Happy Fly Fishers, Sad Polar Bears, Indifferent Rhinos
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- Published on Saturday, 21 November 2009 14:43
- Written by John Dunipace
John Dunipace explains why fly fishing is good for you.
As a 12 year old boy in 1976, the east end of Glasgow was magical place to be. No really. With a seemingly endless supply of sunshine and the freedom to roam, the only fly in my gink was the threat of a charging bull rhinoceros.
The spirit of adventure is strong, however, in a 12 year old boy, especially when in the company of chanting mates and 12 year old girls. So keen was I to impress that even a charging ton-plus herbivore would, in all likelihood, be viewed as an opportunity for kudos rather than an opportunity for impalement and a spectacular death. Such is the power of the peer and the mighty horn(s). In truth, the rhinos we encountered in the summer of ’76 in Calderpark Zoo never actually charged at us as we ‘skipped in’ through their enclosure. Too busy eating the ground as I recall. Hang on though, they could have! I know this because they were housed in a relatively big enclosure compared, at least, to most of the other beasts in the zoo. Like my 12 year old pals and I, this gave them plenty of room to behave in a manner natural to them. So from time to time this would surely include rushing the odd trespasser - don’t you think?
If only the same could be said of the zoo’s solitary polar bear - poor thing. In the event that we weren’t ejected by one of the 16 year old keepers (affectionately known to us as s**t shovellers for obvious reasons) the first thing we’d do was head for the polar bear enclosure to see how its mental illness was progressing. And sure enough, Calderpark’s demented polar bear would be standing at the bottom of its pit in the usual spot; at the edge of a stagnant pool on a lump of concrete decorated with blue-green algae and surrounded by rusty Coca-Cola can missiles. Enjoy Coca-Cola? Not bloody likely! The big dirty yellow bear would face the wall (impossible for it not to) and sway its head from side to side, hour after hour, day after day and week after... well you get the picture. Even my 12 year old eyes could see how seriously disturbed this creature had become after a spell living in a pen that could be comfortably Axminstered without a join or a tea break, by a lone-working carpet fitter. It was clear to me that such a magnificent beast shouldn’t live out its days in a concrete bowl in Glasgow’s east end; an environment that only a spotty skateboarder would feel at home in. I’m certain that the capture of a s**t shoveller at his or her breathing hole (read smoking area) would have lifted the sad polar bear’s spirits and improved its mental health no end. Sadly, Calderpark’s management knew this too well and so the s**t shovellers were employed at a young age, while still sprightly and sufficiently self-conscious to know at all times who, if anyone, was checking them out. Shame that!
I’m aware that you’ll be wondering by now what possible link this excerpt from an early stravaig, during a misspent youth, can have to our beloved fly fishing. So I’ll make the leap before I lose you. Despite my sympathy for the plight of Auld Yella from Calderpark Zoo, the current fashion for protecting an animal’s freedom to behave in a natural way troubles me a bit. Don’t misunderstand me; I agree strongly that bears should be free to behave like bears. I’ve got absolutely no beef with legislation that helps to ensure that they can do their ‘business’ in the woods either and I’d be the first person to confiscate the Charmin toilet tissue from a bear with ideas above its station. The way I see it, if I can get by on a dockleaf then so can a hairy-arsed bear! It’s just that I’m feeling a little left out and unprotected. You see, I think our first priority is to make sure that we - you know humans - are happy and can behave in a way that meets our needs. And to do this we need to accept and, horror of horrors, embrace the nature of our own species, including those characteristics that have become unfashionable in recent years. I’m talking of the hunter-gatherer in us all, which for millennia has led to behaviour patterns that have enabled us to successfully over-populate our planet and which continue to drive us to look for prey in an increasingly developed world; even although we no longer need to do so to sustain ourselves - fly fishing anyone? Human females seem to get along better without hunting, perhaps because their drive to ‘gather’ is stronger - shoe shops anyone? Whole industries have emerged to satisfy this need. Tokens can be earned by doing abstract tasks, such as typing letters or driving buses and they can be swapped at a supermarket for creatively packaged fish in the shape of orange fingers. And the beauty in this is that we don’t even need to concern ourselves with the welfare of these fish while they are reared, or after they’ve been captured. Even better, there’s no need to dwell on the fact that we are killing by proxy every time we hunker down to eat them. Yet I worry for our mental health, particularly for the