The Resident – a story by Jim Slater

A fishing tale written by Jim Slater and published by both Trout & Salmon and The Atlantic Salmon Journal in 1986:

“You’re very red,” said the gleaming silver grilse as he swam towards the 20-pounder.  “I’ve been here a long time,” was the reply.

The large cock salmon had found shelter from the current just behind two rocks in the middle of a long pool.  The grilse settled itself down beside him on the gravel bottom of the river-bed.

“My name’s Alec,” he said.  “You may call me Jacob,” replied the mottled resident.  “As you’ve probably guessed I am more than averagely clever.  The seals couldn’t catch me and I don’t even have the hint of a net mark,” said Alec, proudly displaying his blue back and iridescent silver body.  Jacob made no reply.

“Mind you, the nets were a bit of a problem,” Alec continued.  “They caught a lot of my friends but I drew back just in time.”  “I usually enter the river on Sundays,” said Jacob.

A light splash above interrupted them.  “Did you see that?” asked Alec.  Jacob sighed.  “A crumpled cast,” he said.  “Obviously a beginner.”

“A beginner?” asked Alec.  “A beginner at what?”

“Salmon fishing,” said Jacob.  “The king of sports.  They stand up there hour after hour, throwing out a line with a fly on the end, waiting for us to grab it.”

“And why don’t we?” Alec enquired, anxious to show that he was a contrary thinker.  “Hooks,” replied Jacob.  “That’s why.  They have barbs on them.  Once you grab one you’ve had it.”

As the sun sank below the trees, the inexperienced angler splashed his way past the two fish.  Alec began to feel restless; he felt so confined in the river.  In the sea, space had been limitless, he could swim day after day without ever having to turn a corner.

“I think I’ll have a look round the pool before going to sleep,” he said.  “It’s nearly time for the magic half-hour,” Jacob warned him.  “So watch out for those flies.”  “You don’t want to worry about me,” replied Alec.  “I’ll never look at a fly again.”  “You’ll be surprised how tempting a well-cast fly can be,” Jacob informed him.  “It’s our aggression and feeding instinct they play on.”

Just at that moment, something that looked like a small fish appeared on the surface, only ten yards away.

“That’s a well-cast fly,” Jacob said approvingly.  “A size 8 Munro Killer by the looks of it; long-tailed too.  It’s probably the ghillie – he’s a real pro.  Look at the way he’s mending his line – stops drag, I’m told.”

Alec surged forward.  “Stop!” shouted Jacob.  “Control yourself; self-restraint is the name of the game down here.”  Alec returned to his position by Jacob’s side.  “It’s so tempting,” he muttered.

Jacob smiled indulgently.  “If you want some exercise, give him a rise – a head-and-tail preferably; that really gets them going.”

The fly was cast again.  Alec swirled upwards and surfaced just behind it.  After a perfectly executed head-and-tail, he returned to the gravel bottom.

“What will he do now?” he asked.  “They always try again and wait for a while before coming back with another fly.  Something a little different and usually a size smaller,” Jacob informed him authoritatively.

“There it is again,” chuckled Alec, beginning to enjoy salmon fishing.

The two fish were given a few moment respite.  The sun had disappeared from the sky and it was becoming dark.  Suddenly something that looked like a prawn swung just over their heads.  Before Jacob could warn him, with a swish of his powerful tail Alec shot forward and grabbed it.  Seconds later the young grilse returned to his position beside Jacob.

“Got it first time,” Alec said triumphantly as he tried to blow the ‘prawn’ from his mouth.  But it was firmly lodged there.  A thin dark line straightened out and began to pull Alec slowly to the surface.  He resisted, quickly jerking his head backwards and forwards, only to feel a twinge of pain in the corner of his mouth.

“It’s a fly,” Jacob warned him.  “Rub it against a rock – that’s your best chance.”

Alec tried but the pull was too much for him.  He changed his tack and shot to the surface with all the speed he could muster, leaping out more than two feet and shaking his head vigorously.  Alec’s ploy was to no avail so he droppped back into the water and swam to the bottom.

Jacob had seen it all before so many times.  He watched sorrowfully as the line tightened and drew the young grilse upwards.

Alec was now desperate.  He made another attempt to release himself with a long run to the other side of the pool but the hook held fast and the line tightened again, drawing him remorselessly to the river bank.  After a few more minutes of twisting, pulling and jerking Alec’s silver body turned on its side in surrender as he was led into the shallows and beached by the ghillie.

“A General Practitioner,” Jacob murmured to himself,” and I was expecting something smaller.  On a sunk line, too.  He’s so imaginative that ghillie – I’ll have to be more careful.

Moonlight shimmered on the surface as Jacob took his weight on his pectoral and pelvic fins to settle down for the night.  A disturbance in the water behind him was followed by the noisy arrival of another grilse, silver and sea-liced, drawing up beside Jacob with a flourish.

“You’re very red,” said the newcomer.