Trigger Happy and Trigger Happy

There I was on Sunday, quietly drifting down on a flock of feeding birds, spinning for mackerel with maybe a chance of a bass if I'm quiet. Then this boatload of anglers roars up, without a glance in my direction, right between me and where I was spinning. My response was reasonably restrained in the circumstances - "Hey, do you mind??" Now if that had been a yottie, he would have said "Gosh I say, terribly sorry old chap, didn't realise...etc". But they weren't yotties, they were anglers of a less genteel nature and all I got back was "well we're all after mackerel aint we?" There is a point beyond which is is unwise to push Salar. I gave him at least three lungfulls (I can remember drawing breath twice) of the language reserved this this special sort of occasion.


On to happier matters, I was delighted to catch my first trigger fish today, of good eating size so he's now in the fridge. They are the weirdest creatures: thick skin like a wrasse, a stomach that goes up into the body instead of along like other fish, a gill opening more like an ear-hole and teeth like one of the more undesirable monsters on my son's computer games. I have it on good authority they are very tasty. I will let you know.

The Fishing Priest

Here’s a fishing joke I came across recently.

Father Michael was an avid fisherman, and whenever he was not fulfilling his priestly duties he would be out on the lough. One summer (2008) there had been weeks of stormy weather and he hadn’t been able to go fishing at all. He was desperate. One morning, the day dawned calm and mild: he could go. But - it was Sunday! He was supposed to be taking Mass in the church. “I know”, he thought. “I’ll pretend I have the ‘flu and Father O’Leary can take Mass for me. I’ll drive 50 miles to a river where I am not known, and have my day’s fishing.”

So that is what he did. However, he could not hide from God. One of the angels spotted him, and immediately snitched on him to God. God peered through the clouds and frowned.

“Are you going to punish him?” asked the angel. God nodded. The angel watched, expecting Father Michael to step in a wasp’s nest or fall in the river. Suddenly, Father Michael struck into a huge fish, and after a lengthy struggle the fish was on the bank. It was a huge salmon, almost certainly a record.

“But...I thought you were going to punish him?” asked the angel.

“I did,” said God. “Now who can he tell?”

Charley-Merde-Tete the dog

What do you do when you can’t fish because the weather is awful again, and you have fixed everything that needs fixing on your boat? You could flick through your books and see if there is a fishing one that has missed being read (this often happens to me as I get a pile of books each birthday and Christmas). Last week, I discovered a gem – why had I not found this one before? Too many “readable” books about fishing are written for the US market, or for fly fishermen, or for nostalgic, sentimental dreamers. “The Incomplete Angler” by Robin Shelton is a refreshing change from all that: a book written by a chap over here about good honest British sea angling with only a bit of trout fishing sneaking in at the end. It even starts with an account of fly fishing for bass from a kayak – how contemporary is that for goodness sake?
Written by a guy who thinks like we should be thinking but writes it down a lot better than most, this book will have you laughing, pondering, reminiscing and vowing to go fishing again. Robin explains fishing geeks and fishing porn, which will have a lot of us blushing under our wind-burn. He re-discovers pier, rock, beach, boat and fly fishing (including the contagious fly-tying obsession – don’t go there) and tells it in a way that will have experienced anglers nodding sagely and non-anglers following every word. Quite a talent. He is well within the scope of www-boat-angling.co.uk as he lives near Winchester and shops at Rovers in Fareham, although his fishing trips range from Scotland to Cornwall. Robin also knows exactly how and when to take the gentle micky: ‘aampsheer versus Hampshah; a certain Total fishing magazine; vegetarianism, fellow anglers and sleepy seaside establishments all come under his scrutiny. Anyone who elegantly refers to his dog as Charley-merde-tete can’t be at all bad. He can cook too.