male of the species. A few generations as urban dwelling industrialists and consumers of animal flavoured snacks hasn’t, for many of us, diminished our natural drive to immerse ourselves in our wild areas and seek out prey on our own. The modern lifestyle is a time consuming distraction that leaves us with a void, which therapists, iPods, flat screen televisions and boil-in-the-bag cod in butter sauce just can’t fill. Sadly some find comfort in a bottle, but for others the discovery of fly fishing provides a decent antidote to socially constructed routine and the monotony of the modern world. To truly benefit from fly fishing however, like the indifferent rhino eating a hole in Lanarkshire, we need to develop a thick skin and learn to ignore the criticism of those who don’t like what we do. These metrocentrics are hell-bent on changing what they perceive to be the bad and brutal behaviour of weird country folk, with scant regard for our culture or heritage. We must resist the temptation to explain ourselves to such people and, God forbid, apologise for our behaviour any more than a polar bear would apologise to a third party for pulling a seal from a breathing hole onto the ice. We shouldn’t feel guilty either about experiencing a sense of satisfaction from a tug on the fly line, because it’s altogether natural to become emotional and feel happy when we are successful in our endeavours. A rise to our fly is grounds for celebration not rebuke and in the final analysis it makes no difference if our prize is returned to the water or ends up replacing the orange fingers in our freezer. After all, there’s no harm in the judicious harvesting fish stocks. What matters is our freedom to behave in a way that is natural to us. And while it’s true that not all humans will recognise in themselves a drive to find prey, they must be afforded the freedom to do so if the urge takes them. Abstinence is their choice, just as some people choose to not to eat meat for health reasons, to adhere to a religious doctrine or to become fashionably anti-establishment. I’m thinking here of that other ton-plus herbivore from within our own species, the ‘Anti’, who while enjoying the human right to act in a way that feels natural, nevertheless seeks to deny others the same freedom. To justify this position the Anti simply convinces herself that roaming rivers and lochs in pursuit of prey fish is not species appropriate behaviour. Wrong! We’ve been making fish hooks from animal bones since well before the druids at Stonehenge even knew they were tree hugging hippies. It’s not only appropriate; it’s at the heart of who we are as human beings. If we accept that all animals have a basic right be free to exhibit natural behaviour, then we too have this right. Don’t we? And with this the Anti’s arguments, designed around anthropomorphic dogs and such like, which come to our television screens begging for money, complete with first names and human personalities, are redundant.
I’m reconciled to the nature of humanity and, despite this, reject a future as a pseudo-herbivore. I never was any good at pretending anyway. The so-called Anti has no right to lead me, or my species down this path. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not comparing myself to a wild polar bear, but it is possible that in the future I could resemble a broken down Glaswegian one - less hair and bulk obviously, but with a taste for blubbery puddin’ suppers and a predilection for depression in the closed season. So, if in the years to come you happen upon an old chap on the edge of a stream, staring at a rise while swaying aimlessly from side to side like one of those bloody dogs on the parcel shelf of a car, please stop and say hello. You’ll recognise him as a fly fisher, but he’ll not be wearing waders or carrying a rod. The look in his eyes as he anticipates the next rise will tell you that before he was shackled by legislation he was once free. He could probably do with some like-minded company to talk to about the good old days when his right to indulge his instinctive behaviour was sacrosanct and as important as a bear’s right to sh*t in the woods and a brown trout’s right to sh*t in the weeds - unmolested by their natural predators.
John Dunipace born in Glasgow and educated at the University of Strathclyde, has been fly fishing for trout on rivers and lochs for around 20 years. When not doing ‘married with children’ related tasks he can usually be found flogging the water on the upper reaches of his home river, or satisfying his leather fetish by riding sports bikes around Europe. He has moved on from several occupations over the years and, as a result, been described as a graphic artist, a welfare rights worker, a voluntary sector manager and a local authority officer. He has a fondness for teaching adults in the community and lecturing in further education colleges; due mainly to the attraction of having a captive audience, who unlike his children, are motivated to listen to his blethering. He also has a keen interest in equalities and inclusion issues and currently manages an organisation providing sign language interpretation.