Lost in translation
I WAS in the middle of trying to unravel a mixed-up sentence I had just written when the phone rang. “Am I speak to Bruce Sandison?” I could hardly understand a word of what followed and, thinking double-glazing/insurance salesmen, was just about to put the receiver down when I thought I heard the word salmon. I continued to listen.
Eventually, I guessed my caller was a Frenchman with an incomplete grasp of the English language and he was trying to talk to me about something to do with salmon. Given I know about as much French as my cat, I was patient; which was appropriate because he seemed to want to talk about a fish puss.
I wondered how he had found my number and why he was so insistent, but I got the drift. Apparently, he owned a salmon river and the fish were unable to ascend to the upper reaches of the stream to spawn because of a major obstruction, which is why he needed a fish puss. “Do you mean a fish pass,” I asked politely. “Yes,” he responded, “exactly, a fish puss.” We were progressing.
I am no stranger to strange calls from strangers, generally asking for advice and
“Well, do you remember that day your house at Watten was on fire?” I did, intimately. I had gone for my lunch-time jog and glanced back across the fields to see clouds of black smoke pouring from the chimney of Castle Sandison. I made it back in record time and phoned the fire brigade.
They arrived, closely followed by a blue-light-flashing police car. The vehicle stopped and a young policeman leaped out and sprinted towards me. I was impressed, but when he stopped in front of me, breathless, his first words were, “I was out on Loch Watten last night and caught a beauty, just over 3lb it was, behind the island and I was fishing a size 12 Ke-He.”
I’m on fire and he is telling me about a trout? This was the same man I was now speaking to in Russia. “What on earth are you doing in Russia? I enquired. “Much better fishing,” he replied, “and all I have ever really wanted to do is fish.”
In these matters, regardless, I always try to help, so when my French fish puss seeker eventually let me get a word in, I suggested he contact Stirling University School of Aquaculture. I gave him the phone number and an e-mail address of a contact I had there.
“No,” he said, “I have a fish puss in Wales, circular and makes out green oak. Wales in your country isn’t it?” Realising this was going nowhere fast, I made a quick executive decision. “Give me your number and e-mail address and I will see what I can do.” When I put the receiver down I shook my head – what on earth had I got myself into – why had I just not apologised and said I really couldn’t help? But I had promised.
I surmised a circular fish pass constructed out of green oak in Wales should not be too difficult to find. My first call was to the Welsh environment agency which put me on to its technical team. After several more phone calls and a fair bit of department-hoping, I had discovered the site of the fish pass and was speaking to its designer.
The design of the pass was quite unique and beautiful. I know, because the designer kindly sent me full details and working drawings. These I scanned and e-mailed to my Frenchman. The next day the phone rang; this time it was when I was in the middle of trying to meet a fast-approaching deadline for a 2000-word article for a newspaper about the introduction of wolves and bears to a Scottish estate.
“Bruce, Bruce, I have the drawings but I have question I must ask. Can you help?” So I gave my Frenchman the name and contact telephone number of my circular fish puss friend in Wales and suggested he get in touch directly with him. “Thank you,” he said. “I know you have good fish in Scotland, but you come to France you fish my river. Give me address so I contact you.” I did.
Normally, in my experience of these matters, this is last I hear from the advice-seeker. I am used to this and it doesn’t really matter. After all, I did offer help. However, an interesting-looking parcel arrived from France a month or so later. It contained a very handsome thank-you note and two of the finest bottles of vintage Bordeaux it has ever been my privilege to possess.
A similar parcel had been sent to Wales. I have since learnt the building of the French circular green oak fish puss is complete and doing its job, so, all’s well that ends well.