Perching in memorium

The actual catching of fish is often incidental to the act of angling.

Sometimes behind the presenting reason for being there lies a bigger reality and a greater truth. Such was the case today, when nine anglers from various parts of the Country gathered ostensibly for a perch match, but really to celebrate the life of a friend, to raise money in his memory, and to concur with St Paul who declared with confidence that "neither life nor death .... nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

John was a big man in every sense of the word. Hewn out of the tough stuff that seems to characterise South Africans, he said things as he saw them, had a laugh and voice that carried across a lake, was straightforward and entirely lacking in guile and was able to suck far more pleasure out of every fishing session than anyone else I've known; it wasn't that he was a naive optimist or one who, in denial, fooled himself that he was having fun when he wasn't, John genuinely didn't know how to fish and not have fun. It mattered not if he was freezing cold and blanking, his laugh would still echo in the chill air, along with words of encouragement.

My favourite experience of John's eccentricity came on the Christian Anglers Retreat in the summer of 2018. A dozen or so of us were camped alongside the banks of the River Trent, fast asleep in our tents in preparation for a dawn assault on the river's resident barbel. At around 3am I was awoken by the noise of someone shuffling about the campsite and a  car door slamming. I peered out of the tent and in the shadows saw a figure trying a car door. The inescapable conclusion was that a random ne'er do well was breaking into cars. By this time, Pete also had been awakened by the presence in the camp and, with heart pounding, went to investigate. To his relief, after bracing himself for a conflict situation, the sight that greeted him was that of John sitting in his car, door open, and munching his way through an entire family "bargain bucket" from the local 24 hour Kentucky Fried Chicken, following the consumption of which John ambled down to the river and "touch-legered" through the night until morning.

I think I can, without fear of contradiction, state that John pushed uniqueness to its outermost limits, and all of us in the Christian Anglers club loved him for it.

And so it was that we gathered on a wild and wet November's day, to fish in his memory, raise money for Cancer Research and the developing world charity Tear Fund, enjoy each other's company and award a prize for the biggest perch caught.

The day had an extra piquancy for me, as my son James was fishing with Christian Anglers for the first time in over a year, and he and I sacrificed angling efficiency for sociability and elected to share a swim to best enjoy one of our nowadays rare joint bank-side expeditions.

Around the lake a variety of float fishing methods were employed, with worms, red maggots and prawns being variously tried as hookbaits. I chose to fish a large worm underneath a favourite perch bob, impaled on a size 12 hook.  James opted for double red maggot under a waggler, and was soon catching roach, ide and bream, while my perch bob stubbornly refused to bob and disappear.

For the first couple of hours the rain was incessant and fell with the kind of intensity that in the days of primeval history had sent Noah scurrying for the ark. The fishing, in keeping with the weather, was challenging, and around the lake the nine of us were all finding bites and fish hard to come by.

The first angler to connect with a sizeable fish was Roger, with a brief and spirited struggle resulting in him bringing a perch of exactly a pound and a half over the net.

Roger's lead in the biggest perch stakes was short-lived, with Pete soon upping the ante with a fine fish that tipped the scales at 2lb 3oz. Both Roger and Pete's perch fell to float-fished red maggot.

Pete's fish was admired, weighed, photographed and returned, following which the lake fell into a state of stupour, with only the occasional (mostly small) fish being swung to the bank to break the soporific spell. John MacAngus briefly raised our hopes, managing a couple of nuisance carp as well as a perch of just over a pound on float-fished worm, but by and large the fishing remained slow..

I stubbornly persisted with lobworm, despite the fact that most of the larger perch had fallen to red maggot, a bait which was also (predictably) accounting for a greater number of small perch and silverfish. A couple of small roach and bream with eyes bigger than their bellies chose to attempt to drag my lobworm to their lairs and consequently suffered the indignity of a visit to the bank, but the perch remained resolutely oblivious to the attraction of my worm presented over a bed of chopped worms and accompanied by a "little and often" trickle of red maggots. The lake, which in the past has been kind to me ( four 2 pounders to 2lb 15oz from just four sessions before today) was today showing me its malevolent rather than benevolent face.

With bites at a premium, there were still two last twists to be had before "stumps were drawn" at the prearranged hour of 3 o'clock.
Roy, who like all of us had struggled for bites throughout the day, landed a nice perch of around a pound and a half, which pleased all of us, as he had made the longest journey, travelling from Yorkshire to join us and pay his respects to John.

The best, however, was saved until last. Pete, already in pole position as a result of his earlier fish, hooked into something which fought with determined tenacity, and once on the bank tipped the scales to 2lb 9oz. Better still, not only was the fish large in stature it was equally stunning in appearance, pugnacious, plump and with bold stripes and wonderfully vivid red fins. A worthy fish to win the inaugural John Rellie Memorial trophy.

We gathered at the car park, and presented the trophy to Pete, after which we joined in saying a prayer thanking God for John's life and faith, and praying for the wife of another of our members, John's best friend, Keith, who couldn't be with us as he was accompanying her to hospital in Oxford where she was due an operation on her recently broken wrist.
Despite the difficulties of the fishing itself and the inclement weather, it had been a wonderful day, graced by the landing of the occasional stunning stripey, and had provided a fitting tribute to John.
For us, future fishing adventures await, but John- even now- has embarked on an altogether different and eternal adventure in the immediate presence of the God in whom he trusted, and those of us who knew him and enjoyed fishing with him will continue to treasure his memory, and to seek to understand the present moment in the light of the eternal promise that is now John's reality.