14 
LAND & WATER 
September 13, 1917 
Fishing Notes 
By J. G. Squire 
PEN'BOLLOW. in Cornwall. I seemed to remember, 
was a s;ood place for fishing. One could go oiit for 
a dav and count on getting at most a dozen and a 
half and, if one struck a good patch, a huudrcd\\<;ight. 
Fishing witJi lines is no tax on the intellect, and before sittmg 
dinvn to Hcnrv James's two posthumous novels -much 
as I hope to enjoy 'them— I felt that my brain might well lie 
fallow for a week. This it has done. 
* * * « * 
At IVnbollow, it is notorious, fish of all sorts abound. 
There is a wide open bay ; there is a tidal river with a bar ; 
there are plenty of rocks and large stretches of sand ; there 
are flat shallows in shore and deep waters farther out. Every 
fisli in the C;alendar is provided for ; you have only to make 
your choice of victims. There arc pollack, with their beautiful 
brown-black backs and pale bellies. There are bass, and 
whiting, and dabs and flounilers, all sorts of flatfish. There 
are mackerel, swordlike and swift, their backs striped with 
dark blue and rich green, their sides gleaming like silver. 
There arc gurnards, red as Turner's sunsets, and strange 
uneatable sjiiny fish. of even more gorgeous hues. There are 
congers whose rcKjiii is more pleasant than their company, 
and dogfish with mouths like sharks' uiouths and skins like 
sandpai)er—now a popular article of food, but not under 
the familiar name. All these are to be got by the simple 
process of dropping a hook overboard and pulling it in when 
it twitches or tugs. No fatigue of trudging through marshes, 
lo(rf\ing for a convenient place for a cast, straining one's 
eyes for a rise and playing about with fancy flies with even 
fancier names. Sea-fishing is really restful, really a sport, 
and in a place like Penbollow, one can make certain of a good 
catch. The one thing to fear, according to the guide-book, 
is a swarm of chad which may infest the place and snap at 
one's bait before the other fish cau get a look in. I remember 
those greedy, grasping, flat-sided little twisters. 1 hope I 
shan't strike a crowd of chad. 
* * * i^ * 
Day I. — Pollack said to be plentiful inside Devil's Rock. 
Row out alone after lunch with one line. Rubber worm. 
Why on earth any fish should want to cat a rubber worm 
I cannot imagine : but that is their business. 3 p.m., drop 
anchor. 4 p.m., they don't seem very active. 6 p.m., they 
always bite better in the evening. 8 p.m., getting dark. 
Might as well go home. Wish 1 could have caught a pollack. 
But there is plenty of time. 
* * 4! * * 
Day 2. — One might as well make a day of it. So a bag of 
food and a flask. A fresh breeze, but not too rough : just 
the day for a sail, whiffing for mackerel. A sailing boat 
therefore. One companion. Two lines. Spinners and 
mackerel bait. These beasts are cannibals. You can tell 
from their faces that they are at once the stupidest and the 
most voracious of fish. That large vacuous eye, that long 
curved trap of a mouth. They will go for anything that 
shines : artificial minnows, spinners, reels of cotton. Many 
a mackerel has died with a silver spoon in its mouth. But 
they like their brethren best. 11 a.m.. Lord knows what 
one will do with this great pile of fish when one brings it in. 
Cannot possibly post it home : they don't like mackerel. 
Suppose we shall have to give it to those fishermen on the 
quay : they will know where to sell it. 4 \).m. Let's go 
across a little farther out. 5 p.m., Let's go across a little 
farther in. 7 p.m. It doesn't matter : the week's young yet. 
But I wish I could have caught a mackerel. 
* * * m * 
Day 3.~Morning. First two hours of outgoing neap fide, 
the time for bass. Bass, very appropriately, to be caught on 
Bar, only at certain hours. Small boat. Hire three rods ; 
one to hold and two to stick out with their butts under seats. 
Long fat struggling worms. Bald man over there in brown 
boat said to be a great expert. He doesn't seem to be doing 
anything this morning. That is a consolation. Afternoon. 
S^d to be first-class whiting ground three miles down coast. 
Dead calm. Shall have to row. 4 p.m. Here at last. 6 p.m. 
These brutes never seem to want anytiiing to eat. 7 p.m. 
No go. Perhaps water is too cloudy and they can't see bait. 
Perhaps it is too clear and they can see me. 8 p.m. This 
wretched tide looks like carrying me to America, in which 
case I shall break Admiralty regulations about three mile 
limit. 10.30 p.m. Man looked rather sick at being kept up. 
Wish I could have caught a whiting. 
