Angling Books & Current Reads

I should have been fishing today. But instead I find myself sneezing, shivering a little and hoping this is mere man-flu and not something more sinister. But there is at least some consolation in the form of some tempting current reading material to catch up on. So at the very least I can at least go fishing in some of the rivers and lakes conjured up by other anglers.



First up is "The One That Got Away" from Merlin Unwin Books. Originally released in the 90's, this reissued edition looks cracking- and more importantly, reads just as well. We've all read the books that serve as a catalogue of an angler's CV of big fish. But the premise of this book is that often the ones we lose often create better and more revealing stories. A great line up of writers includes Jeremy Paxman, George Melly and many others who write not of their triumphs, but those moments when time stood still and the line went slack. I won't give too much away, but this is rich, compelling stuff. Chris Yates' chapter alone ("Jilted by the Queen") describes that potent mixture of excitement and fear that a hooked giant brings in spellbinding fashion. The woodcut illustrations are lovely too:



Otherwise, my current spot of man flu has also given me the chance to properly devour Fallon's Angler Issue 4. Once again, this indie fishing quarterly is absorbing stuff, by turns reflective, funny and nostalgic. Adding to the already rich variety of contributors, the title goes from strength to strength in terms of imagery- taking a cheeky glance into the recesses of anglers' tackle boxes, unearthing haunting old pictures and taking the reader on some enjoyable detours.



Perhaps what I like best, however, is the way that this title is giving a platform to writers who deserve more exposure. Not only those we already know like old friends, but other anglers who have a cracking story to share but would never get the time of day at the hands of the usual suspects. Matthew Minter is one of them in issue 4, astutely describing the joy of unearthing forgotten fishing books, treasures, odds and ends as we raid our memories and even the odd charity shop. Lovely stuff.



There is also a nice incendiary piece from Dexter Petley that might well provoke a few carp anglers, on some carp fishing history. Here's a bit of controversy for you: it would appear that the French were using hair rigs well before we little Englanders ever dreamt of them. From the evidence here, I think he's probably correct- but in typical British fashion we love to think we invented everything. All thought provoking stuff anyway.

In fact the only reading material I'm not massively keen on at present is my own work, as I make the very last proofs and tweaks to my new book "Crooked Lines". Like a musician who has played their repertoire a thousand times, you start to lose all objectivity after a point. It takes readers to enjoy what you've done, reading it for the first time and making it fresh again, for the work to mean anything. That said, I'm still thrilled with the artwork by Sheffield illustrator Lord Bunn, which has also been used to make some rather funky bookmarks that will be sent out with future orders. Watch this space for more news anyway. Now where did I hide the Lemsip?

Good Omens

This month begins with a note or two of that quality quite often lacking from your finger pointing armchair angler: genuine optimism. First and foremost this is because great angling writing is about to get a much needed shot in the arm with the birth of "Fallon's Angler" later this month.

A fresh title that celebrates the best in original writing on the sport is long overdue, and with Chris Yates and Tom Fort heading the list of contributors it's wonderful to be part of the project. Why does it matter? Because in so much of the angling media only the technical, and often sponsored, writing seems to get a look in at present. I don't wish to rant here, but we need to support independent writing that is worthy of the sport's rich heritage (and yes, that actually means paying for it sometimes).

I live in hope though, as perhaps all anglers do at heart. Besides, it's difficult to feel dour when a little bonus summer time arrives and things seem to be improving. With recent commitments including a new part time job as a professional copywriter (sometimes I actually get paid to blog!), fishing time has been slightly limited. But there's always the prospect of sneaking off for some urban fly fishing while my girlfriend goes on her Saturday shift.

I've spoken before of the surprisingly awesome fishing town spots can produce and this time of year can be amongst the best, almost as if the fish know harder times are ahead. Weirdly, conditions were more like high summer for my latest jaunt: low, clear water and fish that seem like a piece of piss to catch if only you can avoid scaring them to death with your size fourteens (I'm not even joking about my feet).

Small beaded nymphs worked a treat once I'd got the hang of really gentle wading and making longer casts with a fine leader, but the real surprise was the dry fly sport. In several spots I'd had a mere bite or two in the shallow water, before the rest disappeared. But the really meaty little weirs and areas of rushing water were another story, with faster and more broken water. With rise forms picking up in the early afternoon I couldn't resist whacking on a nice Balloon Caddis. Not an enormous pattern on this occasion, but a size 14 (hook, not foot size) got some phenomenally juicy takes around boulders and bottlenecks of faster water. The best was a foot long beastie whose whole head and shoulders came out on the take, before a little wrestling bout involving my petrified nerves, pacy water and some ugly rocks:

So, even with time limited, quite an action packed three or so hours were enjoyed. Otherwise, more good omens were sighted on a trip to the city of Bath with my significant other, where I went and visited… a bath. A great big Roman bath to be clear. We had a fascinating time examining ancient relics, coins and even Latin curses, while I hope the watery deities pictured will bring me some angling luck in the testing, colder months ahead. Pictured are watery Celtic Goddess "Sulis Minerva" and a mysterious Neptune-like "King of the Deep". Bloody hell I must be getting desperate:


Despite the obligatory killjoy "No Fishing" signs, the Avon looked beautiful through the city, while I also found a rather dapper painting of a Georgian "Angling Party" at the Victoria Gallery to make my girlfriend yawn. Looking at their stylish attire and the fact that there's even an actual woman without facial hair fishing in the image, I can't help think that we've gone backwards these last 200 years. That's culture for you.