Why do fishermen lie?

Why are fishermen prone to exaggerating the size of their catches? It's something I have been pondering after reading on the Fishdee website that salmon of 22lb and 20lb were caught on the beat of the river Dee that I fished last week.

I know all about these fish since I caught them. Once upon a time you caught a salmon, you knocked it on the head and then you weighed it carefully on a spring balance, only rounding up the figure by a few ounces.

Since a catch-and-release policy was introduced on to the River Dee, however, there has been an imperative to ensure that your fish gets back in to the river swiftly and safely. This means that I use a net all the time these days and seldom lift a fish out of the water for more than a second or two.

If it's a good fish I try to take a measure with my rod or wading stick so that I can use one of the length-weight conversion tables that give you a rough idea of a weight. The first salmon I caught last week was a beautiful specimen, very silvery and fresh from the sea with sea lice still attached.

It was hooked just above some falls and there was a danger for a little while that it would escape the way it had come as it headed back towards the lip of the falls. But I managed to hold it in the stream and finally brought it to the net. The ghillie had appeared, as they do so often on these occasions, almost out of nowhere.

He reckoned the fish was "touching 20lb" since it had a very wide girth, so there it was - my 20 pounder. Then, on my last evening at the river, I hooked another big fish, an inch or so larger than the other, according to a measure against my wading stick while it was still in the net. So I put this one down as 22lb. But something rankled. I had caught fish of this weight before and in my memory the fish I had in the past seemed to have been bigger.

Another thing - although they fought well, both were well hooked and neither gave me too much trouble after one or two runs. It was just a case of tiring them out and getting them in. Back home last night I found that my rough measures did not correspond to a 20lb+ fish. At best, I reckon, the first one was 18lb and the second 19lb.I feel a bit guilty about this but I guess I'm only confirming what the none-fishing community has always suspected - that anglers can be economical with the truth.

Next time I shall take my spring balance.

The 26lb fish mentioned on the site was caught by my father-in-law - not bad for an 81-year-old. He has caught many salmon in the past and estimated that this one - which he didn't measure - was between 25 and 28 pounds, so we settled for 26 pounds. Not scientific, I know, but neither is fishing. Anyway, I do not doubt him. There were some big fish in the river last week. I saw one giant in the 30lb to 40lb class.

Gill, my wife, has a spring balance built in to her landing net so she could confirm that her two fish each weighed just less than 5lbs. On second thoughts, perhaps I'll leave the balance at home.

The breathing Earth

For a graphic representation of recent birth and death rates plus rates of carbon dioxide emissions this is an interesting site.

And if we humans disappear, what traces would we leave behind and for how long? Here's an idea.

Winning the lottery - a chance to dream

Well what would you do if you won £35m on the lottery? In my case its academic since I don’t do it, never have done. But that doesn’t prevent me from playing the game of “what if?” I’m sure I’m not alone.

I suppose the first question to ask is, who to tell? It must be difficult suppressing that kind of news. After all, you may say, what’s the point of being filthy rich if no-one knows? The point is that this will be your only opportunity to stay as you are relative to others after the event. It’s no good telling everyone and then saying that it won’t change you. It already has in the eyes of others.

The eyes of others matter. To what extent are you your own man or woman? And to what extent is your identity shaped by the perceptions of others? After all, you will not be delivering the eulogy at your funeral. Someone else will. The famous are shaped by events. For history they are shaped by their obituaries and their biographies.

I wouldn’t tell a soul beyond my wife, at least for the first 24-hours. The news would be treated with the same kind of secrecy expected of those who are informed of a pending knighthood. I wouldn’t even tell the children.

Suppose the lottery owners - and I don’t know whether they do this or not – offered various services or incentives in return for publicity? The front page “advertisements” like those enjoyed by Camelot this week are worth hundreds of thousands of pounds as revenue generators in the way that they inject renewed interest into this business of hope.

It would need to be a big incentive to win my co-operation. No, I would go for privacy first and the “do nothing” option until the implications began to sink in. Then I would start to worry. I’d worry about how to ensure my boys retained a work ethic when they did not need to work. I might even worry about the work ethic itself: what’s the point of it? But I do that already almost all the time. That’s why I spent a year writing this book.

I don’t need to worry about helping immediate members of the family since they are all pretty well off. We don’t need any new material things. We could do with a new oven although we manage pretty well with the one we have (that’s what we say of just about everything we think we need).

