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TRULY ALONE

Eric Edwards

I have fished for the catfish of the Ebro river system for quite a while now. I first went there in 1987, the year my son was born and have been back almost every year since. It's never a do-or-die fishing expedition, rather a family holiday on which I get in a bit of fishing but it's always lots of fun. The people of Mequinenza are great and many of them have become firm friends of my family and I. Spanish catfishing is always eventful. There was the time when Paul Brown and I witnessed a huge migration of thousands of catfish or when another friend, Kevin Dunne, had his boat engulfed by the branches of a huge floating tree which carried him off downstream. We've had a variety of companions on our trips to Spain. One trip I remember well was when we went with Bruce Dale from Northumberland with his wife and daughters. Apart from a chicken, firmly hooked in the parson's nose, poor old Bruce didn't catch that trip but had the frustration of watching me latch onto two fish of 59lbs and 99lbs on consecutive casts. That was during Bruce's last night on the Ebro and after taking a couple of photos of my fish, Bruce and family set off in the middle of the night on the long drive home.

The next night I was in a quandary. I don't normally like to fish for big cats on my own - they are too much of a handful, but I knew they would still be out there feeding and I wanted to make the most of it. I only had four livebaits left, all carp in the 1-1.5lb bracket but I reckoned that was enough so I thought 'what the heck'. Nine o'clock, with the sun just setting, I motored the little ten foot sniper back to the spot where I'd caught the previous night, a large shallow area just four feet deep with a hard stony bottom and steady current. Now catfish have a peculiarity which sets them apart from most of the coarse fish which we see in this country (England). They are almost blind and instead of feeding by sight as most predators do, they 'feel' their prey in the water using nerve endings in their extraordinarily long whiskers. By spreading the whiskers wide apart they are able to 'triangulate' on a moving fish, pinpointing its position after which they hit it with amazing speed and power. Unfortunately they are sometimes not able to discern what is and is not food and they often make mistakes. To a catfish, an anchor rope wobbling gently in the current as it strains to hold the boat 'looks' just like food and it's not uncommon to have the boat hit by a big cat trying to eat the rope!

So it was on this night. With the two baited rods out, one to the left and one to the right, I settled down in the little boat, San Miguel in hand and waited for the action. It always happens just when you're least expecting it - WALLOP the boat rocked as a big fish slammed into it just six inches from my right ear! - well at least I knew that there were fish about. I didn't have long to recover as a great splash some thirty yards away signalled a take on the left hand rod. The reel sang out for a second or so as I picked up the rod and struck - nothing! I reeled in an ex-carp and replaced it with a fresh lively one which was cast to the same spot. I was quite hopeful as catfish which miss their mark usually hang around and will take another bait cast on their heads. So it was this night and the bait was taken almost immediately, only for me to fluff it again! Only two baits left now, one for each rod and none left in the bait cage. The bait was repositioned and I expected that I wouldn't have long to wait. I was right but when the run came it caught me by surprise as it was on the right hand rod. This time there was no mistake and the strike was met with a brick-wall resistance. It's never easy to tell the size of these catfish in the water but this one felt big. It motored off downstream for thirty, forty, fifty yards or more against full pressure from the heavy sea fishing rod. Then it stopped, turned and started to come back up towards me. I reeled frantically to try and stay in contact with the fish and as the line tightened again I realised it had settled on the bottom just a few feet away from the boat. I pulled hard in an attempt to lift its head and get it off the bottom but the fish just stayed there as if it was waiting, trying to weigh me up, deciding what to do next. It sat there for a minute or more then began to move. Slowly at first but with increasing speed, it moved the full length of the boat to my right, forcing me to shift my position and turn upstream. As the fish got immediately upstream of me, still only a few feet away, it did something I've never seen a catfish do before or since. It leapt completely clear of the water, shaking its head and flaring its gills like a pike. As I looked up in awe, I could see that it was a huge fish, six, maybe seven feet long and well over a hundred pounds it crashed back in to the murky river making the little boat bob like a cork in its wake. All at once a terrible fear gripped me. This thing was dangerous! It could swamp this boat and have me in there with it - then god knows what it would do! All the time I'd been thinking that I was in charge here and suddenly it seemed I was not. I had a tiger by the tail and dare not let go. Sweat poured from my brow as the fish came around the prow of the boat and sat, contemplating me again. I started to really regret going out on my own and I realised that for once, I was alone, truly alone. With a huge wrench on the rod the fish was off again. It lunged underneath the boat, between the two anchor ropes and stripped twenty yards of line off the reel in an instant. What now? I couldn't lift an anchor, both hands were needed on the rod! I braced myself with both knees on the gunwale and tried to heave the fish back between the anchor ropes. It didn't budge. I tightened up, clamped my hand onto the reel and heaved again, harder - CRACK the heavy rod exploded in my hands and I fell backwards, tumbling into the bottom of the boat. There was a sudden lurch on the outboard motor as the fish wrapped the line around the propeller and all went slack. The fish was gone.

With quaking hands I picked up the pieces of my shattered rod. I had used it to catch fish of over a hundred pounds yet it had been no match for that monster and I sobbed to see it now. But there was to be no respite, no mercy, for as I sat there, a broken man in my little craft, my fourth and final bait was taken! Thankfully (?) I missed the run and reeled in yet another minced bait. Well that was it. No more baits meant no more fishing and I breathed a genuine sigh of relief.

Then the boat got hit again!!!!!!!!!!!!