![\"Thrums,](\"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2009\/07\/Thrums_Kirriemuir-300x267.png\")
I never seemed to tire of looking out for it and its mysterious charm. Did the real Peter Pan gaze out over the Kirrie rooftops from its minute panes?<\/p>\n
In the stoutly Victorian main square were two premises of particular interest to small boys \u2013 the first was Visocchi\u2019s celebrated Soda Fountain, an Italian caf\u00e9 and gelateria where achingly-desirable ice cream was regularly scooped into a large, wide-mouthed vacuum flask for onward transport to our caravan.<\/p>\n
The second was McCallum\u2019s, the traditional newsagent and stationers\u2019 on the opposite corner wherein among the papers, books, magazines and postcards, lay a selection of toys and what at the time were neatly described as \u201cfancy goods\u201d.<\/p>\n
Among them was my first fishing rod.<\/p>\n
My father made the selection as fathers do, especially if they are serious anglers. In 1955 Kirriemuir the choice of\u00a0 tackle for a child was perhaps limited.\u00a0 And with hindsight I fully understood that this rod was, of course, just a toy rather than anything Hardy Brothers\u2019 Alnwick workforce would have been proud to turn out.<\/p>\n
For a start it was plastic. The rod and the reel were both moulded together in some kind of cream and brown assembly.\u00a0\u00a0 It possessed, well before its time, a large arbour reel with some form of ratchet mechanism which was controlled from the pistol-grip handle.<\/p>\n
Rod handles have always puzzled me.\u00a0 Down the ages, the evolution of the fishing rod has changed slowly.\u00a0 The materials have matured through simple larch, willow and greenheart to bamboo, boron and carbon graphite.\u00a0 Ring designs have had a couple of modifications. Handle materials have changed little too, with cork still a universal favourite.<\/p>\n
But the rod itself has remained straight and unflinchingly true. And the grip is still remarkably elementary, just grab the rod end with one or two hands, swing it to and fro with various degrees of dexterity and hang on for dear life if that specimen salmon,\u00a0 pike or tarpon takes off.\u00a0 Virtually no allowance is made for the fact that a human\u2019s hand, wrist and arm are not connected in a straight line.\u00a0 Nor for the cantilever effect of elbow and shoulder when casting.<\/p>\n
Sure, lighter, perfectly-balanced rods and reels have reduced the need to have a body-building physique to pursue a day out on the Spey with a double-handed 16- or 17-footer without suffering a severe attack of tendonitis.\u00a0 Ergonomics seems to have given fishing a miss.<\/p>\n
So my plastic pistol-grip affair though cheap and non-conformist, may well have demonstrated an advanced design worthy of further thought. And while it was never going to threaten 70+ yard casting records, it proved adept at delivering a few worms into the water without much skill, as we shall later see.<\/p>\n
With my first rod, came the time to learn associated skills that go with being inducted into the Great Angling Fraternity.\u00a0 First, the bait \u2013 and that meant a spot of gardening.\u00a0\u00a0 Few small boys can resist the opportunity to handle a small spade and get digging. I was no different.\u00a0 Our riverside caravan in the wilds of an Angus glen, meant wandering a few fields, lifting stones, poking around in the mud and learning that the juciest morsels were very often to be uncovered beneath cowpats and similarly well-fertilised locations.<\/p>\n
Perforating the lid of a small tin box with a hammer and nail had earlier provided another half-hour\u2019s satisfying distraction and soon held the contents of the bait foray.\u00a0 Fatherly advice decreed that the biggest, fattest worms were to be discarded in favour of a smaller, red and vigorously wriggling variety.\u00a0 Grubs of all shapes and sizes were prized and an occasional furry caterpillar was secreted for good measure.<\/p>\n
Next came hooks and knots.\u00a0 A single hook with a little barb on the shank to keep the bait in place was tied direct to the line by my father whose hands and fingers wove a mysterious, mesmeric pattern in the air as he explained the mechanics of a tucked half-blood knot, a lecture he was forced to repeat several times in the future until I too mastered it.<\/p>\n
I will leave out the attachment of bait to hook for the benefit of the squeamish.\u00a0 Suffice to say that in later years, classroom biology dissections never created any revulsion.\u00a0 Then, finally, with mounting anticipation it was off to the riverside.<\/p>\n
Observational skills are best learned, well, simply by observation. With a practised eye, my father knew all the likely eddys and runs in the little river and his casting was direct and sure, even allowing for bankside trees and undergrowth.\u00a0 My little rod was never going to propel a worm and weighted line very far, but that was not the point.\u00a0 This was all about anticipation, the not knowing, the expectancy, the imagination, the waiting, the patience.<\/p>\n
Within a seemingly short time, my father had a couple of trout on the bank and showed me how to differentiate between them and the salmon parr which were carefully returned.\u00a0 \u201cGod\u2019s fingerprints\u201d stood out quite clearly on the flanks of the tiny salmon.<\/p>\n
On that first excursion, I caught trees, bushes, heather, grass clumps and the river bottom.\u00a0 But no fish.<\/p>\n
The next afternoon while my parents were having a nap, I crept off on my own armed with rod and bait.\u00a0 Warned on pain of fearsome retribution not to go near the river, I wandered into the adjoining field, where a tiny feeder burn rushed down to join the river.\u00a0 It was perhaps 18in wide and just a few inches deep as it gurgled and splashed its way down the hill and into the river. But it was large enough to drop a worm into.<\/p>\n And it was there to my complete amazement that alone and unaided, I caught my first trout.\u00a0 The excitement was indescribable as it wriggled and danced. The little rod bent and jigged.\u00a0 With feverish fingers and fairly bursting with pride, I reeled in the line.\u00a0 Unfortunately my success had outpaced my education.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t know quite what to do next.\u00a0 I lifted the fish out on to the bank where it jumped and squirmed off the hook.\u00a0 And as I tried to capture it, the trout slithered between my fingers, down the grass to the water.\u00a0 And was gone.<\/p>\n It was a defining moment. I caught it. I held it. It was mine; a prize, a trophy to be taken home, praised and admired.\u00a0 A fine trout, oh easily this big.\u00a0 It was bigger than big. It was GIGANTIC.<\/p>\n I searched the grass and bankside feverishly again and again, but that sickening empty feeling spread quickly. Defeat plucked from the jaws of victory.\u00a0 The sense of loss was bitter, and I felt\u00a0 silly and stupid. But worse was to follow.<\/p>\n My tale of woe was greeted at home with sympathy, but\u00a0 it was delivered with glances, knowing smiles and in a tone that created a quite different kind of loss, the loss of innocence.\u00a0 I knew for the first time in my young life, without any doubt, that my parents didn\u2019t really believe me.<\/p>\n And that was a more crushing blow than the loss of any catch, then or since.<\/p>\n Like Peter Pan said: you have to believe.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I’VE NO idea if J. M Barrie, the creator of Peter Pan, ever went fishing as a lad.\u00a0 With nine siblings, one of whom died in a tragic skating accident, it may be possible that the young weaver\u2019s son from Kirriemuir might have dropped a line into the waters of Kirrie Den while wiling away…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/517"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=517"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/517\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1307,"href":"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/517\/revisions\/1307"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=517"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=517"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/btl.longlinemedia.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=517"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk\/usbiography\/b\/images\/jmbarrie-peterpan.jpg\" "\\"Peter")
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