Would I give up writing my column in the FT? Not sure. I certainly wouldn’t give up writing this blog. In terms of spending I would probably look at the possibility of buying a salmon fishing beat in Scotland, somewhere on the Dee, both banks. That would eat up a few million. Either that or I would try to increase the number of beat rentals I had.

Yes, the fishing beat sounds a good idea. I would live nearby and maintain a good hut by the water. I’d offer the ghillie’s job to a friend. I have one in mind. But would he accept? Not everything about ghillieing is glamorous.

Beyond the tweeds and the river lore there’s the need to clean out the chemical toilets every week. I’d offer to split that job with him. I reckon that if you’re £35m to the better it’s probably a good idea to retain a few lavatory cleaning duties, just to keep your feet on the ground.

I would write a book about fishing, in the spirit of Charles Ritz who wrote A Fly Fisher’s Life. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that devoting the rest of one’s life to fishing is not a bad way to deal with a big lottery win. I’m sort of heading that way anyway, without a lottery win behind me. As my mother used to say, there’s more than one way of skinning a cat.

Should I give anything away to charity? Probably; although it would have to be one that’s well run. I think that the rich do pretty well with charities so I would be interested in supporting maybe something like the Prince’s Trust. I was also attracted recently to Sir Tom Hunter’s foundation. It’s significant, perhaps, that Warren Buffet has given many of his millions to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Buffet is only interested in investing in well-run organisations.

Would I give anything to Earthwatch, the charity I support chiefly with my time as a trustee? I’d give them something to fund a pet project that’s been up my sleeve for a while, possibly asking them to partner with the Royal Society for the Arts, another of my favourite organisations.

I suppose media recognition is not such a bad thing if you use it sensibly to highlight a cause. I want to do more than I’m doing just now to highlight the plight of the oceans and to curb exploitation and waste through by-catches in commercial fishing. But I can do that by writing about it. I have the wherewithal at my fingertips, literally, to influence this stuff, so why waste time pondering over lottery wins when it’s not going to happen to me? No point dreaming, there’s work to be done.

Life on the back roads

Not to be outdone by the BBC vogue for sending the more articulate of comedians and comedy actors on the documentary trail (Michael Palin, Victoria Wood, Billy Connolly, Griff Rhys Jones), ITV has sent Robbie Coltrane off on yet another celebrity road-doc series - B-Road Britain (Wednesday 9pm).

We can all do this. I'm not talking about TV documentaries - although those too are no longer beyond the powers of ordinary mortals - but travelling the bye-ways. In the early 80s, before we had children, Gill and I decided we wanted to see England so we put together a tour with one underpinning rule: no motorways.

Try it. If you can discipline yourself to avoid the shortest, quickest route, the journey becomes the experience and it's amazing the places you find. Yes, you can make plans, but if there is no urgency to get anywhere fast, you can break those plans too. In fact, that's part of the fun.

In those days we used the Egon Ronay Good Pub Guide to help us choose overnight stops but now it's probably easier to use this web-based guide. We had used the same principle on touring holidays in France, guided by Arthur Eperon's book, Traveller's France and the guides produced by Richard Binns.

I think it was Eperon's publication of Traveller's Britain that influenced our English tour. In this case, the holiday was confined to places south of our home at that time, near Huddersfield.

I'm interested in the distant past so the trip included a lot of stone circles and burial mounds plus chalk drawings such as the Cerne Abbas Giant.

I've been wondering if I was fresh to these shores what some of the "must sees" (outside London)I might include in a round England trip today. Here is a list of 10:

1. Stonehenge
2. Portsmouth Dockyard and HMS Victory
3. Ironbridge
4. Lake District (favourite spots: Grasmere with Wordsworth's house and the Langdales plus a walk up Helvellyn)
5. The Cotswolds
6. Whitby
7. Hadrian's Wall
8. York
9. Lyme Regis
10.Canterbury

Crew cut for Leopard

If everything had gone to plan I should have been writing this note tonight somewhere in the English channel helping to crew one of the fastest yachts in the world to what just might have been a record-breaking run in the 608-mile Fastnet ocean race.

But fate decided otherwise in the form of an unusually severe weather pattern heading towards the south west coast of Ireland with the Fastnet Rock in its path.

