John Bailey: Lord Botham, our cricketing angler/conservationist

He was a man not to be ignored, of firm and fixed opinions and happy to give anyone a good thrashing, whether Australian or not.

He fished in a similarly take-no-prisoners way , as though he were putting fish to the sword, not merely onto the point of a hook. But he showed moments of unexpected tenderness and generally spoke up for common sense.

I was not exactly surprised, therefore, when I was told that he had written a forthright piece for the Daily Telegraph not long ago on the role of the 12,000 or so folk who work for Defra and Natural England. Apparently, Lord B opined that the whole lot of them should be sacked and that conservation successes would be a damned sight better as a result. I stress I didn’t read this, but the words sound like they could well have come from the man I knew.

It would seem from the piece that our cricketing angler is fed up of professional “expertise” that puts the kibosh on any conservation initiative that an ordinary Joe (or Joan) like you or I might have. I think it is Ian’s view that just because someone has a PhD in the reproductive system of a lugworm, that does not necessarily outweigh the experience of a gamekeeper, farmer, gardener or angler built up over a lifetime. Scientific and academic know-how is good, but not everything perhaps.

Take an example up in North Norfolk a good many years ago. Some friends wanted to build a pond on some scrub land they owned and asked for my input. I suggested contacting the authorities might be good, but they hedged around that a little. They did say that they had an expert in and there were no bats, voles, newts, orchids or rare Norfolk anacondas to worry about. They had a flood risk assessment done and even the rain Noah was used to would not be a problem. They had even contacted the Norfolk crucian carp team and hoped the pool could be used as a sanctuary water by them. The digger man was one of vision and experience and a wild flower expert had drawn up a planting schedule to make bees and butterflies happy for ever more. What could possibly go wrong?

When the vans and the cars from the Environment Agency and Natural England began to arrive, it all went very wrong very quickly. Digging was stopped in seconds and at first it looked as if every scrap of spoil, every pebble and every weed would have to be replaced just as it had been. Then, after days of negotiation and a deluge of site visits, it was decreed that the pond could remain, but only a foot deep, and that the spoil had to be spread over an area the size of Holkham beach at a precise four cms depth. What exactly happened in the end I don’t know because I’d had enough and left before I killed one of them. I do know there are no crucian carp there now, no bees and butterflies and that the site is once again waste land.

I’m also reminded of that long ago Botham summer because then, like now, rivers ran very low and clear and fish of all sorts were hard to come by. We were filming and fishing on the Test and the day was warm and bright, the water pellucid as Gordons. Ian was a little bullish to start with, but guest Eric Clapton trod the banks like a wraith. He watched and he watched again. He ghosted from willow to alder, as substantial as a breath of wind. He made one cast, or at least only one cast that I witnessed, and caught a near 3lb grayling. Okay, I accept that as Cream were my biggest adolescent influence I was star-struck but it was still magic fishing nonetheless. Even the sniffy old keeper was quietened.

Perhaps it’s good to remember that in the weeks to come whether fishing fly, lure or bait that less is more. Every move you make spooks the fish to an ever greater degree. If you can, stalk, watch, spot a fish, strategise its downfall and make a single cast that counts. Watch your shadow. Consider your footfall. Shrink your silhouette. Stop breathing for a few minutes. “Study to be quiet” said Izaak Walton 350 years ago and the Claptons of the fishing world have been practising ever since.