Some more epic down under action from Fishing the Wild.
Morgs grabs the GoPro and heads out for a weeks fishing in the Northern Territory of Australia. Joined by a couple of mates, the boys fish their way around some of the most pristine environments in the world. Catching a multitude of Australian sports fish species in some of the clearest and shallowest waters imaginable.
Recently discovered Classic Angling Literature (English on Holiday Division) excerpt:
F.M. Halford, eminent Victorian English Dry Fly fisher but pretty prolix and pedantic author, to His Keeper, not on the Test, circa 1880:
“I say, Scroggins. He rather went for that, didn’t he? What is it? Another one of your Blue Bastards…?”
“No, Sir. A Little Silver F—-er.”
“Goin’ a bit, ain’t he?”
“Too f—-ing right, Sir.”
The above found only today in one of the many books in my extensive, lifetime-collected Angling Library … which I really must flog off fast before my Far More Widely-Fished and Travelled Successors Finally Finish Off The Planet….
https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2020/jan/18/world-tour-luxury-jet
Now where are those now semi-mythical British Atlantic salmon…? Rarer than Unicorns nowadays and their absence still being blamed by some folk on everything from local Otters and even Kingfishers to big black-and-white-and-evil Foreign Orcas….
Great little movie, the one above. So much power and fury from so very fishy little.
Retires to listen to some more Zappa. ‘Son of Mr Genes’ from his classic Hot Rats (northern Atlantic, now, too) album somehow seems apt.
Sorry about this, fellas. It was inpired by a Times of London article of Dec 31st 2019, “Fishing Paradise dries up as River Wye salmon are driven to to Verge of Extinction”, that I was sent today by a pal in Wales who knows very well the old 1970s Kodak colour “snap” of a teenage me hefting a massive 38-pound Wye salmon I had just netted for an elderly (well, mid-50s – you know how it is when you’re young) expert fisher of that river who I had put on to some of “my” far western Welsh salmon the previous summer and who was now returning the favour by way of an initation to his own river.
“Carry on fishing, lad.” he said to me soon aftwrwards. “You’ll get one.”
I did, within the hour, an 18-pounder.
“They”, the guys who took such bounty to be Personal Right, blame their absence on SO many critters and wrong-colour political types – in fact, anything or anybody – these days…………
Time to wise-up.
One clarification – read the last-but-one para above as follows:
“They”, the guys who arrived on the river long after great Wye salmon-fishers like the one I mentioned above and who took such past bounty to be their (“I’ve paid a lot of money for this…”) Present Personal Right, blame the salmon’s absence on SO many critters and wrong-colour political types – in fact, anything or anybody – these days…………
Big on and loud in apportioning blame, miniscule in their understanding of just how wild things work.
That’s all.