Reality Check

These streams and lakes had mesmerized me as a toddler, the surface of the waters, the glimpses of mystery of those lives in the worlds below. Fishing: whether with gift shop nets or rods became the portal, a gateway, to glimpse these clandestine kingdoms and meet the mesmerizing creatures within.

Innocent encounters as a child with kindly older men, now all surely long passed on,  in those nearby valleys had held my first glimpses of precious looking, springy fly rods that seemed to quiver and pulse with a life of their own, cast impossible amounts of weightless line elegantly in the air above. These seniors old looking hands, weathered hands, experienced hands, reeling up trembling  live Char and Brown Trout from the secretive depths, or magicking them up from the boulders in a shallow seemingly lifeless run, then handling the fish assuredly with respect. And very young me had been infected by that bug and mesmerized with the lifelong love ofthose loops, a desire to create them. And now, having reached their age or beyond, I had returned to the source to prepare for the next stage. A piece of paper that says I can now pass these skills on. Another loop is formed.

It was calm; perfect; typically British; soft; dull; yet atmospheric. An autumnal day of low clinging clouds. When the rocks and pebbles, the fallen leaves, and mosses, richly lacquered with moisture, are now emanating hidden patterns, transmitting the richness of true colours within, that on this breezeless day in the delicate light would never dry out, nor dull.

When you can be bothered to take time to indulge your senses and just pause life for a precious while to scrutinize, the shades and hues of nature, bejeweled now, becomes a richertapestry, that you rediscover with each view.  

The kind of olden day in Albion when Arthur, broken and weary, had tossed away Excalibur, and retired to his fate. From the mist covered surface of calm waters, just like Grasmere today, apparently the slender arm of Viviane, the lady of the lake stretched up and took the sword from the air and down into the lake until England was again in need. Which must have been weird to witness!

I wasn’t ready to part for Avalon yet, nor ready for tossing out the Old Thomas and Thomas fly rod for the safe keeping in Grasmere lake.. Viv would have to hold on. 

I didn’t have a holy grail to quest for, but I did have a CI exam. Poetic endings would have to wait!

Roll casting I could never really do, I’d learnt it around the time I first learned to cast , but the lesson was convoluted and involved a series of sweeps and glides to end up in a position  which then produced from me, an over powered open loop that flopped down at best and went nowhere. For years I had resisted it except as a dire necessity. It felt awkward and clumsy and never gifted a satisfying outcome. Paul Arden had said “You can’t roll cast well with a TCR” in answer to a question. As that was my practice rod, I grabbed this little mantra, gratefully received as my get out of jail card.

Bizarrely I do a quite nifty move on the Brook at the start of every cast, dozens of times a night. Getting the line up at the end of a drift from either shoulder, plucking the resultant loopout of the air into a back cast then a shoot delivery…. But finding it so easy I never really thought of it as roll casting. It has the D loop, the anchor, the pitched-out rod tip following that anchor, but for some reason I had told myself I can’t roll cast… so this could not be it!

Then earlier this year at the Scottish game fair, playing around, jamming with casting on the platform with those three French musketeers, Laurent, Francois, and Jerome. I mentioned to Jerome this flaw in my armor, and he ridiculed it (nicely). And showed me that just using his thumb on the back of the handle, with a miniscule, little flick of rotation at the end of the cast and nothing else, the fly flew off in a tight loop a few rod lengths. Add a little translation to this sorcery and your roll casting 40’. Voila! (even with a TCR)

I’d been taught a complex and confusing set of moves to get to that crucial position... but not how to actually deliver. So simple when taught properly. I would never have considered the CI with that flaw, Jerome’s 5-minute lesson freed me up to move forward.

I’d not practiced roll cast for the exam on water and the first attempts at Grasmere, I soon had waterlogged yarn that kept pulling under. Today I came back with floatant and a renewed determination. Roll casting parallel with the bay rather than out into the lake and not a thought of back casting. I heard a voice call out “Blub Momblam blom flumph.”

I’m pretty sure that was it. Though I may have spelt it wrong.

I looked around, there was a mixed generational selection of human types all stood watching me. A pair of grandparents very much wrapped up in each other, keeping close and each other steady on the rutted footpath. A husband type, possibly son-in-law, who, was not so much surplus to requirements but looked to be feeling very much redundant and slightly apart from the group. And a very harangued and exhausted-looking young mum, who I guessed, after manipulating a push chair along the broken ground, was looking both relieved to have stopped and as far removed from being on a holiday as was possible. And central to it all in the chair, the nucleus of this group. a young lad of maybe 3 .

“Aur-flop flabpuph!” he announced sagely, straight in my direction.

“Hello are you offering me advice. I’m not quite sure what you’re saying I’m afraid.”

I looked to the Mum and said... “Could you interpret for me please?”

“He’s saying put it out into the lake” he’s thinking you’re doing it wrong.

Wow they are starting these casting instructors young these days, but just as withering and Bolshy as the older ones.

“Oh great. Thank you. Your right of course.”  I said looking at Junior. “I’m doing it all wrong.”

I did a little switch and then roll cast straight out.

“Is that what you mean?” I got a chuckle, Mum pleaded she was sorry to disturb me.

“No, it’s fine”.

