Sam has, somewhat unexpectedly, started showing a bit of interest in fishing again, which is obviously a good thing although I'm not entirely sure whether my bank account is going to agree with that assessment. There was a time when trying to get him interested in fishing was a bit like trying to persuade a cat that having a bath would be an enjoyable experience, so any sudden enthusiasm has to be encouraged before it disappears again.
Consequently, when he said he was happy to join me at the BIG Fish N Show at Baden Hall Fishery on Saturday, I wasn't going to start asking awkward questions about exactly why he wanted to go. Sometimes in life you simply accept a minor miracle when it happens and ask questions later.
The BIG Fish N Show is a relatively new addition to the angling calendar and it was the fact that it was being held outside that initially sparked my interest. I'm not quite sure what this says about me because the words "outdoor fishing show" and "British weather" aren't exactly a combination that normally fills me with confidence.
The journey up wasn't too bad either and after about an hour and fifteen minutes travelling up the M6 we rolled into Baden Hall at around 9.00am. The car park was already pretty busy, which suggested that a significant proportion of the British angling population had independently arrived at exactly the same conclusion as us.
You always know a fishing show is going to be reasonably well attended when you start wondering whether you've accidentally parked at the wrong event. There were cars everywhere and people wandering around with the unmistakable look of anglers who had already mentally spent money despite not having got through the entrance yet.
Having never been to Baden Hall Fishery before, I was actually quite impressed with the place. The lakes looked pretty decent and there was plenty of space, although obviously my first thought was less about the quality of the fishery and more along the lines of "I wonder what's in there?"
There was one lake absolutely full of match anglers, all looking incredibly serious. They had the sort of concentration normally associated with bomb disposal, despite the fact that most of them appeared to be fishing for things that probably wouldn't have eaten the contents of my bait box if I'd thrown the entire thing in.
Another lake had more specialist anglers fishing, which was much more my sort of thing. There is something about specialist fishing that appeals to me because nobody seems quite as stressed about whether they've had 37 fish by lunchtime and whether the angler next to them has had 38.
The show itself had a reasonable turnout from the tackle manufacturers, with Trakker and Fox being particularly prominent. The carp anglers were absolutely loving it, especially the latest bivvies and bedchairs, and I have to admit that the modern bedchairs are bloody impressive.
They've come on enormously since the days when a fishing bed was essentially a folding metal frame with a thin piece of material stretched across it. Some of the modern versions look more comfortable than the bed I sleep in at home, and I'm beginning to think the only thing missing is somebody bringing you a cup of tea and asking whether you'd like the curtains drawn.
The Tempur mattress might have finally met its match. If you can get a bedchair with adjustable lumbar support, memory foam, a pillow and enough room to turn over without waking up your neighbour, I'm not sure why anybody would ever go home again.
The obvious problem is that the modern carp angler now seems to require more equipment to go fishing than I have in my entire house. Rods, reels, bivvies, bedchairs, sleeping bags, alarms, tables, chairs, cooking equipment and probably enough spare clothing to survive the Battle of the Somme.
I suppose if you're going to sit beside a lake for 72 hours waiting for a carp to eat a boilie, you might as well be comfortable. Personally, if I'm going to spend three nights beside a lake without catching anything, I generally just call it a holiday.
The Predator tackle stand was probably the busiest stand there, certainly from what I could see. There were people absolutely everywhere, and judging by the amount of tackle being carried away I suspect they must have had a fairly successful weekend.
Predator anglers are an interesting bunch because there seems to be an almost unlimited number of lures available for catching fish that are quite capable of eating virtually anything. Yet somehow you still need 47 different colours, four different sizes and something that looks like a diseased duck.
Sam was particularly taken with the Predator stand and eventually picked up an Abu Black Ops rod and reel. To be fair, it looked pretty cool, and there is something about black fishing tackle that makes you feel considerably more serious about your fishing even when you're standing on the bank wearing an old fleece with a crisp packet in the pocket.
