Lady Salmon Anglers - again!
Hello all,
Apologies because I posted this story many months ago on the salmon forum but need a new opinion. This is another Donny Donovan story that was about to be published in a well known U.K magazine however, Just prior to publication the editors were warned about possible trouble with regard "chauvinism" (Is that the right word?) so consequently didn't use the story.
I have re-read it a dozen times and think this is grossly unfair but then perhaps I'm bias. I would be very interested in what members think of this, especially ladies.
The feminine touch
As a male salmon fisher I am acutely aware that Miss Georgina Ballantine holds the record for a rod caught U.K salmon and has done so for the best part of the last century and probably will do so for the next. I have read this a thousand times and been told it a thousand more. I have seen the pictures, read various accounts and drooled over one of the hundred casts made of the sixty-four pound monster Tay salmon.
Why I wonder, is the name of Miss Ballantine religiously quoted as soon as anyone of the female gender gets to within two miles of a salmon river? It’s not the female gender that usually mentions her. No, often the male, the fishless male. It’s in the pheromones you know. The cheating woman’s been wrapping salmon flies in her knickers again. Can’t compete with that can we fellas? Wrap a salmon fly in my underwear and the barbs would probably rust off - let alone attract anything fishy. Best leave that there me thinks.
Almost before introduction, a lady amongst salmon fishers will cause mention of Miss Ballantine and on how she’s bound to catch more than us pheromone lacking blokes. Nothing to do with fishing ability, just an unfair advantage that needs to be pointed out – clear the air sort of thing.
Although Miss Ballantine caught her Tay salmon nearly a hundred years ago, I think that most peoples’ attitude towards women fly fishers has softened in recent times along with old fashioned values of salmon fishing being a sport for the rich and famous. I have seen many excellent women fishers come and fish on my beat of the Test although an old keepers warning about women will stay with me forever. “Be very careful Donny. If it’s got tits or wheels, you’re bound to get trouble!”
Another example of when it’s probably best to keep a chauvanistic opinion to yourself I heard whilst playing football many years ago. It was in the Wessex league for my local club Totton, a decent standard of football but this particular game was important for one reason – the first ever woman to referee this high up the league system. She was actually very good although ten minutes into the game and after a fairly innocuous looking tackle from one of our defenders, she produced a red card. After the game I asked the player why on earth he had been sent off and what had he said to the ref. He looked at me with a puzzled expression. “I just told her that she should get back to the bloody ironing board. What’s wrong with that?” You could have called that lady referee by any name, you could have shouted at her, you probably could have threatened to burn her house down or break both her legs but the one thing that you probably didn’t need to do? Bring up the old ironing/kitchen sink number. Always going to irritate a lady amongst men.
There are plenty of things that some women are going to struggle with competing against men solely because of a physical disadvantage but fly-fishing is not one of them. Indeed, I think that some women have a natural advantage in not always matching the physical strength of a man when fly fishing and in having to use timing to cast the line rather than muscle. Watch any professional fly caster, man or woman, and the thing that becomes immediately apparent is the total lack of effort – let the rod do the work, it’s all about timing and women are often much better at this mainly because they don’t have the option of using too much power which ruins the cast. Golfing is exactly the same and that same abuse of power equates to the same failings.
Having observed one of the many reasons why women are often better at fly-casting than men, I have witnessed first hand how early on those failings are ingrained into the male species. I have taught all three of my children to cast a fly rod and they are all pretty good. Whilst teaching my two girls aged about eight and ten in the back garden my son, aged about four, casually wandered over to see what we were doing. After watching his sisters for a few minutes we asked if he wanted a go. We handed him the rod that he waved like a bonfire night sparkler before going through the motions of a cast. After a few false attempts he managed to get a few yards of line to land on the lawn in front of him much to his great delight. His eyes opened wide and a grin spread from ear to ear as he prepared another effort in front of his sisters. Without even knowing what he was doing and without being told, he couldn’t help but pull two or three extra handfuls of line off the reel and attempted to cast again. It’s an inbuilt man thing – rather like subconscious scratching of genitals, we don’t really know we’re doing it. We cannot help playing with ourselves and we cannot help but try and cast further than is needed, especially in front of our sisters!
Lady fly fishers are usually a lot easier to teach and again this comes down to being better at listening and in doing exactly what you suggest. The male ego far too often takes over before the basic elements of casting have been learned. In my experience, lady fly fishers are more prepared to learn one step at a time and don’t try and jump too far too early.
