The White Heat Of Angling Technology
- Details
- Published on Tuesday, 02 October 2007 11:34
- Written by Bruce Sandison
My friend Jim was in the stern, I was at the sharp end. Murdo Sutherland, our gillie, was poised to launch us afloat on Loch Hope. "Murdo," said my companion, "before we begin I must warn you that you are going out with a novice.
A man who barely knows one end of a fishing rod from the other," Murdo smiled.
"Now don't you bother about that, I'll take good care of you.
" "It's not me I'm talking about!" Jim replied, smugly, "Its him," he said pointing at me. "Nice one, Jim," I muttered through gritted teeth. "Wish I had thought of that." "You will, Bruce, you will" came the sharp rejoinder.
Having a sense of humour is as important as having a fishing rod when angling in the far north. A sense of humour, and a rhinoceros-thick skin, is essential if you hope to survive for half a microsecond with some of my angling friends. I wish it no other way. Banter and backchat is far more important than catching fish. Some of the most memorable days I have spent have been fishless, but unforgettably packed with incident and laughter. Tales and stories of ones that got away and of a few that didn't. Happy evenings spent with like-minded companions.
However, when the talk turns to the relative merits of fast sinking, high density fishing lines, dog noblers and bite indicators, I turn off, completely. Technical innovation in angling leaves me cold. It may ding tackle shop cash registers but in my view it is of little real value to man's proper function in life, which is the removal of trout from their natural habitat. The bottom line is a bent pin and a garden cane. All else is window dressing, a device for extracting cash from punters. Well, I think that it is.
My first clash with white heat technology was on the shores of Loch Watten in Caithness. I was out with a rather smart couple, both ex air-force officers, and, being a decent sort, I put up the lady's rod. I was carefully threading the line through the rings and had discovered some sort of plastic sleeve at the end. Grunting a bit about people who don't tidy their gear properly at the end of the day, I bit it off. She howled. "What have you done? That was my cast connector!" Cast connector? I had never heard of such a thing, let alone seen one. I make a loop in a piece of nylon, to begin constructing my cast, then tie it directly on to the end of the line using a figure-of-eight knot. I grovelled in the car park searching for the missing vital plastic sliver.
Fishing rods have become status symbols. Some makes cost upwards of £800 a throw, although many of those who buy them can barely throw a line across the room. Then, of course, there is the 'man who has everything'. You know who I mean. Mention dapping, and at the drop of a half hitch he is proudly advancing across the lawn with his pride and joy, a 'proper' dapping rod, at least 25ft long. Avoid talking about anything piscatorially antique to them. These people invariably have several cabinets full of the stuff and they just know you would love to see it.
They arrive at river or loch looking like the angling version of the famous Punch cartoon, which shows how the military outfitter thinks a First World War officer should appear, equipped and dressed for the trenches. I know anglers who regularly lug along everything bar the kitchen sink. Boat rod, boat seat, single handed and double handed rods, dapping rod. A phalanx of reels fitted out with various lines for various occasions. Neoprene body waders, thigh boots as well, hats ridiculous, full length jacket and short version wading jacket. Landing net, wading staff and life jacket. And that's is just the start. There then follows a dozen fly boxes containing several million flies, assorted pre-tied casts in assorted breaking strain strengths of nylon.
Dry fly floatant, pliers, scissors, priest, trusty all purpose knife, suntan lotion, insect repellent, Polaroid glasses, camera, lenses and film, binoculars, and, once, even an altimeter. And, of course, lunch, both liquid and the other. By the time they get themselves sorted out the day is generally half gone and very few that I meet have the faintest idea of how to use half their tackle. For them, buying the product seems to be enough. Having done so, having spent the cash, they imagine they will be automatically and miraculously transformed into better anglers.
Sorry, but it doesn't work like that.
Bruce Sandison is a writer and journalist and author of nine books, including the definite anglers' guide, 'The Rivers and Lochs of Scotland' which is being revised and updated prior to republishing.
He contributed to 'Trout & Salmon' for 25 years and was angling correspondent for 'The Scotsman' for 20 years. Sandison writes for the magazine 'Fly Fishing and Fly Tying' and provides a weekly angling column in the 'Aberdeen Press & Journal'.
His work, on angling, Scottish history and environmental subjects, has appeared in most UK national papers, including 'The Sunday Times', 'The Telegraph', 'The Daily Mail', 'The Herald', 'Private Eye', 'The Field' and in a number of USA publications.
Sandison has worked extensively on BBC Radio. His series 'Tales of the Loch' ran for 5 years on Radio Scotland and was also broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and on BBC World Service. His series, 'The Sporting Gentleman's Gentleman' and his programme 'The River of a Thousand Tears', about Strathnaver, established his reputation as a broadcaster.
Sandison has had extensive coverage on television. He wrote and presented two series for the BBC TV Landward programme and has given a number of interviews over the years on factory-forestry, peat extraction, wild fish conservation and fish farming.
Sandison is founding chairman of 'The Salmon Farm Protest Group', an organisation that campaigns for the removal of fish farms from Scottish coastal and freshwater lochs where disease and pollution from these farms is driving wild salmonid populations to extinction.
Bruce Sandison won 'Feature Writer of the Year' in the Highlands and Islands Press Awards in 2000 and in 2002, and was highly commended in 2005. Bruce lives near Tongue in Sutherland with his wife Ann.