Day 4. — Thinking this was getting rather serious I decided 
yesterday to take desfwratc measures. Arranged, therefore, 
to be called at 5.15 this morning and proceed to sea in Bob 
Time's boat, he liaving guaranteed supply of fish if only one 
will try for them when their apj^etites have been whetted 
by nocttunal fast — if tliat is what accounts for it. 5.30, 
Arrive at jetty. Sky, sea and coast uniform dark grey. 
Silence over all. Fleet of small boats sleeping peacefully 
in little harbuur. Utter calm. But did not get out of bed 
to brood on utter calm, and am irritated by absence of Bob. 
6 a.m.. Still not a human being in sight. Rose fluslied break 
in middle sky : east still dark : pijje but no matches : dc 
projunclis elamavi. 6.15, Suddenly through hole in eastern 
clouds golden sun bursts. Coast melts in golden haze ; 
golden pathway across waves ; wonderful hues where ripples 
break on beach ; damn the sun ; damn the morning glory ; 
damn Bob ; damn myself for a fool. 7.15, Bob arrives 
saying he thought I did not mean to come. He has no 
matches, being a non-smoker and probably a Dissenter. 
7.30, Brisk wind off shore. No, that was much too solid for a 
bite : it is ])robably a crab-pot. Yes, it is a crab-pet. 8 
o'clock, Three miles from land. Doldrums. Bob will have 
to row the tub home. Serve him riglit, the scoundrel. 9. 30, 
I have at least got up an apjietite for breakfast. l«ish for 
breakfast ; this seems rather pointed. 10.13, Half-an-hour's 
rest in smoking room. Picked up yet another man.- Hope he is 
not a German spy. Perhajw if four of us join forces we may 
have better luck. Agreed best plan to go to still better whiting 
ground tliree miles uj) coast. Discussion as to scarcity. New 
man says ridiculouslj' that other fish have been driven away 
by dogfish. If so why do we not catch dogfish? Wish I 
cotild catch dogfish. Dark man argues, more reasonably, 
that pilchards have unaccountably not arrived this year. 
Other fish like them. Perhai)s they've gone up Bristol 
Chaimel by mistake. Or been swejit up by mine-sweepers. 
Wish I could catch a pilchard. 8 p.m., Never mind : one 
does get some good from this out-of-door life Byt I wish I 
could have caught, say, a chad or two. 
* it * * if 
Day 5. — Weather again beautiful. Getting sick of sun and 
blue sky. Everybody knows fish don't like it. Deter- 
mined to do something to-day, though. What with the old 
sportsman and his son we are now six. Huge galley the only 
thing for it. Morning : Whiffed for mackerel. No mackerel 
about. Tried rocks for pollack. Getting conviction that 
reputation of this place for pollack is exaggerated. After- 
noon : Span fruitlessly on way to whiting grounds. Also 
on way back. Now universal opinion that if we try for plaice, 
about sunset, just off the beach, we are absolutely bound to 
catch some. Anchor, therefore, and drop whole ten lines 
over. Boat long enough for twenty. Let them right down 
for plaice. Plaice lie flat on the sand. Very happy arrange- 
ment, therefore, having eyes on top of their beads. Avoids 
discomfort of lying on backs. Good God ! A nibble ! Haul 
up. Worm gone. Down again. Three lines up at once 
All worms gone. No, not plaice. W^e have struck a colony 
of crabs. Better go home. Wish I could catch a crab. Wish 
I could catch a starfish. 
% * * « « 
Day 6. — Imjiossible to do anything. Weather simply 
foul. Perhaps just as well. Luck obviously out. Nobody 
else here has caught anything. That's a good thing, anyhow. 
Raining, blowing, almost freezing. Wish I could catch a cold. 
' ♦ * * ♦ « 
The diary is a favourite form with professional humorists,, 
who find its compressed expression a good medium for carry- 
ing of{ their exaggerations and lies. I am not a humorist ; 
still less am I a liar ; and I juesent the above to psychologists, 
piscatorial hydrographcrs, and writers of guide books as a 
narrative, literally and verbally true, of my outer experiences 
and mental life during a week of that ludicrously overrated 
occupation—if it be an occupation, but I certainly will not 
call it a sport— known as sea-fishing. 
The ChWch Army is offering a three months' cour.se of training 
at Its 750 acre farm m E.ssex, with the object of enabling men 
honourably discharged from either of the services, partiallv 
disabled or otherwise, to earn their living as workers on the land, 
h-ven in cases where men do not intend to take up such work as a 
livelihood, a time spent on the land cannot fail to be beneficial 
to them. It IS a good scheme. Full particulars can be obtained 
of the Secretary, Discharged Soldiers and Sailors Department, s6, 
Bryanston Street, London, W.i. 
