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THE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN GORD
(With apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson)
The heavy black clouds scudded across the sky and heavy droplets of rain left bullet holes in the surface of mighty Lake Windymere. No sane person was pike fishing that day as white horses rolled down the lake. The rigging of the moored yachts rattled in the wind and the last leaves of autumn were stripped from the sagging branches of the Alder trees.
Out in the lake suddenly there was a dot on the horizon. What madman could be out in this weather? Which complete barmpot, refuge from a care home and premature case of dementia was it? Ten minutes later a small white boat held roughly together with string and gaffer tape hove (or heaved) into view. A voice carried a full 500 yards to the shore where Jim Walkerstaff waiting to be picked up for his days guided pike fishing. “Ahoy there Jim me hearty” drifted across the lake followed by a huge wave of foam which clung hopefully to the shoreline at Jims feet. “Erg” He stepped back 3 feet knowing that the boats occupant had come 2nd in the Southport mouth foaming championships only last week.
“Jim is that you me old buckaroo, whee ha big doubles whee ha” “Yes is that Gord Burton the Piking Pirate Jim shouted at the top of his voice”. Yes for that was who it was braving the elements as 16 foot waves crashed over the bows of his boat ‘Black pig XVII’ the previous boats of that name having gone to their watery grave over the past 40 years. Standing in the front of the boat hands outstretched to show the size of the last pike he had caught God willed the boat to the bank. Such was the power of his ego he had long learned how to steer the boat by ego alone.
Jim’s biggest surprise was the mackerel perched on Gord’s shoulders. He was even more surprised when it spoke “Pieces of eight, pieces of eight, you miserable *****>@@@!!!!!” “Quiet Captain Flint” Gord told the mackerel. “Pieces of eight, pieces of eight” “I warned you” Gord snarled. “You see this set of size 4 trebles, well your posterior is going to become well acquainted with these in a minute.
Gord focused his attention on Jim. Soon both eyes were looking at him, but unfortunately from two totally different angles. Jim initially found this disconcerting but Gord explained how when lure fishing it was useful to be able to watch where the line entered the water while at the same being ever watchful for his biggest enemy Magnus the bailiff. Gord had many times had close calls, but each time because of his two way vision he had evaded apprehension. The only snag with this form of vision was that estimating the weights of pike was very difficult as was weighing them. It was a hell of a job focusing on the dial. That’s why Gord favoured measuring his pike. After all having caught over 3000 twenty pound plus pike that season weighing them was simply a waste of time that could be spent winding in the next big one.
“Well Jim are you looking forward to a days pike fishing with the Piking Pirate, the Angling Legend, the most famous pike angler in the universe, star of stage, screen and the paper media, lover of rich and famous women, OBE, MBE, CBE, GCMG ( God calls me God!)?” Jim was almost speechless, but eventually he stammered a reply along the lines that he was thought he was having a days fishing with the unmentionable one, but ten minutes ago a police car hurtled by and he’d seen no sign of him. “You’ll do though”
“Climb aboard me hearty, we’ve 2000 miles of trolling to get through today. We are going to be trolling the deeps, the even deeper deeps and the extremely deep deeps.” Turning the boat into the wind Gord heads back up the lake. Slates from nearby church roofs fly by and the Maid of the Lake pleasure boat sinks silently to a watery grave. None of this put Captain Gord off. “Isn’t it a bit rough to go out” Jim enquired hopefully” “Rough, rough, you are fishing with Captain Gord who spits in the face of a strong wind, who positively revels in a huge swell. I remember in 1942 while serving on the HMS Ferret the waves were 200 feet high yet we carried on in our search for the German U Boat stalking our convoy. Nothing short of the total destruction of the universe could stop me trolling!”
