19 Dec 2023

Pithily-Shit – Richard Wilsons Fish Rise

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Many thanks to Richard Wilson for once again sharing his thought provoking prose with North Devon Angling News. The alarming picture painted by Richard is mirrored here with Atlantic Salmon suffering a similar catastrophic decline to those steelhead of North America.

https://fishrise.substack.com

 

If you have any doubts about whether or not 2023 was a good, bad or just indifferent year for fish, I have some news. It comes, unexpectedly, from the people who like to put a gloss on the world and reassure us all is well.

Sometimes reality intrudes on their seasonal good cheer:

“This year wasn’t so bad, if you make allowances for the conditions,” Salmon Fishing Travel Promo.

I’ll translate: 2023 was so bad they’re worried their clients might take up rock collecting or puddle-jumping instead of spending their money on fishing. It was the year of malevolent spirits known collectively as TheConditions. To save time listing them, I jammed my head into a free online word-cloud generator, shouted ’FISHING CONDITIONS’, and it spat this back:

‘Lying bastards’ should be in a bigger neon typeface (it’s between excrement and death), but otherwise, it’ll do. You can add/subtract your own ideas.

This is deadly serious: At stake is an entire ecosystem. Salmon prop up everything from bears and forests to orcas at sea. Their loss would be an ecological and economic disaster with terrible consequences.

I know nobody who fished anywhere in 2023 who’s celebrating greatconditions. According to one globe-trotting contact, the year’s fishing was all, and he said it pithily, Shit. Which scans like an old-fashioned train rolling down the track … Pithily Shit, Pithily Shit, Pithily-Shit. Try it out loud. And it’s a great name for a fishery mismanagement award. Imagine: “And the winner of this year’s Pithily-Shit Prize is ….”. Suggestions? I have a hatful.

These Conditions come in two principal varieties; dire fishery management and climate-driven. Like many others, I’m playing catch-up with the speed of it all.

Fishing is big business in sea & river, with economic muscle and political clout. And that has consequences. And so does this: North America is a significant hold-out against science generally and climate science in particular – an astonishing 10-15% are sceptics whose scintillating mental arithmetic makes mainframe computers gasp with envy.

So, when environmental (science) data is unwelcome, route one is to attack – it’s bullshit, being a top technical rebuttal. And route two is to twist political arms.

We can follow the dollars and see this playing out just about everywhere. For example, in British Columbia – where it’s been making the news recently.

Canadian Salmon and Steelhead, a sea-run rainbow trout, swim in much the same pithily-shit word cloud as everywhere else. Although, according to the BC authorities, they don’t. Bear with me – this is relevant wherever fish migrate.

We have a lot of good data on BC’s Steelhead runs. The Skeena River test fishery, for example, shows 2023 was the 2nd weakest run in decades (10k fish), coming just 2 years after the worst (5.5k) on record. The yearly average over nearly 70 yrs is about 35k.

That’s the number arriving in the estuary, so before the lethal river gill nets and then the myriad anglers – including me – who catch (and I hope release) their share along the hundreds of miles of main river and principal tributaries.

So how many female fish in prime condition will make it to the redds in this shrunken-run year of desperately low flows and high water temperatures? Surely, not enough. And we also know that juveniles, the smolts, are surviving the return journey to sea in ever smaller numbers (everywhere). Warmer water makes for smaller smolts – and size is a matter of life or death.

This, you might think, is dreadful news for the fish. Not so, according to British Columbia’s fishery dons (the Dept of Fisheries and Oceans). It was business as usual.

“Trust me, I’m a fisheries officer …”

 

Awkwardly, for the dons, Canada’s Auditor General has just released yet another report revealing how they’re screwing things up, big time. It gets worse when you look at how and why.

It seems the dons, whose remit features conservation, happily grant legal protection to species of no commercial value while just about always blocking it for $ high-value species, like salmon. And why would they do that? I think you just guessed.

They make their decisions with the help of unverified data supplied by anonymous ‘collaborators’ who, according to the AG, have conflicted interests in, for example, the commercial fishery. Who’d-a thought it? And while the dons are legally obliged to report and root out such conflicts of interest, they regularly don’t (says the AG). Because maybe they’re mates, or siblings or neighbours? Or some such.

It reeks of cronyism and corruption.

As said, the Skeena is just one among many. The report covers all Canadian regions. And, worldwide, fishery managers are bigging up stocks, mismanaging and covering up threats like disease and climate change while piling on the nets and rods – and trousering the $s.

Unsurprisingly, more fishermen are staying away. Once-exclusive beats on famous rivers are becoming easier to access – and disappointing to fish.

So it should come as no surprise that a senior DFO official wrote this of the dire 2021 run: There’d be no protection for the fish because the Skeena data is “…a measurement problem and it’s not precise enough to warrant massive socioeconomic impacts and alienating those that care about Steelhead the most.” There were just 5.5k fish, a record-busting low, andhe’s suddenly spotted a measurement problem with near-70 yrs of continuous data? And who are these most caring victims of ‘massive socioeconomic impacts’. Whose money? Well, it sounds like those vested interests outed by the AG. So there’s the playbook: Undermine the facts, falsely claim the moral high ground and hug your collaborators tight. And screw the fish (and the Auditor General).

I nominate the writer for a Pithily-Shit Award (a turd on a styrofoam plinth, perhaps). I’ll have to make a lot.

The DFO Pithily-Shit Award

 

When a species gets into as much trouble as the Steelhead on the Canadian and US West Coast, the moral and scientific imperative is to prove fishing is sustainable. We shouldn’t keep hammering them to see if the population collapses. Here’s another DFO “measurement problem”:

The estimated spawning abundance of Thompson River steelhead. The last data point is the expected ‘23 run (ie spawning spring ‘24): about 230 fish. BC Ministry of Water, Land and Resource Stewardship

As a general observation, endemic corruption is very hard to shift.

