To paraphrase Billy Joel, “It’s five o’clock on a Friday, the regular crowd shuffles in.”
Friday night is our club night when all the raffles come out, there’re the notices, club news, member’s draws, food on the go and it’s probably the best attended night of the week.
We were at the club on a Friday recently when matey, Garth, went over to talk to a chap he knew and while there’s nothing unusual about that, he’s sociable and a good talker, he came back to the table and said, “Look what I’ve got.”
It was a nondescript round tin but when he prised it open, what it contained was of high interest to both of us. A selection of flies lay therein – some familiar patterns and others not immediately recognised. The tin was lined with a piece of newspaper that showed some ads and a date, 1957, so the flies had likely been sitting in there for a very long time.
To quote a venerable old philosopher, time flies, money flies and blowflies. However, all the patterns were in good nick, so Garth, the merry optimist he is, reckoned there were at least a dozen fish in that tin. I think his Spot X is going to see some new feathers floating through soon.
This event made me start thinking about the value of having a location providing social contact, camaraderie and the chance to talk fishing, as is quite frequently our want. A few clubs have specific sections for interest groups, be it fishing or whatever but our club while not having a specific section for anglers, has several chaps who have chased trout and other species throughout their lives. Their conversation often centres on experiences enjoyable, less comfortable or downright hilarious, it is ‘The Coast’ after all and one of our mottos over here is “never miss the chance for a laugh.”
One late post meridian I was there, having a yap with a few local identities who will remain nameless— another motto is not to dob in yer mates when they slip out to get the milk.
A gent approached and said, “I’ve got some fly-tying gear, would you like to have a look at it?”
Naturally, I confirmed the positive and a few days later I saw his ute driving slowly along my street looking for our house. He stopped and took a wooden case out of the tray, told me he’d made the case himself, sat it down on the front wall and opened it up. To say I was nonplussed would be an understatement; more like gob smacked and I’d not been gob smacked for ages. Not since I tried to tell a certain person how to drive our car, when we went out for a drive but that’s another story.
I marvelled, drooled, at the contents and thought this’ll be an expensive visit so I asked, “What will it cost me?”
I was stunned when he said with a wry grin, “You’ll think of something.”
Think of something I did and the next time I found him at the club, suffice to say he didn’t have to put his hand in his pocket and the next time and the next time and the next time, when he visited the club for more refreshments and fishing tales.
With all this piscatorial business going on, all I have to say is, “I have an angling meeting so I’m off to the club.”
Think I’m getting away with it.
