Huon Hooke fishing in the beautiful South Esk River near Montrose. Huon Hooke
First there was a loud bang! Then a large yellow balloon erupted, encircling my neck and threatening to strangle me. All this while I was slipping on slimy rocks at the bottom of Scotland’s South Esk River and trying to regain my balance whole holding on to a fishing rod.
It was a couple of seconds before I realised what had happened. The bottom edge of the life jacket slung over my shoulders had touched the water and triggered its automatic inflation. It’s supposed to save you from being swept away by the current and drowning but seemed to be having the opposite effect. It felt like my Richard Flanagan Death of a River Guide moment. I struggled ashore and ripped the thing off me.
Dare I say the concentration required to fly fish observantly is similar to the concentration exerted in judging wine over a long period of time. Nerds can do it.
All in a day’s work.
Fly fishing was an antidote for five days of judging wine at Decanter’s World Wine Awards. There is an uncanny correlation between wine judges and fly fishermen. Scratch a Kiwi winemaker, for example, and you’ll often find a fly fisherman underneath.
Cynics might say both types are obsessing over something minor and trivial.
How can you feel triumphant over a creature with such a tiny brain?
The best fishing tackle is dynamite.
Et cetera.
The fact is, it’s
This Article was originally published on The Real Review
