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Piscatorial Poaching Ploys
by Steve Sheppard
Let me take you back to 18th century England - a place of those who have it, land owners, noblemen, and the gentleman traders - and those who have not, the peasant farmers, tradesmen, and labourers.
Angling was not a sport for the have not population more a means of putting food on the table, but as most of the land, rivers, and lakes, belonged to those who have, therefore practising the art was illegal and termed poaching.
Let's put ourselves in the poachers shoes. We would need a moonlit night as we would be walking through forest and undergrowth that may hide man traps and trip wires.
We would be carrying rod, and line, plus tackle that would make moving quietly awkward, and if the moon gave us light to see, it also gave the gamekeeper and his bullies light to see us. If we were caught we would certainly be in for a beating and then gaol with a chance of deportation, or even a date with the gallows.
So poaching was a serious business! The ingenuity of the human spirit however seems to rise to a challenge and so it was in this case. It is not clear who devised the Belly Pirn but I would guess it was some wily old villain in a bawdy run-down tavern somewhere who had suffered a few beatings at the hands of the local squire’s henchmen.
The Belly Pirn was a large drum reel mounted on a stout leather belt worn around the waist. This gave the poacher freedom from a cumbersome rod and bait could be carried in coat pockets making the walk to the water quieter and easier with hands free, and more chance of dodging the keeper and friends.
Once at the waters edge the job of poaching could begin. The line was cast out by hand and worked slowly through the clear stream reflecting the moonlight in eerie shadows around the dark wood. Any catch was despatched and quickly confined into concealed huge cavernous coat pockets.
What’s that? Dogs and voices moving through the night coming this way! Quickly reel in the line, button up the coat, move off as quietly as possible to make your escape.
Once on the road safe, there is no tackle left on the bank to say you had been there - just an innocent fellow walking to the tavern for his supper, coat buttoned against the cold wondering what all the commotion is by the river!
When asked,
"Hey you! Have you seen anyone with fish or tackle running on this road?"
You can honestly reply with a twinkle in your eye,
 | | Modern day Belly Pirn coaster |
"No mate, I am just off for my supper," and then think to yourself with a brace of fresh trout in your pocket, boy am I going to enjoy it!
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