tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post4148666969611122579..comments2024-03-18T10:29:46.055+00:00Comments on Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff: Night FishingKen Armstronghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-4951223300967162582015-11-07T11:22:23.165+00:002015-11-07T11:22:23.165+00:00I’ve never fished at night. I did fish for a while...I’ve never fished at night. I did fish for a while and by ‘fish’ I mean stand on the jetty or the riverbank with a fishing rod in my hands. I only ever caught one fish and it was the first time I tried with a line of thick orange gut, a bare hook and a mussel or clam (never been very clear in the difference). After my initial success with the gut I talked my dad into getting me a proper rod which he did—and, of course, one for my wee brother—and from then on (until someone left the rods on the top of the car and we drove away and they were lost) we went fishing every weekend. Mostly it was down the harbour—we’d march off to the bait shop to buy the coolest-looking fishing flies we could afford with no idea how they worked and then off down the road with our tin of worms or maggots having progressed from molluscs. Sometimes Dad would take us to Troon. Once at least his friend Sam who was an experienced salmon fisherman took us to a spot on the river where we also sat for hours and never caught anything. It never really bothered me the not catching. I liked the fiddling with rods and stuff. Wouldn’t take it up again if you paid me. It lasted a couple of years—I’m guessing—and then we moved on to other things, fossils I suspect. <br />Jim Murdochhttp://jim-murdoch.blogspot.ie/noreply@blogger.com