I was reminded of the following story today because it's actually included in Stories and Anecdotes in Trainers' Library, which are about to be reformatted. But never one to avoid an opportunity to share my most embarrassing moments, I thought I'd share the story in my blog because, if nothing else, it illustrates the power of experiential learning.

I was about ten or eleven. Like many children of that age, I would periodically become fanatically interested in something. This interest would generally last two or even three days, before I found out that my latest passion wasn't quite as interesting in reality as I'd anticipated it would be. Unfortunately for my parents, these interests usually involved expense, which is probably why they frequently put their foot down and said no.

This particular summer we were on a caravan holiday in the New Forest, Hampshire. As fortune would have it, the caravan site was located near a large pond, which had the effect of fuelling my latest passion; fishing.

The fact that the family spent the holiday squeezed into a tin box about 16 feet long probably contributed to my parent's fairly quick capitulation, and their reluctant agreement to buy me a fishing rod.

I remember the rod. It was very cheap. So cheap that when you cast, the reel would make a noise like a loud machine gun; but I loved it.

The next day I trundled down to the pond with my new rod and positioned myself on the end of a long line of fishermen. They seemed somewhat disconcerted by my appearance and would regularly throw me disapproving looks when I cast out which, because I rapidly discovered this was the most interesting bit of fishing, I did with increasing regularity.

I'd been at the pond about 30 minutes when a group of horses (New Forest is famous for the wild ponies that live there), came down to the pond to drink. 

All of the other fishermen laid their rods down on the ground, which seemed very odd behaviour to me. There was no way on earth I was going to place my new, highly prized rod on the ground for it to be trampled on and broken by a horse.

So, I held mine aloft, so that the horses would walk underneath, without damaging it. The first to walk under my rod was, unfortunately as it turned out, a large stallion. The horse's height had the effect of dragging the fishing line out of the water and the next thing I knew I was running, half dragged, through the forest, with my rod in my hand, and on the end of my line an increasingly unhappy horse.

It took the forestry commission some time to catch the horse, remove the hook from his ear and retrieve my rod, and I never went fishing again. (Though, as you know, I did later get a horse!)

The important thing though is that whilst I'd been shown by the other fishermen what I needed to do, I learnt the why for myself.

Rod Webb
www.glasstap.com