Fishing for Teeth

"This is a good spot, Pat!" Tom said, the light from the morning sun glistened off his bald head. The gentle sound of a slow-moving river filled the air, mixed with a cool breeze that rustled the leaves of the overhanging trees.

Patrick looked at the flat bank ahead of him. "Looks as good as any, I suppose."

Tom was already setting up his deck chair and placed his tackle box down next to it. He retrieved his rod from its back and began fitting the pieces together.

Setting his chair down next to Tom's, Patrick began to set up his own rod, taking tackle out of Tom's box which sat in the middle of the two chairs.

"Do you think we'll catch anything today?" Patrick asked, retrieving a bag of pork scratchings from his own bag and crunching one softly. He removed his flat cap to scratch his grey head.

"Don't see why not. It's a lovely day and the water's not running too quickly." Tom looked out at the river for a moment before he added, "I think you should try and drop your line in under the shadow of that tree there."

"Okay," Patrick replied. "Where are you going to fish?"

Tom pointed to a spot in the water. "I'm going to try and land in those lily pads. Should be some nice fish in there if I don't get snagged." He picked a maggot out of his bait tub and placed it into his mouth.

"Errrr, why are you eating the maggots? I thought they were for the fish."

"I'm warming him up," Tom mumbled. "Will help him wiggle more."

Patrick looked at the bait box before pulling out a maggot of his own. He held it in front of his face for a moment, briefly moving it towards his mouth before shaking his head. "Nope, I'm not doing that. He'll have to just wriggle less."

"Suit yourself," Tom said, retrieving the maggot from his mouth and attaching it to his hook. "Do you need help with your maggot, Pat?"

"You're not touching my maggot," Patrick said with a grin, which brought a laugh from Tom.

Tom pulled his rod back and then flicked it forward. The line shot from his reel and his float landed right in the middle of the lily pads. He turned to Patrick and smiled.

"Show-off," Patrick grinned before he cast his own line into the water, beneath the shade of an ash tree that overhung the water.

The peace and serenity of the scene washed over them for a time as they sat in comfortable silence, watching their floats for bites.

"So what are we fishing for today?" Patrick asked, turning to Tom for guidance.

"Well, fish," he replied with a grin.

"You know what I mean."

"Well, we're not aiming for any species of fish in particular, but where you're fishing you're likely to get Tench, Roach and maybe the odd Bream," Tom informed him. "In the lilies over there, it's more likely to be Carp."

"Right, so you're fishing for Carp and I'm just fishing."

"Yep, that's right — and you've got a bite."

Patrick looked at his float, which was gently twitching, then it disappeared below the surface of the water. Patrick grabbed his rod and struck, but he was a fraction too late. Nothing.

"Ahh, missed it."

"Yeah, you need to pay more attention," Tom said with a smug smile. Patrick attached a new maggot and cast his line back into the shadow of the tree.

"You're one to talk," Patrick huffed, pointing at Tom's float which was now beginning to twitch.

Tom's hand shot to his rod but didn't grab it; he just hovered his hand over it. He watched the float as it bobbed and then went under. He waited for just a second before he struck.

His rod bent and the tip jiggled as the fish fought against him. He waited, keeping the tension on the rod, then let it slack before winding the reel to get the tension back again.

The fight was short and soon Tom pulled out a small carp, but something about the catch was not right.

Patrick stared at Tom's rod before he burst out laughing. "I'm pretty sure that's not how you're meant to catch a fish," he said, pointing at the fish which hung from Tom's rod by the tail. "Isn't the hook supposed to go in the fish's mouth?"

"Technically, but a fish is still a fish," Tom grinned, unhooking the fish and throwing it back into the water. "That's one-nil, Pat."

"You're the pro here — one fish for me should count as ten," Patrick suggested with a teasing tone.

"Okay, you're on."

Over the next half an hour, neither Tom nor Patrick got so much as a bite. Patrick, losing interest, rummaged around in his bag and pulled out a sandwich and started to eat. Tom remained focused on his float, which bobbed gently on the water's surface.

Suddenly, the end of Patrick's rod bent as a kingfisher landed on the end of his rod.

"Tom, Tom," he whispered, trying to get his attention. "Tom, look — get a picture for me."

Tom looked over at Patrick and then looked along his rod to where the kingfisher was perched. His eyes widened and he carefully and quietly retrieved his camera from his bag, faced it towards the bird, and then took a picture.

He looked at the digital display. Captured in high definition were the beautiful rich blue colours of the kingfisher. Patrick's face was in the corner of the picture, pulling a funny face.

"I'll take another one," he whispered. "You look like a bit of a twit in this one."

"Ahh, ahhh," Patrick replied as Tom lined up the second, then just as he clicked to take the photo, "Chooo." Patrick sneezed, causing the kingfisher to take flight once more, and then there was a strange plop in the river.

Tom turned to look at Patrick, who was covering his mouth.

"My teeth," Patrick mumbled.

Confused, Tom looked at the photo he had just taken. It showed the kingfisher taking flight, the amazing feathers of its wings blurred into a rainbow of colour. To the left of the picture was Patrick in full sneeze, and his false teeth were captured in mid-air as they fell from his mouth towards the river. Tom began to chuckle lightly, "I guess that's what the plop was. I'm framing that one and you're getting a copy for Christmas."

Patrick removed his hand from his mouth and laughed, "Do you want the rest of my sandwich? I'm going to struggle to eat it now."

"Nah, throw it to the ducks."

"Well, all that excitement has made me need to pee," said Patrick as he stood up. "I'm going to go to the little boy's bush over there."

He headed into the nearby bushes and disappeared from sight.

With Patrick out of sight, a sudden thought occurred to Tom and he started to chuckle to himself as he wound his line in. He then removed his own dentures and hung them from his line.

The bushes rustled and Patrick made his way back to his chair.

Tom became animated, "Pat, Pat, I've caught your teeth." He quickly removed them from his line as Patrick approached and then handed them to him.

"Wow. Okay, you really are a good..." Patrick's voice trailed off as he inspected the dentures in his hand. He turned them over and over, checking every detail before finally coming to a conclusion.

"Nope, they're not mine," he said, throwing the teeth into the river.

"Noooo." Tom pleaded but too late. He watched as his own teeth plopped into the river and sank to the bottom. "Those were my teeth Pat."

"Oh, sorry." Patrick managed as he looked at his friend with an apologetic look on his face.

Tom burst out laughing and soon the two friends shared toothless grins and thundering laughter.

"Well, I guess that's another outing we'll have to make together."