My angling adventure began on the south coast when I was in my early teens. My family had relocated from Manchester for my step-dad’s work, and a friend at secondary school had some basic beach-casting gear. We spent hours on the beach without catching, but it was fun. Then another lad who lived on my street invited me to what we’d now call a commercial. I was still clueless about what I was doing, but the feel of the whole thing was magical. I did eventually get better at beach casting and caught a nice bass, and I even got a boat trip off the needles and caught a mid-double figure cod. In fact thinking about it, I did a lot of sea fishing in my early teens.
Music took over though, and I spent the rest of my teens immersed in learning the guitar. That was more or less the end of fishing (apart from a couple of boat trips and an occasional try at fluff-chucking), but it never completely went away and if an opportunity arose to have a go, I’d take it.
When my son was five, we had a family holiday in France and there was a small river that wound its way through the grounds. I thought it might be nice to have a go at fishing, so I bought a cheap telescopic rod and reel to take with us. Zach was absolutely transfixed with it, and when we caught a nice perch he was over the moon. When we got home I bought a whip and took him to a commercial, and it all really mushroomed from there.
I’ve never match fished and have no interest in even trying it to be honest. I don’t fish for the adrenaline rush, but for the contemplative aspect, for what Izaak Walton called studying to be quiet (he was quoting from the Bible by the way). I wish I’d had a family member who fished as that always sounds precious when I hear those stories. I hope my son will look back on going fishing with me with fondness and then one day I might become the fishing granddad I never had
