…a battle of wits (or no wits) between fish and man that is only separated by the thin film of water and the even thinner line between the Anglers hope and the fishes freedom. This enforced loneliness can drive anglers to madness or obsession, as their unwavering focus is directed at catching the largest carp in the pool, or the monster chub that slipped the hook the previous day.
But the solitary angler is never truly alone.
Summer trips to reed lined river banks are always best enjoyed with a fellow angler. An experience that is shared is somehow more visceral, and embeds itself in the memory, ready to be recalled during late nights at fishing at the local lake. A fishing friend is someone who can help you with your rig or point you towards a unseen swim where a shoal of red finned roach may lie hidden from your gaze. A fishing friend should be able to make an adequate cup of tea or possess the athleticism to help fish your landing net from the river it breaks under the strain of a bullish trout.
My last year of angling has seen me fishing alone but I have made some great friends on the riverbank. Without the help of experienced hands like Marvin, I would not be able to Wallis cast, or understand the best way to trot bread flake for the Itchen' roach. Due to my relative inexperience the only way I can pay them back for their help is the occasional cup of tea and a pleasant chat about the wiley local chub.
Recently I have enjoyed a couple of day's fishing with one of my oldest friends - Dave. On the windiest day I have ever seen on the local farmer’s pond, Dave not only out fished me, catching some very fine Perch and roach, but my competitive spirit was happy for his success. It was enough for me to net Dave's increasingly bigger stripies and take photos, as our tackle was blown away with the gusting wind.
If I has been alone I would not have seen the mighty 20lb Pike engulf the biggest perch of the day, as Dave carefully returned it to the wind swept water. The pike rolled only a foot away from the edge of the bank that disappeared from view, leaving a pair of startled anglers and an event seared into our shared memory.
I know that during the summer, when the wind has dropped, and we wait for first light. The bubbles of morning tench will start to appear through the darkness of the morning. We will talk of the winter’s day on the same lake when a Pike devoured the day’s prize perch, and it was so close we could have scooped it up in our hands.
That is what friends are for.
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