This could be a true story of two angling rogues who went on holiday, got into a little mischief but never hurt anyone, or alternatively it could be a load of nonsense, an urban myth if you like. I like to think it’s a combination of the two but who cares? I heard the tale at a drunken gathering of Pike fanatics, AKA the PAC convention Saturday night after show party and it made me laugh so I thought I’d share it.
Mr Green and Mr Red are lifelong friends who have shared a
passion for Piking spanning four decades.
They’ve shared many memorable sessions both with rods on the bank and
beers in the bar, many of their adventures have started with the former and
finished with the latter. This
particular tale occurred in the mid-nineties when many European Pikers were
making an annual pilgrimage to the great western loughs of Ireland. Our colourful duo was typically slow off the
mark and late on the scene. They began
their Irish adventures in the Midlands and gradually made their way west over
the next few years. Sadly by the time
they felt ready to tackle the mighty western loughs the gill nets were in
place. This combined with the
increasingly demanding females back home meant they never quite made it that
far.
Living in the south east meant possibly the longest possible
journey to Holyhead and with a weeks’ worth of fishing gear and a couple of
spare sets of underwear crammed into a Peugeot 206 it was a potential
grueller. To pass the time Mr Red had
acquired an ounce of high quality hashish, most of this was cunningly secreted
around the car but there was just enough spare to pass the journey in a happy
haze with Bob Marley’s “Songs of Freedom” the perfect accompaniment. Not only were the two friends fond of a glass
of beer or six they were also confirmed stoners. The poor old Peugeot resembled Cheech &
Chong’s van by the time Mr Green pulled into a lay by for a much needed
slash. It is not our place to judge the
rights or wrongs of such actions; we merely recount the tale as it was told and
repeat no person or pike was ever hurt.
And so, after the overnight ferry crossing and the normal
routine of getting lost in Dublin the Peugeot eventually found its way out of
the city in a Northerly direction and a couple of hours later arrived at its
destination. The Town was familiar to
both Mr Green and Mr Red as they had explored the lakes and pubs in this area
on a previous visit and found both agreeable.
After parting with some cash to secure the digs they opted to chill out
and snooze beside a lake with bite alarms turned up loud! The afternoon passed amidst a chorus of
snoring and no Pike happened along to disturb their slumber. The evening was spent in a pub of course,
supping Irish Guinness, the finest beer in the world. Acquaintances made on a previous holiday were
renewed but the night didn’t get too messy.
The following morning was spent at another lake, this one a
bit further down the valley, one where the two Pikers had caught a few fish on
a previous visit. Mr Green opened his
account for the week with a couple of jacks but Mr Red failed to find any
fish. With limited bank access and
unspectacular results they decided on a move to another water, stopping in town
on the way for supplies. The menu
included fresh sausages from the local butchers. Now every Irishman knows of a special lake full
of big Pike and the butcher was no exception.
Mr Green was all for following the lead but grumpy Mr Red who was still
blanking would have none of it.
So the two visited another lake where they had enjoyed
previous success but again the fishing was poor. For a while the two were entertained by the
antics of a herd of cows in the field on the far side of the lake. The cattle were repeatedly stampeding from
one side of the field to the other and making a suitable racket as they did
so. This hardly made the afternoon a
peaceful one but neither angler was disturbed by any Pike that afternoon so a
restless Mr Green left the drowsy Mr Red in charge of the rods while he went
for a wander. Sometime later Mr Red
opened his eyes to find the indicators still firmly in place and no sign of Mr
Green so he did what he always did at times of confusion and rolled a joint.
Another doze and another joint later Mr Green finally
reappeared beaming from ear to ear and holding a bulging carrier bag. Mr Red yawned and stretched, looking at his
friend quizzically he asked “What the fuck you got there then?” The grin on Mr Green’s face broadened and
with a sparkle in his eye he replied “Fungi”.
“What the fuck?” said Mr Red.
“Very special fungi…magic even” laughed Mr Green. At this point the penny finally dropped and
Mr Red joined in the laughter. Things
were about to get a little strange on this holiday. The carrier bag was literally full of
thousands of tiny thin stemmed fungi… which possibly explained the mad cows.
Back at the cottage Mr Red was beginning to have his
doubts. He wouldn’t know a Liberty cap
from the liberty bell so wasn’t completely sure about the lumpy, foul smelling
mushroom soup his friend had cooked up.
