The Mayo News

Ill-tempered and venomous what a catch


Country sights and sounds
John Shelley

I could justify another trip to the sea quite easily. Did I not have unfinished business with those denizens of the deep that had eluded me the last time I was there? Fish migrate on the stronger tides, catching the current as we might catch a bus, so there ought to be fresh faces in the waves too, with new acquaintances to be made.
This year’s fish catch has been the worst ever, with trout reluctant to come to the fly on the lake, the rivers too high to fish comfortably and trips to the coast largely curtailed, replaced by the infinitely tedious task of examining in minute detail an endless array of kitchen cabinets, with a view to pulling out the perfectly serviceable ones that came with the house and replacing them with something almost identical.
What is needed? A press for pans and another for plates. A flat surface for dressing fish (if one was only spared the time to concentrate on catching the things). Somewhere hot to cook them and a sink to wash up in. Such practicalities are secondary to the precise curvature and colouring of worktop and doors. Oak or aspen? Which is which? Nobody knows until the labels are checked. There are greater minds than mine at work. Which type of handle do I like the best? Why, the ones we already have, dear. I answer while watching clouds drift overhead, moving at a moderate pace from the south-west. Summer is crawling relentlessly toward its end, and we are only halfway through choosing.
I should not complain. After all, a house is more than a place to rest one's head between casts. Already we have rewards, with a new floor in the hallway and tiles in the bathroom. Such things come at a cost: no more Wellingtons in the house.
With the latest round of decisions put on hold I was allowed out to play, and got to the coast to find the wind slackening further. There is nothing quite like being alone on the beach with high hills behind and miles of empty ocean before, and that creamy white surf heaping itself onto the sand.
Out there, some 70 yards from the shore, my worm-baited hooks were shifting in the tide. This is a waiting game. Sooner or later a fish of one or other kind would come along and find the lugworm, and signal its interest in my offering with a tap-tap-tapping of the rod tip.
What might it be? The first fish is almost invariably a lesser-spotted dogfish, perhaps a tasty flounder. This time the tap-tapping was barely discernible. When I reeled up I found my visitor to be a small, silver-sided fish of a type I most certainly had not sought: the lesser weever.
The weever is more frequently encountered by bathers than by anglers. It has the unpleasant habit of burying itself up to the eyeballs in sand with just its sharply pointed dorsal fin sticking out. The spines of this fin, together with more around the head, contain groves that are connected to poison glands.
Knowing this, I handled Mr Weever with care. He eyed me with evident displeasure, and thrashed his tail crossly as I unhooked him. I was about to let him go when he gave my finger a prod. ‘Now we’re quits’,
he said.
‘There was no need for that’, I told him, as a sharp pain shot as far as my wrist. He regarded me sullenly and raised his little black battle flag of a spiny dorsal, prepared for a second assault. Such belligerence had me annoyed. ‘Right, you little villain, we shall talk about this later!’ he went into the fish bucket.
A sting from a weever can be debilitating. The wound I had suffered was slight, producing a curious tickling pain that made attempts to climb as far as my elbow but was largely confined to the offended digit. To enjoy the full effect of this little fish one must wade barefoot in the shallows at low water and stand on one.
The pain is said to be extreme, excruciating. ‘Death rarely ensues’, says one authority, encouragingly.
Later, I trimmed away the spines and fried my weever in hot oil, making the most of our friendly old kitchen while we still have it. It’s just a pity that weever fish aren’t rather larger, for the flesh is firm and tasty. I would eat another.

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