Mill dams, Marmite, tea and cigarettes

In the alphabet of life, fishing comes somewhere between the boy scouts and girls, or at least that was how it happened for me. Come to think of it, I would have barely enrolled in the cub scouts the first time I cast a hook over the pier at Whitby and hauled out some small silvery "kamikaze" with fins.

Earlier still I was pulling greedy sticklebacks from the park lake that would attach themselves obligingly to the brandling worms I had tied to a piece of string. This method seemed to catch bigger specimens than I could get with my net. The net was made from one of my grandma's stockings tied in a knot, threaded on a piece of wire and attached to a bamboo pole.

I would take the sticklebacks home in a jam jar where they would die within two or three days. I had more success when I put them in a plastic tank outside until a heavy frost entombed them within a block of ice. Perhaps this was when I first began to appreciate the merits of catch-and-release.

Pink underskirt

Once I slipped on a wet leaf by the side of the lake, finding myself fully immersed in the "mucky end" where all the leaves, litter and uneaten breadcrumbs left by the satiated ducks would gather.I must have been about three or four years old. My mother dragged me out, took off my sodden clothes and dressed me for the bus ride home in a pink underskirt she had bought on the market. It was the bus ride from Hell and the associated humiliation most probably scarred me for the rest of my days.

Apart from holiday fishing I did not begin to take the sport seriously until I bought my first fishing licence and joined a coarse-fishing club in my early teens. It was on one of those fishing trips I bought my first and only packet of cigarettes - 20 Embassy - just like the ones smoked by mum and dad.

I had gone with a friend to fish a mill dam just outside Ossett in West Yorkshire. For some reason we thought that our chances were better the earlier we arrived so we were on the bus at first light and on our way before the first of the shift workers.

No sooner were our floats in the water than we were both puffing away on our "lights." Within two or three smokes my face must have gone the colour of the pea-green dam water. I can't recall whether or not I finished the packet but it certainly cured me of the urge to experiment any further with cigarettes, although I did try smoking my dad's pipe with the same unfortunate results.

Marmite sandwiches

These coarse-fishing forays, sustained by Marmite sandwiches and a flask of tea, would usually produce a decent haul of perch and roach, never very big. I might have progressed to bigger things had it not been for adolescence and the intervention of progressive rock, underage drinking and girls.

But the fishing was merely neglected, not abandoned, and during a canal holiday with friends I had what I can only describe as my angling epiphany. I was admiring a fine chub I had taken from the Avon near Tewksbury when a friend challenged my ethics (not that I knew what ethics were at the time).

"What are you going to do with it?" he asked.

"Throw it back," I said.

"Don't you think that's unkind to the fish? Wouldn't it show more respect for the fish if you killed and ate it?" he said.

I thought he had a point, so it was not long after that I acquired my first trout rod. This one was a birthday present from my in-laws-to-be who regarded game fishing as a healthy shared pastime for a soon-to-be-married young couple.

Broon and gold

Soon after our marriage they invited us salmon fishing to Scotland, to the Kinnaird beat of the River Tay. It was early April and there were few springers around but Gill had a lovely 17 lb fish on the Wednesday.

We were spin fishing with "broon and gold" devons bought from Malloch's in Perth. On the Saturday I knew I was in the last chance saloon when I hooked in to something big. When I look back now at the tackle I was using it makes me weep. My rod was a bendy piece of hollow glass fibre, bought from a barber's shop in Batley, and my tatty coarse-fishing reel was falling apart.

The fish kept taking line and I was struggling to get it in. I was tiring after 15 or 20 minutes and thought the fish must be tiring too so I tightened up the tension on the reel, but far too much. The fish ran and parted company with the line. It was just before lunch and it was an understatement to say I was distraught.

Silver springer

Straight after lunch I went back to the very same spot, cast again and had a fish on. It felt like another good one. This time I left the tension well alone. When it came to the gaff (this was the late 70s) it was a superb 23lb silver springer.

A year later, on the same beat in the summer I was casting a salmon fly for the first time and hooked in to a fish of about 12 pounds that was at my feet when it shed the hook.

They still shed the hook now and then today but there has been a lot of water under a lot of bridges since those days. I'll never forget that first springer or indeed those early roach and perch. Fishing is something that gets in to your blood.