I lifted up into a superfluous and showy snake roll and sent the line off to the side again to continue the manoeuvre.

There was a shuffle behind, junior was trying to clamber out of the chair while mum was battling to keep him back.

“It’s fine don’t worry”

I dropped down to my knees and offered the rod back towards junior “Would you like to hold the rod…. Don’t worry mum there is no hook on it!”

“He might break it!”

“No he won’t, he’ll be just fine”

Reluctantly she let him come down and he toddled over the narrow shingle bank of the lake shore. This was a leap of faith for her. I kept my body between him and the lake and sank down lower in my haunches, till we were eye level.

He came up and held the handle and dropped the tip, concentrating on holding it tight with both hands. He was struggling.

“Ooh is it a bit heavy for you ? Let’s get rid of the handle and that silly reel and play with the fun bits”.

Splitting the rod in two I gave him the top two sections and a few yards of line and tippet and hid the bottom sections out of harm’s way behind my back.

I showed him a little roll cast and then he started flipping out the fluff a few feet into the lake.

I glanced back and grandparents were now watching closely with smiles; dad had settled on a nearby log or boulder and was watching relieved. Mum however was still grabbing the buggy, white knuckled and looking uncomfortable. I checked back on him and kept him within grabbing distance if he needed steadying and looked back and silently mouthed to her.

“Don’t worry, he’s fine.”  

She gave a nervous nod.  For a few minutes we played flicking the fluff out and drawing back autumn leaves.  Soon he lost patience with my flicks and attempts at fun and became absorbed in his own game, far beyond my understanding to know the rules or keep up. So I drew back a little and just gave him my reactions and encouragement.

I turned again; mum was at last liberated from the push chair. She was stood arms crossed leaning against the trunk of the nearby tree now. Her head up, cocked to the side, resting it on the shoulder of the old tree and now smiling down at her boy. I kept up some idle chatter and encouragement as he concentrated on his game. I looked back and caught mum looking across at the mountains opposite taking in the autumn colours, no doubt with the dead calm, noticing the amazing mirror affect. I checked across where her gaze was, it was a pretty special view of gentle mountains down the valley in perfect reflection. I was so glad we’d gifted her this moment.

It seemed at last she was on vacation. Up until now she probably had just felt the same constant un-remitting drain of her that happened back at home. She could be anywhere, the relentless call for attention and her weary ever-watchful eyes. On the local streets, in the park, and at the supermarkets, at the doctor’s surgery waiting room, constantly feeling judged on her ability as a first time mother, when each day she was winging it; learning on the job, and trying her desperate, exhausted best.

Warily grabbing moments of respite when life offered them up, like now . There is no job more full time and consuming than a young mum of a boy. Dad one day will be the focus of his attention, and she may come to resent that, but those days of let-up were to come.

It was his world to discover and figure out, he was the centre of it, and mum he demanded was his companion and sometimes frustration through it.

I took off my Australian bushman’s hat and put it on his head; he didn’t miss a beat. “There you go you’re really a fishermannow”.  More for the adults benefit I realised and kind of regretted showing off, I think the grandparents took a picture, I’d love to have got it.

After about 15mins the game with the rod tip was getting a little more aggressive, and I pictured the scene if it snapped and how I would hope to find a replacement as I had honed all my practice on this particular blank. My legs unaccustomed to kneeling so long were killing me, I could feel stones digging in to Boney knee caps.

“I think I need to go back home now” I announced, “ My dinner will be ready and I’ve got a rumbly tummy that’s getting grumpy with me.”

I took my hat off him and put it back on my head.

To my surprise the rod was given up easily and he trundled back to mum and the push chair with no fuss.  I was really pleased when I found a small bit of smooth wooden flotsam on the shore that looked a bit like a fish, I took it up and gave it to him. “Look here’s that fish you caught”. He tossed it aside with a grunt, and gave me a withering look. Mum looked embarrassed, I just chuckled. “Whoops misjudged that one!”

With thankyous and smiles from all the adults, and we went our separate ways. I turned back to look at the family group. Grandparents wrapped up in each other, gingerly leading the way, Husband in the middle ground looking out of place again, and her behind pushing the buggy. She looked back and caught my gaze.

“Thankyou” she silently mouthed, smiled, and nodded her head

“You’re welcome” I mouthed back and nodded mine in return.

Who gives a shit about an exam really? It’s encounters like this that count in life! Whether the young lad will ever become a fisherman who knows. it would be great to think I’d given back what I was once gifted here, but he was probably too young to grasp it yet. But for some young mum we briefly managed to free the chains, raise a smile, and give her the feeling like she was on a vacation too, and that short walk to the lower shore of the lake would be a little less onerous now.  

The stress of my last few days practice lifted.  Linnear translations, Arcs matching stroke lengths and all those bollocks now seemed quite petty and insignificant as more balanced reflections returned.

“It’s just fly casting and an end of a period of learning, it’s not going to define me in anyone’s eyes, I’ll still be that short scruffy, grumpy, northern bugger; meandering through existence while having a life-long bad hair day!”. Aint nothing going to change that world! 

Thank goodness I had a fly rod with me today; life so often is sweet with this strange companion. Even when you’re not using it for fishing.

Hope you all have a grand week in sexyloops land