So what to do to help the fish here, there and everywhere? If we are so minded, there’s a lot. We can start by putting people in charge who care about them. We can clean up our rivers, get rid of dams, restore headwaters, limit fishing pressure everywhere and treat them as a precious gift from Mother Nature and the foundation of an entire ecosystem. But will we?

And then there’s the really grim stuff: Events already underway that we’re powerless to influence. This is where I fear the Conditions may get impossibly tough.

For example: What was, at the time, the most powerful marine heatwave on record, “The Blob”, brought havoc to the North Pacific from 2014 to 2016. The impacts ranged from massive algal blooms to Baleen Whale die-offs.

It triggered a food chain collapse. Small bait fish are eaten by just about everything bigger than they are. The warmer water reduced their food supply (and the oxygen content of water) while increasing their metabolic rate, so they needed to eat more, but had access to less. Inevitably there were mass deaths and the survivors lost body weight and fat content.

This worked its way back up through the food chain. Everything had to consume more to keep pace with over-heating metabolic needs – but there was less to eat. Scientists estimate 1 million fish-eating sea birds, Common Murres, died of starvation and 100 million Pacific cod vanished from the waters off southern Alaska – and cod do not spawn in waters warmer than 9.6c (IMR, Norway). We’ll never know how many Salmon and Steelhead died.

This year has seen ocean temperature records aplenty (below) as the world hits its warmest for 125,000 years. There is more and worse to come.

We have it in our power to stop the rot but, oh my, there’s a lot to do. The flight of capital out of fossil fuels means that carbon emissions could start to fall in the next year or three. It’s a start, but we need to do the massively scaled-up equivalent of an emergency stop with a planet-sized supertanker.

Meanwhile, a handful of small-time idiots with mates and money in the game behave as though business as normal will deliver a happy ending for Salmon and Steelhead. They are the Pithily-Shits with the wilful negligence to fuck it up for everyone.

On a more cheerful note, good conservation practice is becoming a major project on some rivers. It’s a fearsomely complex puzzle …. but I want to go fishing in places where conservation drives management decisions and my presence (and money) make a net contribution for the better. Is that too much to ask? I can at least try – and I’ll start by not going anywhere beholden to the Pithily-Shitters.

And finally, here are some global sea surface temperatures to ponder (live link below). Is anyone dumb enough to call this Bullshit? Sadly, yes.

World Ocean Temperatures 1981 – 2023 (top). University of Maine click graph for a live & interactive link

 

To read more of Richard Wilsons fishrise click on the link below : –

https://fishrise.substack.com
10 Nov 2023

Richard Wilsons Fish Rise – Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

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Many thanks to Richard Wilson for allowing me to publish his regulars features full of dry humour and comment on todays fishing world.

For the guides and gillies on the frontline

Hey Mr Dream-Seller, tell me how’s it gonna be. Are the Salmon running? Are there fish you can see? Have you, as the song says, dreams enough to spare?

Comes the answer: ‘Fish are moving and the river’s looking great – and it should hold well for the whole of your week’.  All of which sounds very promising. But buyer beware; we hear what we want to hear and nowhere do these words say there are more than a handful of salmon in the river.

The language of guiding has always been creative and bendy, but as the Salmon and Steelhead runs diminish this inventiveness is being tested. Telling anglers what they want to hear without promising the impossible is an art form, although it helps that no audience was ever more willingly misled than we fishing junkies. There is nothing we want to hear more than that we’re arriving at a river full of fish.

Back in the real world, far from any river, deceiving clients is easier. The clerk on the airline check-in desk (if you can still find one) has always promised that your seat has extra legroom and your baggage has been checked all the way through. This is done with impunity because by the time you find out that your seat is in the loo and your baggage in Bahrain, you are a continent away. On a river your guide must sell you a dream that holds you enthralled for the duration of the trip. You’re both in it together and, for added frisson, there’s that tip at the end.

The scale of this challenge cannot be understated. At one of England’s salmon fisheries, a famous hotel, the total salmon catch last year was 1. That’s right: One salmon. Imagine being a guide with that to deal with.

So, let’s go fishing: We’ve arrived. It’s our big week and our hopes are high. The anxious first question we ask is “How’s the fishing?”.

‘Hey!’ the guide smiles broadly. ‘Great to meet you. The river’s in fine condition and we’re gonna have a really good time’. Our pulse quickens in anticipation of the thrills to come.  It’s going to be an awesome week!

Later, after all the pleasantries are done, the bags unpacked and the tackle checked, there will be a more serious word in your ear: “The river’s looking terrific and the water levels couldn’t be better, but – I’ll be straight with you – the salmon are running a little late this year”.  This should set your alarm bells ringing.  The phrase used to mean that the February salmon had arrived in April, presumably in an act of contrarian defiance against the early arrival of spring.  Nowadays this trend is taking a desperate turn and the truth would sound something like this: “We don’t know where the fish are. In recent years the redds have been a hot tub, the sea nets are longer and finer, the fish farm’s doubled in size and the town sewage works pumps raw effluent to match the farm slurry.” Apex predators vary from country to country but you can be sure they’re also in trouble. The entire ecosystem is in decline.

Against this fishless backdrop of warm and perhaps excremental water (try fishing in England or Wales) our hapless guide or gillie must keep our spirits up for a whole week. And that takes a very special sort of talent.

If I create the impression that I’m singling out guides and gillies as the reality-benders, it’s because I am. And I have a great deal of sympathy for their plight because, if I were your guide, I’d do the same.

It’s not the guide’s fault. He or she is a decent human being with a job to do and bills to pay. But the unvarnished truth can be brutal and visitors who believe there are fish to catch are easier company than those whose hopes have been dashed before a fly is cast. There’s also a trade-off in this: As less time is spent catching fish so more must go into managing the client. This is compounded by the human weariness that sets in as a dud week unfolds.

