OUTNUMBERED
A peaceful day’s fishing becomes a harrowing experience for Barry Akam
PHOTOGRAPHY: SHUTTERSTOCK
I
T WAS AROUND THE TIME OF MY
76th birthday in late May and as a member of an excellent Northern fishing club, I’d decided to have a day or two on one of its rivers. The path to the beat I’d chosen was along a flood bank, the river at this point flowing through a flat landscape of farmland, used mainly for the grazing of cattle. Soon I was at the little gate into the huge field that adjoined the river. I paused for a moment to regain my breath and looked about me.
In the past there had been an electric fence that kept the cattle from the banks, and I noticed the wires were now missing. I looked down at my feet, there were signs of cattle, recent hoof marks and dung, but the beasts were far off in the distance, and so, full of anticipation, I continued along until I came to the first big pool, a known holding spot for salmon and sea-trout. Slowly and with care, I edged down the steep bank to the water’s edge. Below me, a fast glide opened out into an inviting pool.