Ok! Ok! I’ll admit here and now that I’m most probably doing J.D. Salinger a disservice by making a parody of the title of his American classic but it lends itself rather well to a recent experience three of us had whilst out fishing for the day so I’m going to go ahead and use it anyway.
Walking along the bank of the river I and my companion chanced upon a loan individual sat on the edge of the bank, feet dangling off it, eyes staring into the gin clear water as if it were the abyss. Such was the expression on his face you will excuse me for saying it at this point but it were as if Norman Maclean had this chap in mind when he penned the phrase “haunted by waters” as he looked just that. Now I know for a fact having seen it myself some nine months ago that there is a large brown trout of about 3.5 pounds that lives in this particular section of the river and the chap we were engaging in conversation had just managed to raise this leviathan to a CDC quill pattern of the variety demonstrated by Jeremy Lucas in Fly-Fishing and Fly-Tying. It transpired that this brownie had put up a good scrap and that the angler had managed to get it to the edge of the bank where his lack of a landing net had been his undoing and the fish had let itself off just as the angler had got a hand to it.
Whilst this tale was being told a further less scrupulous angler turned up and without saying a word began casting not ten feet away from where David had almost slain Goliath. As we watched this upstart arrogate our downhearted Tykes spot a tiny trout detached itself from the riverbed to take a fly off the surface. Our bandit angler seeing the rise cast to the fish and the trout rose again to take the fly with confidence, the bandit lifted into it so violently that the trout was pulled clean out of the water and over our heads to land with a thud on the flood embankment behind us. The fish was no more than 4 inches in length but had somehow managed to survive the ordeal, dazed from the experience it was unceremoniously thrown back into the river by the bandit angler where it was quickly washed away by the flow of water (most probably to its death I might add).
It struck me at the time that the actions of this ignoramus were akin to somebody unable to identify or connect properly with the ethos of the sport and if he were to continue practicing the art of fly fishing in this fashion he would quickly alienate himself from his fellow anglers. Each of these themes in a roundabout way brings me nicely back to the book upon which the title of this entry is based as it provides us with a set of ideals we need in order to remain good custodians of the waters we fish.
So if you should happen to come across a Catcher of the Fry whilst on your travels give him the kind word and gently point out the error of his ways.
This entry is dedicated in loving memory of A.W. who quietly passed away on the 30th of May 2011 at 19:06. Fantastic Grandparent who will be very sorely missed and Father to one of the most good natured people that I can claim to know; my Dad the man who lost a 3.5 pound brownie.
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