Thursday, April 29, 2010

The one that didn't get away



The year I turned 12 was the year that my father’s winter project was the building of a kayak from plywood. This became another item of equipment to be transported with us when we went off to camp.

We also acquired a fishing line – just a length of thin transparent nylon twine with a metal spinner which we hung out over the back. It came as a huge disappointment that none of us managed to catch anything, but we still usually hung it out as a kind of demonstration of loyalty & gratitude – of course we had faith, daddy.

It was about 6 o’clock one evening as I was paddling along, parallel with & not too far from the shore when I felt a tug. The strength of the pull was startling as I tried to keep paddling along. I began to feel afraid, so I turned & made for the family on the shore. The quicker I tried to go the greater the force of the drag. I became convinced that I must have caught something the size of a shark – at least (& this was years before Jaws). By the time I was close to safety I was really in a panic & daddy waded out to rescue me. I hardly dared to look as he hauled in the catch.

One small mackerel.

Still, we barbecued it over a driftwood fire on the beach & felt very pleased with ourselves.
Fly fishing may be a very pleasant amusement; but angling or float fishing I can only compare to a stick & a string, with a worm at one end & a fool at the other – Samuel Johnson.
Thanks to Chill with Bill from West Clare in whose photo gallery I found the photo which so perfectly illustrates my tale