Mr Green necked his with no hesitation so Mr Red thought ‘in for a penny...’
and did the same. Half an hour later
while shaving, Mr Red noticed he’d managed to cut himself in several places and
it was at this point he realised that he was feeling very, very strange. He returned to the living room to see a wild
eyed Mr Green laughing manically.
“What’s up?” asked Mr
Red “I’m watching the cartoons in the
curtains” replied Mr Green.
So Red found himself a comfortable chair, skinned up and
settled back to enjoy the cartoons, caught Green’s eye and joined in the
laughter. Sure enough the curtains were
alive with Tom & Jerry, Micky Mouse and just about every other cartoon
character remembered from their youth.
Everything in the room looked completely different; there were waves in
the carpet, the table was hovering and the walls were wobbling.
After a while the cartoons needed a soundtrack so Mr Green,
acting as DJ decided that some loud dance music was the order of the day. Traversing the room to reach the stereo was
much more difficult than it had any right to be and removing the CD from its
case then getting it to play was ridiculous.
The effort was worthwhile as the music coming from the stereo (“Leftism”
by Leftfield) not only hit the spot but was clearly visible oozing from the
speakers in the form of millions of microscopic, multi-coloured particles and
even the lamp was dancing. These two
characters were experienced trippers but this was something else! To this day both are adamant that night was
their best trip, with the possible exception of…
The terrible twosome would have been happy to spend a
chilled out evening of blissful madness tripping in the cottage but things were
about to take another unexpected turn.
Mr Green, being slightly less wrecked than Mr Red decided to make a brew
and staggered towards the kitchen. Just
as he stood filling the kettle at the sink he was startled out of his socks by
a loud bang on the kitchen window. Mr
Green screamed, Mr Red got a fit of the giggles and the kitchen door
opened. There stood John, the owner of
the cottage who insisted on taking the pair for a drink at one of the many
local pubs. Now John was a very likeable
bloke but was not a man who would ever get a job as a male model; thick curly
hair, milk bottle glasses and bad acne.
John’s appearance did not prejudice the duo in the slightest but in
their mind altered state he looked very, very funny. Despite their protests, John would not take
no for an answer and the two tripping Pikers found themselves staggering into
shoes and wandering down the pub.
Mr Red and Mr Green could probably have just about handled a
quiet drink in a near empty pub but instead found themselves crammed into
“Flaherty’s” which had some kind of quiz night going on and was absolutely
heaving. Mr Red managed to squeeze
through to the bar where he was only slightly surprised to find the row of
bottles morphing and merging into one.
He could hardly utter any legible words so it was a relief when John
hailed the barman and ordered three black pints. Mr Green stood grinning and every time he
caught the eye of his friend the two had a struggle to suppress a fit of the
giggles. They were never sure just how
strange their behaviour was that evening or whether they were really receiving
lots of strange looks or was it paranoia?
They blamed their obviously odd behaviour on fatigue and alcohol. When safely back at the cottage, Mr Red
skinned up again and asked “D’ya think we got away with it?” He met the gaze of Mr Green and both
collapsed once more under the weight of laughter.
For some reason these two dedicated Pikers were not at the
lakeside to watch the sun rise the following morning. Instead the sun was well up and shining too brightly
for this bewildered pair. Mr Green was
determined they should follow the butcher’s tip and head for the lake in the
hills. Mr Red was positive this would be
another wild goose chase but was too wrecked to come up with any reasonable
objection so Mr Green held sway. Mr Red
sulked.
They eventually parked on a verge beside a gate and viewed
the lake below them, approximately 60 acres with two large bays connected by a
slightly narrower channel. The water was
mostly fringed with reeds with the odd bush and a few places where grass grew
down to the water’s edge, probably kept clear by cattle needing a drink. The two were lucky that one of these clear
patches lay before them, not only that it was in a pretty good position on the
edge of the narrow area. The only
trouble was the steep hill between the road and the water’s edge. This would cause little problem on the way
down but would be a grueller on the return.
A few minutes later the two, puffing and sweating, arrived at the water
and began to tackle up. Mr Red decided
to cast a plumb rod around and was unhappy to find a maximum depth of a paltry
three feet which did nothing to improve his mood. “Bloody butcher” he said before slinging a
couple of bait out and sitting down with a frown to commence the creation of
yet another spliff. Mr Green was more
optimistic and put the kettle on with a smile.
Neither angler managed to complete their task before an
alarm sounded, Mr Red had a fast take on a Herring whacked as far as
possible. He connected and started
heaving a Pike towards the bank. “Feels
like a jack “; he said and almost smiled before the fish shook the hooks
loose. Mr Red’s bout of swearing was
quite restrained under the circumstances.
