‘The alarm is set for 3.30 am. I am not an angler that now will sit on a bank waiting for the magic of midnight on the opening day of the season. I would much rather see the dawn while I make my way to the water and enjoy the quiet solitude of my first day of the season unhurried’ continue reading

Martin James MBE – Has Tench & Carp In Mind For The Early Part Of The New Season ‘I hope June will be one of those delightful months with the countryside painted in all shades of green and brown. The hum of insects no doubt will make me drowsy and I often doze off on occasions. As dawn breaks, there will likely be wisps of mist over the pool as the sun starts to rise until sitting over the big oak, when I can clearly see my float. Only then is it time to make my first cast of the new season’ continue reading

Knight Heron – The Uncatchable’s ‘Look at ‘em looming up there, masters of watercraft. They ‘ave no idea what’s right under their noses. Go on, give ‘em a burst, poor sods need a bit of encouragement… Oh, that’s perfect, they took notice of that. Can barely contain their excitement! I think it will soon be breakfast time’ continue reading

David Chalcraft – The Creel, June 1993 ‘Daylight streamed through the gap in the bedroom curtains, and the younger man had naturally awoken without need for an alarm. Tackles had been gathered and loaded into the car the evening before to minimise disturbing the rest of the household. His wife had just found sleep again after a 3am feed of their infant son.’ continue reading

Carl Hier – Pond Dipping, A Journey Back To Childhood ‘As our adventures developed, each pond built its own reputation. Nicholas’s Pond was the only stillwater to hold stone loach but they were always difficult to catch as they would retreat rapidly into the gaps between the stones that formed a dam along the pond’s main bank. Sticklebacks were more common in the shallows of Stinker’s Pond with males and females of various sizes coming to our nets. The Secret Pond would be the provider of great crested newts’ continue reading