Fathers and Sons

Our family holiday is always near a particular spot on the River Tay. Now if you know anything at all about fishing, the words "River Tay" will conjure up an image of thousands of Salmon or Trout, leaping hungrily at the bait of a thousand fishermen. If however you know nothing about fishing and you watched me, you'd have a different picture. I sit there year after year doing everything the books and my fellow anglers tell me to do and I catch.... nothing, not a sausage, nothing. Strangely enough, I really don't care. There are no phones ringing, or people waiting to see me, instead there's just me and the gurgle and splash of the river. In goes the bait and out comes the bait and the fish pay no attention and I don't mind either. My family find me returning from my expeditions with a rod and reel and a contented smile. Well that's how it was, until one day one of my sons asked me if he could come too. I thought it would provide a good bit of male bonding for a dad to explain the noble art tying a Fly to a novice son. Off we went and we stood a little apart while he attempted his first solo cast. He did quite well and I concentrated on my own effort. My son called over to ask if he should pull it in now and I replied he should leave it longer to give any fish a good chance to notice it. He replied that he'd already caught a fish. A strange thing happened. The long dead excitement of fishing which had deserted me after my first two years of failure, returned with a tremendous surge. I leapt across to where he stood, quite convinced that he must be talking nonsense and watched him conjure a beautiful four pound trout from the water. Having removed the hook he turned to me and asked if he could now go home and off he wandered with his triumph, leaving me to go back to adding to my record as the world's worst angler. It wasn't the same. I couldn't console myself with the beautiful scenery and the noise of the water. Suddenly I wanted to be a fisherman more than anything. Any old fish would do, a four pounder, a three pounder, a one ouncer. And then I thought about the fact that I was really quite proud about what my son had done. I don't suppose any parent minds if their child does better than them. No I really didn't mind at all, so in went the bait and out it came again and I really, really didn't mind at all.