Be prepared (or not)

Let me start this tale of piscatorial ineptitude last Tuesday evening. While sifting through the coarse fishing gear I found that my box of pre-tied hook lengths was very low on certain sizes, namely my much favoured 14’s and 16’s. While Helen watched something on telly I busied myself making up new hook lengths to fill the gaps. The size 14 barbless hooks were not a problem, I had a couple of packets of them and once they were finished I moved on to the smalller size. Oh dear, there were no size 16 barbless hooks, but there were a few barbed ones. OK, they would have to do for now, so I made up a few, packed everything away and thought no more about it.

Fast forward to today, Thursday, and a fine day for a bit of waggler fishing. Off down the well trodden road to the far side of the Shannon and a quiet peg on the bank of the Camlin river where I have done well before. I was greeted with dreadfully low, clear water. Not ideal, but it was what was to be expected during the drought we are all suffering. I had only taken a float rod with me today, all I wanted was a couple of hours solitude with an odd fish if possible. I was tackling up and reached for my wee grey box of hook lengths, and of course selected my usual size 16 on 4 inches of 4 pound. On went a couple of maggots and I settled back in the chair. Birds singing, cattle lowing, the gentle hum of the traffic on the busy road a field away – the whole works. The float dipped, out came a lovely roach and all in the world was in order. I popped the silver lad back, re-baited the hook and made another cast, following it up with a pinch of maggots tossed in as loose feed.

After a few more fruitless casts the float fairly shot under and I was into a fine hybrid. It was borderline for using the net but I figured I could swing it in to hand, and managed to do just that. Grabbing the fish with my left hand didn’t go according to plan though and he slipped out of my grasp. As the fish fell it put weight on the hook hold which gave way and the hook shot out of his mouth and into the little finger on my right hand (which was still holding the rod). OUCH! I looked at the hook embedded in my finger but didn’t think too much about it and made sure I got the hybrid and slipped him back into the river. OK, Now to slip my barbless hook out of my flesh – and that was when I recalled Tuesday evening and the missing barbless hooks.

Buried well past the barb, I was not going to simply slip this one out. I cut the line and rummaged around in my pockets for the multi tool I always have on me. This little Gerber Dime has been used for all kinds of delicate operations over the years, so I figured it could do the same this time. My initial plan was to poke the point of the hook back out through the skin and feed the hook through, but when I tried that the delicate hook looked like it might break, leaving a part in me. The old ‘press on the shank and pull backwards’ did not work as the hook was too small for such fine work. No, in the end it came down to good old yank it out with the pliers, and that is what I did. Once out, the hole bled nicely, hopefully flushing out any dirt. I went back to the car where I have a small first aid kit and washed around the hole, wiped around with antiseptic and put a plaster on it. This is the first time I have hooked my self in more than a decade, so I reckon that’s not bad for someone who messes about with hooks on a daily basis.

Back at the peg, I sat down and took time to settle myself. Even little things like this can upset you, so taking a few minutes to check I was OK made sense. Next, I set up the tackle again, only this time I went for a BARBLESS size 14 hook, then started where I had left off. Apart from the self-hooking incident, I had a lovely session. Perch were there in numbers, greedy little fellows of between half and one pound in weight. That is not too bad for Irish perch. The roach were excellent fish, again in the half to one pound range. The best of all though were the hybrids, game fighters with the best of them running to a pound-and-a-half. Most of the fish came to double maggot but a couple were on the worm which I tried for a change. This was not hectic fishing with a bite every cast. No, I’d best describe it as ‘steady’, with maybe a bite every ten or twelfth cast. The sun came out for while, then it clouded over and got misty, but it was a grand day to be out on the bank of a river.

By the time I packed up I had amassed eleven perch, six hybrids and seven roach. Far from my most productive session I’ll grant you, but it was just what I wanted on a lazy Thursday in August.