It was sitting with my daughter, two days ago, when she shared that her boyfriend Jack was on a fishing trip. We both had the same thought instantly and tears sprang to our eyes as we talked about my Dad and his love of fishing, and how if he was still alive he’d be arranging to fish with Jack, and he would have been the one to teach him how to cast.

I was taken aback – any talk of fishing has always been a trigger for me in remembering my Dad but surprised to see that strength of emotion in my daughter also.

So, today, when I went for my morning run, following my usual route into Upper Clatford, passing the rivers and streams that wind their way through the small villages and fields, I caught a glimpse of a fisherman standing at the bank in his full fishing regalia, green mac, boots, rod in hand – and I had to stop running. I don’t know if it was tears running down my face or the fresh air making my eyes water, but for that moment my Dad was conjured up and was right next to me. 

It’s difficult to explain to anyone that didn’t know my Dad how much he loved fishing. He loved it and he had great stories to tell about it. We would joke that the fish always got bigger with the telling of the story, and the story of the local in Gibraltar that asked Dad to hold his rod while he dove in and came back with an octopus on his shoulder was legendary. He had all the gear, the green rubber waders, the wax jacket, the suede hat where he tucked his flies into the headband. At home he had drawers full of feathers and fly making equipment. He had a rubber ring thing that he would use to float out into the middle of a lake. He taught fishing, he arranged fishing trips. He’d fished in Scotland, Wales, the Zambezi river in South Africa and the US. He had fishing buddies. He set up a fishing club at his work, the most successful social club ever, with weekend fishing trips. I have water-colour paintings of his of fish, beautiful rainbow trout, their colours glistening.  

So yes, fishing makes me cry. But in a good way, it brings my Dad back to life with instant visual pictures and memories, how one person’s passion can capture their personality – his love of the outdoors, of being in nature, the challenge of working out where to fish, what fly to use – to get a catch, the shared experiences with friends, and respect for God’s creations.