Captain charts troubled waters

WELL, I suppose it looks good on the cv - Captain of the British Press Team. But it hasn't taken me long to realise that this singular honour is about as glamorous as a fortnight's holiday in the Gdansk shipyards.

Every year, an annual competition raises money for the Anglers' Conservation Association. This thoroughly worthy body spends all its time fighting pollution, not just for anglers but for anyone who gets enraged when companies tip chemicals or effluent down the drain and say: "Bugger the consequences." The ACA, which merged with the Pure Rivers Society last year, battles giants like British Coal for allowing waste from disused mines to seep into rivers.

It's a slow, paperbound, generally thankless battle which almost invariably results in victory for David. But the money goes to return the waters to their unpolluted state, so ACA never have a bean. I'm happy to help their fund-raising efforts wherever I can. That said, competition fishing - especially against Britain's best anglers - may be a perch too far.

This concept of extracting the highest weight of fish from one patch in five hours is often unfairly vilified. (Q: what's got an IQ of 200? A: 200 match fishermen.) The skill of the very best is startling. But there is something inherently unnatural in catching fish that have to eat your bait to stay alive.

The ACA Masters (which took place yesterday, in case you're thinking of going to heckle) was at Gold Valley Lakes near Aldershot. Scientists recommend between 200lb and 300lb of fish to ensure good fishing. Some food-rich waters will support 500lb. But waters like Gold Valley are packed with more than 1,200lb to the acre.

There is not enough natural food to go round, so fish are forced to eat anglers' baits. For fishery owners, it's a surefire winner, especially as the fish are always returned. Anglers pay to feed the fish, which grow bigger and hence are worth more. It's like paying to feed a field of cows. Horribly artificial, but the popularity of such waters has soared in the past five years. Any duffer can be sure of catching something. Since fishing's about catching fish, is it so wrong?

I'm writing this before the competition, so I can't tell you what my contribution was to our team score. I'm sure to catch something, though my haul will doubtless be banjoed by those who spend most of their waking hours on such waters, and understand the quirky feeding behaviour of the resident fish.

Goodness knows what I'm doing as team captain anyway. For the past couple of years, I've been the token Fleet Street hack on the press side. But we won't win. There's more chance of the world ending tomorrow. The country's top teams, including all the England internationals and several former world champions, will be there. Not a rabbit anywhere - except me. It's the big disadvantage of proclaiming you can do anything, from catching stickleback to marlin. Jack of all trades, master of none.

To make it worse, I'm the bloody captain! My friend (revise that: former friend) David Hall, angling magazine guru, fixed the team and presented me with the poisoned chalice as a fait accompli. It was, I'll admit, a neat sidestep. Hall has done it himself for the last couple of years and got battered from all sides, from picking anglers a bad peg to not getting them a place at the eve-of-competition banquet.

Two things are for certain. One, we won't be in the top three. Only twice has the press team finished out of the bottom slot. And second, when the team does badly, I'll get the blame. It's my responsibility to advise them on tactics, which is a bit of a joke as I don't even know how to get there. I don't even know who's in the team. (Another masterstroke by Hall to ensure I do even worse as team boss than he did, thereby enhancing his shaky reputation.)

The other thing is that in match fishing there's no hiding place. With the Red Devils and bouncy castles, big crowds will converge on Gold Valley. You can't slide off to a quiet spot, as you can when trout-fishing, and return saying something like: "Yes, I caught a few," or "I didn't weigh the biggest, but it was a pretty good fish."

Here, they all go in a net and, after five hours, everyone sees what you've really caught. To make it worse, there is a large identification board behind every angler. I can't even pretend I'm David Hall.