On being "in the family way."

I once heard someone say that as we journey through life our portfolio of enthusiasms diminishes. He was right. I no longer climb trees, fly model aircraft, pull wheelies on my bicycle or pull girls (or try to), play football, or go to nightclubs. The years have changed me, mostly for the better, but fishing is the one old enthusiasm that burns as brightly as it ever did, its glow undimmed by the passing of time. The fishing itself has metamorphosised through its different eras and obsessions, and now in its fifth decade, has seen spells of single species enthusiasm for (in turn) carp, pike, and more recently perch, daliances with hi-tech carp gear, pole fishing, and collecting and using vintage tackle, but the basic deep down love of angling has never been under threat. Even when in my 20's my main hobby was playing football, I still fished and could never walk past water without gazing into its depths for signs of life and mentally assesing how I would approach fishing it. Nowadays I am more aware than I have ever been of the ancillary pleasures of fishing- those of time spent in the stillness of beautiful places, and the company in which they're spent. 

I have a number of excellent fishing companions and their presence alongside me on the bank can redeem even the most cheerless of fishless days. Increasingly, fishing has become for me a social pursuit and while I do from time to time enjoy a solo session and the unique sense of peacefulness it offers, my preference is to fish with friends. 

Foremost among my angling companions these days is my son, James. All families have traditions, whether a holiday destination that is returned to year after year, the time at which Christmas presents are opened relative to the monarch's televised speech or any number of other idiosynchrosies that only make sense to the family members themselves. One of our family traditions is fishing. It's not a tradition that goes back generations (neither my father or either of my grandfathers fished) but one that was begun by me and my two brothers. (both pictured below)

Our own children, now all adults, have also all fished, and our sons, with varying levels of commitment to the pastime still do. Both my son and daughter caught their first fish when very "little people" and while the last time my daughter accompanied me on a fishing trip was six years ago, my son and I try to maintain a pattern of fishing together once a month, come rain (frequently!) or shine. Most years I manage to fish with one or both of my brothers, despite our being scattered accross the British Isles and the three of us have our own WhatsApp group in which we keep each other updated on our latest fishing adventures and escapades.

Not only do families have traditions but families, rather like waistlines,  expand over time. In just over a fortnight's time, I'm due to become a grandad and it was my commenting that my future grandson (yes, we do know it's a boy) will one day join the family ranks of anglers which prompted my son-in-law to point out to me that despite having been married to my daughter for five years I'd never taken him fishing. Suitably chastised, arrangements were hastily made to remove from him his ignorance of the gentle art, and a glorious sunny day saw us sat by the side of a small well-stocked pond. I elected not to fish but merely to play the role of guide and ghillie, and he proceded to catch a succession of fish drawn from a catholic range of species. My suspicion is that his love of football will prevent fishing from ever  being more than an occasional diversion, but he thoroughly enjoyed the experience and at least now at family get-togethers at which my brothers, son and I are talking about fishing he has some comprehension of what "all the fuss is about."

With my son-in-law having been removed from the ranks of the fishless, it was now time to induct my son's partner into the family tradition, a pleasant task that was undertaken this past weekend. She, my son and I, all shared a swim which, although slightly crowded, made for a very pleasant few hours. Between the three of us over the course of the day we caught probably somewhere in the region of a hundred fish, and it transpired that although she proved to be a fast learner and adept at catching fish my son's girlfriend was, although brave enough to do so,  less comfortable holding them! Being the good sport that she is, she also joined with another tradition that my son and I have developed, that of the bankside cigar (a tradition, I hasten to add, that we've only adopted since he got into his twenties!) 

There are many things in life that we lay aside as time marches inexorably on, but I trust that fishing will not prove to be one of them and that there are a good few years yet in which to fish with my brothers, my son, and when he's old enough, my grandson. I'm also hoping that the investment that I made in sorting out constant tangles when he was small will mean that, as things go full circle, when arthritis and poor eyesight prevent me from tying my own hooks that my son will be there to tie them for me. For the moment, I remain "piscator" and he "venator" but when the time arrives, I'll be more than happy with the reversal of roles. Here's to family traditions!