Bream ignores nudists
The fish was swirling in the shallows of the lake shore. His dark shadow drifting slowly through the water. The nudists were lounging in the nearby shade of the woods. Their pallid arses bathed in light.
It was a bream. He was about four pounds in weight and and his dorsal fin protruded from the water as he circled. The nudists were much heavier, with things protruding from them also.
The rock-built jetty on which I stood emerged from the wooded glade in which the nudists sat and continued for about 40 yards out into the lake. There are a number of such jetties between the towns of Yvonand and Yverdon on the eastern shore of Lake Neuchatel and they are ideal platforms for spinning or float fishing. The lake itself is the largest lake entirely in Switzerland and sustains a commercial fishery, which deals mainly in perch and bondelle. The latter is a relative of pollan, a fish that can be found nowhere else in the world but Lough Neagh.
I considered my position while observing the bream. He was moving in wide circles feeding on particles of algae. Every time he went down to suck one up, his tail would come out of the water, the sunlight glinting off it. There were about ten nudists of all shapes and sizes. Immobile like lizards in the sun. Stumbling out of the woods in chestwaders and khaki I had not phased them at all. They just stared impassively. I shuffledmy way through them weighed down with gear.
I set up the fly rod and prepared to cast into the path of the bream. I tied on a fly made with green floss in the hope of tempting him. With the wind against me I cast toward him and slowly retrieved the fly. He followed it for a couple of feet so I slowed my retrieve to let him catch up whereupon he lost interest.
Every five minutes I tried a different fly, the bream paying scant attention. This continued for half an hour occasionally interrupted by a nudist strolling up the jetty to catch a breeze. I was eager to avoid impaling one with my back cast. Neither the bream, nor the nudists, appeared to see one another.
I was beginning to feel I had intruded on this scene somehow. Beyond the gentle lap of the swirling bream it was almost silent. Then it struck me; almost a dozen people a few yards away and no noise. No low murmur of conversation, no words. No talking.
As the fierce heat of the afternoon mellowed into evening and yet another nudist, his arse hanging on his hams like an old leather purse, hands clasped behind his back, set off for a stroll, I quietly acknowledged the bream’s victory and departed, leaving him still swimming in circles, ignoring the nudists, in possession of the field.
If only I’d had some bread crumbs. I hear they like that.
admin @ September 15, 2008