I would like you to picture the scene , a small 6 year old boy is walking along a country lane, in East Sussex , after his first fishing adventure , to a local farm pond. The sun is shining , the sky is blue and the birds and bees are doing what ever birds and bees do in the long lost days of a summer idyll.
The small boy is wearing brown corduroy trousers , black wellies and a shirt, he is carrying his fishing bag over his shoulder , and carrying his rod , with reel, line and float attached . For those of you who need to know the rod is a 6 foot tubular steel spinning rod , and the reel a Mitchell CAP, the float a red topped cork one with a green painted lower half. Oh and a hook, but we will come back to that, as at the moment it is attached to two locations : one right, one very wrong .
At each step the small boys rod bends slightly as the line stretches from a point of contact to the rod top , the line stretches , then relaxes at the next step. Each right legs stride results in the same flex of rod and stretch of line . Its a mile home and the small boy’s thoughts are at the moment only on two things : his Mum’s potential anger at his predicament and the length of his grounding until the next time he can go fishing.
That small boy was me.
The hook was irretrievably stuck in the thigh area of my trousers and despite my best efforts remained there . Other than desperate actions with scissors which I sensibly discounted , the only resort was returning home.
I was grounded .
But as in all things , the need to go back to the watery ways returned and I found myself drawn inevitably to all things fish and fishing related .
Hopefully I can share some of that with you .