I had been invited to sail with property developer Mike Slade's 100ft super maxi yacht, ICAP Leopard, with a 25-strong core-crew of top professional sailors.

In reality, with no experience of the boat, I think that most of my time would have been spent keeping out of the way of the pros. But in easy sailing conditions there might have been the chance to pull on the odd rope.

Everything changed, however, when the race organisers were alerted to a weather pattern building in the Atlantic and expected to break on Tuesday.

You have to expect bad weather in sailing but many can remember the devastating storm that ripped through the Fastnet fleet in 1979, wrecking several yachts and killing 15 sailors.

Mindful of that earlier disaster, the organisers postponed the race start 25-hours. The thinking is that the smaller yachts will be close to Land's End as the gales come through, allowing them the opportunity to abandon the race if they choose before pushing on in to the Irish Sea. Indeed some have already pulled out.

The faster maxis and open 60s, however, will be well out at sea by then. Ironically, had the race started on time, the faster yachts would probably have beaten the storm back to port. Now they may bare the brunt of it.

That was bad news for me. A meeting among the Leopard management decided in the circumstances they would be sailing only with the core professional crew. So the extras and guests, including me, are no longer on board.

I suppose I ought to be relieved that I won't be facing such tough conditions but I can't hide my disappointment. I don't blame the skipper and the owner. They must do what they think is best but I was starting to feel a part of the race and it's hard to find myself sidelined.

My old friend Philippe Falle is racing on Puma Logic, the yacht we sailed last year in the Round Britain and Ireland Race. The Sailing Logic business mentioned in this earlier blog has several boats entered. The crews will be filing regular progress reports here. I wish them well.

Postscript: Leopard finished the race in a record breaking time. It didn't win, However. On corrected time that honour went to the 50ft Chieftain just as it did in last years Round Britain and Ireland Race.

Air travel shock

Having just returned from a short holiday in the US I feel compelled to share our catalogue of travel experiences as a new report from MPs revealed that passengers suffered flight delays totalling 2,434 years at Heathrow airport last year.

It all started when we drove to Heathrow and parked in the long stay car park. The car park bus rolled up as expected. Imagine our surprise at the terminal as we passed through security without a hitch.

Late take off

The plane was slightly late taking off but made up the delay en route. Compounding this early impression of smooth efficiency, we found we had space between our seats that allowed us to spread out. The film system worked normally and the airline food was fine.

Airport queues

When we reached Kennedy airport, however, we couldn't believe our eyes. Lined up before the immigration desks were the shortest of queues. Staff were considerate and friendly.

But taking the Amtrak to Washington was something else. Yes, that's right, it was a train and it worked very well.

Astonishing sequence

The taxis in New York and Washington: what can I say? They were pretty good - nice guys, earned their tips. So what about the buses? They were just great. Convenience personified; cheap too.

And the flight back from Dulles to Heathrow? Comfortable all the way, an early arrival, and there was our car at the end, giving us an easy drive home.

After this astonishing sequence of none events that failed to ruin our holiday I can think of just two words: never again.

Land of the free

John, my 23-year-old son, is asked to produce his passport when he orders a drink in a Washington restaurant called DC Coast. His driving license had been sufficient for identification elsewhere but not here.

The bar staff say they must ask for proof of identification from anyone who "looks under 30". Draconian laws prevent the consumption of alcohol by anyone under the age of 21. John's brother, Robert, a 20-year-old student, is much miffed.

It's not far from the hotel so John goes back for his passport. Meanwhile I order a bottle of wine and three glasses. The waiter looks at the vacant seat. "I can't bring a glass for this seat until I see identification," he says.

"I only want a glass. There's no-one sitting there for heaven's sake," I say.

The manager arrives and explains the terrible penalties that could be invoked if they serve drinks or do anything to look as if they might serve a drink to anyone who looks under 30 (and who, therefore, might possibly be under 21).

I ask what Americans use for identification (since many do not possess a passport). He says there are various acceptable forms of identity, but a British driving license is not one of them even though it is acceptable if you need to hire a car.

Station spy

Washington's Union Station is a very fine building. I'm captivated by the ceilings and the statuary. So captivated indeed that I photograph it on the second floor. As I approach the escalator to descend a voice behind me says: "Sir, you can't take photographs. It's not permitted on the second level."

"Why ever not?" I ask the security man who is wearing a wide-brimmed ranger's hat, the sort popularised by Baden Powell.

