I usually rip Dave continually about his love of fishing. None more so than when I suggested that he get a tattoo of a rod on his back, a line down his arm and a fish on his foot so he could experience his hobby everywhere he went. However, I’m a fair guy and I’ll give anything a try, so I gave him today to convince me that the sport wasn’t completely boring.
As much as it pains me to admit it, it was actually somewhat alright.
Now, I don’t think I’ll ever be fishing obsessed. I can’t ever imagine myself reading books about insects and tying bits of coloured thread to tiny gold hooks. Or subscribing to Fly, Rod and Reel magazine for the latest tips and tricks. Or enthusing about the latest piece of angling equipment that I’ve wasted my money on just to boost my chances of catching carp in a river in Scotland in November. Which is probably all inaccurate, but that just shows you how much I care.
In fact, I’m someone much more likely to want to ignore etiquette, and start using some of that fish pheromone Dave and I picked up in America to make things a whole lot easier. Because at the end of the day, catching fish is fun. Especially when you’re a hot-blooded testosterone-fueled male with a lust for blood. And dead fish.
Today we only managed to catch one fish between us. Amusingly, it was when Dave came over to tell me to take a ten minute break, because my attempts at casting had the word “failure” written in a mess of fishing line on the water. Of course, as soon as Dave grabbed the rod to show me the error of my ways, a rainbow trout with a keen sense of irony decided to bite. It reminded me a little of the time when my Dad decided to show me how to mow the lawn properly, and promptly ran over the cable.
Sadly, that was it for the day and all the excitement had disappeared before lunch. Still, there’s enough blood lust left in me to want to go again. Probably with some stun grenades. I’ve heard they work well.
I’m up for the stun grenade approach! – can you bring some?