I suspect that was probably at least 60 percent of the reason he bought it. The other 40 percent was probably because it looked like something you'd expect to see being used by a special forces operative in a film.
The Korum boys were there too and I had a chat with Harry Pardoe, who I've met before riverside where I put him on to some river Zander. It's always nice bumping into people you know at these things because you can immediately stop pretending you're interested in whatever stand you're standing in front of and have a proper conversation.
I've got a slightly complicated relationship with Korum gear these days. Some of their stuff is genuinely very good, while other items leave me wondering whether somebody has simply walked around the warehouse shouting "we need another product" and then put a logo on whatever happened to be lying on the floor. You just have to cherry-pick the good stuff from the dross. It's a bit like shopping in a charity shop, except everything costs more and there is considerably less chance of finding a decent pair of curtains.
The Winning Ways guys were there as well and there were loads of other familiar faces wandering around. Jeremy Wade was apparently there, which seems entirely appropriate because if there's one man who looks as though he could find a prehistoric monster hiding underneath a pallet, it's Jeremy Wade.
Terry Hearn was also apparently there, although despite wandering around for quite some time I never actually saw him. This has led me to believe that Terry has perfected some sort of advanced camouflage technique involving a hat, a hoodie and standing quietly behind a display of terminal tackle.
Then there were the YouTubers. Quite a lot of YouTubers, actually, which is probably something that every modern fishing show now has to have or the younger generation might suddenly remember that they could be outside actually fishing. Cal and Dani and Tom Wilshaw pedalling his coffee it's nice to actually see these people in person.
The queue to see Carl from Fish With Carl was absolutely enormous. It seemed to stretch on forever and people were patiently waiting for their chance to meet him, have a photograph and presumably tell him how many times they'd watched his latest video. The queue was so long that I started wondering whether some of them had brought camping equipment. Which, given the amount of carp gear available at the show, wouldn't actually have been difficult.
Alan Blair was there as well, although by the time I saw him it looked as though he was having to make do with what could only be described as the dregs. I suspect this was probably exaggerated in my head because Alan still seemed to have plenty of people around him, but compared with the Carl queue it looked like he had been allocated the overflow car park.
I'm sure he wasn't bothered though. If you're Alan Blair, you're probably quite used to people wanting to talk to you, although I would imagine there comes a point where you start hoping somebody will ask you about the weather just so you can have a normal conversation.
I managed to have a chat with Matt Hayes, which was one of the highlights for me. I've watched countless hours of his television programmes over the years, so it was quite strange standing there having an ordinary conversation with somebody whose face has been on my television for years.
Thankfully he was a thoroughly nice chap and very easy to talk to. There's always a slight danger when meeting someone you've watched on television that they turn out to be completely different in real life, but fortunately there was none of that. I didn't ask him whether he'd ever wondered what happened to all the fish he'd caught on television. I'm sure the answer is probably more complicated than "they're still in the river".
I also had a good chat with Jack Perks, who is much more on my sort of wavelength. He's one of those anglers who seems equally happy targeting the smaller species as he is going after the bigger stuff, which is something I can relate to.
There is something very satisfying about catching a small fish that you've deliberately targeted. You don't always need a fish that looks like it needs its own postcode to make a fishing trip worthwhile.
Apparently Jack is going to be fishing for tuna and blue shark soon, which is quite a leap from some of the smaller species he targets. I did briefly wonder whether he would be taking a 10ft feeder rod and a tin of luncheon meat, but presumably he'll have something slightly more substantial.
I bought a book from Jack as well and got him to sign it. I now own a signed book by Jack Perks, which makes me feel considerably more cultured than I actually am.
Of course, owning a signed fishing book doesn't necessarily mean you are going to read it. At the moment it's sitting somewhere safe, which is usually the first stage in ensuring that you never see it again. Cal and Dani were there too, along with Tom Wilshaw and Danny from Danny's Angling Blog on the Korum stand. There really was a decent selection of people there and, for a relatively new show, it seemed to have attracted a fair amount of interest.