Meanwhile, back at our accommodation, the new day is here and it’s time to hit the river. The guide’s rules are simple: Keep smiling and remember that the lack of action can’t be blamed on the visitor, no matter how badly they fish. And no self-respecting guide could ever say it’s down to poor guiding. So, if we can’t blame the angler or the guide and we’ve already agreed the river is looking great, what does that leave? We can’t, at this early stage in the week, blame the fish because the illusion of their presence is why we’re here. In defiance of reality, we must travel hopefully.

For once the world is on the guide’s side. The ubiquitous Global Fishing Mega-Corp has fragmented fishing tackle into so many interchangeable and marketable parts that I doubt anyone has yet explored all the mind-numbing combinations that can now connect a reel to a fly. Mostly they just connect Mega-Corp with your bank account.

Changing tackle combinations looks like rational problem-solving and keeps the client optimistic. For a single Skagit line there can be some 28 mow-tip variations (perhaps doubling by the time you read this) one or two of which might even be appropriate. Thankfully there are cheaper alternatives. Then there’s the leader and, if time drags, we can learn some new knots. And if that doesn’t work there’s always a Scandi or a Spey or just a good old-fashioned WF line on a single-handed rod. Or a single-handed Spey line. How long have you got? (Answer: A week).

Top of this list is the fly, the interminable way to fill time. This works because most people cling to the belief that there is a right fly to deploy right now. So devoting effort to choosing a winning fly seems crucial, even though experience suggests that successful fly selection mostly works only in hindsight. And, of course, all the time you’re making these changes the fly is on the bank. Which is a lot less disappointing than having it in the water.

I was once with a Steelhead guide whose fly wallet was stuffed entirely with bright pink flies. He carried no other colour. From this fanfare of explosive and uniform pinkness he selected a single fly that he thought would catch fish. How it differed from the rest I could not tell, but I was smitten by the concept. You can have any colour you want, provided it’s pink.  And it worked. No time was wasted tying knots and 4 Steelhead were caught (there were fish in the river).

So the next time I’m with some austere gillie on a drear Scottish river I’ll have the perfect response when he asks to see my flies.  What he wants to say to me is: ‘If only you had a Dour Dreich-Black Doomster Fly you might have been in with a chance. With that lot, all shiny black + a hint of silver thread, nay chance.”  I’m going summon up all my courage and flash a wonderland of effervescing pink and then hope it works.

But back to our river: As the fishless week progresses the guide will see our mood disintegrate. Hope flees and life loses all meaning. We persevere because we must. Admitting defeat is not an option.
Life losing meaning …

This is when I get hit with The Great Euphemism of Last Resort – an intervention reserved exclusively for the fishless angler on suicide watch. I’ve heard it on both sides of the Atlantic and it’s the moment when guide euphemisms morph into lies. And it really annoys me, not for the lie, but because I willfully fall for it every time.

The week has reached the point where small mistakes multiply into big ones and my patience with myself is running thin. I just hope the guide is with my fishing partner and not watching my dire performance. My casting is falling apart. And then, suddenly and with a big smile, up pops the guide, as cheerful as a cheerful thing can be   … ‘Hey, you’re looking great! There’s nothing wrong with your casting and you’re covering the water really well’.

The effect on me is electric. Oh WOW! A real, live pro-fisherman or woman has just told me my casting is faultless.  I’m really good at this! It’s going on my gravestone as proof of a life well-lived:  Here Lies Richard – Oh Boy Could He Cast!  Confidence is restored, my casting recovers and I’m poised to strike when the inevitable fish takes. Life is great.

But only for a while, because reality is corrosive and this praise is not what it seems. It always comes at that moment when even a passing stranger can see that I need a bottle of wine, a whole cake and a long afternoon nap. It’s an undeniable, self-evident fact that I’m casting very, very badly. And yet I fall for it every time – hook, line and sinker.

Let’s take a step back and look at this dispassionately: The guide said ‘There’s nothing wrong with your casting’. They didn’t say anything much was right with it either. What this says is that my casting’s sort of OK.  ‘Sort of OK?’.  ‘Yup, it could be worse’. And if I then take another step back this is what the thought bubble over the guide’s head says: ‘What can I say?  You’re getting the line out. That’s OK. But a fishless week combined with a lifetime of accumulated bad habits is taking its toll. Even if a fish shows up, the best you’ll do is give it a slapping. It’s day 6 and I’ve run out of ideas.’

Thankfully most guides are much too canny to say anything of the sort.

So that’s it. The week’s heading for a dud, the guide has played their last card and the guest is wilting. Everyone is ready to go home.

This is now happening on too many rivers and to too many people. We all know the reasons – climate change, pollution, commercial exploitation, land use, fish farming, overheated oceans and so on.  As a result, guiding is becoming less about catching fish and more about providing emotional support for wilfully gullible clients.  The times they are a’changing.

Inevitably, as migratory runs continue their decline, I’ll be falling for The Great Euphemism of Last Resort more often. And, much to my surprise, I really don’t mind.  I’ve realised that if I’m out on the water, rod in hand, then the two sweetest little lies you can tell me are that the river is full of fish and that my casting is great. So, please, hit me with it one more time.  And sometimes, every once in a while, it will be true: my casting will find that sweet spot and a fish will oblige.

But until that happens, please don’t stop: Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies.

— — — —

This article first appeared in Chasing Silver Magazine and has been republished in Hatch Magazine.

 

8 Nov 2023

NETTING IN PARADISE

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NETTING IN PARADISE

Anglers Paradise was created by Zyg Gregorek around forty years ago a man who had a vision to transform a few acres of marshy ground into a fishing paradise. Visiting the complex to attend the annual netting event it is apparent that Zyg’s vision is still going strong.

