The Eels go round

A freshwater Eel on your fishing hook was always bad news.

The moment the float disappeared under the choppy river surface there was no telling whether it was that elusive once in a lifetime catch to be photographed and mounted on the mantlepiece, or featured in Angling Times, or just a troublesome eel.

On that first strike and tautness of nylon line it was apparent that there was something of some substance attached by hook. A tugging resistance was exciting and as the line played out into the murky depths all your senses became accentuated and raw. It was a one on one confrontation with the natural world.

The line ,transluscent in the morning sun , glistened and small droplets of water fell away to create small concentric circles in the wake of the pursuit. The flexibility of a modern fibre glass fishing rod gave the impression of a relentless battle, arching dramatically, almost doubling up on itself but like a vaulting pole always springing back to its full reach.

Whatever was trying to get away was quite determined to do so and was heading towards the depths of the river and the clump of thick weeds at the edge of the far bank. It was bit and bit on who was winning. The line would slacken suddenly as though the hook had released its captor. The action of slowly reeling in the loose, flapping line was tentative and nervy but only served to annoy the protagonist and the run, stall and waiting game would start again.

After what seemed like hours but was only really a handful of minutes a silver flash briefly broke the surface. The glimpse was not enough to identify fish or eel and catching a second surge of energy the river dweller continued to make a bid for freedom. It was good sport, or as good as could be expected on a sleepy backwater.

Gradually the advantage turned in favour of the angler and more of the line was now back around the reel than in the water. Excitedly the green mesh landing net was prepared and pushed out just under the surface to receive the catch.

As the last few metres of line emerged there was the sight of a thick congealed slime, like that often seen around the mouths of grazing cows. This announced that it was an eel that had provided the entertainment. Not wanting to introduce the mucus into the  fishing reel it was a case of swinging the rod end and the struggling, knotted eel onto the bank. The grass seethed and hissed under the contortions of the eel. Thoughts of retrieving the hook were discounted. The discorger could just not be manouevred into the reptilian mouth of small stubbly but sharp teeth and even if it was possible to grip and hold the eel it would only wrap itself tightly around hand and wrist and in a flume of more slime and extruded fluids.

The only course of action was to sever the line just above the last point of the congealed mess and throw the eel back into the river. Such an action did betray the creed of a dedicated angler who always strived to release a catch without apparent harm back to its habitat. However, eels, somehow did not come under the same category as a fish and warranted special treatment.

They are tough creatures and many caught had multiple hooks and strands of line about their bodies from previous frenzied feedings. I often though that anyone actually wanting to catch eels in our stretch of river could easily do so from a small boat with a metal detector and small net.