‘My rod tip pulled round violently as a fish accepted my offering and a shout went out to my father who came quickly but quietly along the bank keeping low to the skyline. I was in the full throes of battle when he slipped in beside me and gave me words of encouragement.’
I’m sitting here looking at a box, it’s sat upon the table accompanied by a cup of steaming coffee…Yatesy my spaniel and I have just returned to the cottage from our early morning wander. I enjoy these precious moments spent together immensely. At this time of day he is alert to a multitude of fresh scents laid down by nocturnal animals and busies himself following them through the deep undergrowth only to appear almost where he started his sortie minutes later covered in bits of twigs and leaves and with a bemused look on his face which always brings a smile to my own!
Yatesy
What a perfect companion he is on those long hikes across the surrounding countryside as we watch the seasons change together. For my part, the middle of May until around the middle of June is the most wonderful time of the year to be pulling on the walking boots and enjoying the freshness of a late spring daybreak. The dawn chorus is in full swing, the woodlands being full of bluebells, primrose, anemone, yellow archangel and celandine and the hedgerows of the surrounding fields and lanes burst with the colours of hawthorn, speedwell, red campion, cow parsley and herb robert to name but a few…with all of this beauty to immerse myself in I’m surprised that I actually manage to get anything else done!
The Delights Of May Thro’ To June
The Lanes Burst With Colour
But done it has to be…the approaching start to the coarse angling season has awoken thoughts of being out with a rod once more and although those thoughts have yet to give me sleepless nights as the clock ticks down to the glorious 16th June, I have been thinking about sorting out my tackles which are strewn liberally around the cottage much to the bemusement of the resident ghillie. On more than one occasion now she has gently asked whether or not I had any plans to tidy it up? Which brings me back to the box……
The box which at first glance may appear insignificant to many contains a piece of angling history, my history. When I open the box to reveal the contents memories come flooding back. I’d have been around thirteen or fourteen years old when the box first came into my life. My father had taken me for a week’s fishing holiday to the small village of Downton in Wiltshire, which was steeped in angling heritage. I remember well that my first sight of the Hampshire Avon was almost overwhelming, I’d read much about this beautiful chalk stream through the pen of Venables, Walker and Wheat but had never imagined just how powerful and beautiful it was. Leaning over the bridge in the village I could see chub, roach and dace moving gracefully between the beds of ranunculus which were swaying in the flow of the crystal clear water. Heaven for a young countryboy who’s whole being revolved around going an angling.
Another Classic
My Father took me that evening into the Bull Hotel and again I remember standing and looking in awe at the cased fish which adorned the walls of the bar. That night I could hardly sleep, big chub swam through the weed beds of my young mind and I couldn’t wait to try my hand at catching my first Avon fish. The next morning we awoke at a respectful time, took breakfast in the hotel and then gathered up our tackle and wandered down to the village shop to buy what my father had told me was the finest chub bait in all of old England…Cracker Barrel cheese.
We were soon tackled up below the old tannery where the main river was joined by a leat. Father told me that we’d be ledgering using a simple link made up with swan shot and a size six au lion d’or hook and to mould a piece of the cheese around the hook, just allowing the point to show…. this to me was real Crabtree stuff, I hung onto his every word as I swung out my bait over the first bed of weed and settled back on the soft bankside grass and awaited a bite…I was in heaven, although a dark moment was soon to occur…
My rod tip pulled round violently as a fish accepted my offering and a shout went out to my father who came quickly but quietly along the bank keeping low to the skyline. I was in the full throes of battle when he slipped in beside me and gave me words of encouragement. All of a sudden and without any prior warning the old Intrepid reel given to me by my grandfather seized up… the line snapped with a loud crack and the battle was lost! I didn’t know many swear words at that age but I’m sure that I used an appropriate one. “Don’t worry son, well see if we can fix it, but for now you can use my spare reel”…kind words from my father.
In the bar that evening the Intrepid was dissected with a screwdriver and the problem found to be terminal. “We’ll pop into Tony’s tackle shop in the village in morning and get you another”…those words filled my heart with gladness and joy…perhaps he’d buy me a much coveted Mitchell 300? The reel of a young boy’s dreams….
A rather sleepless night dreaming of Mitchell reels followed by a hastily eaten breakfast the next morning saw us amble down to Tony’s tackle shop. Now I must tell you that being a small village many of the parishioner’s often had two occupations. One of the chaps behind the bar of the Bull in the evening also ran the petrol station during the day. Tony was no different apart from his occupations were situated under the same roof, one half of his shop was the hairdressers the other half being the tackle emporium, upon entering his shop there was a strange mixture of smells from hair products, varnish and maggots….delightful!
I stood there with my father and there it was in all of its glory, the Mitchell was almost singing to me that I hadn’t noticed the other reels sitting beside it on the same shelf. “Can we take a look at the Pflueger please?” said my father…at the time those words filled me with dread as I’d never heard of the marque! My heroes all used Mitchell reels…surely he knew that? I knew my father had a great sense of humour and quietly prayed that this was one of his legendary leg pulling moments… it wasn’t! After a couple of quick spins and a more thorough appraisal he said “Yup we’ll take it, and some 6lb Sylcast line, thank you”. I couldn’t show my disappointment, after all it was so generous of him to take me on a fishing holiday let alone buy me a new reel, which was my first piece of new tackle, all of my other items being hand me downs from family.
The Pflueger Today
Having spooled up the reel with line and cast my first bait out with it, I realised how much better it was compared with the now defunct intrepid. A minor love affair had begun which grew the more I used it and realised just how good the bail arm operation and clutch adjustment were when playing many a large chub…as smooth as silk. It appeared that the old man knew a thing or two…
Although it’s sat in the tackle cupboard for many a year, unused but certainly not unloved. Every time that little box comes out and I open it and give the little grey reel a spin it reminds me of halcyon days…. maybe I’ll take it chub fishing again this autumn?
Writing & Images R.B.Traditional – May 2023
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