Each year one of the complexes thirty plus lakes is netted to ensure fish stocks are kept at optimum levels. The netting also signals the start of the venue’s charity week.

This year the float lake was to be netted, a lake of around one acre that holds koi, barbel, golden tench, carp, goldfish and a large population of rudd. The plan was to remove  a large number of the rudd, transferring them to the pike lake. The koi, golden tench, ghost carp and barbel would be returned to the lake along with a few new additions including chub and blue orfe.

 

I arrived at around 9:00am and found the netting party assembling at the side of the lake. I took a walk around the lake capturing a few images of the partially empty lake. Late autumn sunshine illuminated the scene highlighting autumn colours on the trees.

 

I chatted with Joe and Zenia who between them run the complex that is very much a family business. As the working party slowly gathered one or two were undoubtedly nursing hangovers from a night before in the renowned Safari Bar.

Netting a lake requires a degree of planning and after many years the operation is a well-rehearsed project. The first task being to ensure that the lake is at the right level. Too much water and it becomes dangerous, too little water and there is a risk to the valuable stock.

 

 

There is always a sense of anticipation as the net draws together and the contents are slowly revealed. The fish within were sorted with carp, rudd and a selection of koi removed for relocation across the complex.

The enthusiasm of the team for the task at hand was impressive with no one grumbling about the mud and cold water.

The netting day signals the start of a week of events to raise money for charity. This year’s charity is Tackling Minds. Tackling Minds is a charity formed in 2020 that offers support to people from all walks of life who are suffering from a huge range of issues. In 2022 Tackling Minds teamed up with Angling Direct and Anglia Ruskin University to highlight the measurable benefits of angling for both mental and physical health conditions.

I think we can all relate to the massive increase in mental health issues over recent years. I chatted with several present about mental health and how angling provides a valuable link to the natural world that is good for the mind. Speak with young people today and it is frightening how many know of friends they have lost to suicide. This is I believe the largest cause of death for young men. A fact that is often reported in the national media.

Angling provides a vital connection to the natural world that is recognised as being extremely beneficial to mental health. There is of course also a social benefit from mixing with like-minded people who share the passion for angling.

I fear that mental health is going to be increasingly high on the agenda in future years. Elon Musk raised the possibility of AI removing the need to work and that this will result in people searching for meaning in life. As social media continues to polarise opinions and religion becomes less relevant to many mental health will become increasingly challenged.

Fishing and other pastimes will perhaps play a vital role in exercising our minds and ensuring a vital link with the natural world.

Each day of the annual charity and netting week see fund raising activities such as quiz nights and bingo nights. The week culminates in a fireworks bonanza. This year’s event raised an impressive £3000 + for tackling minds.

         The complexes thirty odd lakes are now well established and offer rich and diverse habitat where wildlife abounds. Many of the visitors to Anglers Paradise have been visiting for years and as each generation grows they bring their families. Those who first fished as children now returning with children of their own to share the joys of angling.

Anglers Paradisehttp://www.anglers-paradise.co.uk

Report from Zenia below :-

£3000 raised for TACKLING MINDS ‼️💖🎣✨🥳
We are absolutely delighted to share with you all that from last week’s fundraising events and events throughout the year that we have raised 3K for the inspirational Tackling Minds 💖🎣✨🥳
The Events that helped us reach this total were –
Charity Wine – Anglers Paradise
Thumbnail painting – special thanks to Nicky Lock
Bingo – special thanks to Di and Andy Mepham
Fishing Match – special thanks to Sam Wahid and his boys
Pool and Darts 🎯 matches – special thanks to Adam, Georgina and Harry Smith
Quizzes – special thanks to Paul Tegg
Tombola – special thanks to Kathryn and Ellis Williams
Treasure Hunt – Anglers Paradise
Raffle – special thanks to EVERYONE
The GUY – special thanks to Di, Di, Trace, Georgina, Adam, Harry and Dawn and to Sam Wahid for bidding for him!
Badges – special thanks to Di Mepham
Party Games – special thanks to Kathryn, Ellis, Mark and Dawn
Waxing of chests and backs – special thanks to the volunteers Toby Hayward and Devon’s Austin Powers aka Will Peyton and to Jaz Trent for getting the waxing strips
Chilli party night – special thanks to Georgina and Adam Smith
Fireworks- Step Pearson, Spen and Paul. Thank you for a fantastic display and finishing the week in style 👏🎇🎆
A ‼️MASSIVE‼️THANK YOU 🙏TO EVERYONE THAT HELPED AND DONATED TO GET US TO THIS AMOUNT!! THANK YOU TO EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU 💖👏🏻✨🙏
23 Oct 2023

Meet the Klutz – Richard Wilsons Fish Rise

by | posted in: Article, Articles, At the Waters Edge, Game Fishing, Sidebar | 0
Many thanks to Richard for sharing his monthly essay. Always humorous and slightly off piste

Meet the Klutz

You looking at me, kid?

“What kind of creature bore you,
Was it some kind of bat?
They can’t find a good word for you,
But I can … TWAT.”

John Cooper Clark – Punk Poet

A few years ago the stranger (above) and I both arrived too early for check-in at the lodge on the fabled Gjöll River. A place steeped in myth and vengeful Norse gods.

It was a warm, late-summer day and the deck offered fresh coffee with a view of the river and mountains. The perfect setting to kill time with idle chatter. Our hosts were a fine and professional bunch of people and all was well with their world and mine. It was the sort of place that puts a smile on your face and fly-rod to hand.

My fellow guest greeted me with a sneering eyeball shake-down. Perhaps it was the triggering way I had said, “Hi, lovely day isn’t it?”.