The weather, inevitably, had decided that it wasn't going to make things too easy. We had a series of showers coming through, which meant everybody was repeatedly putting waterproofs on, taking waterproofs off and then putting them back on again five minutes later.
It's the traditional British outdoor experience. You don't actually dress for the weather, you dress for all possible weather conditions simultaneously and then spend the day carrying the clothes you aren't currently wearing.
The Angling Trust had clearly identified an opportunity. They were selling umbrellas for a tenner to people stuck in the queues and, judging by the number of them being carried around, they must have shifted quite a few.
There's something very British about paying ten pounds for an umbrella because you've voluntarily attended an outdoor event in September. Somewhere in the distance, a weather forecaster was probably laughing. I did think about buying one, but then remembered that I already own approximately 14 umbrellas, none of which are ever where I need them. This is one of the great mysteries of domestic life.
You can have six umbrellas in your house and still leave home in the rain without one. They don't disappear exactly, they simply relocate themselves to places where they become completely useless. Eventually we'd seen enough and decided to head home. It had been a good day though and, considering we'd spent most of it walking around looking at fishing tackle rather than actually fishing, I'd say it had been a success.
Then came the small matter of the M6. The motorway had apparently decided that Saturday wasn't difficult enough already and there was gridlock traffic, so eventually I ended up using the M6 Toll.
Twelve quid.
Twelve bloody quid.
There is something deeply offensive about paying £12 for the privilege of driving on a road because the free road has decided to stop functioning. I kept expecting somebody at the toll booth to hand me a small complimentary packet of crisps as compensation.
Still, we got home eventually and Sam was keen to try out his new baitcaster the following morning. This was rather encouraging because the last thing I wanted was for him to spend a load of money on a rod and reel and then leave it sitting in the corner looking decorative.
So Sunday morning saw us heading off to a new water for me this season. The river was low, clear and sluggish, which are three words that don't exactly fill you with confidence when you're hoping to catch a predator. Still, we gave it a go. We tried numerous lures, changed colours, changed sizes and generally went through enough tackle to make it look as though we'd been commissioned by a lure manufacturer.
The river looked absolutely beautiful though. Gin clear water, low levels and that sort of quiet Sunday morning atmosphere where you can convince yourself that the fish are definitely there and you're merely waiting for the right moment.
Eventually there was a sign of life and a reasonable pike took a Replicant lure. Suddenly everything changed because when you're lure fishing for pike and something actually grabs the lure, all the previous hours of fruitless casting are immediately forgiven. Unfortunately the pike didn't seem particularly interested in remaining attached to the lure. After the first proper pull off the rod, it simply came off.
There was no dramatic conclusion, no photograph and certainly no fish in the net. Just that horrible moment where you realise that the thing you've been waiting for all morning has happened and lasted approximately three seconds. The pike presumably swam away feeling rather pleased with itself. I imagine it is now telling the story to other pike about the day it encountered two anglers who spent several hours throwing things at it and then managed to lose it when it finally decided to cooperate.
Sam, meanwhile, seemed to take to the baitcaster remarkably quickly. He got the hang of casting it almost immediately, which was slightly irritating because I was expecting there to be a reasonable amount of shared suffering.
Instead, he looked as though he'd been using one for years. There is nothing quite like watching someone else pick up a piece of fishing tackle for the first time and immediately work it out while you're standing beside them wondering why yours has just produced a bird's nest.
For me, the baitcaster represented a considerably steeper learning curve. There are knobs everywhere. Little knobs, big knobs, magnetic knobs, braking adjustments and various other things that apparently need to be altered depending on the lure, the wind, the line and presumably the phase of the moon.
