Barbel

Barbel

The float settled in the water and as my gaze lifted from the surface, I saw a man standing obliquely opposite me on the other bank, looking across the river with a pair of binoculars. At first, I thought he was watching me but it became apparent that he was looking slightly further along my bank, downstream, at an overhanging tree. Like many low-lying trees on river banks the lower branches had caught rubbish that drifted down when the river was swollen, like plastic bags.

As I waved good morning, he abruptly turned and started to run further downstream. There was a bridge about a hundred metres further down the bank, and maybe he was headed for that. 

Thinking nothing more of this, I turned my attention back to my float just in time to see it shoot down under the surface. I struck, and soon realised that I had hooked a big fish, probably a barbel.

The river was quite high and running fast, and this would be perfect conditions to catch a whopper of this species. Especially on a piece of salami sausage measuring one inch. Just the ticket.

I played the fish for a couple of minutes and then the line went slack. Thinking I had lost the fish, probably the fish of a lifetime, I stood up dejectedly, to reel the line in. An anglers dream and nightmare all at once. Hook a biggy, lose a biggy.

Suddenly, the fish, which was still on the hook, shot off downstream. I was so surprised that I lost my footing and slipped off the bank into the water. My foot hit a rock on the river bed and throwing me off balance, I slid ungracefully into the river, pretty much becoming submerged. 

I still had hold of my rod but it had snapped and I struggled to get back to the bank, and out of the water, dragging my useless tackle, which was now empty, behind me. Bitter with disappointment, I had not realised that I was soaked through. Lost a biggy.

I stood up and looked around. The man who had been watching my bank was running towards me, and looking again at the overhanging tree. I walked towards him again raising my hand in greeting, but he ignored me. He was too interested in the tree, and staring through the branches to the water beneath.

Suddenly he jumped into the river, avoiding branches, and took hold of what looked like a jacket which was caught on a branch. He freed it, and pulled. The jacket came away and revealed a body floating face down in the water. The current began to push the body downstream, but the man pulled it closer to him turning it over, making the face visible.

The disappointment of losing the fish disappeared as I realised I knew that face. It was the one that stared back at me every day when I shave.