The Magician
- Details
- Published on Wednesday, 21 November 2012 11:46
- Written by Norman Morrow
Before the advent of Carbon Fibre many game fishing tackle shops were quite different than those of to-day. The banter was the same, the stories and the shameless exaggerations were the same but the clientele was mostly drawn from certain levels of society.
This story is from a long established fishing shop, the better type of shop you know, where the better class angler ensured the mahogany counters had a permanent gleam. The world of Hardy Rods and glittering display cases, all geared to the desires and wallets of gentleman anglers.
One regular, not so well pursed angler visited such a shop each week to purchase a single fly. He was renowned for his catching abilities, and came to be christened ‘The Magician’ by one of the shops owners. As word of his ability to catch trout in even the most difficult of conditions spread, his reputation grew in stature and mystique till the legend became much greater than the man.
Each time that he visited, the box containing his preferred and only fly was laid ceremoniously on the counter. He would deftly sort through the flies until a half dozen or so were laid in a small pile, and more often than not, he had a small audience as he did so. Each from the pile was examined in great detail, held to the light. Often he would walk to the front door so he could better examine it in daylight. All the while, his rituals would be observed by the other customers, speaking quietly amongst themselves whilst the Magician held centre stage.
Having made his selection he would light a cigarette, taking a strong pull, he then blew on the tip till it glowed strongly. Then he proceeded to singe the fly. Satisfied with his work he would pull a coin from his sparse purse and pay for the fly and bid all a good day. Many an angler sought his council, Doctors, Judges, Barristers and even the Bishop, but he remained elusive and mysterious.
On leaving the shop the assembled audience would rush to the counter and try and grab the remaining flies he had left in a small pile, assuming they were nearly as good as the one he had just picked. It is said that many offered what for him would have been serious money for the method of burning the fly but he always replied that he had made a pact with the devil and could not reveal its secret.
Many years later after the Magician had departed this world, the shop owner revealed the reason why he called him the Magician. He had come to notice, that his stocks of that particular fly never balanced. Eventually he realised that the old codger was somehow pocketing quite a few each time he went through his little fly picking ceremony. For many years he watched and watched but could never quite see how he did it, and even if he had he would have said nought for the sales of that fly were incredible. It was also rumoured that nearly every trout angler in the locality took up smoking.
If you fish a certain river on a moonlit night and get a waft of cigarette smoke on the gentle breeze, and hear trout fighting an unseen rod, go home for you will catch little, whilst the Magician and his friend the devil ply their craft.