In Scotland I have watched with great fascination as a lady fishes from the water at her toes to the middle of the river covering every couple of inches or so. The man on the other hand, ignores his half the river immediately attempting to cast as far across as he possibly can deliberately missing out the easy, girly bit in front of him. His main aim is in attempting to hit the man on the other bank who of course is doing exactly the same thing back! This waste of time casting duel is an important, almost vital, part of the male salmon fishing experience and obviously only adds to the chances of another fishless day.
“That woman caught another one, apparently on the dangle about five feet from the bank – second bloody cast! Those pheromones are something else aren’t they? God they’re so lucky women.”
Of course it goes without saying that some women will never be able to salmon fish – no matter how many pheromones, and as with some men you get good casters and hopeless ones but after a trip to the Tweed this year, my eyes have been opened to lady fly fishers.
We have fished the same place for several years and stay in a beautiful B&B in Melrose very close to the Lower Mertoun beat and salmon fishing paradise. The people who run the B&B, Ally and Charles Bremner, are the perfect hosts who treat us like kings, packing us of fishing with an extra flask of soup when cold and feeding us copious amounts of liquor when fishless. She is always interested to hear of our days fishing and we always feel obliged to tell her of our captures, near misses and hard luck salmon tales but always presumed a slight lack of real interest on her part. I never used to elaborate too much thinking that she wouldn’t really understand and was only really listening out of politeness.
This year we went through the same routine for the first couple of days until Ally casually mentioned that she was going fishing herself that morning although there was very little chance of her catching anything and she would use the time practising her casting that was a “bit rusty.” I think I rather generously gave her a few useful tips and as a professional salmon keeper, albeit from the chalkstreams, went through one or two very basic things for her to try. If Ally had been a child I probably would have patted her on the head and told her to have a lovely time waving the big salmon rod around, not forgetting to wear protective glasses of course.
The next day – our last – we asked Ally if she would like to come down and see the Mertoun beat and if it was ok with the ghillie, perhaps she could have a cast or two. Sure enough, Ally turned up early afternoon with her waders on and the usual flask of soup and sandwiches and we all sat in the hut and talked of fishing and salmon. She was on the edge of her seat throughout and appeared mesmerised by the river and the prospect of fishing it. I suggested that she fished through the pool outside the hut with the ghillie whilst the other rod, Graham, would wander further upstream. I sat there for a few minutes whilst Ally tackled up but felt a little uncomfortable about her being perhaps a little nervous in front of spectators and decided to go on upstream and keep out of her way.
After an hour or so, myself and Graham slowly made our way back to the hut and talked of perhaps spending a little time with Ally, encouraging her and sympathising that this Spey casting lark is not as easy as it looks. When we got to within a few yards of the hut we saw Ally midstream and rather surprised to see the ghillie sat inside drinking a cup of tea. A little bit harsh we thought, abandoning the poor lady to the river. We almost fought each other past the hut to save this poor damsel in distress and it was just as I was about to call out to her that we were coming to her rescue that she lifted her rod.
The line was stripped from the water with one sharp lift and snapped into an impossible snake roll curling passed her head and into a single spey cast forming an immaculate “D” behind her before she punched it thirty five yards towards the other bank in arrow shaped fashion. She looked behind her and smiled at us as the line landed like thistledown and the fly turned over quite perfectly. She glanced back at the line and rolled a perfect upstream mend. “Downstream wind makes it difficult from the true left doesn’t it?” she said as she again prepared to launch to the other side. This time she put her left hand on top and double spey cast of her left shoulder resulting in the line once again arrowing across the river in an unnerving straight line.
I looked at Graham stood open mouthed next to me and he whispered, “Bloody hell. Looks like poached eggs not all she’s good at. You go and help her, think my backs just gone and seeing as though she can cast that line further than I can hit a five iron, don’t think I can teach her too much, do you?” To put things in perspective, it was his first time spey casting in Scotland and we had been previously not only checking his leader for knots, but the top section of his rod as well. We both went and sat down next to the redundant ghillie in the hut and tried not to let her see us watching out the window. Not a mention of Miss Ballantine.
If ever you’re looking to stay in Melrose try Ally and Charles Bremner at Buccleuch House. You’ll not find a better B&B in the Scottish Borders. Excellent lodgings, superb food, lashings of drink, charming company and if you’re really lucky, you might get to see the landlady cast.
Donny Donovan 2008
Reg Wyatt
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an interesting mix of apathy and panic
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