When perch aren't the main thing

I hesitate to deal in cliche, but in this instance I have little choice. We've all heard (and oftentimes trotted out) the tired sayings and aphorisms that declare "fishing to be about more than catching fish" but a thing doesn't cease to be true simply because it's become a truism, and today  the veracity of the statement was incontrovertible. Ostensibly we were fishing for perch and to win our club's annual Perch Trophy, but in reality we were fishing in memory of a friend and to raise money for charity.

We're an unusual bunch, a collection of just shy of 100 anglers with not only a commonly  held passion for angling, but also in the case of  most of our members a strong commitment to the Christian faith. (the clue is in the group's name: Christian Anglers). With a membership that traverses the whole of the UK, much of our contact is via a Facebook group, but we also hold fish-ins and an annual weekend camping retreat, and since our friend John Rellie (pictured below) died in 2018 we have held an annual perch match at the conclusion of which the captor of the biggest perch wins the shield for a year and has his name engraved on the trophy.

The match is far more an exercise in socialising, remembering  John's life with thanks, and raising money than it is a serious pursuit of perch, but our membership contains among its number some seriously proficient anglers (including no less than one of the vice-presidents of The Perchfishers)  and prior to today the match had never been won by a fish of less than 2lb 7 oz despite the rather casual nature of the event. 

As might reasonably be expected from a day in early November, there was a slight chill in the air when the 9 anglers who had booked to fish the event gathered in the car park to draw for choice of swims. Each angler, on their name being drawn from a hat, had the right to go and plant a bankstick in the swim of their choice, and once all of the swims were allocated, the fun could begin in earnest (or something approaching earnestness, while never quite possessing the requisite seriousness to accurately fit the designation!). Draw completed and Pete cooked up some bacon and sausage sandwiches and after an al fresco breakfast the suitably fortified anglers set to work in pursuit of stripe-sided monsters.

As it transpired, the weather was kinder to us than the fish proved to be. The day was overcast yet mild, but the fish in general, and the perch in particular, proved to be in a less generous mood. The occasional small fish was swung in by those electing to fish with maggots, but for those of us who persisted with bigger baits the fishing was an  arduous and attritional affair. 

Roy managed a hat-trick of small barbel, which tested the elastic in his pole and Pete landed a broad backed common that fought hard on his light float set up. Dave and Garry also both lost decent carp at the net, but  rods pleasingly bent in their battle curve were few and far between.

My small perch bob, which had been made for me by Roy, had done no meaningful bobbing for nearly three biteless hours, but eventually it trembled, moved jerkily across the water's surface and then submerged with purpose. The strike met with firm resistance  and after a tussle of two or three minutes a handsome perch was engulfed in the folds of the net. The scales registered a weight of 1 lb 10 ounces, and it turned out to be the only perch of noteworthy size to be caught on the day, which resulted in me retaining the trophy I had first won the previous year.

At the prearranged hour of three o'clock the match was declared completed, and I made a reasonable job of feigning humility on being presented with the trophy. The fishing had been hard, and for only one decent perch to have been landed over a six hour period by nine anglers with more aggregated years of fishing experience than we'd care to admit to was disappointing, but the main aims of the day had been more than accomplished. We had celebrated John's life, enjoyed each other's company, and raised over £200 for a charity that looks to demonstrate God's love to people who are often overlooked, looked down on or judged, yet who are created in His image and, like all of us, are deserving of a new start and another chance in life. As I drove out of the car park I almost thought I could hear John's raucous laugh- after all, on his last visit to the lake he caught a perch of a pound and a half and he wasn't even fishing for perch. "What's wrong with you guys? I can catch them on luncheon meat and you can't catch them on worms and prawns" he'd have boomed in his voluble South African accent. Gone but not forgotten, and today remembered in a way that he'd have thoroughly approved of. 

We'll do it all over again next year, and hopefully 2022's perch will have read the memo.