The Fishing Trip

Debbie Forrest

1994

There's nothing quite like sitting amongst a clump of nettles, wearing waterproofs and wellies and casting a very large non-aquatic earthworm attached to a sharp barbed hook into the murky waters of a local river. But for three months of this particular year before the kids arrived to stop this frivolity and exciting time of our lives we fished.

It was 1994 and we'd just been paid off from the local Council. We did the decent thing and enrolled at the college in the town on a Business Administration course that would start in August but with three months before the new term began and with the summer holidays stretched out in front of us like an enormous red carpet, we cashed in our holiday money from the Council and with the proceeds went to the best angling store in Dumfries and kitted ourselves out with new rods, new accessories and a landing net.

We knew the best areas to fish, we had our season ticket bought with what was left of our last weeks wages and with our tub of freshly dug earthworms, a bottle of juice each as nobody wants to drink from a can when your fingers have recently pushed a protesting earthworm onto a hook and pasties that we ate from within the bag like horses with nosebags, we chose the area we would fish at and made our way to the Plum.

The Plum was the best spot for fishing this particular year. The reason for that was the fact that a batch of rainbow trout had escaped from a nearby fish farm and was now residing in most good stretches of river between Moffat and Wamphray but more especially at the Plum.

We chose our spot, my husband had taken to sitting like a gnome minus the silly hat in a shady area near the waters edge. Mine was beneath the hawthorn tree that had spread its branches further over the space I was to fish, making casting out a tad difficult - nobody likes fishing in trees do they? So with my hawthorn tree and the best spot overrun by tall and extremely vicious nettles, I chose where I sat very carefully.

It was a warm day, close in fact and warmer still in full waterproof clothing and steel toe capped wellies, but it protected me from the nettles and at least I'd be dry if it rained. The clouds over the hills looked distinctly full of rain but I wasn't bothered.

I pushed my earthworm onto the barbed hook and cast it into the river and waited for the fish to bite. We'd caught quite a few that week as the rainbow trout were very tame, but as they grew less and less, the river grew quieter and quieter. The cloud formation took on a more sinister appeal by the late afternoon. I didn't worry too much, but as the swallows, swifts and house martins swooped lower and lower to catch the bugs hovering not too far off the surface of the river, and the gulls and starlings flew in circles lower and lower as they do just before a storm I did begin to worry a bit.

I shouted across to my husband visible only by his rod further up the river but he didnt seem concerned so I continued to fish with my fibre glass rod with lots of metal attachments as it hovered above the water as the clouds changed to an orangey green stormy looking colour which I'd seen only in films when stormy weather occurred.

I suppose to be honest and looking back on where I was sitting; I probably wasn't in the best spot at any point during the rain storm.

I never heard the rumble of thunder, I didn't hear any crack across the sky overhead nor in the distance, but I definitely jumped when the lightning flashed across the water close to where I was fishing with my rod over the water and me sitting under the hawthorn tree in my waterproofs.

I have never jumped, screamed nor wet myself as much as I did at that particular moment. Needless to say I did let go of the rod, but where do I hide, under the tree? Out in the open? Or do I run to the metal bridge and climb up and get stuck mid way and feel my wellies slide off my feet as they're slightly too big for me. Or as I try and move my body enclosed in layers of clothing and look like a green Michelin man and manage to unceremoniously fall on the other side of the bridge and pick myself up and run towards the car slamming the door shut safe in the knowledge that I wasn't deep fried by the lightning?

No! I, like my husband, stood under the trees with my hood up and watched the thunder and lightning display across the water and the fields until half an hour later as we huddled together with thoughts of 'if we do die at least we're together under the trees wishing we'd taken the cloud formation a little more seriously' until the show was over and then we hurriedly picked up our rods sitting where we'd dropped them amongst the savage nettles. We grabbed our catch from the side of the river, threw the various bits and pieces into the new fishing box, caught the escaping worms and legged it to the metal bridge where we pulled ourselves up and I got stuck mid way and felt my wellies slipping off my feet as I tried to move my body enclosed in layers of clothing before I unceremoniously fell over the other side of the bridge, picked myself up and legged it to the car and slammed the door shut.

Scared? Most definitely! Return to the same spot again? Most probably!