Eels

All things being equal the boys and I normally go down to the Quayside Market once a month; however the present unpleasantness has put a stop to that. So I have promised the boys that any Sunday from now on when the weather isn’t too wet we will take a picnic up to Druridge Bay.

This Sunday I didn’t dip but did go barefoot into the sea.  As did Ferretfingers because walking barefoot on sand and in the sea is good physiotherapy for his ankle.

The top of the beach was covered with clumps of seaweed thrown up by the equinoctial tides and storms.  The stream that comes out onto the beach is in flood due to the recent rain, and braided all over the beach.  The current is quite strong but, near sea level, the water is less than a foot deep so easily forded.

As I plodged through I heard Ferrefingers squeal behind me and turned around to see what was amiss.

There near his feet was an 18 inch long eel.

I managed to get my camera out and recording before the next pulse of stream water washed it into the sea.

 

 

I’ve never seen an eel at Druridge before.

In fact the last time I saw a live eel was probably back around 1980 on the River Towy.

Granma loved eels, Dad wasn’t as keen because they tangled his fishing line so badly.  But they were good eating so if he did catch one he’d bring it home.  Granma would skin it, chop it into chunks, flour them and fry them in bacon fat.  The anatomy of an eel means polite eating is impossible.  You have to pick them up with your fingers and pull the white, succulent meat off with your teeth and tongue. 

Sadly eels have become so rare that eating them now is out of the question.

(I’ve never tried jellied eels and don’t think I want to)

I remember, as a young adult, going for a walk down the river with Mum and Dad. 

It was either very early or very late in the fishing season because we were all wrapped up with coats and gloves.  

Dad suddenly said “Look at that.”

Next to both banks of the river was what appeared to be a moving silver ribbon.

Countless numbers of elvers making their way upstream.

Although it should happen every year it’s only on one day that you might get a chance to see it.

We stood and watched for what seemed like ages:  certainly until the brisk wind made us cold enough to need to go home.

A once in a lifetime experience.