The Tickler

Article by Fred Watson.

When Alice Weatherspoon fancied a bit of fish for her tea, she didn’t go to the fishmonger’s or the chip shop, she went down to the river to catch her own. Mind you if the river warden were to catch her fishing without a licence it would have cost her a pretty penny, the fines were ridiculous and could be as high as £2,500.

It would have been an easy job for Alice to get a licence, but she refused too on principle. The Environment Agency issued the rod fishing licences and since she was a trout tickler and didn’t own a rod, Alice refused to pay for a licence. She learnt the art of trout tickling from her father when she was a girl. Her father had learned it from his father, who had turned to poaching as a means of feeding his family, during the strike of 26.

Well, last Friday Alice made her way down to the river Wear, bucket in hand, to catch a bit of fish and unlike Lampton she wasn’t after a worm, she was after a nice pair of trout for her tea. Her mother had been a regular churchgoer and despite Alice’s lack of interest in organised religion, she always had to have fish for her tea on a Friday.

Her favourite pitch was upstream from Penshaw, on a quiet stretch a few yards beyond the bridge that carries the A182 across the Wear Valley. On reaching the spot she half filled her bucket with water, rolled up her sleeve and lay on the bank with her arm in the water. An hour later her patience was rewarded as she scooped out the first trout and placed it in the bucket, twenty minutes later the second one joined the first and she was ready to leave.

Picking up the bucket, she set off for home and had gone no more than 50 yards when the warden stepped out from behind a tree. In 10 years of fishing that stretch of river Alice had never even seen a warden, but she knew the type.
‘Excuse me Madam, could I see your fishing licence?’ the man asked.

‘And who might you be?’

‘I am the river warden and you need a licence to fish here.’

‘That’s alright then,’ said Alice. ‘I’m not fishing.’

‘But, you have been Madam and that is an offence, and liable to a fine.’

‘I didn’t know that, but it’s OK since I haven’t been fishing.’

‘If that’s the case, Madam, why have you got two trout in that bucket?’

‘Ah them, well, that one is Mavis and that one’s Mary they’re my pets and I bring them down to the river every day so they can get some exercise.’

‘That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.’

‘No it’s not. What I do is, I tip the fish into the river down there, take a walk up there, until I get to the bridge, then I put the bucket in the water, tap the side with my stick and Mavis and Mary swim back into the bucket.’

‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ said the warden. ‘You must think I’m stupid.’

‘Look, I’ll prove it to you,’ said Alice and she tipped the trout into the river.

‘Right,’ said the warden. ‘ Now, lets see you get the fish to swim back into the bucket.’

‘What fish would that be?’ Asked Alice innocently.

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