Article - Coarse
Early Days
By John, added on 28/12/2006
Early Days
Early memories are always a personal thing, something to recollect and enjoy over and over again. When I look back, I'm thankful my first angling recollections are not of monsters but of minnows. Sticklebacks and Bullheads to be precise. Lifting stone and turning rock was the order of the day, traditionalists note we even used cane of sorts. The kind with a little red net at one end and a reasonable price tag of £1.99 at the other (available from any good newsagent or seaside retailer
to this day). Hardly the finest angling tool ever, but cheap and well suited to the task. I'd like to think this is a concept I have always stuck to, but I know I'm guilty of straying from this path. Nowadays I'm as much a sucker for a expensive, sexy looking rod as anyone. Who would have thought though, all these years later, after a few flirtations with glassfibre and lengthy realtionships with carbon, I
would be thinking about considering cane again....
First Rods
That brings me nicely to my first rod and what a beauty it was too, at least to boyhood eyes. Six foot nothing of pure black magic, with bright red whippings, a shiny metal screw seat and a short length of cork handle. It was purchased for me by my loving father, not from any famous tackle establishment but from the humble car boot sale. How many tackle collections have started that way I wonder? In reality it was a simple 6ft glassfibre freshwater spinning rod, but it got used for almost everything, from float fishing for tench to sea fishing from the pier. In fact that's where it met its untimely end, the top half being dropped by my older sister through the pier's beams. Certainly makes you think doesn't it, when you look at all the rods we anglers tend to use now, almost one per species I'd imagine.
I caught a fish first time out on that little rod too, a small bass from a local quay. It seemed to excel at this style of fishing as whilst on holiday 'down
West Country', it also landed my first
proper bass from the steps on Bideford Quay.
In fact
realising this I wish I still had both halves. However it has to be said, it's finest hour came whilst not even in my own hands. On a family fishing trip,
with the onset of heavy rain and wind, I was forced, somewhat against my young will, to take shelter in a nearby boat house. My second cousin however, being a few years older and more sensibly equipped with a rain coat stayed out with our rods. I'm sure it must have been difficult to see the 30 yards from the boat house to the rods in those conditions, but in my mind it's clear as day, Christien struggling with my little 6ft rod bent double and the largest eel I have ever seen coming to the bank. It's still an annoying, sore point all these years later. I made sure to remind Christien of the episode the last time we got to fish together.
Running Water
Thankfully, during those impressionable childhood years we always seemed to live
in areas steeped with angling influences. Perhaps it always seems that way to the young angler, back then every puddle looked worth a chuck didn't it?
Clear running water was a magnet though, I would happily stare into it for hours just hoping for a glimpse of a fish. Accompaning mum on shopping trips to Winchester gave the opportunity to peer into the Itchen and those potentially uninspiring visits
to relatives near Romsey were certainly brightened by a walk alongside the glorious
Test.
About this time, whilst standing on tip toes and peering over walls into the shallow, clear water of the River Arle, my youthful eyes were often mesmorised by the dark shapes lying in the current below. Over the years these shapes have taken all sorts
of different forms in my head but in reality they were trout.
I recall watching the well to be fly fishers wading amongst the weedbeds and trying
their best to get a simple rise. At that age it all seemed very odd, old chaps with portly cheeks appeared to swirl loops of thick bright cord around their heads before shooting it out seemingly
with no float, weight or bait attached. I was puzzled how they expected to catch anything, it looked like they were trying to lasso the fish. But the trout were clearly visible in the shallow chalkstream and pointing them out to my parents became the highlight of any walk along the river. I may have fed its ducks from my pushchair but I've never actually fished the Arle, it's perhaps surprising therefore that it sits so prominently in my early fishing memories.
The 'Roach' Pool
In terms of waters I did actually wet a line, the one that sticks most in my mind is Old Alresford Pond in Hampshire. It was/is actually quite large for a 'pond', I've fished so called lakes that were smaller. As you could only fish the pond from one side, looking out across the expanse of water was always a mysterious affair. When you not exactly sure what a water contains, as was the case here, the fishing
is always a richer experience. If the only unknown aspect to your fishing is
what sized stockie carp will come out next your not really fishing.
Anyway, most of my juvenile sessions were though spent on the smaller, reed lined 'roach' pool on the side of the main pond. This small pool only allowed about three anglers to fish side by side. I spent many wonderful summer evenings with my father acting as shaparone on the 'pool'. Though not a die hard angler,
he would help me get my casts just right all the same, right next to the lillies where there was a good chance of tinca tinca. He would also let me take our one rod at every dip of the float, always allowing it to be my turn. As the pool was set down and to the left of the path leading to the grounds of the pond, you couldnt see it from the road. Therefore there was always a moment of excitement on arrival to see if anyone was already 'down on the pool'. Mostly it was pike anglers catching their baits, but I like to think it was also a haven for father's with anglers for sons.
Besides the shoals of small roach and beautifully green tench there were also carp.
Although I never caught one I knew they were there. Where the 'roach' pool joined the main pond the water was considerably shallower, revealing their humped backs coming and going. In reality they weren't leviathans but they were carp all
the same, to the young angler an awe-inspring sight and the inspiration for chasing them in the years since. However the pond was perhaps better known for its
pike and it was here I laid eyes on the biggest pike I've ever seen.
Near on 4ft of fearsome prehistoric looks just sat there in the margins staring
at me. It had quite an effect on me as a lad and maybe why it's only in recent years
I've started pike fishing...
Like all good fishing spots, I've since learned the pond has an interesting history.
It was originally
used as a head of water to allow mills
to operate downstream and possible to supply
fish for the Bishop's table in nearby Bishop Sutton. But more interestingly
in 1943, a fullen laden B17 Flying Fortress "The Lady Luck", part of the 303 Bomb Group of the US 8th Air Force, crashed very near the
pond. Thankfully the captain ordered his crew to bail out, steered the plane
single handedly away from the town before bailing out himself. I tried to find a picture of
Captain Robert Cogswell to include here but Google drew a blank. With all the rubbish
you can find online, it seems criminal that I couldn't find a picture of the man.
So all escaped unharmed and there is no spooky Redmire-esche tales on that account. I never fished it after dark of course, being so young, but it didn't seem like
it would be an oppressive place even then.
Garden Angling
This is something that always causes great amusement to my family and friends and
as we are talking early angling memories I should really mention it here. When I was
a boy and couldn't be fishing I would sometimes set up all my gear on the lawn and just pretend instead. To this day the mickey is still taken for this act and I really
couldn't tell you why I was so happy to spend hours pretending to fish.
Of course everyone
has practiced casting in the garden but, I think you will agree,
to lay out a keep net, rod rests and even
open up bait boxes at your feet is a little strange. I wonder if there are other
'garden anglers' out there? When
geriatric dememture sets in, I can see myself coming full circle and returning to
a spot of garden angling, I look forward to it too.
The more I think about it the more I realise I came across a wide range of waters as a child, some well known for their fishing, some not so, some I got to fish and some I didn't. I'm sure this early exposure to water is why, while other hobbies have come and gone, I've always been an angler.