A man once said to me “you’ve been recommended as one who can improve my casting”.

Then he said would I very kindly come and drink his scotch one evening and show him how to cast a fly on his lawn.

He was such a nice bloke, I said yes. Then went away and practiced wildly in my own garden, so that I’d be up to the job when I got to his. It didn’t help that the person who had put my name forward as a tutor of vast experience, had been a guest I met just once at a dinner when the wine was flowing, talk was cheap and expertise not provable.

On arrival at the beginners home he was most welcoming and commenced to pour generous measures of scotch. I started with a knowledgeable talk about rod actions, the importance of tapered leaders to enable the fly to turn over and the one-pause-two technique and stepped back.

The exercise started badly. That was because when he made his first cast I could see that he wasn’t a beginner. In fact he was better than me. I now had a dilemma and suddenly wanted to be alone. But I had drunk most of his scotch and he seemed so keen that I could hardly give him a grin and tell him that I was really a beach casting expert and more at home on the sea wall in Porthcawl.

You know, it’s not all that difficult, posing as an expert. You’re pupil is so anxious to keep on casting that you only have to do it once or twice yourself. Then you stand back and pick up points.

Being a very small expert but very big on theory, I was able to explain the differences between casting styles, you know, pausing at twelve o’clock, keeping the elbow tucked in and aiming with your thumb on top and brought up to the eye, that kind of thing.

Probably, because by now my speech was a bit slurred, he wasn’t quite following my instructions, I could see that he was allowing the rod to drift back to one o’clock so I corrected his pause, tided up his left hand pull and to end on a high note gave a few claps of encouragement. Fortunately, he was concentrating so hard that he didn’t notice, I’d meant to give him three claps but he only got two. My hands missed each other on the third try.

It was very nice single malt by the way and I should have taken some water with it.

He didn’t ask me to come again, which is just as well, since I don’t think I could have stood the strain. Strangely enough, my own casting improved after applying some of the points I’d picked up from him.

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