Happy Birthday

Image above: Hanging Up the lures to dry over the fireplace.

So it rained all day yesterday and I chose to visit the canal today, my birthday; to say the water was coloured would be an understatement, I may have been better casting my lures on the towpath. After far too long I drove back to my local lake to get a couple of hours in before sunset but it was to no avail. Despite the lack of fish, I was fishing which in fairness beats many of the alternatives

In preparation for this monumental day I had spent the previous evening down in the cellar making brass/copper spinner baits and jigs from some bar stock and sheet metal. I also threw together the ultimate quick make, balsa vibe lure which incorporates all of my annual profits as a weight (a five pence piece).

The lures all swam beautifully, the vibe lure vibed the spinner baits spun and the jig heads flew like well-aimed missiles, but where were the fish? Not catching does leave plenty of time for thinking and I came to the monumental realisation that pop music sounds like a continuous loop of shit advertising jingles and inversely jazz makes sense. Before I unearthed any further gems of wisdom the phone rang and when I answered I was treated to a rendition of happy birthday by some friends and their children. When the chorus subsided I told them I was just about to catch a fish and their phone call had ruined my chances, they apologised (well you have to blame somebody). They were phoning from the island of Mull and their little patch of land that overlooks Loch Scridain and giant sea cliffs of the Berg.

I remembered Mull again, living there and fishing, the endless summer days and the clarity of winter but most of all, the ocean. I said good bye and left the lake to the gathering dusk and the mist amongst the reeds.

Balfour Bay: Isle Of Erraid, Isle of Mull

Foil, fimo, felt tips and fish

Image Right: Coal Fish on another home made Lure

After four years, my time on the island is coming to an end and there are still so many fish I never got to catch.  

 Overnight the wind along with the swell dropped until a stillness settled over the bay and Sound. Just after nine I padded up the street to collect Ryan who despite the prospect of holding a fishing rod while being sat in a boat on the North Atlantic, was in bed. I encouraged his would-be mother in-law and girlfriend to eject him using any means necessary before stomping off to the pier to sort out the boat and tackle. I don’t understand the idea of being late for fishing, every minute spent in bed is a minute stolen from the possibilities afforded by a fishing rod.

I checked the fuel, started the engine before stringing lines through rod eyes while I waited. Ryan finally made it to the pier and we headed out into the soup.  Our first mark was a small reef that had just become visible on the falling tide. I was fishing with another prototype made from Fimo (polymer clay, see pre. Post), and a little nervous, wondering if all the energy I had invested in the lure would bring any reward now I was out on the water.  First cast and a fish takes it, shit I was happy even after it threw the hook close to the boat. Second cast and this time it came home with a decent sized coal fish, at this point I didn`t care about the rest of the trip and to be honest it was not the best fishing trip on record.  Foil, Fimo, felt tips, wire, a bit of weight and a hook. 

Image below: Looking Back to Jura from the Sound of Iona