Fishing is peculiar to men and something that I've never really understood. As a muddy boy I messed around with small nets scooping up sticklebacks in the Regent's Canal which runs through east London, but that pastime didn't last long. And sitting for hours watching an illuminous stick in the water for the slightest movement has never appealed... I'd rather read.
And yet fishing is very popular in Poland. It is illegal for people or dogs to swim in most public ponds, rivers or lakes but fishermen can do what they want, and do, leaving a trail of hooks and line and litter.
I managed to contain my excitement when a couple of the boys down the pub invited me on their weekly jaunt in search of carp and the like. On contemplation and always open to an odd adventure I thought 'Why not?' Maybe I will discover what it is that Polish men find so fascinating by the waterside... apart from a free lunch of course.
We set out at dawn in a giant jeep, four of us and piles of equipment. On the journey through the rain and out of the city I imagined an idyllic setting, the gentle trickle of a stream or occasional splash of a duck on a pond, dew steaming from the soft luscious banks, a remarkable tree under which to plant oneself and gaze out at the drizzle and a misty horizon, a book to hand when mighty and mysterious marine life were not tugging on my line, etc etc.
An hour later we turned off the main road and headed down a dirt track for five minutes before arriving at what looked like a rubbish dump. After leaving the jeep next to a couple of abandoned cars we made our way past a breeze block house encircled by mad dogs chained to tractor wheels. We entered a compound via a metal gate and, stepping delicately along wet wooden planks, we crossed over small tanks which were heaving with condemned fish. Continuing single file in between mountains of discarded washing machines and other debris we reached the edge of an expansive and very man-made looking reservoir. Concrete shelters especially built for fisherman were located around the whole circumference of the water, each just a few yards from the next. I was already looking at my watch as we unpacked the tackle.
My pals armed me with a worm on a hook at the end of a long rod. I stood awkwardly freezing my nuts off for 15 minutes staring out at the water. My thoughts turned to the paperback protruding from my jacket pocket but I was given strict instructions not to take my eyes off the bait. Suddenly one of the boys shouted at me "pull pull!" I instinctively yanked and a tiny silver thing came flying out of the water and landed half a mile behind me in the midst of the wreckage, I rescued the poor creature from a lingering death under an old Zanussi and returned him to the water. He had been about four inches long, not record breaking but the first catch of the day! From then on, with a slight flick of the wrist, I was to land one of these blighters every few minutes while my comrades looked on bewildered. I was experiencing the renowned Beginners Luck, but I soon bored of it and sent them on their way as soon as I had unhooked them. The reservoir was crammed with fish, I spied armies of them chomping on anything and everything and it didn't seem like much of a challenge.
Back in the boozer a few days later propping up the bar with Blonde Flatmate, one of the beefy bouncers and leader of our expedition wandered over and asked if I'd enjoyed the day.
"Oh... wonderful." I enthused... "simply marvellous."
Blonde Flatmate turned to me mystified, "but you said it was boring!" She will be facing a dramatic rise in the rent if she doesn't acquire some brain cells quick. Despite her interruptions I managed to convince our leader that I had had a life-changing experience.
None of us landed anything bigger that day although since that outing my friends have regaled me with tall tales of colossal carp and tempestuous tench fighting to the death. They keeping asking when I will be accompanying them again but I'm just so busy at the moment... and will be for the next few years.