The Herring was whacked out again and both returned to their
chairs. Mr Red had just skilfully
inserted the roach when the same alarm sounded again. Once again he wound down and set the hooks
and had the rod slammed down as a good fish took line straight away, then
launched itself airborne. Mr Red kept in
touch but the Pike leapt for a second time, shaking its head and throwing the
hooks. This time his swearing was fully
unrestrained.
Once he’d calmed down a little Mr Red said “That was a good
un, big double…”
“Maybe a twenty” said Mr Green
“That helps, thanks” replied Mr Red in a pained voice. After a long silence Mr Green said “Best you
light that Joint”.
From that point the day got much better, Mr Red finally
managed to bank a fish, a small one but the monkey was off his back. Mr Green joined in the action too and takes
came regularly throughout the day. Most
action came to rods cast as far as possible into slightly deeper water but the
occasional fish picked up baits placed close to the numerous weed beds closer
to their bank. There were no monsters
but several good doubles graced their nets and both were in good heart. By the time they staggered coughing and
wheezing back up the hill their tally was fifteen Pike but both were sure the
leaping Pike that Mr Red had lost was a few pounds heavier than any they’d
managed to land.
This gave the pair of Pikers a confidence boost and from
that point on their fishing luck improved.
They sensibly resisted the lure of that massive bag of mushrooms and
even more sensibly decided to rest the lake in the hills for a day or two. An hour’s drive to the mighty Lough Allen saw
a nice fish for Mr Red then a day in a boat on another lake saw both catching plenty
on lures and trolled baits. Both
successful days were toasted with lots of Guinness in Flaherty’s where by now
the regulars had forgotten their earlier oddness and welcomed them warmly. To not flirt with the barmaid was considered
the height of rudeness by Mr Red who tried to be polite as possible, to
barmaids at least. Back at the cottage the
hash block took a hammering.
With one full day left Mr Red took no persuading to follow
Mr Green’s suggestion that they spend it at the lake in the hills. Being a superstitious soul Mr Green also
suggested they repeat a winning formula and neck a load more mushrooms the
night before and once again Mr Red eagerly agreed. This trip did not reach the heights of the
first but they giggled a lot, the music still oozed and they definitely didn’t
go to the pub! They even managed to
crawl out of bed and get to the lake at first light the following day.
Once again the pair had a busy day with frequent takes but
things were not as hectic as before. As
on the first day most takes came to long range baits, both managed double
figure fish and both were thoroughly stoned.
A beautiful sunset was toasted with a final cup of tea then the pair
reluctantly began packing up. Green set
about the task quickly but Red hates this job and is always very slow. So with most of his gear packed Mr Green
stood holding his last rod while he waited for his friend to catch up. “All I need is for the tip to tap and the
line pull out of my fingers…” he said.
Mr Red’s sarcastic reply had barely died when Green
exclaimed “Fucking hell...I’ve got a fucking take!”
“Fuck off!” laughed Red but his friend was serious and wound
into a final Pike.
When we heard this tale both Green and Red had slightly
different memories/versions of the various events but one of the things they
were unanimous about; This Pike fought like hell. It stripped yards of line off Green’s reel
and threatened to dive into the thick reeds on numerous occasions. At times it seemed impossible to land this
fish but eventually it succumbed, Red made no mistake with the net and Green
had a whacker! She was unhooked by
torchlight, weighed and photographed then returned where she swam away
strongly. The holiday was complete, it
couldn’t get any better or could it?
That night Green and Red made a final trip to Flaherty’s
where they received another warm welcome, particularly Red’s favourite barmaid. During the course of the evening it became
apparent she was more than friendly. To
use the words of Mr Red “She was dripping like a fucked fridge”. In fact she was more than willing to
accommodate both of the hairy arsed Pikers.
It may be because he had a girl back home or it may have been the
thought of a sweaty Mr Red grinning like a loon. Either way and to his credit Mr Green did not
take the good lady up on her offer. Mr
Red is not so chivalrous…
Twenty four hours later Mr Red was still grinning and Mr
Green had a broad smile too, not even the misery of the M6 could dampen their
spirits. Green drove, Red skinned up and
both laughed regularly as they reminisced on the past week.. “What did you do with the Mushies?” Red
asked. “In the cool box..” said Green
“…it’s the first time we’ve ever gone on holiday and come back with more drugs
than we left with!”
Anonymous