Small talk? No. In rapid succession he declared that all forest fires are started by arsonists. That George Soros is Jewish (a terrible thing, he said), heavy snowfall proves global warming is fake, wokesters are provocative bastards and Anne Frank’s latest porn book for kids must be banned & burned (both) along with the paedos, Fauci, all UN scientists and foreigners (me?). And coal is king and should also be burned. It was a lot to take in. And if looks could have killed, I was dead.

Putting the threatening bigotry aside, for the moment, when did climate change become a right-wing wedge issue? The right’s talismanic icon Margaret Thatcher must be spinning in her grave.

I kept my head down for the rest of the trip, although it turned out that it wasn’t anything that I or Mrs Thatcher had said.  The next day Mr Wedgie’s newly arrived fishing party erupted into ear-piecing verbal abuse. Our misfit was now at odds with his buddies. I couldn’t work out exactly who he wanted to kill first, but I think Mike Pence was high on the list. Mostly he generalised: Scientists, environmentalists, whales, migrants and probably cute little kittens. You get the idea: Tough Guy v World.

That night found me thinking about Twats on Banks. The who, the why and the such-like. I have a bit of weakness for this sort of thing and, generally speaking, the weirder people are, the bigger their metaphoric car crashes and the more I rubber-neck. And there we were in a Norse fishing lodge with a hotline to 1930s Berlin and I’m suddenly thrust into team Thatcher – weird and weirder.

So with the worrying caution that maybe it takes one to know one … this is my essay, formally titled A Short Discourse on Fishing Twats. 

There are two fishing twat-types chewing away at the margins of my watery world. The on-line variety and the much more alarming physical version you hope never to find in your river.

The online twat is, at worst, a minor irritant. Mostly they rally around a pick n’mix of conspiracy theories and grievances with their own victimhood worn as the shared badge of honour.  They’re found in small and grumpy internet echo chambers, bickering and shouting insults at the heresies they find threatening: Science, for example. They go unheard even by the new-agers they assertively hate, which is a pity because they have much in common. Intolerance and a high rate of attrition from vaccine-preventable diseases, to name just two.

It is precisely because they heckle the twilight that our online fishing twats are mostly irrelevant and marginalised – for comparison, the online world of Chess players is properly vicious and ruins lives.

So that brings us to the real-life Twat of the sort that invades your space and makes Hotel and Lodge owners miserable. The angler from hell (or, in this story, the Norse Hel).

First, some background: I am not a digital native and hail from the era of flesh and blood – which means my formative years were spent face-to-face with real people. This tended to moderate some of our worst excesses. Maybe you know the song:

“Soon we’ll be out amid the cold world’s strife, Soon we’ll be sliding down the razor blade of life.”

Tom Lehrer, Bright College Days.

The message is clear: Shape up, or it’s going to hurt.  So most of us reached adulthood with a basic set of social skills. For example; avoid inflicting your politics on strangers met on a fishing trip.

They say the boy is father to man, and I was a flawed teenager who, I hope, was more Prat than Twat. Not ideal, but it could have been worse and, like most teens, I have mostly recovered in the decades since. Sadly, some people don’t.

This Prat-predisposition set me in direct conflict with the biggest Twat in my teenage fishing life: My godfather – a groping, leering and utterly repellent misogynist.  He even carried a little black book of sexist jokes.  Like the man, none of the jokes were funny, and he made life miserable for every barmaid and waitress who had the misfortune to cross his path.

That’s not all: Unforgivably, he could also throw a line further and with less effort than me – something nobody else in my very limited circle could do (this was long before YouTube and Spey Casting brought me crashing down to earth). Being outperformed by such a groping grotesque annoyed me. Meanwhile, he thought I was a long-haired little jerk – and, with hindsight, I can see he had a point. We were not a good mix.

To make matters worse, every year my father would organise a week’s fishing for the three of us (for me it was free, so of course I went).

One year we were blighted by a drought so severe the fishing was impossible. Not that my teenage self was prepared to admit it. I took it all very seriously. Too seriously. So there I was, working my way inch-by-inch through a large, slow-moving pool which had some water, but no oxygen and no fish. Nobody else was making an effort. Just me.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of movement in the pool’s neck. Something was drifting downstream towards me.  Something blubbery and brilliant white. Something that, bizarrely, seemed to be a belly-up Beluga Whale.

The whale processed all stately and ceremonial into the main pool. I slowly realised it was wearing paisley-pattern boxer-shorts and had my godfather’s porkpie hat perched on its expansive stomach.  It was otherwise flabbily naked.

I was, by now, incandescent with rage at this invasion of my territory.  My pool.  My best chance of catching a fish. How dare he! I was raging with self-righteous afront.

The imperial and imperious Beluga drifted past me and, as it did so, raised a two-fingered salute in my direction. This put me in temper tantrum territory – which was presumably the Beluga’s intention.  It was only my awareness of this that kept the lid on my head. I don’t remember how it ended, but no rocks were thrown and I assume the Beluga joined us for dinner that night.

The point of this story is that I learned a long, slow lesson: That prats grow up. Admittedly, it took 20 years for me to realise, but the Beluga was perhaps the funniest thing to happen to me on a riverbank.  Had I not been such a pompous little prat I would have been rocking with laughter.
The author pratting around, back in the day.

So I learned some humility and didn’t grow up to be a Twat.  However, my godfather, being a fully grown Twat, continued his behaviour unchanged by his exposure to me. So by the time I had eventually realised how very funny the Beluga had been, he was getting a well-deserved visit from the police following allegations of a sexual assault.

So the moral of this tale is simple: Be tolerant of young Prats. They might grow up to be you.  But if you meet a full-blooded Twat just walk away. Don’t engage. They’re not worth the trouble and, sooner or later, they’re going to get hit by someone or something bigger and nastier than you or me.  Hopefully reality.  Perhaps the police. Or maybe guests at a fishing lodge. Thor could do it – but it won’t be me, although I did read somewhere that the pen is mightier than the sword.

