Trout & Salmon’s Richard Baker shares fond memories
1. FISHING WITH GR ANDPA
As a ten-year-old, I was wary of my grandfather. He’d led a tough army life, rising from bugle boy to major; India, the BEF, the Mau Mau. He had hunted in Africa; his house ornamented with carved ivory and leopard skin. He taught me how to blow birds’ eggs and gave me his 10ft glass-fibre rod. That sunny afternoon at a local gravel pit, he was happy as we landed several plump tench we’d caught on balls of Mother’s Pride under 3SSG floats. When I look at this picture now, I think about how some things are never acceptable, but I’m fascinated by how morals change over time.
2. LOST FISH
The culmination of my first salmon-fishing trip 25 years ago. I remember it fondly; I was at a low point in my life and the Border Esk distracted me. A mighty October spate. Worm then fly. The hair-raising sound of sploshing salmon. A pub raucous with fishy talk. And the warm welcome I received from retired farmers John and Sissy, with whom my angling friend Andrew and I stayed and whose huge breakfasts I relished. I lost a fish, bright silver and perhaps 15lb, the hook snagging the net. Yet catching nothing didn’t matter a jot, and that’s what this picture of us holding imaginary salmon is all about. Fishing really is good for your well-being.
3. WORK PARTIES
For 15 years, I was part of a syndicate that restored a neglected trout stream. I enjoyed the mayfly, the beautiful wild trout and green solitude, but I liked Sunday mornings in winter best, when we chopped and sawed and heaved, building croys and raking gravels —great filthy work. At first, we burned the fallen trees, but then we learned how vital they are for invertebrate life. I missed the fires —they were a place to gather and blether as the sun set and pheasants skulked. And in the spring, the river was alive with young trout. I felt we had made a difference.
4. SALAR THE SALMON
Whenever I see a grey heron, I say “Hello, Old Nog”, in deference to my favourite fishing book, Salar the Salmon by Henry Williamson. I picked up this first edition on a whim in an old bookshop in Norwich. It tells the story of Salar’s return from the
