Image Above: A rod at rest on the River Mersey.
Image below left: 2 Hook Flapper Rig
The tide has past exhausting itself amongst the flats and
concrete elbows of the inner estuary. The deep, mud laden waters of the river pause
as if contemplating their next move.
I lean on the promenade rail in the sun feeling
the warmth drain from me in the chill breeze. A line is out from a rod propped
on the handlebar grips of my by bicycle. I close one eye and line the rod tip
up with the corner of one of the giant sheds of a shipyard on the far bank. The
tip traces a diagonal route over the cladding, down to the river and back
marking a gentle breath and exhalation as the tension of each passing wavelet is
transmitted through the taught line to the rod.
The line is anchored
into the riverbed by a spiked weight and a little above, two junctions carry
short lengths to baited hooks that would ordinarily flap in the current, hence
the name ‘flapper rig’. I tied the rig
last night as part of the preparations that have found their way into the ritual
of a fishing trip. Other preparations included a trip to the tackle shop to buy
line and pick brains.
The owner is never fearful of handing out advice despite the
audience of misplaced fishermen that hang about ready to argue for
some other rig, rod or just something else. I tell him about the tide carrying
my weights off when I cast. He tells me not to let any more line out once the
weight hits the water and that slack line will just act like a spinnaker giving
the tide more leverage over the weight. He tells me other things as well and
the stories build until only fishing and fish matter and everything else is
pushed into the gaps.
I buy mackerel from the fish counter in the supermarket
and the sales assistant asks me if I am going fishing, I laugh and ask is it only
fishermen looking for bait who shop here, he doesn’t answer.
I was away early this morning before the cars filled up the
shopping streets hiding the takeaway cartons and cigarette butts that fill the
gutters.
The river is moving again and I am reminded that I am
fishing the shipping lane by the prow of a vessel that is folding back the
water as it pushes on upstream.
