I have already recounted, in this estimable tome, my experiments into the auditory faculties of fish (my conclusion being that there are none: that the average fish is deaf, that it would register not a blip on the Oh-Yes-I-Heard-That! scale if you were to suspend it among the bells of Big Ben and ring them as if war had broken out). However, there is another, possibly more significant, quandary for the angler: can fish see you?
All that walking along while crouching down, or hiding among weeds as if one is expecting incoming mortar fire. Is all that really necessary? Once again I have conducted some experiments which are scientifically watertight…
I placed a live fish on a table, propped upright, in laboratory conditions. I then proceeded to walk in front of it, from left to right, backwards and forwards. Would its eyes follow me around the room?
On the contrary, it continued staring blankly into space.
This was my first big clue.
The pupil of an eye should dilate to gain focus, when it encounters movement. This being the case, I loomed towards the fish and monitored any change in its pupil diameter. There was none. Then I wondered what that smell was and realized, as had happened in my previous experiment, that the fish had passed on. Again I replaced the subject with a new, far flappier fish, and repeated.
Still nothing.
This was my second big clue.
Ever wondered about the marvellous camouflaging abilities of the cuttlefish? I know I have. One moment it's one colour, the next it has flitted on and changed its skin tones to fit in with its new background. Amazing. But how does it do that? Remember Pablo Picasso? You think he's dead, don't you? Well, he's not. He moved underwater and now makes a living painting cuttlefish very quickly every time they move. (Which is why some cuttlefish seem to have eyes in funny places, and boobs.)
A middle-aged goldfish called Wolfram escaped from his bowl and decided to strike out across the English Channel for a new life in France. Tragically, he couldn't break the habit of a lifetime and, after swimming round in small circles for nine hours, gave up with the port of Dover still 100 yards to his left.
If I am attacked with a mallet, I will look to see where the attack is coming from. Stands to reason. Therefore I attacked the subject from behind with a mallet.
Did it look around? No it did not. Indeed, when I laid it under a grill shortly afterwards, it did not seem in the least bit curious about the source of the heat.
This was my final big clue.
I can therefore scientifically, categorically state:
FISH CANNOT SEE YOU.
(Still it looks swish and professional stalking along a river bank ducking a lot, so go ahead and do it anyway. I know I do.)