|
C. J. Cornish - The Naturalist on the Thames
the water-beetle proceeded coolly to peck out his left eye, and to devour it at once." The larva not only of
the carnivorous dytiscus but also of the vegetable-feeding water-beetle are ferocious and carnivorous,
and deadly enemies of young fish and ova.
[1] In mentioning some of the Thames insecta I have also noticed some of the mollusca
and crustacea. It is a pity these have not some common names. One cannot write easily of
"pulmonate gasteropods."
"THE CHAVENDER OR CHUB"
"Now when you've caught your chavender,
(Your chavender or chub)
You hie you to your pavender,
(Your pavender or pub),
And there you lie in lavender,
(Sweet lavender or lub)."
Mr. Punch.
I went into the Plough Inn at Long Wittenham in mid-November to arrange about sending some game to
London. The landlord, after inquiring about our shooting luck, went out and came back into the parlour,
saying, "Now, sir, will you look at my sport?" He carried on a tray two large chub weighing about 2-1/2
lbs. each, which he had caught in the river just behind the house. Their colour, olive and silver, scarlet,
and grey, was simply splendid. Laid on the table with one or two hares and cock pheasants and a few
brace of partridges they made a fine sporting group in still life - a regular Thames Valley yield of fish
and fowl. The landlord is a quiet enthusiast in this Thames fishing. It is a pleasure to watch him at work,
whether being rowed down on a hot summer day by one of his men, and casting a long line under the
willows for chub, or hauling out big perch or barbel. All his tackle is exquisitely kept, as well kept as the
yeoman's arrows and bow in the Canterbury Tales. His baits are arranged on the hook as neatly as a good
cook sends up a boned quail. He gets all his worms from Nottingham. I notice that among anglers the
man who gets his worms from Nottingham is as much a connoisseur as the man who imported his own
wine used to be among dinner-givers.
Drifting against a willow bush one day, the branches of which came right down over the water like a
crinoline, I saw inside, and under the branches, a number of fair-sized chub of about 1 lb. or 1-1/2 lbs. It
struck me that they felt themselves absolutely safe there, and that if in any way I could get a bait over
them they might take it. The entry under which I find this chronicled is August 24th. Next morning when
the sun was hot I got a stiff rod and caught a few grasshoppers. Overnight I had cut out a bough or two at
the back of the willow bush, and there was just a chance that I might be able to poke my rod in and drop
the grasshopper on the water. After that I must trust to the strength of the gut, for the fish would be
unplayable. It was almost like fishing in a faggot-stack. Peering through the willow leaves I could just
see down into the water where a patch of sunlight about a yard square struck the surface. Under this
skylight I saw the backs of several chub pass as they cruised slowly up and down. I twisted the last two
feet of my line round the rod-top, poked this into the bush with infinite bother and pluckings at my line
between the rings, and managed to drop the hopper on to the little bit of sunny water. What a commotion
there was. The chub thought they were all in a sanctuary and that no one was looking. I could see six or
seven of them, evidently all cronies and old acquaintances, the sort of fish that have known one another
for years and would call each other by their Christian names. They were as cocky and consequential as
|
