He stood at the back step and looked out across the garden. The early morning sun warmed his face and birds chirped merrily in the surrounding trees. A nice morning for a stroll along the river he mused.
He went into the garage, retrieved his fishing rod and bag, and within ten minutes was in his car heading to the fishing shop.
The fishing shop was owned by an oul fella named Bertie McCullagh and was in existence as long as Jimmy could remember.
Jimmy entered the shop and an old-fashioned bell rang, indicating his presence.
鈥淕ood Morning Bertie. Have you any maggots?鈥 enquired Jimmy.
鈥淚 have,鈥 says Bertie curtly, as he disappeared into the back of the shop.
听鈥淭hat鈥檚 the last o鈥 them; it鈥檒l have to do you, 鈥 that鈥檒l be a 拢1.鈥
He set the open container on the counter. Jimmy looked inquisitively at the contents. He poked the sawdust with his forefinger and a few yellowed maggots writhed sluggishly to life amid a mass of brown casters.
鈥淲hat!鈥 you鈥檙e not going to charge me a 拢1 for that? Sure the most is sawdust; the most of the maggots have turned to casters.鈥
鈥淚t鈥檚 a 拢1,鈥 Take it or leave it!鈥 came the abrupt reply.
Jimmy hesitated and Oul Bertie lifted the container and turned towards the back store.
听鈥淗i!.. Hi!.. Hold on!鈥 Jimmy stuttered reaching out the 拢1 coin. He took the maggots and without a further word left the shop.
Later that day Jimmy was sitting at the riverbank a few small trout nibbling at his baited hook, needling Jimmy cos really they were poaching his maggots. An鈥 he had few enough without the parr eating them.
He tried hooking a caster on the hook but it was too brittle and disintegrated when he pierced it with the hook. Anger and consternation overshadowed him, over half of the bait unsuitable for baiting the hook. He lifted a few casters and tossed them into the river to the side of float hoping possibly to distract the nibblers. As the casters dropped slowly below the surface he glimpsed a large fish emerge from the depths and snatch a caster voraciously.
鈥楢h!鈥 he thought, 鈥業 could try ground baiting like they do in coarse fishing and these casters are no good to me anyway.鈥 He retrieved his line and threaded two soft casters carefully onto the hook followed by a fresh maggot. He checked the depth of the water with a stick and set his float for the hook to suspend to mid-depth, and cast the line carefully into the centre of the pool. He sat down on the bank, settled himself and gazed into the slow water. The sun warmed his back through his shirt and he slipped into a comfortable musing.
A disturbed water-hen twenty yards downstream skitted across the water chirping noisily, disturbed his meditation, annoying him. His mind returned to the fishing and he gazed into the depths of the water; reflected sunlight restricted his penetration. He rummaged through the sawdust with his finger and retrieved a few hard brown casters, placing them in the heart of his left hand. When he had accumulated about eight or ten he broadcast them across the pool like a farmer sowing seed and watched them sink slowly into the depths. A boil appeared close to the far bank indicating the movement of a large fish. He gathered up another eight or ten casters and tossed them accurately in a thin swathe between his float and the locus of the anticipated fish lie. A glint of silver in the depths caught his eye exciting him. He collected more casters and shot them across his line, more agitation in the water followed. His blood pressure was rising and nervous perspiration seeped from his pores. Nervously he lifted the rod, his eyes glued to the water. Without warning the float disappeared below the surface, he held the rod firmly and after a few seconds the line shot swiftly downstream, the clutch on his reel spinning merrily. He stumbled to his feet, the excitement overpowering and unsteadying him. The tension eased for a moment and he started to wind in loose line to keep control of the fish. As soon as the line tightened the fish was off again, he realised this was a good fish and a few seconds later it somersaulted into the air, the silver glean of the agile body revealing a young salmon. The tension rose dramatically when he realised his prize. The battle continued for a further ten minutes, Jimmy breathless, fatigued and saturated in sweat held on with both hands. He had manoeuvred the salmon close to the bank but how was he going to get it out. He noticed a figure about a hundred yards upriver. He called and releasing one hand from the rod momentarily summoned him.
鈥淲ould you do me a favour, my friend? I鈥檝e caught this salmon and I need you to net it for me, if you would.鈥
The man lifted the net from the grass and approaching the bank cautiously slipped the net under the body of the hooked salmon, lifting it from the water. 鈥淭here you are, that鈥檚 a fine fish!鈥
Jimmy ecstatic, fishing for forty years and had at last caught a real salmon. Delicately he removed the hook embedded in the salmon鈥檚 cheek. He lifted it up by the tail and surveyed his prize, 鈥淎h! A nice fish,鈥 he commented in self-praise.
The stranger gave a quiet cough and cleared his throat. 鈥淚鈥檓 an official from the Fisheries Conservancy Board for Northern Ireland, so I鈥檒l have to see your licence?鈥
鈥淣o problem!鈥 returned Jimmy
听鈥淎nd your blue salmon tag?鈥 enquired the officer.
鈥淲hat?鈥 enquired Jimmy, a demeanour of shock replacing his joy.
听鈥淭he blue salmon tags you would have been given with your licence,鈥 returned the officer.
鈥淚 .. I.. I didn鈥檛 take any ,,, ah! I, I never catch salmon so I didn鈥檛 think I would need them!鈥 proffered Jimmy despondently.
鈥淲ell I鈥檓 afraid the salmon will have to go back, sorry! but if you take that salmon I will have to report you and that will mean a court case,鈥 directed the official with authority, 鈥淎n鈥 we鈥檒l need to get that salmon back into the water as quickly as possible.鈥
听鈥淲ell sir,鈥 said the officer consolingly, 鈥淟ook at it from the bright side;
- You caught a nice salmon, many鈥檚 a fisherman鈥檚 lifelong dream, yet never听听听听 realised.
- You could have been caught with a dead salmon and you would be heading for the courts.
- You will have given that salmon the opportunity to breed and that could mean hopefully thousands of salmon returning to these rivers over the next hundred years, giving sport to the next generation or two.鈥
Jimmy conceded reluctantly. He lifted the salmon on his two palms and admired it for a moment and then returned it gently to the river.
鈥淕ood man!鈥 declared the officer, 鈥渢hat saves us a lot of bother. I鈥檒l turn a blind eye to the maggots but I鈥檇 recommend you get rid of them. There鈥檚 always bailiffs on this stretch.鈥 He nodded towards the container lying on the grass and sauntered off downstream.
The blood drained from Jimmy鈥檚 face as he realised the implications and he immediately lifted the container and gave the fish a hearty meal.听
Jimmy sat down on the bank after the official had left, the adrenalin still running actively through his veins. He lay back, closed his eyes in the warm sun and relived the tussle with his silver quarry, an unbelievable event with poor quality bait.
His mind鈥檚 eye recalled the words of Joel Billings,
听鈥淟ife consists not in holding good cards but playing those you hold well鈥澨
听听听
|
