You can laugh about it now, but....

[Guest Roy Meincken]

What about those occasions that you look back on and laugh now, but were a bit dodgy at the time. For example:

A bit of a long one, but (in all modesty) maybe worth reading.

 

Well it all happened about three years ago. As a 40th birthday present, my best fishing mate, who to protect the innocent we shall call Martin Porter, arranged for a week’s fishing on the River Nith, just outside Dumfries.

 

Our cottage was located at the top end of a small track, which wound downhill slightly to the river, passing fields and farms. For the first two days we would stroll casually past these fields nodding our morning greetings to the cattle therein. No problem and all was well with the world.

 

On the third day routine was changed somewhat by the necessity for me and one other gent to go into town on an errand. Upon returning from town, I put the rabbit casserole into a slow oven, (that’s another story) and made my way to the river to catch up with the others. Whilst passing one of the fields closest to and running parallel to the river, I spotted one of the “cows” heaving itself up off its haunches. I was just beginning to think how bloody large this beast and wonder why it was dragging a bag of grapefruits behind it when it started to amble then trot and finally charge full-tilt in my direction. Now, on my left I have the river, on my right this field with the devil incarnate steaming in my direction. Oh, it’s OK, there’s a barbed wire fence between me and it!! Of course, I ran like hell. Just as fast as my legs would carry me, which at the best of times is “not very”. Particularly whilst wearing chest waders. Well anyway, the beast must have lost interest somewhere along the way, because when I turned to look back it was taking an interest in one of the other cows.

 

This terrifying experience was related to Martin, who, of course like any self-respecting “mate”, proceeded to mock and take the ****. Oh sod it, thought I, no sympathy here, so I got on with the fishing for remainder of the day. Can you guess what’s coming?

 

Upon completion of the day’s “Water-whipping”, the four of us stood about smoking & chatting for a while, then proceeded along the path, single file, back in the direction of the cottage. Where’s this alleged Bull then, Meincken? Looking to my left, I once again saw the great creature rising to his feet in the far distance. Martin, (countryman and expert on all things rural) began saying things like “it’s OK mate, don’t worry” but his words drifted into the ether as the distance between us increased, my legs pumping like made for the second time that day. At this stage, there was some kind of wire fence between us an “IT” and also the aforementioned barbed wire fence. The bull crossed the field at about 30 MPH, stuck it’s mighty head under the wire fence and proceeded to pop the stakes out of the ground. Fence demolished, it continued in our direction toward the very fragile looking BW fence. Suddenly, this green thing flew past me at about 29MPH, dragging various items of fishing gear behind it. Yes friends, Martin had made the Olympic qualifying speed for the 400 metres.

 

The bull, by this time had managed to entangle itself in the barbed wire, thrashing and snorting, bellowing and hollering. Our escape was made good. Later, over dinner, Martin recalled his thoughts at the time. “I knew I didn’t need to outrun the bull Roy, I just need to outrun you!”

 

Of such things true friendships are made.

 

 

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[Guest Cliff]

The first time I went pike fishing was with a mate of mine called Ian. We went to Esthwaite water in the lakes, on a frosty & freezing cold November day.

But we were well prepared to face the elements, or so we thought.

We were both kit out with cold weather clothing & even had a little gas stove, so we could make bacon butties & a cuppa.

 

The one thing we had forgot was matches!!!

 

My pal Ian had a hand warmer and we thought we could light the stove from it's embers, but try as we might the chances of a bacon butty & a much needed hot drink were fading fast.

Just at this point two elderley ramblers appeared in the distance.

My pal Ian, who stands well over six foot tall & was wearing an all in one thermal suit, decided to run over to the ramblers to scrounge a match.

As he ran towards them he was shouting & waving in an attempt to attract their attention.

It would seem the sight of a six foot, 17 stone guy running at you from the bushes must be a terrifying sight because the ramblers turned tail & ran.

We never lit the stove, nor did we catch any pike, but the sight of the two ramblers legging it will always live on.

I think it's from incidents like this that Bigfoot stories are born!!!!!!

[Guest Ian Cresswell]

Well what a topical posting And there was me chuckling at Roy's misfortunes only a few hours ago.

 

I've just spent the last few hours stuffing PVA net with trout pellets in an attempt to get some much needed preparation done for a 4 day carping session next week.

 

I always find preparation to be a hell of a chore and so I made myself a strong restorative coffee which was placed well away from the PVA just in case of spillages.

 

I was numb with boredom and one of the bags split whilst I was filling it. I should have been paying more attention to what I was doing I suppose. The contents ended up all over the kitchen floor, work surfaces and in just about every imaginable nook and cranny.

 

After much cussing, sweeping and grubbing around I decided it was time to enjoy my Java and take a short break.

 

Again, being very careful not to get the now warm coffee anywhere near the PVA, I took my first mouthful of the much needed (& favourite) beverage.

 

What happened next can only be described as a single example of Satan's Special Envoy to Fishing's vilest and most vindictive work.

 

A few microseconds after taking my first thirsty gulp I realised that something was desperately wrong.

 

I don't have the vocabulary to properly describe the taste of the floating oily sludge that trout pellets produce when they're immersed in strong warm coffee.

 

Now ask yourself what your first reaction would be ... empty mouth bloody quickly right? Does the direction that you're facing matter a jot at that point in time?

 

There aren't any prizes for guessing the 'random' direction of the hastily ejected fluid. I was admiring the fruits of my labours at the time.

 

I can still see it all in slow motion ... a pile of 20 or so carefully filled tangerine size PVA nets hit full on ... bullseye!!! No survivors ...

 

In every sense that's an experience that leaves a very bad taste in my mouth.

 

It serves me right for laughing at Roy I suppose.

 

Ian.

[Guest Gaffer]

Hi all, about 5 years ago a mate and I fished a local day ticket water.

We arrived at 5.30am and it was still pitch black.

We trudged our tackle around to the far side of the lake opposite the car park.

After setting up my mate made his first cast to the Island margin, which is in the middle of the lake, at about 75 yrds.

He lined up his cast, then CRACK!, the bailarm closed and a 3oz lead was now heading over the island towards the carpark.

SMASH!, the lead had travelled the 170yrds to the carpark opposite....whoops!

It was still quite dark and there was noway anyone could have seen where the lead came from.

We continued to fish until 5pm, packed away and made our way back to the carpark.

When we arrived at the carpark we scanned the 20 or so cars for damage, but could not see any.

We chucked the gear into the boot of my mates car and jumped in giggling nervously, we had got away with it!

It was then that we realised what had happened as we both sat in glass from the broken windscreen!..Doh!

It was a cold, drafty and speechless drive home.

All the best,

Gaffer.