The footpath alongside the River Humber, between the newly blue painted Makro Cash and Carry building and the sharp right angled turn at the old Cod Farm, is a hive of activity at most times of the day, be it a weekday or at the weekend, with a regular spacing of anglers.
It is an exposed location.
A strong westerly wind whipping in from the Humber Bridge can make it a miserable place but made tolerable by the fact that it is somewhere to be by choice and anyway, a green fishing umbrella, lashed to the metal fencing above the flood defence wall can be the cosiest and most peaceful spot in the world, at least for a few hours. Thoughts and worries can tangibly diminish in that time.
They arrive on their bicycles or by car, never alone but in two's, three's or more. It seems to the outsider to be a closely knit bunch, a group of pals but of that level of aquaintance and friendship that means that there is no need to chat or say more than necessary after "now then me old mate".
The sessions have long been planned with reference to the Tide Tables. These can still be bought from most small newsagents in Hull and seem to sell out very quickly. Rods are assembled, tackle attached and then the deft process of threading the nylon line through the eyelets in the face of a gale force wind. This is nothing when compared to the keenness of moist,wind swept eyes and the dexterity of chilled fingers to attach the barbed hook with a proper,deck learned knot. The sort of knot with an actual name.
I have noticed in walking the path that the most popular time in terms of numbers of anglers is on the turn of the tide. There is a precipitous drop onto the sandbank at the base of the flood wall at the lowest tide. Tesco are certainly missing a few of their trolleys from the rib cage like protrusions out of the river bed accompanied by bits of mesh from the deteriorated fencing around what used to be an outdoor go-kart circuit and bits of heavy structural wood from a crumbling wharf. On rare, but increasingly common occasions there can be the carcass of a dead whale, bloated and fetid washed up on the mud. The flow upstream of such a massive volume of water from the distant North Sea cannot fail to bring with it the possibility of a catch.
Heavy ledger weights and multiple lead shot are hung on the line to try to prevent it from being dragged too far towards Goole. The bait of choice is strips of fish from a whitebait or reduced price stock from the nearby Asda's ice decked counter. You cannot fault the combination of patience and undisputed optimism amongst the anglers. I have often asked if they were having any luck. On a straw poll basis the consensus is that it is not the best day to catch anything.
They however persist and stare, mostly down at the returning waters , a finger on the slack line in front of the reel to sense any interest, however casual for the offering on the hook. Eels are usually the reward for a short burst of excitement but I can vouch that if professionally smoked those coaxed out of the muddy Humber are a rare and tasty treat.
The fishing rods stretch across the path at an angle from the fence. They are reluctantly moved, slightly, to make way for other users of the path such as cyclists on the Trans Pennine Trail or walkers. It is a case of weaving through on two wheels or tip toe-ing around severed fish heads and discarded lines. One angler can often be left in charge of multiple rods as their owners go for a wee in the scrubland where accessible from missing sections of security fence or venture down to B and Q, adjacent to Makro to price something up.
The menfolk quickly disperse under some form of non-verbal understanding and within minutes of the first person packing up and packing away the pathway is deserted apart from a few reeling gulls feasting on whatever has been left, intentionally, for them to clean up.
As with most fishing exploits it is not really the outcome that is important but the time spent doing it.
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