There was this net from the mouth of the burn out into the loch (strictly illegal) and caught up at one end of it was a cormorant. I took the boat out to free the cormorant and on the way saw a salmon hanging from the net. Freeing the cormorant was tricky: it flapped about, getting itself more and more entangled in the meshes and taking quick frantic peck at my hands and wrists whenever it could. Then off it went, at last, not a word of thanks.
Next, the salmon.
I grabbed the net and pulled it up the side of the boat – in retrospect I grimace at my stupidity – and as I lent over the side to grab it, unlike the cormorant, it slid quietly out of its retraining mesh and like a falling leaf gently descended the dozen feet to the sandy bottom of the loch
What to do? The obvious thing was to dive in, swim to the bottom, get a grip on the fish by its gills, clamber back aboard, holding he fish aloft, triumphant. But it was like how you see it in cartoons – I dived in and came straight out again – the water was ice-cold, unbelievably cold.
But there was the silvery salmon still, tantalisingly in sight if not in reach.
I had a gaff in the shed. I cut a hazel branch (not a good choice as I was to find out – too flexible), tied on the gaff, and armed with my 12 foot hook got into the boat once more and rowed out to where the salmon had been. It was still there. Keeping the boat in position with one oar, I directed my rod-and-hook down, down, down…..it was tricky. The water of course refracted the stick, the underwater current deflected it, having only one free arm to work with – all made it maddeningly difficult. Not that it was simple in the first place. What I had to do was to insert the gaff hook into the salmon’s gills; the rest, the lifting it up and out was the easy part (or so I thought ).
By this time I was cold, wet, irritated, cramped, blistered, cut but determined. Then Hurrah! (as they used to say). The point of the gaff found the entry to a gill and this time didn’t slip away but slid in. And that was it! Success!
Gingerly I levered the fish off the bottom of the loch, expecting it at any moment to slide off the hook and silently return to the depths from whence it came…..
And this was me and it on dry land at long last Loch Fyne and Buck Island in the background. THE TAY NEAR WEEM
The peace and calm of this scene reminds me 0f one of Corot’s paintings. What goes on inside a fisherman’s head as he gazes over the water, waiting for his line to suddenly tighten and snatch him out of his reverie?
Hard to imagine black thoughts in such a green place.
Two boys fishing in Tunisia
I didn’t like Tunisians overmuch – a land of obsessive carper-sellers, hostile students, children no doubt sent out by destitute parents but nevertheless children who wouldn’t take no for an answer
and no doubt the Tunisians didn’t like me/us very much either.
I thought this picture of the two Tunisian boys fishing said something about the different worlds they/we lived in