Fishing in Punta Umbria is a struggle. There is the battle between the pescador´s skin and the fierce sun. There are hoots and hollers from adjacent pescadors as you cast over their lines by mistake. The fish probably put up a fair fight too – I wouldn´t know – I´ve never hooked one. Lastly, there is the scuffle between the pescador and the worm as you try to skewer the little bleeder before it bites you. Yes, Spanish worms do have teeth, as the shreiks and snarls from my fellow pescador, Senor Ramon, have bourne witness.
Yesterday evening, Senor Ramon and I were reminiscing on a hard day´s ´fishing´ as we gently sipped a few Cruzcampo shandies on the second floor balcony of our borrowed flat. We exchanged theories about hook size, fish hunger, and the possibility that there are teams of scuba divers collecting worms from our hooks with pliers. (Someone has to save the fish after all). I pondered that rod fishing is a strange ´sport´to learn. You have to rely on senses and a vague idea about what a fish eating a worm feels like through the line, and what it looks like as the nibble bends the tip of your rod. There is a huge amount of interpretation between what you see, hear, and feel and what is actually going on in the water. What would be ideal would be underwater cameras by your bait for the novice fisherman. That way you could tally the feelings with the hooking. And not spend so much time fishing where there are no fish.
A few more cervezas passed after these musings last night. We went out for some food – our best guesses at the Spanish menu delivered us teeny tiny weeny fried fishes. Fish that I personally would not have dared put on a plate if I had caught them. They were rank. But I kept a few and took them back to the balcony, overlooking a courtyard. Where there must surely be cats patrolling the bins of fish restaurants. And it was there that the new sport was invented – cating.
We loaded the fried fish onto the line. We spread a few other bits of fish on the courtyard – groundbaiting to attract cats. Several bottles of cava and cerveza later, we took it in turns to cast for cats. The misguided theory being that we would learn about the habits of a food forager when it sees bait. Actually, the last part isn´t remotely true. We just wanted to catch cats and try to reel them in across the courtyard. (No hooks were used, animal lovers). Other people´s balconies turned out to be the biggest headache for the over-exuberant cast. That and people on mopeds.
We haven´t caught any thus far. It´s midsummer´s night (when Andalucian Spring controversially becomes Summer) now, so I´m sure we can throw more Cruzcampo into the mix, and resume our new found sport later. Lock up your cats, punters.