The Art Of The Fly

Irrespective of the dodgy weather, myself and Johnny B dared to go to the river yesterday and try to tempt some of the balmy trutta out of the trickle of water that some people call the river Wharfe. I didn’t rate our chances as there has been no rain since 2001 (or at least it feels Iike it) but it’s always nice to get down there and even better with John, so off we went expecting to just chill out and waste a few hours.

To those of you that don’t know, JB used to be controller of Radio 1 back in the heady days of Noel, DLT, Kenny Everett etc so he’s not unaccustomed to the glare of the spotlights and the smell of greasepaint. I reckon that once in showbiz always in showbiz, but surely the fish don’t know of John’s pedigree do they. Or do they?

A strange late afternoon, at one point we went back to the car expecting a deluge, but none came, and as it turned out it was a very pleasant summers evening, not too hot, not too windy, just right.

On a good day I can usually catch, but it was tough as I reckon that the fish are just hunkering down hiding from the sun and picking off the odd fly as and when, but I managed to raise 2 and hook one whereas JB was having a tough time but had raised one.

Then we had the rain break that never happened and as a result we moved downstream. Straight away John starting raising fish but couldn’t hook one for toffee (on the other hand I was fishing like a blind one-armed amateur and couldn’t touch a fish).

That’s where showbiz being in your blood makes a difference. I swear to God we could have thrashed the water for hours, but then along came a couple walking along the river bank. John immediately started to look different, his casting became almost poetic and the fly drifting down the river was akin to the Royal Yacht as it gently and effortlessly floated downstream. It was like one of those TV programmes where we expectantly awaited the gentle sip of the trout taking the fly. Sure enough as the couple neared us it happened, right on queue, the Royal Yacht was scuttled by the fish and John gently raised his rod into a fine fighting brown trout. The camera slowly panned back to show the couple watching and gently applauding as John made a real meal of playing it in front of the virtual camera before finally netting it.

End of chapter 1. The couple moved off and John flogged the water again turning it in to a foam with as much chance of catching a fish as, well me to be honest. We had a laugh as I made it clear that he was a complete show-off, which John took in his stride. Until once again another couple chanced by. Again the elegant casting started again, the smell of the greasepaint was wafting through the air and the gentle snap of the clapper-board could be heard in the distance. Once again the camera rolled and again the Royal Yacht was sipped off the surface as we all held our breath. Again the gentle applause of the audience watching from the bank could be heard as John once again fought the tireless trout to the net to capture Chapter 2 in a single take.

That’s John you see, loves the audience and the trout know it. It’s in the blood you know!

Alas I have never been in showbiz so I could not hope to emulate the loved and famous. Perhaps I should try harder, or perhaps I should accept that I’m just a lost cause whereas John? ‘Nuff said.