Giving Jim a knowing wink, something that had our unfortunate youngster shifting his position in the boat, Gord pointed at an Island 2 miles up the lake. “That’s Blind Pughs island up ahead, last week I had sixty three twenties there in a morning while that useless pike angler Neville Thickling was blanking at the North end.” “Neville Thickling I thought he was the greatest pike angler ever” Jim said. Gord rolled his eyes foamed at the mouth slightly and bellowed “Neville Fickling may be a great pike angler, but he not a great pike catcher. That’s the difference between us I never blank and always succeed. He’s useless.”
Somewhat taken aback Jim decided he wasn’t going to go down that route again; instead he started to tackle his 9 foot spinning rod up. Gord promptly threw the outfit over the side. “We are not having any poofy little Nancy rods in this boat. Here try this”. Gord handed Jim a 7 foot pole which would have been at home in a garden with beans growing up it. He rubbed hard at the grime and fish scale covered rod and found an inscription. Gord Burton Mega Thunder Stick. Casting weight 6 to 600grams. Jim picked it up noting that taped to the rod below the butt ring was an auto inflating life jacket. Gord explained that once he had lost a rod over the side and the lifejacket prevented him from losing another. Jim asked him why his dog “Reynolds” didn’t have a life jacket as well. Now in full flow Gord explained how Reynolds’s back paws were nailed to the boat seat thus eliminating any chance of falling out and drowning. “But isn’t that cruel interjected Jim” “It’s all a matter of degrees my boy. Surely it is better to be nailed to a boat seat than to drown.” Pointing down at his own feet where two eight inch nails were securing his camo boots to the floor of the boat. “How do you think I’ve survived all these years” Gord grimaced.
Finally they neared Gord chosen fishing mark. Gord gave Jim a woodworm infested piece of wood with a rusty split ring and two badly straightened trebles while Gord put on a lure of his own design. A Musky Improvisations, Dingly Dangly Dongler in Gord Burton Foam Tiger colour. Lures were trailed behind the boat and off the pair set, trolling, trolling, trolling.
In the next exciting adventure will Gord hook into a lunker of a hawg. Will Jim hunk into a honker of a hoog. Who knows and who cares. Only here on our website until I can sell the idea to someone else who will pay!
(With apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson)
The heavy black clouds scudded across the sky and heavy droplets of rain left bullet holes in the surface of mighty Lake Windymere. No sane person was pike fishing that day as white horses rolled down the lake. The rigging of the moored yachts rattled in the wind and the last leaves of autumn were stripped from the sagging branches of the Alder trees.
Out in the lake suddenly there was a dot on the horizon. What madman could be out in this weather? Which complete barmpot, refuge from a care home and premature case of dementia was it? Ten minutes later a small white boat held roughly together with string and gaffer tape hove (or heaved) into view. A voice carried a full 500 yards to the shore where Jim Walkerstaff waiting to be picked up for his days guided pike fishing. “Ahoy there Jim me hearty” drifted across the lake followed by a huge wave of foam which clung hopefully to the shoreline at Jims feet. “Erg” He stepped back 3 feet knowing that the boats occupant had come 2nd in the Southport mouth foaming championships only last week.
“Jim is that you me old buckaroo, whee ha big doubles whee ha” “Yes is that Gord Burton the Piking Pirate Jim shouted at the top of his voice”. Yes for that was who it was braving the elements as 16 foot waves crashed over the bows of his boat ‘Black pig XVII’ the previous boats of that name having gone to their watery grave over the past 40 years. Standing in the front of the boat hands outstretched to show the size of the last pike he had caught God willed the boat to the bank. Such was the power of his ego he had long learned how to steer the boat by ego alone.
Jim’s biggest surprise was the mackerel perched on Gord’s shoulders. He was even more surprised when it spoke “Pieces of eight, pieces of eight, you miserable *****>@@@!!!!!” “Quiet Captain Flint” Gord told the mackerel. “Pieces of eight, pieces of eight” “I warned you” Gord snarled. “You see this set of size 4 trebles, well your posterior is going to become well acquainted with these in a minute.
