THE ONE THAT DIDN'T GET AWAY

WHEN I WAS ABOUT 11 YEARS OLD

There are several times in my life where I came close to death. This is one of them. (I'll tell you later about the other times.)

I was fishing with my father from a huge rock underneath the 200 foot-high cliffs at Hawsker, south of Whitby. "White Rock" the rock is called by those who know it, which was very few, because few people ever got down to it. The only way to get there was down through steep muddy grassy cliff with the assistance of a thick rope. Once at the rock, the wide sweeping semi-circle bay around us was surrounded by high grey slate cliffs which constantly and randomly spat out bits of slate, so you had to watch your head. On the ground were (and probably still is) millions of really quite good quality fossils, like the ones you see in shops - just laying there, waiting for someone to pick them up - amazing place!

It started to get dark but we could still see the waves breaking over the rocks a few feet away. We'd caught no fish to that point. Every now and then, as I sat with the fishing bags watching the tips of our rods for 'a bite', I would feel the brush of a rat's tail across my hand. The rats were always after the bait, and when it got dark it got worse, and it was normal to switch on my headlight and see a circle of around a dozen big rats peering back at me. Spending an evening with rats was something you get accustomed to after a while if you're a rock fisherman on dark evenings.

Anyway, it wasn't that dark yet, when suddenly my father grabbed his classic Greenheart rod and gave it a huge yank - which I knew meant "A FISH!" As he started to haul it in, he realised it was a big one. After what seemd like half an hour, he got it to the water's edge, and as I reached out to grab it by the gills, it slipped off the hook. To any fisherman, this is a time of sheer horror - having to tell stories later of "the big one that got away."

My father suddenly kicked me in the back and shouted "GRAB IT, JOHN !" and I fell into the water grasping the air and then the water, for the fish (and my life I think, too.). It was a huge cod, and one of the biggest we'd ever caught on shore, and I somehow managed to grab it around the neck underwater. By the way, I couldn't swim in those days. I staggered out of the sea with the cod tightly tucked against my chest with both arms, and somehow managed to clamber to a dry position.

To cut a long story short, it weighed just 25 lbs. We cheered loudly as the rats ate most of our bait - but it was a good day, even though I might easily have drowned.

This is a photo of the fish, next day!