St. Patrick's Day approaches, the gorse begins to bloom and once again our thoughts turn from roach and perch to fair and fabled fario.
It is a curious thing that a fish unwanted and unsought in winter and if accidentally caught is roundly cursed becomes at this time of year an object of the most intense desire. In early March the urge to ignore the absence of fly upon the water and the fact that the trout are still rather lean tempts one to take down a worming rod and set off to renew acquaintance with the golden darling which somehow, almost overnight, has ceased to be 'another d****d spotty !' The metamorphosis is reminiscent of the adolescent experience of one day discovering that the wretched creature who persistently and maddeningly attempted to include herself in boys' adventures has suddenly become, well, a golden darling. To carry the analogy further, she (persistently and maddeningly) now refuses to show the least interest in boyish games and to one's intense frustration ignores all blandishments, much as a trout is capable of refusing, to reciprocate our burning wish for closer contact.
The bag containing the worming rod is taken from its hook, the rod extracted and experimentally assembled; a little French reel is fitted and the outfit hefted; its familiar charm begins to work. I regard worming for trout, upstream or down, in clear water or a flood as being, each on its day, fair means of fishing. Equally, spinning with natural or artificial minnow, even trotting down a maggot under a tiny float, all have their place in my relationship with fario.
But stay. Conscience reminds me that at this time of year a trout is not quite as standoffish as a maiden. Our fish is wasted after the winter, hungry in the extreme and very likely to hurl itself onto a worm-baited hook. To achieve his downfall is all too easy. I would not care to place myself in the same class as the hateful thugs who angle for starving carp in 'fisheries' gouged from the earth the day before yesterday. One could not think well of oneself in such a case, anymore than one would consider it fair play to throw large gins into blossoming girls in order to accomplish an end which in other circumstances would and should be cause for great joy.
I will possess my soul in patience until the water is warmer and the first flies show themselves, retaining my virtue whether success or failure attend my efforts.
