More Incidents

Living with Uncle Bos

Aged about 16, living with Uncle Bos and Aunt Patty ...

The Uncle kept horses and hunted regularly. I could have hunted too, but I knew I was a rotten rider and tried hard not to hunt. Staying with the Cruddas' in Northumberland nobody asked me if I wanted to hunt. I was just put on a horse and off we went to the meet. The two youngest Cruddas daughters were 7 and 9 and had ridden to hounds since the age of about 3. I kept close to them. Hounds were running and we galloped down a fairly steep field with a fence at the bottom. I, of course fell off. The two kids were very surprised that a big girl like me fell off over a jump!

Next there was a gymkhana and I was put on a large black mare. I entered the 'Musical Hurdles'. My horse suddenly stopped as we faced an empty hurdle and I went over her head and broke my arm!

When I got back home, arm nearly mended, but still in a splint the Uncle said "You have been hunting in the North, so come on - Out we GO!" I managed to fall at a jump, as I knew I would - and that was the end of my hunting career.

I felt despised by the hunting crowd which we saw a lot of, but it didn't depress me unduly!

After a lunch party (of hunting people) we went out to look at the horses. One was very lame and there was a lot of clever discussion as to why she was lame. They gave up, they did not know. Now where it came from I do not know, but I said, "Perhaps it is NAVICULA". There was a stunned silence, more prodding and poking and to cut a long story short, it WAS navicula!

Patagonia

We drove 20 miles to a lovely river but had to walk two miles to get to one beat - Tony 85 and me 84. I spent the day pleasantly and by six was at the top of the river, but decided I was too tired to fish and walked gently back to the place from which we would start our two miles back to the car. I passed Tony, who had a fish on and felt encouraged to have a go while I waited to start the journey back. It was a fast river, with about 1 ½ yards of gentle water near the bank so I got in and waded along the edge. The footing was on loose gravel and I simultaneously caught a trout and fell over on my back. I was carried rather swiftly down stream. Tony shouted "Keep calm" but there was no way he could get to me. After a bit, during which my mind dwelt on the fact that we were about 100 miles from the Arctic Ocean, I managed to turn over and swim to the bank - which was very steep. I was wondering what to do with my sodden self when the completely useless American ghillie and a fellow fisherman (called Martin) of about 50 arrived. Martin immediately took charge. He got off my thick Barbour. Divested me of my body waders, which he emptied of water and insisted that I put them on again, or I would suffer from hypothermia on the way back. Off with the jersey which he wrung out. I then landed my fish - which was dead and he and the ghillie escorted me across a river and walked me back to the road. There Martin insisted I took off everything and hunted out dry trousers and jerseys and a jacket. He closed up the car with the heater on and I awaited the rest of the party. I had not removed bra and pants and they felt very wet and uncomfortable on the 20 miles to our hotel. However, owing to Martin's care I was none the worse for the incident.

Tony Valder-Scott, boss of the party gave the ghillie a roasting for not being near two ancient fishers! In future any ghillie should always be near us and ready.

They next day Tony and I flew about 50 miles north to another river where they produced rubber tyres with webbing seats, right in the water. These were highly exciting as, with flippers you could paddle yourself anywhere and fish very comfortably. The ghillie there had not heard of our late escapade and sent me on my way quite cheerfully. Tony, who was a big man found it difficult to fit into the tyre and horribly difficult to get out of, so fished from the bank. There was a strong wind and I soon found myself on the opposite bank of the lake. I wondered it I should ever manage to paddle back against the wind. I did manage it and was profoundly thankful when I hit the opposite shore.

A few years later in Canada, Nicky Banks bought two slightly bigger rubber tyres and with rather a late start drove us 10 miles to a strange lake where we dumped the car and paddled into the unknown in our tyres. It was about 6.30 in the evening and dusk, but we could see for a bit, then fished in the dark. Nicky, at about 8 p.m., called out that we had better start back to the car. Of course, with my dreadful sense of direction I went in the wrong direction. Nicky rescued me and as I got exhausted paddling back he towed me back to the car. I should never have found it in the pitch dark!

We flew back to England the next day.

Tony and Me in Norway with Johan and Roland

In 1974, when I was 67 and Tony Cooke 68, we went on a delightful fishing expedition to Norway's wonderful river Laardal. My Uncle had been there years before. It was his best ever fishing trip and had stayed in my memory as a Magic Experience.

We went with two young Swedish men Johan and Roland Maxe who were everything two young men could be to two elderly customers.

The river was beautiful, fast, but sadly unproductive. On one occasion Johan made me cross the river, which, with his help, was quite exciting. There were piles of huge rocks on the bank. He leapt on to the first, leapt across on to another and pointed down stream and left me to get on with it.

With great nervousness I did one cast from the big rock and nearly fell off. I very cautiously crawled on to the next smaller rock but felt too unsafe and went one more rock down stream. From there I touched two or three fish and then I got to the end of the pool. I was not going back to the beginning again, but instead waded close to the bridge and stopped in the middle of the river.

After a few casts I had a good strong fish on. At that moment Johan, who had gone to fetch 'the Pirate' passed in the car. I yelled at him and waved but neither he nor the Pirate noticed me and they drove off down stream.

My big fish came off!

I went on across and fished the bank we had started on. By this time it was about five o'clock and all hope had gone. However, I got into another fish, again a good one. Johan appeared from nowhere and so did the Pirate. I had to play it for some time, by which time Tony joined us.

They were all quivering with excitement and shouting instructions. Johan even tried to take the rod from me, which I resisted firmly. This was Saturday afternoon and our last day (with no fish up to now(?)). To cut a long story short I landed a nice fresh 15 lb salmon and all the men hugged and kissed me and one might have thought no one had ever landed a salmon before!

The reason I started this story was for another lovely little excursion. Half way through the week Roland suggested a quick trip into the mountains by car. It was absolutely magic. 22 feet of snow lay everywhere and we stopped to admire the view.

Roland said to me "Would you like to telephone anyone?" Who, I could not think. "Anywhere in the world" he said. There were no mobile phones in those days and one thought carefully before making a 'trunk call'. "Can I ring England?" "Yes - of course!". He put in a call for me to Jill in Wiltshire. "I am in the mountains in Norway and there are 22 feet of snow all round us and it is absolutely beautiful". Jill could not quite believe what she was hearing, but we had quite a conversation, which was really the icing on the cake. (Early car telephone?)

Another little incident which pleased us - Johan went off and bought a salmon. When we stopped fishing about 7 p.m. They led us to a beautifully laid table by the fishing hut, where we sat down to a three course dinner (including the salmon) and suitable drinks. What a lovely thing to have done for us!!

Roland later caught the world's largest sea-trout - 39 ½ lbs. He sent me a photo with this great fat thing in his arms! I have lost the photo. This was on the EM in Sweden.