Category — Wierd stuff

Just had to post this.

First off a wonderful wee article about the vendace, the UK’s rarest freshwater fish: click here.

Then a pretty unbelievable, and extremely unrelated, article from down in New Zealand: click here. Gave me a good wee chortle that one.

It’s not fishing, but it is amazing.

I saw something this weekend to make your eyes widen and your pee turn slightly purple. I was on a wee single track road in the west highlands, checking out a loch I want to fish. Suddenly a sheep came zipping past, faster than I ever realised a sheep could travel (that wasn’t in shrink wrap in the back of a Sainsbury’s lorry). A swift, slightly manic`bound’ I would say. About two seconds later a pair of collies tore past me and bolted up the grassy bank to try and cut off the sheep’s escape route. The whole shebang then ensued, around the corner, before replaying in the opposite direction as once more the sheep bounced past me along the road with the dogs in eager chase. This time, however, there was a cattle grid fifty yards down the road. I expected the sheep to come to a spluttering halt, but instead she jumped clean over the grid and careered off down the road. Even the wily dogs were careful enough to go through the large open gate right next to the grid.

For the last two days I’ve woken up with this bizarre image in my mind of that fluff ball of a sheep in mid-air over the cattle grid. I went to check it out, and it was longer than I am tall, which must make it at least 2 metres. That is some sheep.

Fishing this weekend I hope. Then it’ll be back to real blog posts and not this kind of sheepishness.

People say: “they don’t make stuff like they used to”. I say this, my pals say this and my dad certainly says this (though I secretly think he’s referring to people as well…). It was rather nice this evening to see that in some quarters, at least, they actually DO make stuff properly, like they used to, good and hard.

I’m always on the look out for a hook to turn a bad situation into something positive, and hopefully something to write on the blog, and this momentous event certainly falls into this category. This afternoon I bought (or rather, WAS bought) a rather cracking bottle of fine single malt whisky. Having taken a good while in the shop carefully sifting through a few malts, I decided on something I hadn’t tried before, from the west coast of Islay. It was a Bruichladdich, and mighty fine she was too.

As I climbed out the car this evening, I put the shining silver case on the roof of my car. Unbeknown to me it was upside down, so after locking the car and turing to gather the whisky and other faff I hoisted her briefly into the air only for the bottle inside to quietly slip out and roll off the roof. I’m sure the scene was comical: a bottle of fine malt careering off the roof, with a stupefied punter moving in comical slow motion to try and grab it whilst simultaneously grasping a large potted plant and two cameras.

The bottle hit the deck with a bone crunching, slightly eye watering `ting’ before quietly rolling up against the pavement. I dashed over, picked her up and cradled her in my shaking arms. Unbroken, just slightly chipped. That is some hard-ass glass man shit. It’s nice to see something made good and proper.

I raised a quiet toast this evening to a fine malt, a solid bottle and good the old fashioned tough stuff spirit. It’s important for fly fishing too, of course. Not long to go now…

Um…

There’s something strangely voyeuristic about losing your hair. It’s like watching a car crash in extremely slow motion. You know what’s coming, and it’s not pleasant, but it is somewhat fascinating. For a time you quietly pretend it’s not happening, as if looking away will solve the problem. But gradually, as the cars get closer and the sink gets increasingly clogged, it’s harder and harder to ignore.

Going au naturel when young is perhaps the cruelest way. The teenage years are only just gone, and finally you’re getting a little more comfortable with the carcass God gave you. Every now and then you notice what it’s like to be an ‘adult’. Feelings of responsibility, guilt and an increasing desire to go fishing 24/7. You realise time does move on, some things do change and you do grow slowly older.

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