The worst form of unlucky

In my last FT fishing column I mentioned a term used in Hemingway's The Old Man and The Sea. The word was salao, meaning "the worst form of unlucky."

Poor Judy Zagorski never had the time to digest the meaning of this word when she was felled and killed by a 75lb spotted eagle ray that leaped in to the boat where she had been enjoying a cruise, knocking her to the deck. But that was salao.

I noticed in the newspaper report that it quoted a local wildlife expert, saying that rays do not attack people. I'm not saying for one moment that this was anything other than a freak accident. But it is not true to say that rays cannot be aggressive.

I was "chased" briefly by a ray very similar in size to the one in that boat when wading on mud flats in Los Roques, Venezuela. My fishing guide was just as anxious to escape although it was like wading through treacle. Fortunately the fish was happy to see us off since we had strayed too close to its territory.

You don't read very often in sea fishing reports of the need to keep an eye out for predators when wading in warmer climbs. Usually there is no problem - and I would not describe a stingray as a predator - but you wouldn't want to stand on one. Nor would you want to hang around if you saw a large shark.

It's not a big problem but it shouldn't be ignored. I'm not sure if there is a word for the best form of lucky, but here's a candidate.

A case for Sherlock Holmes?

Caught your salmon? Knocked it on the head? Ready for the pan? If so, make sure you cook it well, says the Food Standards Agency who warn that many wild salmon in Scottish rivers have been infected by the fish parasite, Anisakis simplex.

The parasite is bad news for people too as in extreme cases it causes death. Moreover it's difficult to detect it and it is difficult to remove the larvae. So if you do get it you had better hope that you are seeing a doctor like House (whose character, I only discovered the other day, is based on Sherlock Holmes).

In fact you should heed the same warning if you catch a salmon in England too, according to the Wessex Salmon and Rivers Trust that has received reports of the infection in the Hampshire Avon and the west country.

The agency says that salmon should be heated through at 70 deg C for at least two minutes to kill the parasite. If you're thinking of cold smoking the fish, marinating it for gradvadlax or making sashimi (raw, sliced fish, Japanese-style)you will need to freeze it first for at least 24 hours.

Better still, perhaps, put it back and shop at Tescos.

Snowbee sale

I have just bought a few things from the Snowbee sale, including a new pair of breathable waders. For £55 they are a bargain. OK, they're extra large when really I need a large size (not available in the sale). But as an extra pair, which is always good to have in case you spring a leak, they are just fine.

It's worth watching out for the Snowbee sale every year so get yourself on the catalogue list. I shouldn't be saying this because I don't want extra buying competition, but I have made my purchases for this year. Hold on to this year's catalogue for next year because it's the end of line stuff that they sell. If you don't have a catalogue give them a call. The sales staff are very helpful and always pleasant.

Look out for end-of-line opportunities, whatever the manufacturer. You can get something just as good as the new model. This is particularly true of rods. Don't be fooled by the sales guff. Very often you will be buying the same old blanks with new whippings and a bit of new styling. The makers are looking for the "tackle tart" in all of us.

Don't be fooled either by all the nonsense about craftsmen working in little workshops. Sure, it still exists among a few specialists, but the vast majority of rod blanks these day are sourced in Korea. I was told about the blanks for one carbon fibre rod - list price £250 - where the blank prices were £5 from the manufacturer. That's how cheaply they can turn out high quality carbon fibre blanks in Korea. All the rest is finishing, branding and marketing.

Here today, gone by Mayfly time

After three happy years writing the FT fishing column my tenure is coming to an end in April, just before the Mayfly hatch. It's time to move on. At least that's what they have told me. Now I know how a Mayfly shuck feels.

It's been a breeze - every bit of it. I have met some great people and made a lot of friends. I wouldn't know where to start the thank yous but people such as Orri Vigfusson, Peter McLeod and Simon Cooper have helped me so much in that time. They have taught me a lot and given me some great fishing experiences. I wish them all well.

This isn't the end of my fishing writing. I'm just getting going. I will be writing here regularly but I will be back somewhere else in the paper medium very soon. Watch this blog for developments.