Look back in angler

I grew up in an era that looked to the future not the past. And why not too? It was the 1970's and those in the know knew that by the end of the Century we'd be speeding around the streets in flying cars, holidaying on Mars, wearing skintight spandex one piece suits (what was all that about?), living in underwater cities, and walking would be deemed redundant on account of the jetpacks we'd all have strapped to our backs. The past was a foreign country where they did things differently, and we knew which side we wanted our bread to be buttered. 

Nearly half a century on, and I see things somewhat differently. For, while I have no trouble in concurring with  the truth contained in the Billy Joel lyric which states that "the good old days weren't always good, and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems", and have no desire to return to the dubious delights of tuberculosis, the Workhouse, lower life expectancy, and no NHS, there are things about a simpler bygone era that do call out enticingly with siren voice; and one of those is fishing as it once was. Fishing that owes more to the creed of Walton and Venables than to the practices of the latter day disciples of the scientific and forensic approach that is the legacy of Richard Walker. Fishing that resembles art more than science, that relies on an intuitive almost mystical aspect often referred to as "watercraft", and where the surroundings and natural world that the angler inserts him or herself into is as much a part of the pleasure as the landing of fish. An angling ethos that elevates rather than reduces the status of every fish because each one is treasured, not just those which reach a certain weight. Fishing which remains true to old Isaak's description of angling as "the contemplative man's recreation."

In recent years this approach to the gentle art has been accompanied for me by the choice to undertake  almost all of my fishing adventures with vintage fishing tackle. I'm pragmatic enough to acknowledge that modern tackle is more efficient and ergonomic in its design, but the trade off for me is that I place a higher premium on aesthetics than efficiency and the old cane rods, with their lustrous varnish and patina, are infinitely more intrinsically attractive than a modern carbon wand. Sure, a whole cane rod can be heavy to hold after a while, and a willow basket can prove to be (quite literally) a pain in the proverbial after a few hours, but what thing of worth wasn't achieved without a degree of discomfort or sacrifice?

The irony is that when I turn my mind to deliberately targeting bigger fish  (which isn't that often!) I seem to have been far more successful in my "vintage phase" than ever I was when sat behind matching carbon rods, baitrunners and bite alarms, all pointing machine gun nest style toward the centre of a gravel pit. Perhaps some strange algebra of fate is operative  that determines that the more you enjoy the "doing of the thing itself" and less you care about the results, the greater the reward that ensues. One thing, however, does seems certain: this angler intends to continue going "back for the future" for the foreseeable. After all, if it ain't broke, why fix it?