This is part of a series of short stories recollecting some of my trips around the country fishing 100 rivers, some were good, some brilliant and some just bonkers, there was always something going on. So when things are quiet I'll cast the mind back in no particular order and remember a few of these adventures.
Living in London it was almost a given that you would visit the Thames at some stage early in your angling life and so it was that the Thames was the second river I was to fish. My dad had already filled me with stories of how the whole family used to travel down to Runnymede, a green open part of the river above Staines where there is a memorial to JFK and of course where the Magna Carta was signed.
It was also where my Uncle Ron one day took it upon himself to get up from a family picnic and randomly walk across the river, It always raises a smile when dad mentions how his hat serenely floated downstream as his head slowly disappeared, I don't think he quite made it across but it makes for another story for a family who, like others saw the Thames as playground away from bustle of the city.
I remember my first fishing trip there despite just being a young lad, we didn't catch much as we were just flinging a lead out midstream without any feed, but I remember dad's heavy split cane bouncing around as a few dace were caught. I had my black and red rod from Woolworth's and I caught a dace too. It was a big river a world away from my tiny local one and a whole new world of adventure for me.
I went on to fish many different stretches of the Thames with dad and it was great to share these trips together, some were good some were average but I was out with my dad and that was what mattered.
The Thames is a funny old river as on it's day you can really catch a lot and you could also catch anything, whereas on other days you could struggle for no reason. Often winter trips saw both me and dad blank although sometimes it was worth it for the peace and quiet of a river without the summer traffic. Sometimes you'd hit upon some good fishing when least expected in winter, these days were so rewarding.
It was also serene and eerie at times being down there with no one about, wondering about all the history that had gone down on this river. I'm sure if the Thames could write a book it would be a mighty tome.
I also took trips on my own and on one day in August whilst catching roach and perch at Old Windsor I got up upon hearing a commotion from the area upstream, only to see a couple of boat owners swimming in the water with their pet duck! A mallard was having fun jumping on top of the chap's head before drifting off like Uncle Ron's hat only to repeat the process a few times, it was a strange sight indeed.
I would do some duck jokes but Eider had enough of them by now.
In time other areas of the Thames were to be fished after all there is a lot of free fishing on it and getting an EA weir permit with dad was a new avenue for us to explore. Some of the weirs were not for the faint hearted, either fishing from high walkways or off dangerous banks, many of these weirs are no longer on the ticket but it was quite a laugh using a drop net in the boily water to land bream and barbel.
On one weir at Shiplake I was catching well before a large perch attacked, the size of which I don't think I have seen since, it was massive and came out of the reed mace like a perch in one of those paintings, but unlike most works of art it was never seen again, the big old stripey.
A little while later that day a small boat turned up and the little captain (he was wearing one of those quirky sailors hats) gave me a friendly wave. It was Paul Daniels taking his family out for a spin, he was a big TV celeb back then and despite telling dad he still missed it, not hearing what I was saying due to the rumble of the weir. I liked it, not a lot but I liked it, as his catchphrase went. There was always something going on down the Thames on a sunny summer's day.
After getting a van and kitting it out, I traveled to the upper Thames and slept in the back, happily fishing weirs that were in the middle of nowhere. I'll always remember waking up and getting to the rush of water early doors, the morning dew coating my boots walking through the meadows, the warm sounds of birdsong and all the scents, they say the sense of smell is the one that trigger memories the most, so each time I open a tin of sweetcorn now it takes me back there without fail, every time.
Fishing the middle and lower reaches saw backdrops like Windsor Castle and Hampton Court Palace and some wonderful old bridges, Olympic rowers would go past at Marlow and Henley, finding space among the throngs of white plastic cruisers usually piloted by red, sunburnt old men. On occasion young ladies would be sunning themselves on the decks and some really didn't care about covering their modesty, much to the delight of this young angler at the time.
However it wasn't always plain sailing, on one occasion visiting the tidal Thames Dad and I turned up to see carnage following a storm. There were dead fish everywhere on the banks courtesy of the sewage works up the road, there was even dead fish in the street following the high tide, it was awful and a day I'll never forget. I wish in a way I had taken some photos to help log it but I didn't, (perhaps log is not the right word in this case) I was lost in my own sadness, it pains me to say this is still going on today and is getting worse with water companies dumping millions of tons of sewage in our rivers each year.
We are a third world nation when it comes to the quality of the water in our rivers.
On a positive note the tidal Thames did give me a funny incident one time when fishing Teddington weir. I hadn't fished there before so was happy to be sitting on a ledge near one of the sluices even though there was a steep drop below, dangling my float almost below my feet picking up nice dace and trying to avoid the bleak.
Concentrating hard on the float among the frothy bubbles the last thing I expected was a head to pop up right beside it. I jumped out of my skin and almost fell in, there was a seal right there looking at me. They are strange looking things close up seemingly with the face of a dog but with human expressions if that makes sense, it was like it knew what was going on, good job really as what was to follow was just as strange.
Knowing the swim would be dead for a while it was a good time to calm down and have a drink, but then a voice boomed in my ear, weirs mask the sounds of anyone approaching so this made me jump out of my skin once more, I almost fell in again! This time it was a fellow with an LWT T-shirt on (there were TV studios opposite) and he proceeded to converse in the broadest of Dutch accents....
Dutch - Did you see the seal?
Me - Yes it nearl....
Dutch - The pike eat the fish
Me - Eh, pike? what do y....
Dutch - The seal eat the pike
Me - I haven't seen any pi...
Dutch - The seal eat the pike, the pike eat the fish
Me- Yes I suppo....
Dutch - The seal eat the pike, the pike eat the fish
With those profound words interrupting any wise riposte I could muster, the dutch guy walked off as quickly as he appeared. I looked around and it was just me again on my own, the seal had gone too but it had all been a bit bizarre. A few years ago a Minke whale was stranded at the same weir and I do wonder what my Dutch visitor would have made of that.
One thing's for sure is anything can happen on this river, you could catch a hundred fish and have a whale of a time or easily get a duck, either way old father Thames gets the seal of approval.
