‘The afternoon light was already diminishing as I settled in on a blanket of damp, leaf strewn grass under a regal canopy of golden browns and yellows. An intimate scene, with only the river bringing whispers of wider lands’
Arriving at my destination on a cool, late autumn afternoon I was greeted by the sight of a river seemingly down on its luck. Weak sunshine slanted coldly across its rippled bones, the brittle waters tense and devoid of visible life. But I had witnessed this mirage before, I knew where to wait, where to see through the illusion, where to quietly become absorbed in another reality as darkness gathered.
Ducking inside the thicket, aged leaves still holding from an overrun summer, I avoided the worst of the hungry thorns that plucked at my clothing and traced small feathers of blood across the backs of my hands with any careless move. The barely perceptible path led onward, occasionally rewarding me with glimpses of other life amongst the dense mass of tangled twigs. Fresh green crab apples carpeting a deep hollow, vibrant against the camouflage of last year’s fallen leaves. Secretive birds still in hiding from their annual moult, mere flickerings in that mysterious gloom on the very edge of perception. I was already becoming absorbed.
Meandering slowly through this confinement of boughs, the space around me at last began to open and the river, once again, came into view. Here it was more serene, wider and deeper, flowing steady between lush banks, its smooth surface reflecting like antique glass. Curled autumn leaves floated down scudding away on breaths of air, as if tiny ships, sailing towards distant shores. Away to my left the channel narrowed, sending the current busying toward old willow trees, cracked and twisted on the opposite bank, before disappearing from view around a downstream bend.
The afternoon light was already diminishing as I settled in on a blanket of damp, leaf strewn grass under a regal canopy of golden browns and yellows. An intimate scene, with only the river bringing whispers of wider lands as it passed before me. And yet . . . the real magic was still to happen.
I had set up my rod and line very simply. As the only connection between my world and that other place, I wanted that connection to be as pure, as raw, as honest as I could possibly make it, concentrating the very essence of what it is to fish. The small luminous glow stick attached to the rod appeared as if it were a firefly that had crawled to the very tip to signal her intent. This was to be a beacon, the link, my only point of reference in the dark. With that done, I poured a steaming coffee and sat watching the daylight fade, anticipating what was to come. I was not going to make my cast until the moment was right.
Part 2.
Darkness arrives quickly this late in the year and in my shaded grove it was upon me suddenly. The chill we all feel as we are first embraced by its unnerving arrival, frayed my confidence, my brain flashing warnings of impending danger. But soon, after this initial stutter, my thoughts realigned and with senses sharpened I felt the rush begin. Horizons silently fled, retreating into the shadows and all at once . . . I was there.
Perspective shifted . . .
The previously intimate surroundings were no more. All I could now sense in front of me was a dark pool, but this was now a pool with no boundaries, no horizons, no beginning and no end. In my mind, a vast, limitless, inky black pool set on a distant planet, in an infinite universe of emptiness.
It was into this, with fierce eyes and a beating heart, that I made my first cast.
Plop . . .
Part 3.
The watcher waits, the watcher sees
The watcher knows, but do you believe?
Time passed . . .
The only star in the void was my own, a dim green star that played tricks on my eyes, seeming to sway and gently oscillate as if its light were being distorted by the gravitational pull of some huge unseen celestial body. But despite these half imagined noddings and waverings the reality was, it hadn’t moved from its position in the firmament. I had my own personal Pole Star, steadfast, dependable, in harmony with the rotational axis of this strange planet on which I currently resided.
Time passed . . .
A Pole Star is not meant to move, not meant to violently stagger sideways as if struck by a cosmic blast of energised particles. But it did. My pent up reflexes fired hot and fast, instinctively lifting the rod to meet the storm and in that brief moment worlds collided and I became connected to an electric, unstoppable force. It felt as if I had hooked the river itself. Perhaps I had . . .
Adrenaline coursed through my veins and with gritted teeth I attempted to contain the monster. The battle was long, fierce, brutal and at times I despaired, acutely aware that all that joined us was a thread so fine and so fragile. But yet, in that period of timelessness, it was resilient enough to weave the very fabric of space, stitching disparate realities, whilst opposing forces raged all around.
Eventually, I was able to redress the balance. The first sighting came as the huge fish rolled on the surface, the breaking water appearing like thick black oil in the darkness as the beast swirled away. Again and again it rolled and again and again it coursed back to the depths. But by now the battle was finally going my way, I readied my net in the oily water and with the last of my strength, the two worlds fused.
It was with some trepidation and a shaking hand that I switched on my small torch and there at my feet, in the folds of the net, was a gleaming creature beyond imagining. Muscular and sinuous, with bright amber eyes, golden bronzed flanks of the finest close fitting armour, the powerful fins and tail glowing translucent orange in the torchlight. It was indeed as if the river itself had morphed into another form, become flesh, a physical embodiment of its elemental life force.
I didn’t wait long, there was no need, that moment will be forever endless. As the creature gently passed through the space between worlds, back to whence it came, the connection dissipated and I could only gaze in astonishment as she silently dissolved into ripples.
I sat in the quiet darkness that followed.
Time ceased to exist . . .
Part 4.
Emerging from the portal beneath the bushes, I started the long walk back. In my absence, a heavy dew had fallen, coalescing on a myriad of webs and wonderments that shimmered softly, reflecting the ethereal light of more familiar stars. This was yet another hidden world, briefly exposed for inquisitive eyes to marvel upon. But the change had begun, events were coming full circle and I was, once more, returning to my old reality. The outline of my car materialised in the thick damp air, waiting, like a trusted dog under the trees and with that, the transition was complete. By now I was cold and tired and the welcoming interior was nothing if not pleasurable.
But I was forever changed. As the moisture slowly cleared from the screen, I relived the battling of shape shifting monsters, the passing between worlds outside of time and space, fantastical alternative realities and I wondered . . was any of it real? I would like to think all of it . . .
and none of it . . .
Postscript.
Later, as I settled into bed and felt Sonia’s familiar and comforting body heat reaching out to me, I was glad to be home. My otter like attempt to slip unnoticed beneath the duvet obviously hadn’t been quite as smooth and elegant as I’d hoped, as she turned towards me and sleepily enquired, “Did you have a nice time?” With eyes still afire with stars, I pondered just briefly over such a simple question. “Yes” I replied quietly, “I had a nice time.”
Knight Heron – Langmere, Norfolk, Nov 2023.
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