There are certain noises in life that a sensible man learns to recognise, and one of them is the faint, nagging ache coming from the lower back which, when translated from the language of bodily complaints, basically means “pack your gear away, you idiot.” As a previous sufferer of sciatica (6mths of hell), I am normally reasonably good at listening to such warnings, although apparently there is a small but extremely stupid part of my brain that believes pain is merely the body's way of asking whether I fancy doing something considerably more physical. So, after Friday’s trotting exploits had left me with that annoying little ache down the lower back, what did I do the following morning
Well, obviously I went fishing, because common sense is very much like a waterproof jacket in my house: I know where it is, but rarely remember to bring it with me. Having spent the previous day kitting Sam out with some new fishing clothes because the boy appears to have discovered growth hormones and has shot up like a weed over the last couple of years, we headed off to the syndicate water where I planned to do some peg trimming while he christened his new baitcasting set-up.
Looking back, there was absolutely nothing wrong with this plan apart from the small matter of me being the one who had to wield the cutting tools. The day before donning his new gear he'd been fishing on the local canal with his mate Noah where they dropped in to Martyn's Stratford on Avon Fishing and Outdoors where he gave them to free maggots where they caught 9 fish !!, Sam has certainly got his mojo back which is good.
The water had cooled off considerably of late and, with a deadbait positioned where I could keep one eye on it, I started trimming away in a few swims while Sam went off chucking his lure around. I was secretly hoping the deadbait might produce something interesting while I was hacking away at the vegetation, because there is nothing quite like pretending you are doing essential fishery maintenance when what you really want is for a float, indicator or alarm to suddenly start doing something exciting.
Sadly, the deadbait remained as lifeless as my enthusiasm for further peg maintenance and the pike, barbel and anything else with fins collectively decided that today was apparently a good day for a lie-in it was quiet !!.
Sam wasn't having much more luck either, although unlike his dad he had the advantage of possessing a functioning lower back and considerably more enthusiasm.
With the river gin clear, he'd sensibly been trying more natural-coloured lures, but after a while he turned to me with the sort of expression normally reserved for children who have just decided that Dad clearly knows absolutely nothing about fishing. “Daddy, can we try the biggest lure now, I reckon we need to go OTT instead?”
Now, I would love to claim that I carefully analysed the conditions, considered the behaviour of the quarry and arrived at the conclusion that a larger, more conspicuous lure would be the logical choice.
In reality, Sam suggested it and I immediately agreed, thereby allowing me to look like an experienced angler while contributing absolutely nothing to the decision-making process. The lure was duly attached, allowed to sink almost to the bottom and, on literally the first cast, something absolutely hammered it.
“I’ve got a fish on, I’ve got a fish on!” came the cry, at a volume normally associated with someone discovering that they'd won the lottery rather than caught a small pike.
Sure enough, an unsuspecting pike had absolutely nailed the lure, proving once and for all that when confronted with gin-clear water and cautious fish, the correct answer is apparently to throw something resembling a brightly coloured aquatic brick directly at them. It wasn't a huge pike by any stretch of the imagination, but to Sam it might as well have been the biggest fish ever to swim the river, and judging by his grin I suspect he'd have happily carried it home and put it in the bath.
I landed it for him and gave him a close-up lesson in how to unhook a pike safely, explaining that next time it'll be his turn under my guidance. There is something particularly satisfying about watching your lad catch a fish using a rod and reel that he's only just started getting to grips with, especially when you've spent a small fortune on the aforementioned rod, reel, lures and clothing and are now emotionally committed to proving that buying all of it was absolutely necessary.
Naturally, Sam was already planning the conversation with his mother before we'd even left the swim, and I could practically hear the words “I caught a pike” being rehearsed in his head.
There were no more bites after that, but quite frankly we'd already had what we came for and anything else would merely have been greedy. We packed up and headed home with Sam still buzzing about his fish, while I was beginning to feel that familiar ache in my back and wondering whether my body had perhaps been trying to communicate with me using a language I was deliberately refusing to learn.
The irony wasn't lost on me that the youngest member of the party had demonstrated excellent lure selection, impeccable timing and considerably more common sense than his father.
Sunday arrived and, after cooking a roast, I had every intention of heading out in pursuit of a barbel because apparently one small pike and an aching back had not yet completely cured me of my stupidity. However, for perhaps the first time in living memory, I decided that sitting on the sofa and watching YouTube might actually be the sensible option, which was a decision so unusual that I half expected someone from the Environment Agency to knock on the door and check whether I was feeling alright.
With three short sessions planned during the week anyway, I figured the barbel could wait and, judging by how my back felt after an afternoon doing absolutely nothing, I suspect it was quietly thanking me for finally developing some common sense.
And that, really, was the lesson from the weekend: Sam listened to his instincts, chose the ridiculous lure, caught a pike first cast of the big lure and went home looking like he'd just conquered the River Amazon. I ignored mine, tried to turn myself into a one-man groundskeeping department and spent the rest of the weekend negotiating with my lower back like it was an angry union representative.
There are many things fishing teaches you over the years, but apparently one of them is that sometimes the cleverest thing an angler can do is put his feet up, watch someone else catch fish on YouTube and give his spine a well deserved day off.
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