I spent a considerable amount of time fiddling with things. Every adjustment seemed to produce a different result and I was beginning to feel less like an angler and more like somebody repairing a malfunctioning washing machine.
Eventually you get a cast that works beautifully and think you've cracked it. Then you make another cast and the reel immediately explodes into a bird's nest that looks like you've been knitting with fishing line.
Still, Sam was getting on with it brilliantly. If he continues at this rate, he'll soon be teaching me how to use mine that is gathering dust, which would be quite humiliating but probably inevitable. After Sunday dinner I decided that I needed some peace and quiet, so I headed off to the syndicate stretch. There is something rather nice about going fishing after Sunday dinner, particularly when everybody else is occupied doing something that doesn't involve you.
The river was still low and clear and, once again, the fish appeared to have decided that today wasn't the day. I had a couple of small pulls, but nothing materialised into anything meaningful.
Sometimes you can spend hours fishing a swim knowing there is almost certainly a fish somewhere nearby, but getting it to actually do anything is another matter entirely. It's like knowing somebody is in the house because you can hear them moving around but they refuse to answer the door.
I stayed into dark anyway. There's always that thought that perhaps the fish will switch on as daylight disappears, and if you've already spent several hours sitting there, you might as well give yourself the opportunity to be disappointed in the darkness as well.
The beauty of fishing into dark is that everything becomes more mysterious. Every little pluck feels significant, every swirl could be a fish and every noise in the bushes becomes either an otter, a deer or something that is about to murder you.
Usually it's a leaf.
On this particular occasion I had my comfortable chair with me, complete with lumbar support. This is another sign that fishing has gradually changed over the years because once upon a time I would have happily sat on anything that vaguely resembled a chair.
Now I'm apparently looking for ergonomic support.
The lumbar support was actually very good. So good, in fact, that I began to wonder whether it was perhaps working a little too well. At some point during the evening I became aware that I had apparently drifted off. Not a full night's sleep obviously, but enough of a nodding session to make me question whether I was actually fishing or simply conducting a long-term experiment into the sleep-inducing qualities of riverside chairs.
The worst thing is that you wake up and immediately look at the rod as though you've been keeping a close eye on it. Nobody needs to know that you were asleep.
You look around, adjust the rod slightly and adopt the facial expression of somebody who has been intensely analysing the water for the last twenty minutes. Meanwhile, your chair is sitting there looking extremely guilty. There is something very peaceful about fishing into darkness though. Even when you're not catching, there's the sound of the river, the occasional movement in the margins and the feeling that you're temporarily removed from all the normal nonsense of everyday life.
And sometimes, apparently, the lumbar support removes you a little further than intended.
So the weekend produced one escaped pike, a new baitcaster, a signed book, another fishing beanie, some leads, several conversations with anglers I've watched on television and enough tackle browsing to make my bank account feel slightly nervous.
Sam seems to have rediscovered his interest in fishing, which is probably the biggest success of the whole weekend. If nothing else, we've now got somebody else in the house who can justify buying fishing tackle, which is an opportunity that absolutely must not be wasted.
The BIG Fish N Show was actually a very good day out. The weather could have been kinder, the M6 could have been less ridiculous and the M6 Toll could perhaps have been £12 cheaper, but I'd definitely go again next year. And if the show continues to grow, I expect the queues will get even longer, the tackle stands will get even bigger and the carp bedchairs will eventually become indistinguishable from actual beds.
At which point I may finally give in.
Because if I'm going to spend a few hours beside a low and clear river catching absolutely nothing, I might as well be comfortable.
In fact, if anybody knows where I can get one of those modern carp bedchairs with lumbar support, memory foam and a built-in cup holder, let me know.
I'll probably need somewhere to put the kettle while I have my afternoon nap.
Because clearly this is what fishing has become.
BIG fish, expensive tackle, baitcasters, celebrity anglers, motorway tolls and a comfortable chair from which to watch absolutely nothing happen.
And, if you're lucky, one pike that falls off.
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