 

 

1 Oct 2023

Still Crazy After All These Years – The Psychotic Angler – Richard Wilsons Fish Rise

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Still Crazy After All These Years

The Psychotic Angler

By RichardWilson

“I wouldn’t recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they’ve always worked for me.”  Hunter S Thompson.

It takes two short questions to expose just how viscerally brain-bending fishing can be.

The first is ‘Why do we go fishing?’ This isn’t subtle and needs just 3 words for an answer. Maybe there’s someone out there who’ll say they don’t go fishing to catch fish, but I’ve never met them. There’s no shortage of secondary reasons such as good company and beautiful locations, but they’re all predicated on the idea that we go fishing to catch fish.  The clue is in the name. This answer, as I will demonstrate, is wrong.

So here’s the 2nd question: What’s your most memorable One That Got Away?  The Special One. That oh-so-nearly fish of cruelly snuffed gratification? Make a mental note of your answer.

“I shall remember that son of a bitch forever,” Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It.

We’ve all lived the moment: A fish takes, the water boils silver, sinews strain and adrenaline surges.  Then suddenly, catastrophically, the rod is weightless and a flaccid line shapes a languid downstream curl.  Time pauses until reality bleeds back in, but the void and the fish that filled it are infinite.

Many of our most memorable losses come early in life.  For example, the 3lb wild trout in a small stream when I was 14. We parted company in the dying of the day with only the bats as a witness.  And still it stalks me. This is odd because at 12 I had caught a bigger wild trout in more challenging conditions. Yet I remember every detail of the one I lost and a lot less of the one I netted. I am not alone in this, and the difference between the two matters.  People who remember a tantalising near-miss more acutely than a success attract psychologists, drawn vulture-like to a nascent psychosis.

“It is good to lose fish. If we didn’t, much of the thrill of angling would be gone.” Ray Bergman.

All fly fishing, especially Salmon and Steelhead, is conducted against increasingly steep odds. A cursory glance at the catch returns makes for dismal reading. So, as we head for the river, we save face by telling anyone who’ll listen that there’s too little or too much water, the wrong wind, nets in the estuary, bloody farmers, bloody pollution, bloody this and bloody that and, of course, bloody climate change. It’s gonna be tough.

And as fast as we lay down the reasons for why fishing is futile, we ignore them. Well, I do, and I expect you do too.  OK, the river’s not looking great, but after several blank days flogging warm, low water there’s a single lacklustre fish showing and I’m due some luck.

“Look on the bright side,” I say to myself, “What are the odds against yet another fishless outing? This is going to be my day.”  And therein lies trouble because this is magical thinking. The men and women in white coats will identify it as the Gambler’s Fallacy, another red flag for psychosis.

Psychosis: noun (psychoses)

Characterized by a loss of contact with reality and an imperative belief that one’s actions are rational.

The Fallacy works like this: At the Casino de Monte-Carlo on 18 August 1913 the ball fell on black 26 times in a row. As the streak lengthened gamblers lost millions betting on red because, surely, the next spin could not be yet another black.

According to my abacus, the odds on 26 successive blacks are about 135m:1 – give or take several million. But the odds of the next spin going Red are always 2:1 regardless of what happened the spin before (for pedants, the true odds on a roulette table are 37:18). The point is that a spin of the roulette wheel is not affected by the previous spin, just as a fishless week cannot make tomorrow successful.

‘Ah,’ you say, ‘in a casino I’m at the mercy of the House, but when fishing I can make my own luck’.  This is true, but only up to a point. For example, we could go fishing only on days when all the conditions are perfect.  And we could fish well-stocked waters.  And choose a lucky fly, buy a cool hat, cast perfectly and in all manner of ways take control.

Which is why we always catch and release a creel-full. Except, of course, we don’t. The only near odds-on certainty about fly fishing is that nobody catches anything without a line in the water. Everything else is marginal. As John Gierach almost says: You can change your fly and catch a fish, or you can stick with the old one and catch a fish – or not. I know of only one exception to this rule:  A friend who caught his first salmon with a gaff (and helpful gillie) on a fine Scottish river. This is not encouraged nowadays.

The next psychosis red flag is the kicker for anglers, and it’s also rooted in gambling.  If you have ever played a casino one-armed bandit you’ll know how this feels: You pull the handle or press the button and the wheels spin.  Click, click, click – 3 oranges line up across the screen, left to right.  The 4th wheel spins a little longer until the last orange drops into the line, pauses, twitches, harrumphs and then shudders one place onward with its last gasp. It’s a heart-wrenching moment of loss, because in that skipped beat the ecstasy roar of cascading coins filled your ears.

The excitement of this fruity near miss is so strong that it can be seen on an MRI scan.  Brain activity hits peaks akin to sex or drugs in a scanner light show so awash with dopamine that it’s visibly more exciting, and addictive, than an actual win. The subconscious brain desperately wants to do that again, and again, and again. The manufacturers know this and are in a continual battle with the regulators to deliver plenty of these near misses. In terms of brain activity, that last orange is up there with great sex, a mirror covered with cocaine – or that fish, the really big one that got away. We want more – and we want it NOW. Which cues this:

“I wouldn’t recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they’ve always worked for me.”  Hunter S Thompson.

As always, Thompson was onto something. Somewhere between the showboating and the drink, drugs, sex and dopamine, he rode a compulsive wave that we can all relate to, even if we can’t ride it as hard or fluently as he did.

Behavioural problems are persistent and the younger we start the harder they are to shake off. So the fish we lost as a teenager set our already hormone-addled and overstimulated brains on fire. An explosion of dopamine made us fishing junkies. That’s because our inner teenage ape was still learning how to swing through the trees – and although catching the next branch was important, having it slip through our fingers was much more memorable; but only if we survived. The biggest lessons in life are learned in failure.