Gord focused his attention on Jim. Soon both eyes were looking at him, but unfortunately from two totally different angles. Jim initially found this disconcerting but Gord explained how when lure fishing it was useful to be able to watch where the line entered the water while at the same being ever watchful for his biggest enemy Magnus the bailiff. Gord had many times had close calls, but each time because of his two way vision he had evaded apprehension. The only snag with this form of vision was that estimating the weights of pike was very difficult as was weighing them. It was a hell of a job focusing on the dial. That’s why Gord favoured measuring his pike. After all having caught over 3000 twenty pound plus pike that season weighing them was simply a waste of time that could be spent winding in the next big one.
“Well Jim are you looking forward to a days pike fishing with the Piking Pirate, the Angling Legend, the most famous pike angler in the universe, star of stage, screen and the paper media, lover of rich and famous women, OBE, MBE, CBE, GCMG ( God calls me God!)?” Jim was almost speechless, but eventually he stammered a reply along the lines that he was thought he was having a days fishing with the unmentionable one, but ten minutes ago a police car hurtled by and he’d seen no sign of him. “You’ll do though”
“Climb aboard me hearty, we’ve 2000 miles of trolling to get through today. We are going to be trolling the deeps, the even deeper deeps and the extremely deep deeps.” Turning the boat into the wind Gord heads back up the lake. Slates from nearby church roofs fly by and the Maid of the Lake pleasure boat sinks silently to a watery grave. None of this put Captain Gord off. “Isn’t it a bit rough to go out” Jim enquired hopefully” “Rough, rough, you are fishing with Captain Gord who spits in the face of a strong wind, who positively revels in a huge swell. I remember in 1942 while serving on the HMS Ferret the waves were 200 feet high yet we carried on in our search for the German U Boat stalking our convoy. Nothing short of the total destruction of the universe could stop me trolling!”
Giving Jim a knowing wink, something that had our unfortunate youngster shifting his position in the boat, Gord pointed at an Island 2 miles up the lake. “That’s Blind Pughs island up ahead, last week I had sixty three twenties there in a morning while that useless pike angler Neville Thickling was blanking at the North end.” “Neville Thickling I thought he was the greatest pike angler ever” Jim said. Gord rolled his eyes foamed at the mouth slightly and bellowed “Neville Fickling may be a great pike angler, but he not a great pike catcher. That’s the difference between us I never blank and always succeed. He’s useless.”
Somewhat taken aback Jim decided he wasn’t going to go down that route again; instead he started to tackle his 9 foot spinning rod up. Gord promptly threw the outfit over the side. “We are not having any poofy little Nancy rods in this boat. Here try this”. Gord handed Jim a 7 foot pole which would have been at home in a garden with beans growing up it. He rubbed hard at the grime and fish scale covered rod and found an inscription. Gord Burton Mega Thunder Stick. Casting weight 6 to 600grams. Jim picked it up noting that taped to the rod below the butt ring was an auto inflating life jacket. Gord explained that once he had lost a rod over the side and the lifejacket prevented him from losing another. Jim asked him why his dog “Reynolds” didn’t have a life jacket as well. Now in full flow Gord explained how Reynolds’s back paws were nailed to the boat seat thus eliminating any chance of falling out and drowning. “But isn’t that cruel interjected Jim” “It’s all a matter of degrees my boy. Surely it is better to be nailed to a boat seat than to drown.” Pointing down at his own feet where two eight inch nails were securing his camo boots to the floor of the boat. “How do you think I’ve survived all these years” Gord grimaced.
Finally they neared Gord chosen fishing mark. Gord gave Jim a woodworm infested piece of wood with a rusty split ring and two badly straightened trebles while Gord put on a lure of his own design. A Musky Improvisations, Dingly Dangly Dongler in Gord Burton Foam Tiger colour. Lures were trailed behind the boat and off the pair set, trolling, trolling, trolling.
In the next exciting adventure will Gord hook into a lunker of a hawg. Will Jim hunk into a honker of a hoog. Who knows and who cares. Only here on our website until I can sell the idea to someone else who will pay!