Sometimes the window of opportunity is narrow. Sunday isn't exactly the easiest day to go fishing if you work as a minister of a busy church, but my son and I hadn't fished together since early June, and so, in the brief timeslot that exists in the hiatus between the end of my two morning services and the commencement of the evening service, we grabbed a rod apiece and headed to one of our favourite lakes. Our choice of swim was severely limited, as by the time we arrived at the lake at around 1pm, there were few swims unoccupied- it appeared that the warm weather had lured every local angler to the lakeside.
The 19th Century American countryman, philosopher, and "man of words" David Henry Thoreau was on to something with his observation that "many anglers fish for all their lives without ever realising it is not fish they are after." My son and I like to catch fish (what fisherman doesn't?) but for us the pleasure extends far beyond merely the bringing of fish to the shore. Success is relative to ambition, and ours is simply to have a good time, and so we set up in anticipation of enjoying the sunshine, the prettiness of the surroundings, some good conversation and, hopefully, the occasional fish.
With Britain basking in a mini heatwave, we figured that the rudd for which the lake is well known would almost certainly be up in the water and so, on arriving at our pitch, we threw a couple of handfuls of maggots into the lake, but their introduction to the water was not immediately greeted with the anticipated swirls, boils, and flashes of gold and silver as the rudd and roach intercepted them on their descent through the water's upper layers. The lake seemed to be in high summer high dudgeon, the fish stupefied and rendered apathetic by the heat.
We continually made adjustments to the depth at which we were fishing and to our shotting patterns, and before long the odd rudd or perch was finding itself swung in to our waiting hands but, although we were catching at a faster rate than any of the lake's other anglers, all of whom seemed to be really struggling, our captures were only ever intermittent.
Eventually we succeeded in getting the fish to feed with more consistency, but each fish, despite only being of very modest size, was the result of us needing to fish with greater effort than is often required on a lake that is one of our frequent haunts, and from which we would have expected to catch far more prolifically than was the case today.
However, despite the somewhat (presumably heat induced) frustrating lethargy displayed by the fish it would be wrong to declare the afternoon anything other than a resounding success. The veracity of Thoreau's dictum had once again been proved to be accurate in its insight. No afternoon in which a father and his adult son while away three hours together entirely content with the beauty of their surroundings and the pleasure of each other's company could ever be deemd to be anything other than a resounding success. Some men yearn for fame, riches, and acclaim, but for me time spent fishing with my son is its own reward and more than enough to guarantee my face wears a satisfied smile on the drive home. It is my extreme good fortune to know that my son is the guarantee that I will never be friendless and not every father can make that claim - I am, indeed, blessed.
