A day trip on the moors:




June 6th 2022

“Right love I’m off now” hollering as I close the front door, hoping there will be no “can you do this after?” fired at me as I leave, Yeah right not a chance! Armed with a rod license, nothing, not even an earthquake will stop me going fishing today, on the Moor.

The door closes swiftly and loaded with haste, I faintly catch “okay, don’t be late!” Cheekily my car was already loaded with my fishing rods and fishing peripherals, which consisted of a towel, lager, some food and lures for the Pike.

Summer breezes waft over me and Tetley, “MMM” I offer, satisfied with the days scent, “Today is a going to be a good day!”
Old Tetley, the green Volvo, named so, cause it resembles a teabag full of holes, powers down the road as if all the devil’s in hell were after it, “kerplunk, kerching, kerplunk, hiiissss!” “Bag ‘O’ shite!” I shout, as I bang the steering wheel! “Great!” Stuck on the A544 in the middle of nowhere, I check my mobile to see if my mates had reached the lake, I got one bar of signal, stock still, I manage to freeze the signal indicator, loudspeaker on, so as not to move the phone and lose signal, I push the voicemail envelope to access messages from my mates, Stix, Mongcoot or Bongo.
 
“WHAY AYE, SQUATNEY! WHERE ARE YA? HERE ALREADY, GOT SOME CHILLED FOR YA!”  I close down the phone, “GREAT!  They’re pissed up and I’m stuck here! Hang on I thought, Mongcoot doesn’t drink and he drives! “RESULT!” No sooner had I celebrated a small miracle, this local hobbles up beside the car, looking every bit a wizard, big white beard and a crooked staff in hand, he approaches the driver’s side, taps the door with his wand, “wnaethoch chi dorri i lawr bachgen?” he asks, “Err I... Errm dont-speak-Welsh” I sheepishly replied, “Oh ydych chi'n saesneg?” he replied with a sigh, I knew what that meant tho, as id heard this before, “Yes i am, you speak saesneg?”

No sooner as I asked he replies  “Cor blimey mate, yeah of course, i’m originally from the East End of London, came here doing the Led Zeppelin thing in the 70’s and never left!” he parks his chin on the crook of his wand,  adjust’s his gait, shoulder width apart like an old boxer readying himself, “so whats your business ere then?” “fishing guv, on the lake, all my mates are waiting for me” He stares with what’s left of his good eye, he leans into the window and casts his beady to and from me to all the fishing gear, then looks at me “Got a walk with all that then?” Rhetorical questions are not required at this moment in time, I reply politely, “hope not, my mates got a car and hes not picking up his phone, so it’s a waiting game!”
 
“Oh, his phone hey? Well, look over there, fix your eye on that shadow, and walk 666 paces, thats your lake, but I warn you now, tis the Denbigh moors beneath them grasses dont let the blowing grasses and the quaint whiff of tarragon fool you, there are deep pockets of death beneath, you will not be found again, walk the tussocks and you will be safe, remember, stay out of the long grass, no one will hear you out here, one day the Moors will give up its dead !” He closes off by casting his arm and wand in an arc to show me where to go, I thank him, thinking this is something out of a hollywood movie, either and or, im outa here.

Closing the hatch down on Tetley I look up to thank the wizard, he is nowhere to be found, no foot prints in the dust, nothing! The wind picks up, an old sheep feed bag  suanters in the wind across the road, maelstroms of dust swirl like fairie’s on LSD across the track , thoughts of the Slaughtered lamb, House on the hill, American Werewolf in London all start to play tricks on my mind then all of a sudden my phone starts to ring.

 “Squatney where the bleeding hell are you?!”  A brief chat later I close down the mobile, Mongcoot arrives and we leave. It turns out I was 60 yards from the track entrance to the lake.
On my guard I  pull all the gear from the boot and look over in the general direction of where I broke down, nothing but grass and Tussock, not wanting to be mocked about what i’d just witnessed I say nothing to my mates.

Setting up the rods me and stix are half cut on Stella Artois, he wasnt kidding about having them chilled, he had a solar powered fridge! We caught absolutley nothing. Time had flown by, the moon had risen and the usual night life rears itself, the faint whiff of tarragon swirls around in the breeze around us, it immediately takes me back to the wizards encounter.

The moon lit the lake, gentle waves rolling in resemble folds of corrugated  pewter, no light pollution to ruin the nightscape, stars are the pinholes in the curtain of night, WOW, I must drink Stella more, SPLAAASH!!!!! I jump out of my skin “What the bleeding hell was that?!” “Its Bongo, he gone swimming!” shouts Mongcoot, me and Stix look at one another and telepathically strip to our boxer shorts, and dive in! Moses couldnt have parted the water like we did.
The rest of them got to the bank first, i’m still out there treading water then I start to sober, the cold was working its magic, my penis was like a pressed stud it was so cold, as I make my way back I break into the breast stroke, looking behind me occasionally I spot this large silvery mass following me, not really thinking about it I carry on swimming, looking behind again I observe it’s getting faster! OH NO IT’S A FUCKING FEMALE PIKE, 66LBs PLUS!” I start to panic, splashing, kicking to beat it away, its relentless, I swam harder and faster , these are the longest 66 yards I have ever known, the more I panic the closer its getting, turning, arcing behind me, I finally make the bank, stricken with fear and panic, shaking with fear, my mates are laughing their heads off, knocking all the beer over in fits of laughter, “Quit with this Schadenfraude shit will ya!” Bongo comes up to me puts his hands on my shoulder and struggles to curb his laughter “Squatney mate, calm down, your’e okay!”  “Okay!, i’m OKAY, are you serious? Ive just been attacked by a dirty great Pike and all you can say is calm down?!” well that was it, that was touch paper that lit up the laughter even more “PIKE Squatney? You bleeding muppet, it wasnt a Pike, it was your milk bottles for legs, the white of your legs reflecting in the moonlight under the water!”

FIN...

Words and images- Jason L C Hurst. ©