In my experience, people who dabble in fishing and then quit do not have a One That Got Away. They get out before it’s too late.  Which would be laudable, but they then miss out on all the fun: The exquisite pain of that lost fish.

And as salmon aficionado and serial author Max Hastings so accurately summed up: “I can remember almost every salmon I have ever lost with much better clarity than the fish I have landed.”

So let’s revert to my opening question: ‘What’s your most memorable One That Got Away?’.  I expect it’s not really just the one, is it?  Even though I lost count years ago they’re all still swimming around in the back of my mind like fish in a deep clear-water pool, some occasionally rising to the surface before sinking back again, others always in view.

It’s not just that we regular fishermen and women are losers, we’re serial losers.

Paradoxically, we rationalise fishing as the sport of catching fish.

No, it isn’t.

______________________________________

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. It really helps me if you can do some, or even all, of the following:

Tell others I’m here:

25 Aug 2023

Beware of ticks a cautionary tale

by | posted in: At the Waters Edge, Game Fishing, Sidebar | 0

Shady River Fishing shared this cautionary tale recently that I feel is worth sharing on North Devon Angling News.

Ticks are very common in the vicinity of moorlands streams and rivers.

I THOUGHT I SHARE A CAUTIONARY TALE……
About 2 months ago I was fishing in the Devon countryside as usual. When I got home I noticed a Tick Nymph on my inside leg, so I pulled it off as I usually do when I see them on me. I’m always getting bit by ticks and did not think much of it, I just pull em out and forget about it. The next day I noticed a red rash around the bite, now normally the tick bite stays small then it goes away. This Rash was much bigger than usual and prompted concern from my fishing widow partner, who insisted I go and check it out, so I of course I didn’t do that. Anyway a few weeks later I was feeling very tired and aching knee joints and generally put it down to being over 40. After about another week or so I rang the doctor and went to see the Nurse who took some general blood tests, at this point I said “could you test me for Lymes Disease by any chance?” She said “yes we can do”, so she did.
Fast forward another four weeks and I was wondering on the test because I hadn’t improved much. I rang the surgery and was told in no uncertain terms that I had indeed contracted Lymes Disease!!!!
I was quite shocked but perhaps I shouldn’t have been as I am always up the River chasing Salmonoids and I can’t remember how many times I’ve pulled ticks off of myself, so suppose it was just a matter of time before this could happen. Anyway it’s a big long course of antibiotics and no Beer either ‍♂️ I was fishing on this occasion on the Mighty River Lyn when I got bitten, it’s full of ticks up there at certain times, but Ticks are everywhere around this part of the country and unfortunately so is the Disease. So be careful out there folks.

https://www.nhsinform.scot/illnesses-and-conditions/injuries/skin-injuries/tick-bites

14 Apr 2023

THOSE LESS PRODUCTIVE DAYS

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Compiling reports for NDANs I see lots of images of good fish and stories of success and these can inspire but can also raise expectations leading to disappointing days. I feel sure I am not the only one who sometimes sets out full of expectation and ends the day feeling slightly deflated.
In my case this disillusionment doesn’t last long for I know that if I keep at it long enough something good will come my way. Basically, effort equals reward and if you can afford to invest time and a little thought good things will eventually happen.
I have enjoyed a few non-productive days recently, fish caught wise anyway. There is generally a positive to be drawn from less productive days in the nature that surrounds or the company that is kept.
I have already swung a fly across the River on numerous occasions in search of salmon and have learnt to accept blank outings as the normal. The salmon just are not present in any numbers so all you can do is believe in the fly and present it to the best of your ability in the places that salmon are known to rest on their migration upriver.

A trip to Chew Valley Lake with my good friend Bruce Elston in early April proved a frustrating day. We set out on a mirror calm lake after a Full English in the Lodge. With bright sunshine and only a light- breeze we knew it was going to be hard going. Plus; we didn’t know what mode the pike would be in pre or post spawning? Local guide John Horsey told us he had seen some big fish but that they were proving fickle following the fly and then turning away.
The mighty Chew holds a certain fascination as the next cast can always bring the fish of dreams.

We drifted the water extensively that day. Twenty pound plus pike followed our flies; glimpses in the clear water that failed to connect.
We took a short break from the piking to have rest and tempt a trout on a buzzer.

But with huge pike to target I find it difficult to stop casting big flies after bigger targets.
We fished until the light faded as the sun sank below the hills. A day full of memories, we exchanged many fish tales and laid plans for future trips.


Chew is a magnet for twitchers and whilst I am no ornithologist I always enjoy hearing the birdsong and watching the many birds that haunt the lake. Grebes, swans, moorhens and coots. We caught sight of a hawk gliding over the reeds and I wasn’t sure what type it was.
We will be back later in the Spring once again.

Upper Tamar lake has been hailed as a mecca for big perch anglers. I headed there full of expectation. A couple of pots of juicy lobworms from Quay Sports a bag of raw prawns and a bucket full of ground bait mixed with mole hill soil. I had been given a tip on a productive swim and arrived at the lake shortly after 8:00am.

It was the day after Storm Noa and the wind had dropped but it was still a tad breezy and cool. Bright sunshine and a cool North West Wind. I was well wrapped up and relished the early signs of spring. It was good to see swallows and martins swooping low over the water.
The bobbins remained stubbornly static throughout the first couple of hours. Eventually I started to get a few twitchy bites on the lobworm baits. As the day drifted past I eventually caught a few tiny perch on lobworm and one on the prawn. A brown trout of around 8oz and a single roach. The fish would have thrilled me fifty years ago as a young angler but with age comes expectation.


As the light faded from another day I headed for home pondering my lack of success and looking forward to the next trip.

 

28 Feb 2023

2023 SOUTH WEST FLY FAIR – REPORT

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The 2023 South West Fly Fair was held at Roadford Lake on February, 26th. This has become a very popular event in the West Country Fly Fishers diary heralding the onset of Spring fishing.

