An essay on getting the Cane....

I fear that the title of this essay may lead to all kind of deviants ending up on my site, and I apologise for their disappointment when they discover that "The Fishing Vicar" isn't a euphemism, but really is just about a Vicar who fishes, and that this article is about angling equipment and not "grown up toys" for those of a kinky disposition. I left school in 1984, which was my misfortune, as corporal punishment in school didn't end until 1986. However, despite receiving not infrequent slipperings (why did they say "this'll hurt me more than you?" .... liars!) I never had to suffer the cane, although I did watch several others experience that fate. Now, 33 years later I'm opting FOR the cane, albeit in an altogether different form.

 

My angling has been veering towards the "traditional" for a while, now. I've got a collection of vintage reels  that I regularly use, as well as a more modern centrepin, have a whicker fishing basket, only ever use old fashioned handcrafted floats, and have acquired several nice vintage glassfibre rods. That said, until now I've only been a dilettante, half heartedly hanging around the fringes of the Bernard Venables and Chris Yates inspired traditionalist scene, but- thanks to the postman and the kindness of a friendship made on Facebook- I'm now a fully fledged member of the split cane fraternity. The Facebook friend (whose name will remain concealed to hide any embarrassment) was not only  kind enough to allow me to buy a cane rod from him on a "play now, pay later" basis (the rod has already arrived, and will be paid for at the time of my forthcoming birthday), but- in his evangelical zeal for all things "cane"- generously gifted me  a second rod at just the cost of delivery. A marvellous gesture from a proper gentleman. And so, to the rods themselves:

The first (pictured above) is an 8 foot rod, beautifully refurbished with lovely whippings and patina, and capable of landing reasonably sized carp and pike. It will be my rod of choice for both canal pike fishing and margin carp fishing, both of which occupy a fair bit of my time.

The second, which will probably see greater active service due to my preference for the float, is a superb float rod by Aspindales, the Thamesdale, just over 12 foot long, and sure to be my new "go to" rod for perch, crucians and tench (which just happen to be my three favourite fish species), except on commercial venues where there's a high chance of contacting a rogue carp, in which case I'll turn to my fine vintage Rodrill glass float rod, to avoid any possibility of a treasured possession becoming firewood for a Kelly Kettle!

 

Changes in my working pattern and responsibilities (I've been seconded for 6 months to work half time as a Diocesan head office "desk jockey" in addition to running one of the larger churches in the Diocese) mean that my actual fishing opportunities will be far fewer this year, perhaps, painfully, as little as one a month (counselling may be required!), but the prospect of a new set of adventures walking along angling's "old paths" with craftsman-made antique tackle will, doubtless, prove to be its own compensation. Looks like from now on the future of my angling lies in the use of things past in the present, and I can't wait. I'll keep you all posted.

 

 

 



The significance of pronouns in perch fishing

 

Regular readers of this blog will be aware that I rarely conform to the stereotype of the stoical, taciturn, lone angler. For me, fishing is a sociable activity and I'm blessed with a goodly number of excellent friends who are similarly afflicted with a passion for angling, which, on days like today, is an undoubted benefit. Once again perch were the target species, once again the fishing was hard, and as on my last trip, I blanked. I was joined in the "dry net department" by Pete and Paul, but David had two fish, including one extremely handsome stripy, which meant that the question "how did you guys get on today?" could be answered with "we caught a lovely perch", enabling my lack of proficiency on the day to be obscured by the cunning use of a personal pronoun.

 

There was an unmistakable chill in the air, but the weather was milder than it has been of late, and the plan was to fish for about three hours in a spot that has produced plenty of perch for Pete and I in the past, catch a few fish and then retire for a pub meal and convivial chat. In the event, the pub meal was more of a success than the fishing.

David and I chose to tuck ourselves in next to a couple of moored boats (having first befriended and gained the permission of their owners), while Paul and Pete concentrated on the area around a bridge, all classic text book perch habitat. However, it was our misfortune that only one perch had read the text book.

Paul float fished red maggots, I fed the same and suspended a lively worm under a perch bob float, David float fished red maggots and Pete alternated between worms presented beneath float and ledger, but for Pete, Paul and me all to no avail. In time, Pete and I broke the monotony of staring at motionless floats with a bit of spinning and dropshotting, methods to which the intransigent perch proved equally diffident.

After about an hour David landed a singularly unremarkable roach, which although nothing in and of itself to get excited about, did at least show that there were still fish in the canal, and that at least one of them was in compliant mood.

An hour later and his float once again shot away, and this time his match rod took on a heartening battle curve, and shortly afterwards a lovely plump perch that must have weighed about a pound and a half was engulfed by the folds of his landing net. Said perch was duly admired, photographed and returned, and the fishing regained its uneventful and soporific character.

 

 At 1 o'clock we drew stumps (or more accurately, banksticks) and retired to the waterside pub for a meal, pint and piscatorial post-mortem. You may be forgiven for supposing that following my second successive blank I would have been downcast or disconsolate, but if you did so, you'd be wrong. How can a morning spent fishing ever be the cause of dismay, especially when spent in good company and followed up with a hearty meal? And anyway, the whole trip was a success: "there's no I in team" and we caught. Such is the power of pronouns.