LT
COL NOEL ELLIS
21/IX/21
There was a time
when people used to say that Angling is a game of patience. It is also a game
of waiting, luck & a game of chance. I was reminded of my childhood.
Hopping on to Dad's
bi-cycle carrier on his fishing trips can never be forgotten. Those days the
game was played with assorted baits. Spinners and flies were not his style. In
case lures were used, they were live frogs for fish like Mali & Saul.
Preparation for a
good catch needed knowledge and experience. The local weather, speed of water
in the river, sun and shade, fellow anglers and their location in respect to
yours mattered. Above all it was the ‘mood’ of the fish which mattered more.
Then would be the
‘wait’ after the cast. Sometimes the line would get entangled, the float would
sink as the weights were not adjusted to the correct depth of water. The
current would be too fast for the line to be stable. Sudden winds would make
the line drift. Passing boats would churn the water. Buffaloes wading close to
the hook would spook the fish. There were too many ‘ifs and buts’. As they said
there were many slips between a cup and the lip, which proved absolutely true.
One had to be patient.
Sometimes it would
be Dads Day, first cast, first bite, there used to be a ‘fish on’. The ‘Anglers
unwritten Bible’ would say that the first catch is always released back. People
would jest that it was a fluke but then no one minded the pun.
Patience would run
out if thereafter the fish won't bite. Dad would put the blame on some bad
omen. As an angler, he was very superstitious. He would abandon the plan if a
person with blue eyes crossed his path.
He would spit on
the bait on the hook before casting. An earthworm was never broken, even if it
covered the whole hook but was threaded till it would get all wrinkled up. He
would never leave the tip of the hook naked, probably he feared that the fish
could make out that there was a hook to catch them. A dragonfly was considered
a good omen if it came and sat on his float. That meant that the line was
absolutely stable and at the right depth.
Anglers of those
days had fixed places. Unlike what we see people walking down the river casting
and spinning. They had their favourite spots and others respected that space. In
case you were not there they could occupy that place. In case an old angler
walked in, fellow anglers would vacate that area. People knew and respected the
big ‘game catchers’ and would leave some space where they cast their lines
from. Even herdsmen would herd their cattle a little distance away as an
unwritten rule.
There were numerous
irritants like yours truly, who couldn’t care less if dad would be in the midst
of a fight with a fish. To distract him one could even go to the extent of
saying that you wanted to go to the loo. Dad never lost his cool. If he was
confident that the fish was hooked properly, he would tie the line to the
nearest tree and attend to me and then come back and tackle the fish.
He loved to fish in
a style called ‘andha shikar’, meaning blind. In this he would not use his
bamboo rod. Just hook, line, sinker and bait. He would throw it like you throw
a ‘sling’. A few circles over your head and in that momentum the line was cast
into the deep waters of the river and let it sink to the bottom for the bottom
feeders like the ‘carp’ variety.
He would prepare
clay roundels, each weighing about two kgs. Lot of aromatic flavouring like,
dana methi (fenugreek seeds), dried and crushed mint leaves, dried kasuri methi
leaves, heeng (asafoetida), khal (mustard seed cake) all would be roasted and
kneaded into a clay dough. A couple of days prior to the real game, those balls
would be thrown in the river to let the fish congregate. Balls withered slowly,
attracting fish. On D-Day, the success rate was phenomenal.
For an angler it
was very tough when the tortoises would get hooked. They had an uncanny habit
to swallow it deep into their gullet. To get the tortoise off the hook and
recast used to take time and above all patience. Those turtles could snap and
dig their teeth into your fingers but were considered as a good omen.
Dad had a very
short temper. We never saw him lose his patience while angling. How could he
remain so calm? I wonder!!!!!!!!!!
JAI HIND
© NOEL ELLIS
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