Edison
- Details
- Published on Saturday, 28 July 2012 09:33
- Written by Ken Brown
I suppose every pub or club has one, a regular of many years, known only by his nickname- and nobody can remember his real name.
At the hotel he was known as Edison, he had visited for the same two weeks in September for more years than anyone can remember. Paid cash, tipped well and had his own favourite spot on the loch, inevitably known as “Edison’s Bay”.
We called him Edison as he carried every fishing gadget known to man, many of which he had made or invented himself. He seemed proud of his toys and did not appear to resent his nickname, nor the gentle ribbing in the bar when yet another piece of expensive kit failed to improve his fishing.
He also fitted the caricature of the absent-minded professor, once turning up for breakfast in his pyjamas.
Many years ago, he was the first to turn up with GPS. It was about the size of a briefcase with a wee revolving satellite dish on the top. Trolling in the boat, he would plot the course and mark the spot when a fish was caught. Returning the next day he hunched over the little screen in the middle of the boat giving directions to the ghillie. “Another hundred yards south east, please, that’s where we got the big one yesterday.” The ghillie declined, pointing out that that would place them in Donald’s greenhouse.
His home made flip up Polaroids and flip down magnifiers made more sense, but the casting aids never worked. For a couple of years he brought some sort of sonar listening device, he would drop the probe into one of the pools, put on a muckle pair of headphones, twiddle a few knobs and then declare the number of salmon lying up. This actually seemed to work and other guests were keen to buy one of their own. Edison declined to give details, maintaining that its use was unsporting.
I only once saw him angry. Old age and fading eyesight were beginning to take their toll and he had begun to ask the ghillie to tie on his casts. A fine fish was on, but lost when the knot gave. He was furious, not with the ghillie but with himself and the passing of the years. He returned the next season with his latest idea. It looked like an old-fashioned cigarette case and opened the same way. In it, you placed a fly on its side in a holder, a slider pushed a wire threader through the hook eye and the tippet was easily passed through the loop and attached to a clip. The lid was closed and a button was pressed, a few seconds later the box was opened to reveal a perfect tucked, five turn, blood knot that only required tightening and trimming.
I have dabbled in the occasional bit of amateur magic and was quite convinced that this was some kind of trick, probably based on the Himber Wallet principle. This suspicion was quickly dispelled by using a fly that only I could have tied (i.e. a rubbish one) and my holding the end of the tippet that protruded from the box.
Demonstrated in the bar we were all convinced that this would make Edison a fortune but he (sensibly) refused to allow us too look too closely or explain how it worked.
That was two years ago, he returned last September with a pre-production model of his “Fly-Knotter” which he proudly passed around. Manufactured in China, of course, he had done a deal with an importer/distributor friend of his and it should launch in the UK this year, retailing at £19.99.
It will certainly make him a fortune, but rather late in life. Edison has trouble walking these days and wading is impossible. In his September fortnight he only managed a few hours on the river and a couple of mornings in the boat. The rest of the time was spent on his iPad in the bar dealing with the details of the product launch, planned for the first day of the broonie season. We wished him well and all placed orders.
After dinner on the his last night he stood up from the table and announced that he would reveal a secret- the launch is to take place at the hotel!
Sure enough an email was received from his importer friend two weeks ago asking me to give them a call. The call began with some confusion as I did not know Edison’s real name, but the guy on the other end of the line was somewhat tickled by the nickname, he had known Edison since they were in the forces together and thought our nickname perfect.
The news was not good though, Edison had passed away in December and this was to arrange his send-off. Edison had requested that his ashes be scattered in his favourite fishing spot. A dozen or so of his friends (he had no family) would travel north, have a small, private, service in the hotel dining room and then would I take one of them in the boat to the appointed spot and do the deed?
Of course I agreed.
Judging by the cars that arrived, Edison moved in well-heeled circles, nothing cheaper than a top-end BMW. Most of the company were in their 70’s or 80’s, two of them wore medal ribbons, one a vicar’s collar (for the service I presumed), but there was only one lady present.
As requested the service was private, then the cavalcade of cars drove to a point where they could see Edison’s Bay across the loch whilst the youngest of the company came with me in the boat.
Conversation in the boat was somewhat stilted, but I suggested that Edison’s “Fly-Knotter” would be a fitting legacy to a fine man. Sadly it seems that this might no longer happen, Edison’s secret went with him.
The ashes were duly scattered bringing a wry smile as a couple of fish rose to them, then we returned to the slipway and his car.
Saying our goodbyes I, once again stumbled over Edison’s real name and apologised profusely, he just laughed and pointed out that I had not asked his name so how would I forward the bill? “It’s Bond”, he said, “James Bond”.
Ken Brown drinks and fishes responsibly in Glen Garry, but having squandered his retirement fund on fishing tackle, is forced to eke out a meagre pension by selling Scottish Highland Art Prints.