Pride goeth before a fall!

[Guest Mike Connor]

Never had many falls. One very bad fall on the rocks on the coast of

Denmark, where I damn near broke my knee, and had to crawl to the car, which

was miles away. Apart from that a few good soakings is all really. I did

once see a most spectacular fall though.

 

Some friends and I were fishing for cod in winter, from a stone jetty in the

North Sea ,on the North east coast of England, at a place called

Scarborough. It was early January, and freezing cold, well below zero, odd

flakes of snow were swirling about. We had caught a few fish, and were

hoping for more on the receding tide. We had clubbed together to make the

trip up the coast in a small and extremely unreliable bus belonging to one

of the group. Nowadays I would think twice about fishing under such

conditions, my vastly improved gear notwithstanding, but at the time it was

a fairly common occurrence.

 

The jetty platform was about twenty feet above the sea, and the waves were

battering in with ferocious intensity, and a lot of noise, the spray often

shooting over the jetty and soaking us. The occasionally really big wave

actually mounting the jetty itself, and causing us to retreat rapidly from

the extreme end now and again. Conversation was more or less impossible due

to the wind and waves, and we communicated by yelling at each other when

necessary. We all wore heavy oilskins and sou´westers. Around the perimeter

of the jetty was a length of black chain, with curious diamond shaped black

links, just a bit higher than adult knee height, presumably designed to stop

children getting too close to the perimeter in summer.

 

Anyway, we had been fishing for quite a while, and just after high tide,

when it was pitch dark, a gentleman hitherto unknown to us arrived, lit a

tilley lamp, and then set up a very long beachcaster. He went through all

the motions of setting up the rest of his gear by the light of the tilley

lamp, and then had his first standing overhead cast.

 

We were very grateful for the light given by the tilley, most of us had only

torches, and a couple had headlamps. Tilley lamps were a luxury few of us

could afford at that time, and even fewer could afford a beach caster of

such quality. I remember it was a Hardy rod, and was fitted with a beautiful

ABU multiplier. I don´t even know if Hardy still make beachcasters. I have a

few ABU multipliers.

 

Unusually, the gent did not attempt to strike up a conversation at all, not

even a yelled greeting, although this was standard practice on meeting other

fishermen in the middle of night in winter. We left him to his own devices,

thinking perhaps he would socialise a bit later.

 

Obviously being of a somewhat impatient nature, and although he had not had

a bite, it was not long before he reeled in again, and made preparations for

another cast.

 

He walked slowly back about fifteen paces or so, got the beach caster "at

the ready", and then taking a long run up, he gave a mighty heave for a

gargantuan overhead cast, there was a strange "hissing" noise, the chain

rattled, he appeared to "bounce" once and he then disappeared over the end

of the jetty, straight into the raging sea twenty feet below.

 

At first we were too paralysed at this remarkable turn of events to even

react, but after a few seconds of stunned amazement, one of the lads started

laughing hysterically and very loudly, and this finally galvanised us into

action, somebody ran to one of the lockers at the top of the jetty, and

found a lifebelt and some rope.

 

Using this, we pulled him out fairly quickly, risking life and limb

ourselves hanging from the chain, and getting thoroughly soaked into the

bargain, as the bloody rope was far too short. Although he was blue with

cold, and his hands and knees were very badly scraped, as was his face, from

which he was bleeding quite badly in several places, presumably from being

dragged over the chain, hitting the stone jetty and then trying to hold onto

the rocks at the bottom as the tide pulled him out again, he still had a

firm hold of his rod.

 

He was unable to speak, as apart from the cold, he had obviously bashed his

chin rather badly as he had hit the jetty full force after tripping over the

chain, before disappearing over the edge, and he was carted off to hospital

in double quick time, an ambulance arriving fairly quickly after one of the

lads had run down to a telephone box at the end of the jetty to call one.

 

Two of us visited him in hospital the following morning after fishing, and

took his gear round to his address for him afterwards, he lived in the town.

His wife was at the hospital when we got there, and she was in a terrible

state.

 

He really did look an awful mess lying in bed. His face was swollen to

unrecognisable proportions, and he had been stitched up in several places,

his hands lying on the bedcovers were also heavily bandaged. He had been

incredibly lucky, and he knew it, as did we. If he had gone in at any time

other than high tide, he would simply have been swept away immediately, with

absolutely no chance whatever, as it was , it was more or less a miracle

that we had managed to pull him out so quickly.

 

Myself and three of the other lads met him one more time at his home about

six weeks later. He looked none the worse for wear, and joked about going

"midnight bathing" and various other stuff. His wife offered us the

obligatory tea and biscuits, and thanked us profusely for helping, most

embarrassing really, and a matter of course in any case.

 

He had gone into early retirement several months before it seems, and this

had been his first trip with his new beachcaster. He wanted to give us some

money, but we declined, and then he went out to his garage, and came back

with a bundle of gear and the tilley lamp. he insisted that we accept

something. As his wife had forbidden him to go fishing under those

conditions ever again, and so he would not need the gear. I

 

got the tilley lamp. My elder brother still has it, although it has not

been used for nearly thirty years now. My elder brother no longer fishes in

winter due to ill health. I can no longer remember what the other lads got,

in fact sitting and thinking about it, I can only remember two of the other

lads names now, as they were regular fishing partners. When I get to

England again I will have to look them up, and swap reminiscences. We went

fishing all over the place, under the most atrocious conditions, and we

would have a lot to talk about.

 

I never saw the gent who fell in again, although I visited the house once

when I was in England quite a number of years ago, but the couple did not

live there anymore, or perhaps they had passed away. The people living there

did not know them anyway.

 

Sometimes I wish I had sat down after every single fishing trip and written

the details down so that I would not forget them. There was something

memorable about practically every trip, although not often quite so

spectacular as that one. The trip remains firmly entrenched in memory for

the reasons outlined above, and also because the bloody bus broke down on

the North York Moors on the way home, in the middle of a blizzard, and we

had to walk through deep snow for what seemed like an age until we reached a

pub. The cost of transporting the bus back to our friends, also put paid to

any long distance trips for a while, but that of course is another story

altogether.

 

TL

MC