All I want for Christmas
Another Donny Donovan story that I think sums up the general feeling towards fishing by most members on this forum. I have thoroughly enjoyed this year on the forum - excellent advice, great laughs and thoughtfull discussion. Thought provoking debate, disagreements etc but all in all good clean fun. Thankyou very much and a very happy Christmas and new year.
This story was published in the Waterlog so apologies if you have read it before but like I say, I think it is very representative of a lot of the members feeling towards the gentle art.
All I want for Christmas.
The rain was beating into the windows making them shake and whistle and I could hear the great willow in the garden sweeping across the roof tiles as the fire danced to the rythym of the breeze which found its way down the chimney.
I stared again into the mesmerising flame and tried not to believe the tap tap on the back door. There couldn't possibly be anybody out there. Five minutes passed of thoughtfull flame staring and try as I might I couldn't help but hear it again. Tap tap. What sort of desperate soul wandering the lanes on this dark December night was knocking on my door? Probably dressed in a great black cloak clutching some kind of murder weapon - a glinting knife no doubt and was intent on slaying us all. Even the dog curled at my feet couldn't be arsed to bark.
I reluctantly shook myself, and the dog, into life, eased out of the fireside chair, vowed to stop staring into the flame that was quite obviously affecting my imagination and went annoyed to see what kind of lost person was out on this god forsaken night. The rain swept into my face as I opened the door and squinted my eyes to see who wanted to be saved. There was no black cloak but brightly coloured oilskins that any self respecting trawlerman would be proud of and shedding copious amounts of water all over the floor.
"Alright Donny, I got two loaves left over for the chickens; I'll leave them on the side, even the bloody chub were difficult today. Christ it's pissing it down!"
Glen Gregory is one of the nicest people that fishes at Nursling and according to them in the know, one of the best coarse anglers around. Even when he occassionally remembers to put his front teeth in he's unmistakably quite scary looking but certainly no murderer.
"Hello Glen, you must be bloody soaked mate. Want a cup of tea?"
I knew he wouldn't. In all the years I've known him he's never once come into the house. I think he's allergic to the indoors and actually lives permanently on the riverbanks.
"No thanks Donny, I think I'd best get on home and have me tea cheers."
Glen lived about three miles away and would have to walk across water meadow and over wooden bridges pulling fishing gear on his home made trolley.
"The meadows will be flooded mate, put your stuff in the back of the truck and I'll give you a lift home."
Again I knew he wouldn't accept. Walking home in the pitch black and torrential rain across flooded water meadows was all part of the game for Glen, all part of fishing and he said that it made his tea tasta so much better.
"Caught the most beautiful dace, must have been close on half a pound. Love to see the dace - great to see them in the Test Donny."
Glen had probably been fishing fron dawn until dusk. He was soaked to the skin and his voice was vibrating with the cold. He had an hours trek in front of him with nobody waiting for him, no dinner on the table, nobody to talk about the dace with yet I knew that he was the most contented man in Hampshire. Once home he would dry and clean his fishing gear and write up his diary before he even thought about putting the kettle on and getting into his bed and dream about his days fishing.
"Been meaning to ask you Donny but you're going to think I'm a right sad ******, would it be ok if I fished Saturday?"
He had that look of desperation in his eye, please say it will be alright Donny.
"Of course you can fish Saturday, you can fish any day you want mate."
"Oh thanks Donny that's brilliant. I think it's a bad forecast again but I'm going to try and catch some grayling from the mill pool and perhaps a few more of those monster dace! Thanks Donny, see you later mate."
With that he pulled down his hat and walked out into the storm to trudge his way home no doubt thinking about his tactics for the grayling on Saturday. He stuck his hand up as he closed the gate behing him and I watched as he disappeared down the lane looking like a lifeboat man pulling a golf trolley. The wind was howling and I couldn't hear a thing but I'd bet money that he was whistling a tune.
When I got back into my chair in front of the fire I looked up at the three red stockings hanging from the mantle piece each with a letter to father Christmas poking out the top. My kids had been dreaming of Christmas for the last couple of months and each letter contained a wish list as long as your arm. Christmas day was this coming Saturday and all Glen Gregory wanted for Christmas was to catch a few fish from the mill pool and for me not to think he was a sad ******.
After the chaos of first thing Christmas morning when all the presents had been opened and mostly forgotten me and the dog went for a walk along the river bank more to escape than exercise. I'd forgotten about Glen but there he was on the mill pool huddled under a large brolley to shield himself from the constant drizzle. A big white smile appeared on his face - he'd put his teeth in especially for Christmas and he stuck out his hand and wished me good day.
"Got your two front teeth for Christmas then Glen?" I said as we shook hands. He laughed and sat back down on his sun lounger and cleared a space so that I could sit under the brolley. He rolled himself a smoke and sat back out of the rain with a contented sigh. He had a blanket over his legs and he adjusted the collar on his duffle coat and pulled down a woollen hat over his ears. Another great draw on his cigarette and again the sigh as he surveyed all around him. If Christmas really is all about peace on earth then Glen had truly found it and you knew that there was absolutely nowhere that he'd rather be.
"I've got me stove Donny, I'll do us a brew in a minute, I've got all the makings."
I sat there for about fifteen minutes with him, had a cup of tea, politely refused one of his curled up cheese sandwiches and eventually started to make my way back towards the house. I got about five hundred yards upstream of Glen when something suddenly struck me. I'd been there for fifteen or twenty minutes and hadn't seen him catch a fish or even mention fish. Twenty minutes passing without Glen catching a fish was akin to Manchester United being unable to break down the Accrington Stanley defence. It was unheard of and I turned and hurriedly made my way back to the mill pool to see whatever was wrong. Glen was still huddled under the brolley with fag in one hand and cup of tea in the other and greeted me as if he hadn't actually seen me about two minutes earlier.
"Alright Donny, want a cuppa mate?"
His home made trolley used to pull all his fishing gear around was stood up behind him with rods still unpacked.
"What's up then Glen, you not fishing today?"
Glen tapped his cigarette on the side of his chair, let out a sigh and leant up towards me as he whispered an unintentional pun;
"Jesus Christ Donny. It is Christmas day, I thought I'd at least give them the morning off, goodwill and all that."
Now that's what fishing is all about.
Donny Donovan 2006
Reg Wyatt
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SKB tackle supporter. I love Furled Leaders.
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