The format of the day allows plenty of time for social interaction with anglers from across the South West and beyond converging at the conference centre. There was a range of expert anglers at hand to offer advice on tackle, tactics, fly casting and fly tying.

There were numerous stalls with both new and second hand tackle, a vast array of flies and fly tying materials along with details of where to fish. Representatives from numerous angling club’s associations and trusts were in attendance.

Thanks must go to South West Lakes Trusts head of Angling Ashley Bunning and Dil Singh technical lead for game fishing who organised the event with their dedicated team. The event was opened by the familiar fair’s patron Charles Jardine. The fairs main sponsor was Chevron Hackles.

South West Lakes Trusts head of Angling Ashley Bunning( Right) and Dil Singh technical lead for game fishing

As always Charles Jardine’s enthusiasm for fly fishing was very apparent and was this year bolstered by the company of angling writer Peter Cockwill. Charles and Peter both highly respected fly fishing practitioners who have witnessed a huge amount of change in the fly fishing world and have remained at the fore front for several decades.

Charles and Peter are joining forces on June 21st at Syon Park to “ Cast A Marathon”. Twenty six miles of casting using a mix of Orvis 4,6 and 8 weights to raise funds for https://www.fishingforschools.co.uk and Castaway and to promote their love of Fly Fishing. Full details to follow.

Charles Jardine and Peter Cockwill

On arriving at the lakeside venue, it was immediately apparent that the lake is still barely half full following last seasons disastrous drought. This was undoubtedly a widely discussed issue amongst anglers as they debated last season and the coming months. Colliford in Cornwall is apparently even lower prompting the alarming question what if we get another summer of drought? Let’s hope it’s a more traditional British summer with a few downpours to keep the lakes topped up and the rivers flowing.

The experts , Charles Jardine, Snowbee’s Simon Kidd and Gary Champion delivered fine casting demonstrations with impressive flexing of rods and swirling of lines that all looked so simple in their hands despite the chill brisk North East Wind.

( Above) Charles casts his magic

 

Gary Champion explaing the art of fly casting

Snowbee’s Simon Kidd

The fly tying fraternity created many flies and lures to tempt the most discerning of anglers. Talks were delivered with humour and wisdom with plenty of audience participation.

The trade stands and expertise are an integral part of the show but above all it is the angling community that is at the heart of this event. Each year friendships are rekindled and plans made for the coming year. I’m sure its not just me who discusses plans for the season to then find that time and life intervene as for any keen angler will testify there is so much water and little time.

Topping up the tackle – Homeleigh Garden Centre – Angling Department – 

A cheerful smile from John Aplin of Casterbridge Fisheries LTD

Put a couple of hundred anglers together for a day and there will be a huge amount of discussion. That great angling writer H.T. Sheringham penned several classic books in the early part of the last century  the titles of which would cover many of the debates undertaken. Trout Fishing Memories and Morals, Elements of Angling and perhaps more appropriate “Fishing its Cause Treatment and Cure”.

Debate about tactics and morals have raged within angling for centuries. When does an artificial bait become a fly? Is Upstream dry fly fishing superior to upstream nymph. Is the use of an indicator akin to float fishing? Are wild trout more worthy than stocked? What of the future of fishing? Cane, carbon or fibre glass? Is social media toxic or is it the anglers that post upon it? Is competitive angling good or does it bring out the worst in people?

I joined a discussion with well-known West Country Fluff chucker Rodney Wevil debating on how to catch mullet on the fly. Are they the most difficult fish to tempt? Despite considerable success with the species Rodney believes they are indeed among the most challenging of fish.

Talk of Fly Fishing and twenty years ago most would have thought of trout or salmon. Today fly fishing enthusiast’s target a very wide range of species in both salt and freshwater. Predatory fish such as pike have become top targets as have carp. The tactics used to tempt these species open up an entire new spectrum for anglers to debate.

Rodney Wevill

Another item very high on the agenda is the river environment a topic that is now gathering a far wider audience due in part to the sterling efforts of Feargal Sharkey and the like. As anglers we have a very close affinity with water and are very aware of change.

As waters closer to home suffer from mankind’s actions it is perhaps inevitable that those who can afford seek fish from distant lands. I talked of fishing the richer waters of Norway and Iceland.

I also had a very interesting discussion about the fishing in the Southern Hemisphere. I had seen pictures of adventures with huge seatrout, brown trout and rainbow trout posted by Peter Cockwill.

Peter enlightened me about how these fish have thrived in pristine waters of the Southern hemisphere after being stocked many years ago by us northerners. Waters that had no significant fish populations now have these fish that many think of as wild. They are not of course truly wild but illustrate how mankind can redistribute nature to his own ends. Mankind is undoubtedly decimating the marine ecosystems of the world how nature responds is complex.

         The 2023 Fly Fair was a very enjoyable event that will hopefully run as an annual event for many years. I arrived home late afternoon with a head full of fishy thoughts. In the middle of the night I awoke; discussions of fish populations in our rivers swimming through my mind. A common theme amongst anglers is how it used to be. Each generation has its own bench marks.

Keen to record my thoughts I left a warm bed to compose the following:-

I REMEMBER WHEN

The old guy said,

 

I remember when the salmon poured into the pools,

Packed like sardines you could have walked across their backs, (1983)

 

I remember when some anglers caught one hundred salmon in a  season,  (2003)

 

It’s been a better season we caught forty from the river last year,  (2023)

 

I remember when there were salmon in the river,     (2043)

                                                                                                  

I remember being told there were once salmon in this river,  (2063)

 

(Above) Zoe Latham keen Dartmoor Fly Fisher – With her fish and fly art works

                                                                                                

http://www.bannisterrods.co.uk

 

Invasive Species –