"It's the rules, sir. You need management permission."

"Well can I have it?"

"Have what?"

"Management permission."

"I'm sorry sir, there isn't a manager around."

"It's five minutes to five."

"They all leave at 3pm."

"Sounds like a good job," says I.

"They start at six and leave at three," he says.

I find another guard nearby and ask him about the rules. He says it's OK to take a picture on the second level. I tell him he's mistaken. We go in search of the other guard but can't find him. There is a third guard that we question, however, and he confirms the impression of the first guard.

A debate ensues. Neither man knows why there should be restrictions on photography but they speculate that it could be about industrial espionage - that the Union Station has such a fine shopping mall that other mall designers might want to copy it.

I imagine nefarious mall designers skulking in shop doorways, taking clandestine pictures with their hidden cameras. Anyway in my case it was closing the stable door after the horse had bolted since I had all the pictures I wanted. I'm selling to the highest bidder.

Killer earphones

Flying Virgin on the way home, Gill is asked to remove her earphones before take-off. She is then asked to stow the blanket wrapped over her knees underneath the seat in front.

I ask why. Apparently it has something to do with aviation safety rules. The blanket and earphones, it seems, may impede her exit should we need to get out quickly in an emergency.

A far greater obstacle, I'm thinking, is the narrow gap between each row of seats. But widening this gap would cost money. If Gill had entered the plane wearing a blanket, held together with a broach, this would have been perfectly acceptable.

Overheard in the mummy room

Visiting New York a few weeks ago I had the feeling something had changed. Back again last week I knew it had. New Yorkers are not quite so rude as they used to be. They're not exactly polite either, but they're definitely more tolerant, less complaining, a little more subdued perhaps. Is this a legacy of 9/11? Did New Yorkers discover humility that day?

Overheard in the Metropolitan Museum mummy room: "Doesn't Egypt have a problem with us having this stuff?"

No photographs

There are still far too many rules here but it's fun breaking them. In the Guggenheim a sign says "no photography beyond the first floor." Why? So many people are ignoring the signs the security people don't know which way to turn. This is as it should be.


A particularly fastidious security man is trying to protect a glass igloo held together with G-clamps. There is a grey line on the floor and when people step over it he waves his arms and shouts. In an alcove another security man is guarding what looks like an over sized gold-coloured foil chocolate wrapper curled up at the edges and stuck to the floor. He doesn't look too pleased. I can imagine his reaction when he got to work that morning and the head guard told him: "Hey Tom, you got the chocolate wrapper."


One gallery is called: Arcadia and Anarchy. Ironic? I should say so. Here hangs work by some of the most radical spirits of their generation, anaesthetised for mass consumption - protected by bureaucrats, preserved by fanatics, viewed by the mildly interested.

Vacuous girls

On 5th Avenue we bumble in to Abercrombie and Fitch where shop assistants are recruited for their looks rather than an ability to assist. Willowy but vacuous girls spray perfume on the clothes while handsome young men stand around saying hello. What about age and disability discrimination in employment? Doesn't this apply here?


In F A O Schwartz you can buy cuddly sea creatures. There's a cuddly jelly fish, a cuddly sting ray and a cuddly hammerhead shark.


There's a story recalled in the Natural History Museum that I knew but had forgotten. O C Marsh, a Yale Paleontologist named one of his fossil finds Apatosaurus in 1877. Another he named Brontosaurus in 1879. Only later was it discovered that both specimens were the same creature. I suppose that means the Brontosaurus is extinct. Or was it ever "tinct"?


I've taken a lot of pictures in New York. Quite a few of them feature fire hydrants. I'm getting interested in what I might call "street furniture" if I choose to be quaint. I'm also enjoying patterns.

Saving money


If you want to do New York on the cheap here are a few tips: take the Staten Island ferry on an evening for a view of the water front and the Statue of Liberty. The ferry ride is free. For entertainment try one of the free outdoor concerts at the Lincoln Centre. We saw Eunice Newkirk singing jazz the way it ought to be sung.


When you visit one of the top museums such as the Metropolitan and the Natural History Museum the counter staff will tell you a "suggested price". You can ignore that if you wish and pay what you think is reasonable.

Of course if everyone paid less than they suggested, the museums would have much less in their kitty to use for Hoovering up what few treasures remain in the developing world. That might not be a bad thing.