Anyway, it got me thinking – he rose some very good points about where he wanted his ashes to be scattered and where probably they should not be. I was surprised that he did not want his ashes scattered in a river somewhere however he pointed out that the periods of isolation while fishing are made even better by the thought he has his family to go home to (rather than just bobbing around for eternity) – and also an unseen river where you spend a lot of time might not be the best place for a relative to tip your ashes. Anyway, he seems to have decided on scattering his ashes to the wind at the top of one of the Lake District Fells.
Got me thinking that did about possible places:
- The Kelvin – are you kidding me on? It’s full of rats piss and old tampons. I mean I love my urban fishing however spending eternity drifting about in some pool with a dozen guys set lining is not my idea of fun.
- The Clyde – Oh yes the beautiful Clyde – maybe get the old ashes put in up at the source – however if some consciousness remains engrained in the grainy powder I may only have a brief look at some of my favourite fishing spots before whooshing downstream and eventually ending up at the nuclear submarine base.
- I don’t want to be buried although I do like looking at gravestones and would like to have some mark for someone to look at in a hundred years time. Maybe a statue…50 feet tall holding a huge trout up for all to see…
- Up a mountain like North Country Angler – tricky that – the right day would have to be chosen – you don’t want to end up as grit in someone’s cheese and ham sandwiches.
Obviously I still have some thinking on that one to do!
Sadly, I am reminded of someone I spoke to last week who told me his brother had just passed away after a long illness. Towards the end he was on a high amount of painkiller which was making him hallucinate. He sat in his chair fiddling with his fingers in front of him and visitors would ask what he was doing – “Tying Flies” his wife would say. A few days before he died he then started fishing in his living room, imagining he was casting to fish in some river somewhere in his minds eye. One day when his brother was sitting with him it looked like he had cast to a particularly difficult lying trout as the look of concentration on his face was very intent and serious – suddenly a cat walked past which must have spoiled the whole illusion – he rolled his eyes and looked at his brother “Bloody cat” he said to him “scared all the fish”. It was not long after this that he passed away.
I am doubly reminded of a chap who would take me fishing when I was just a young boy. His name was Bill Murdoch and he was responsible for my passion for angling – out on his brother’s boat after salmon on Loch Lomond, he would often call on his father to ensure he got a fish – he and his brothers had spread his ashes over a particularly good trolling lane which just goes to show you some people’s priorities.
Not that I am averse to calling on the deceased to provide me with some sport when things are slow I just do not plan it as an actual sporting method.
Where do you want to happen to your remains?
Have you already planned it out?
Have you told anyone?