Without wanting to give away my age, my first fishing trip as a child was in the 80's (I know you're all doing the maths!). For many, fishing was, and still is to an extent, a hobby that is passed down through the family – generally father to child, or grandad to child. For me, it was a little different.
My dad died when I was three and mum was definitely not an angler. Grandad was a legend of a man, but again, not an angler. So, when a chirpy 7-year-old decided he wanted to have a go at fishing (after watching John Wilson on the tele), my mum did the only thing she could think of – She asked a friend's dad to take me. For context, my mum was outstanding at that kind of thing. She made sure I could always do what I wanted to, even if it was outside her ability or inclination. I was a season ticket holder at Forest for many years, again tagging along with a mate and his dad.
Anyway, back to the fishing. I still remember that day with Bruce Burton like it was yesterday – catching roach for fun whilst trotting a maggot down the River Trent. A hot day in June. Perfect. Excuse the pun, but I was hooked.
That was all well and good, but Bruce wasn't going to be able to take me fishing as much as I wanted to go. I needed a plan B. I needed to work out a way where I could fish as often as I liked. The answer was the Erewash Canal.
My childhood home was a 2-minute walk from the canal. For those that don't know it, it's lined with old Mills from the days when the town was a hot bed for lace making. Its thin, not very deep, gin clear and, at the time, full of shopping trollies and bikes.
But I could walk there. Mum could check on me. It was cheap to fish, there was a tackle shop 5 minutes away and if I fell in, I could stand up easily. Perfect.
So, the Erewash Canal became my second home. Every day of summer holidays would be spent sat on my tackle box that had been an 9th birthday present, along with a 4m whip. Out when my mum went to work and back when she came home. All day. Every day. Sat on the bank, catching fish.
And I did catch fish. Loads of fish. Perch, Roach, Crucian Carp, Rudd, Gudgeon by the hundreds. Using maggots, castors (when I'd left the maggots too long!) or a slice of bread from my sandwich mum had made me. Perfect summer days.
Writing this has made me reminisce fondly about those carefree days. It's strange, but as I get older (and my memory gets worse), I can remember so many specific events, fish and days that happened on that canal. Like fishing on Christmas day in 1992 because I'd had some new fleece lined wellies or getting up at 4am to try and catch a carp because a man who lived in one of the houses that backed onto the other side of the canal had told a friend and I it was the only time to catch them (we didn't catch for the record!). Why is it I can remember those? Why are those memories so strong that I can still remember them all this time later?
Is it because fishing taught me things that have stuck with me through life? Did fishing on Christmas day (in the freezing cold) teach me resilience? Did getting up at 4am teach me independence? Did the disappointment of not catching a carp that morning teach me about dealing with failure? A huge part of me thinks they did, you know.
I loved catching fish, but more than that – I loved the challenge. I loved the challenge of trying to catch faster, trying to catch more, trying to catch bigger. I loved learning new techniques from the tackle magazines and from John Wilson on the tele (no YouTube in those days!). I loved sitting at home making pole rigs – It was like a challenge between me and the fish – could I make a rig to allow me catch more? I loved the fresh air. I loved the peace.
As I got older, I fished other waters. But the Erewash Canal was and is special. It's where I feel like a child again, it's where I can go back to quieter, simpler days.
Now, as an adult, I crave quiet and peace. Three kids, work, marriage, money – all those things that consume our time and our thoughts disappear when I'm fishing.
I relax, switch off, recharge. I can breathe. Properly breathe.
I'd never really thought about my mental health until 2020. Like all of us at the start of the pandemic, my life changed. Lockdowns, school closures, furlough…. The list goes on. It was for me, like many, a pretty worrying time. But after the Angling Trust campaigned for changes to the lockdown rules, there was a constant – I could still fish. The benefit of fishing for mental health was acknowledged by the government.
And when I fished, I switched off. I recharged, relaxed. In all honesty, it probably saved me from a dark pit that I didn't want to go into.
So, I'm thankful. Thankful I was given a chance to fish as a child, thankful that my mum ‘found a way' and thankful that we now have an opportunity to give children who haven't potentially got a dad or grandad who knows what they're doing the opportunity to learn to fish.
And if that helps one adult in years to come manage their mental health a little bit better? Well, that will be like the day I caught 100 fish in 90 minutes on the canal (12th July 1991 – The day after my 12 th Birthday) – Perfect!
