STILL WORKING
121 years ago this month, in a South of England workshop, a workman was putting the finishing touches to an English pole; more specifically a Thames pole. It wasn't, if we're honest, a pole of the highest calibre but it was a competent, workman-like job. A pole designed, one likes to believe, for a hard-working man of little monetary wealth whose chosen quarry would have been the River's size-limit Roach.
His last job was to ram a page torn from a recent copy of the Daily Mail right down into the butt cap of each of the bottom two sections. It was in there to cushion the narrower sections as they were slid in for storage and transportation, preventing them from knocking out the brass centre.
I know all this because this pole is one of several that I own and it was the first one that required re-finishing and whilst doing so, I found that wad of newspaper. Un-crumpled, it still bore the date in the top corner; Monday 17 April 1905. Today, a couple of years of wear and tear has dulled the fresh varnish I had put on. It is scuffed, sticky with fish slime when wet and encrusted in places with old groundbait. The legend '1905' is visible on the butt where I added my mark to its history; but it is a working pole - still.
All winter it has been in the corner leaning against the wall with, but in front of, some of its more illustrious stablemates where it is most accessible when the time is right. And now, the time is right. The sun is out, the water warming and I have casters to hand. It's time to go Roach fishing again.
For the first trip we went to the club lake. I had four feet of water in front of me which is quite shallow for this water but I was confident of a bite or two. I wasn't really expecting a bite a cast all morning long though. It was glorious, sitting out there feeling the warmth of the sun at last and watching my tiny quill slip away as fish after fish took my bait.
Unexpectedly, the weather held and offered me an equally successful second chance. I missed plenty, of course I did, but I caught plenty more. Some nice Perch dropped by to give me a nervous moment or two but as much as I like them they all pale into insignificance beside those beautiful, beautiful Roach. They were quality fish too; mostly in the 3 to 6 oz bracket with one or two over the half pound and one glorious specimen of 1lb 5oz to cap it all.
The '1905' has proved itself many times since I got it, but it will be back leaning against the wall for a while now as 'Old Marmalade' is due a turn soon.
I wonder if that craftsman would have ever considered that his work would survive two world wars and over a century later, still be catching quality Roach. That miracle of chance and the value I both see and feel in the handiwork of ordinary, anonymous men is the true fascination of cane pole.
His last job was to ram a page torn from a recent copy of the Daily Mail right down into the butt cap of each of the bottom two sections. It was in there to cushion the narrower sections as they were slid in for storage and transportation, preventing them from knocking out the brass centre.
I know all this because this pole is one of several that I own and it was the first one that required re-finishing and whilst doing so, I found that wad of newspaper. Un-crumpled, it still bore the date in the top corner; Monday 17 April 1905. Today, a couple of years of wear and tear has dulled the fresh varnish I had put on. It is scuffed, sticky with fish slime when wet and encrusted in places with old groundbait. The legend '1905' is visible on the butt where I added my mark to its history; but it is a working pole - still.
All winter it has been in the corner leaning against the wall with, but in front of, some of its more illustrious stablemates where it is most accessible when the time is right. And now, the time is right. The sun is out, the water warming and I have casters to hand. It's time to go Roach fishing again.
For the first trip we went to the club lake. I had four feet of water in front of me which is quite shallow for this water but I was confident of a bite or two. I wasn't really expecting a bite a cast all morning long though. It was glorious, sitting out there feeling the warmth of the sun at last and watching my tiny quill slip away as fish after fish took my bait.
Unexpectedly, the weather held and offered me an equally successful second chance. I missed plenty, of course I did, but I caught plenty more. Some nice Perch dropped by to give me a nervous moment or two but as much as I like them they all pale into insignificance beside those beautiful, beautiful Roach. They were quality fish too; mostly in the 3 to 6 oz bracket with one or two over the half pound and one glorious specimen of 1lb 5oz to cap it all.
The '1905' has proved itself many times since I got it, but it will be back leaning against the wall for a while now as 'Old Marmalade' is due a turn soon.
I wonder if that craftsman would have ever considered that his work would survive two world wars and over a century later, still be catching quality Roach. That miracle of chance and the value I both see and feel in the handiwork of ordinary, anonymous men is the true fascination of cane pole.
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