Fishing in trees

Christmas Day, 2011; we were heading north through Scotland and pulled over for the night in our two camper vans in a parking area near Loch Tummel. The four of us had been for a woodland walk. “What a great place to stay”” Dave said, throwing a “ball on a string thing” into the woods for Tod the dog. “Damn!” he exclaimed several throws later as he looked forlornly up into the branches of a pine tree. The ball on a string thing, skilfully crafted from a golf ball and lots of string, was hanging tantalisingly from a branch above his head. Tantalising if you are a 20 foot giant; frustrating if you are five foot three Dave. Fifteen minutes spent throwing sticks proved fruitless. “I’ll get my fishing rod”, Dave said. Unfortunately his biggest rod was not long enough...then, “Good job I’ve got some gaffa tape” as he taped a smaller rod to the big one. The new super rod was still too short to reach even when Dave stood on the wooden picnic bench conveniently located a few yards from the tree, but rather inconveniently bolted down so we couldn’t move it any closer. I carried on throwing big sticks upwards in the encroaching gloom. I abandoned my rather random throws when it became too dark to see the big stick I’d just tossed skywards falling straight back down towards my head. Tod the dog stood to one side looking bemused at my pointless stick throwing and at his master messing with fishing rods half a mile from the nearest river. More gaffa tape. The new super extended double rod now had a big branch taped to the bottom, and it reached. Unfortunately the top end was too flimsy to dislodge the hanging ball. It hung there, swaying gently as it caught the light of our headtorches.
I heard some voices. “Psssstt”, I said to Dave, “someone’s coming”. Dave continued his nonchalant rod waving in the branches of the tree. I saw a couple with a dog approaching. “It looks like the fishing warden”, I joked, “he’ll probably want to see your “tree trout” licence”. The couple were obviously perplexed by our activities. “What are you doing?” the lady asked. Somewhat sheepishly we explained our predicament. They looked at each other and quickly hurried away. Dave’s continuing fishy probing dislodged only the odd pinecone.
“Hang on”, I said, “I’ve got an extending decorating pole in the back of the van, “let’s attach that to the big rod”. Not questioning why anyone would take such an item camping, (I use it to wedge open the tailgate), Dave started to try and unstick the very sticky gaffa tape attaching the flimsy rod to the bigger one. Then, in a sudden flash of unusual genius, Dave jumped up, “I’ve got a tow rope in the van”. He grabbed it and, having attached a large twig to it, tossed it up towards the offending branch. It pulled up short. “Ahaaa!” I shouted, “if we fasten it to the end of the big rod with its pine branch and decorating pole extensions it should do the trick”. Our team effort, Dave throwing while I handled the rod with all the skill expected of an expert fisherman, at first provided disappointing results, (my fishing skills are renowned – having only managed to catch one decent fish in several years of trying). The rope now reached easily but Dave’s throwing prowess was a little off the mark. Then...another throw; the rope and stick glided through the air and wrapped neatly round the branch. “Smashing!” said Dave. We could now shake the ball on a string thing off the branch. “Give it a pull” I said, passing on the rod. He shook the branch, gently at first and then more violently. The ball thing didn’t budge. He pulled harder. We heard a distinctive “Ploooopp” noise. We looked up. The ball was still hanging from the branch and next to it now dangled a rope with the end section of a fishing rod attached...way too high for us to reach.
As our hysterical laughter subsided we considered how we might recover the stranded items. It was too steep to drive the van closer. The tree trunk was too smooth to climb and, despite having a decorators pole I didn’t have any decorators ladders hidden in my van. “We need a noose”, Dave exclaimed. Wondering why the loss of a ball was such a life or death event I watched as he fashioned a gaffa tape loop and attached it to the decorators pole. “Loop it round the end of the hanging rod” he explained. I hoped I could reach. I reached up on tiptoes and tried to snag the rod as it swayed around in the wind. Suddenly we both jumped. “Kerrplop”. The ball on a string thing had suddenly fallen at our feet having detached itself with little help from us. “Whey hey”, we shouted, but, we still had to save Dave’s embarrassment next time he went fishing. You can imagine the comments: “Hey mister, have you lost your rod end?”, or “Your rods a bit small mate, tee hee”.
The loop finally caught. I pulled it delicately. Nothing budged. I pulled harder and suddenly the stick and rope and rod end plunged down from above. “Yippee” , we cried, “we’ve invented a new sport”. So , give it a go: Fishing in trees...it’s the new fishing, it’s fish friendly...and even I can catch something.